Farewell, Homeland...

Tomorrow we are finally going home. We were going to go home Wednesday, but a home improvement project for my parents took on extra dimensions. It was going to be simple: repaint a bathroom. The discovery of mold and water damage demanded more. While deciding what to do we restored the tile floor in another bathroom. After being told that no handyman was available for weeks, I bit the bullet and learned how to patch sheetrock.

The bathroom is now patched, the mold removed (it turned out to not be as deep as I feared), and it looks pretty good, but it is not painted. However, I have to review three restaurants in the next five days, so we must return. Oakland calls. And if I don't respond the editor will call.

Anyway, here are my observations:

1. I realized that I have not spent this much time in Sacramento for years. It is a nice place. I will be happy to be back in the Bay Area, but I like Sacramento.
2. A week and a half of grandparental spoiling is going to be tough to correct.
3. Home Depot has about three helpful employees. The rest are stupid and malicious. They know less about sheetrock than I did a week ago, and they would rather get rid of a customer than find out the information requested.
4. Target is great.
5. Sacramento is really becoming a good dining town.
6. The mosaic bug is biting me hard. I think I know what the next project around here is going to be.
7. If a cafe posts hours it should stick to them.
8. We are wops. "We have been eating Italian food every day. Let's go out for American food. How does Buca di Beppo sound?"
9. Buca di Beppo makes good food. It is that southern Italian red gravy stuff, which is about as Italian to my Tuscan tastes as Cajun food, but they do it right. Tonight was my first visit, and it was good.

Fun with Fire!

Oh yes. A good friend of ours, knowing (and yet obviously condoning at the same time) my tendency towards dangerous cooking, got me a kitchen blow torch for Christmas. I don't think I have ever owned such a fun toy.

I have often wondered why it is that women do so much of the cooking, since men tend to do it better (no offense to the many good women cooks out there, but on the whole men tend to be all around better in the kitchen). Part of it is that the tools of cooking have "overgrown boy" written all over them: very sharp knives, food processors, flames, inflammable liquids, mallets, chisels, cleavers, etc. Let's face it: a proper kitchen is like a demented laboratory. All it needs is a Jacob's Ladder and a Van de Graf Generator and it would be perfect. Some of us even use saws and blowtorches. This is the stuff of sixth grade mad science experiments.

Anyway, expect some recipes featuring a variety of singed and flamed ingredients. Whooopee! Call me Vulcan!

In Sacramento until Saturday...

By the way, for our friends who are trying to reach us, we have decided to linger in Sacramento until Saturday. Since our voice mail does not seem to be working, if you need to find us, call us here.

The Christmas Meme

Hot Chocolate or apple cider? Hot chocolate.

Turkey or Ham? Roasted goose with fennel.

Do you get a Fake or Real you cut it yourself Christmas tree? Real, although I want one of the spun aluminum ones from Charlie Brown. As soon as I have access to a good metal lathe, watch out!

Decorations on the outside of your house? No, but we decorate my parents' house, where we spend the week of Christmas.

Snowball fights or sledding? Snowball fights!

Do you enjoy going downtown shopping? No. Unless we are talking books, tools, art supplies, food or records, I hate shopping.

Favorite Christmas song? Stille Nacht!

How do you feel about Christmas movies? Bad Santa is the best, although Brazil will do in a pinch.

When is it too early to start listening to Christmas music? Before Gaudete Sunday.

Stockings before or after presents? Before.

Carolers, do you or do you not watch and listen to them? Yes.

Go to someone else's house or they come to you? We go to my parents' house.

Do you read the Christmas Story? No.

What do you do after presents and dinner? Drink and converse!

What is your favorite holiday smell? Panforte.

Ice skating or walking around the mall? Walking around San Francisco, looking at the lights.

Do you open a present or presents on Christmas Eve, or wait until Christmas day? Christmas Morning.

Favorite Christmas memory? All of them.

Favorite part about winter? Spring. Or, at least the consolation of rich, dark, braised beef.

Ever been kissed under mistletoe? Yes.

Global Warming

I have been very worried about global warming these days.

Up until Thanksgiving, everything seemed right on target. Indian summer into the end of November?!? Unheard of! Wonderful! Bring it on!

Then came Thanksgiving and it just got cold, and, with a few exceptions, has been too cold. Not that we have had any frost or anything horrid like that, but I have to wear long sleeves and a jacket when I go out at night, and that makes me grumpy. If I wanted to live in inhospitable nasty climates, I would have moved to, well, anywhere East of Berkeley.

So, what's the deal? We get just enough global warming to take the glaciers out of the midwest, to kill off the mastadon (and to think of all the recipes I could have come up with for it), endanger the California Condor, and then it stops. Bang. Just as I was getting used to the ideas of year round Hawaiian shirts.

At this rate, we'll probably end up with an ice age next year.

Bah. Humbug.

Oh yeah, I am back to blogging, much to your delight and amusement. All of my work is done, for a week at least, so all of my verbal slobber gets directed at the blog. Lucky you. Recipes! Rants! Bigoted screeds! Nasty, backstabbing attacks on kindly men of goodwill! All in the name of amalgamating power! Power! Power! Power! I am drunk with Power!

HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH.

Back, but battling the forces of nature...

I guess dust is a force of nature, but it is driving me crazy. If you collect books, then dust is a constant aspect of your life. The best way to dust books is to use a brush attachment to your vacuum cleaner.

If your vacuum cleaner has some sort of leak, then you dust one shelf only to find the shelf you just dusted full of, well, dust. You ponder tearing your hair out.

We got a beautiful and very fancy turntable as an early Christmas present from Melanie's folks. Dust is the enemy of vinyl records, so when I hooked it up, I figured, shucks, since we'll be playing our vinyl again, I should reduce the dust. And the battle begins.

For non-book surfaces, I highly recommend the Pledge Grab-it cloths.

Anyway, back to dusting. Two steps forward. Three back. Then, if I am still in the mood to clean, the Trackback Pings on this site have gotten out of hand. I think I will disable that feature. I am shooting for Thursday night for more posts. Meanwhile, go learn how to yodel.

Why, oh why does this appeal to me?

You can take the boy out of the Central Valley, but you can't take the Central Valley out of the boy.

Why do I think that they had me in mind when they released this?

I really do think that this might top my Christmas list.

Pathetic. Really pathetic.

Yes, if you have been wondering, we have been listening to a lot of Buck Owens recently.

And, if you note the url above, you will understand my utter and complete joy that www.heehaw.com exists.

Ah, the old Kornfield!

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

What? You find that monotonous? Really? At least the food in the autumn is great. If I wanted constant rain I would live in Portland, which is a better city anyway.

If I wanted rain in a crappy city really close to Canada... ah, I won't mention Starbucksstadt. Wouldn't want to offend my Seattle readers. Do I have Seattle readers?

Well, Keilholtz, you used to, before you called our city crappy and mentioned that it was too close to Canada.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Portland, though, comes alive in the rain, or at least in the evening after a rain. The last time I was there they had been going through a dry spell, and then it rained, and that evening everyone really seemed to be happier.

I don't have to do any outside watering. That is good.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

If it weren't for the smells of chicken bones roasting in the oven, it would drive me crazy.

Rain is good for church, though, because the indirect light on the stained glass makes them glow rather than sparkle and shoot out rays of colored light. Rays of colored light and sparkling are all fine and good, but that glow can really bring out the illustration on the window.

And when it really rains, there is nothing to do but pour out a mug of chilled, unfiltered sake and listen to Bach for hours on end.

A Rant...

Often I give someone a recipe and they say, "how do you ever find time to make dishes like this?"

OK. I admit it. I like to make complicated food sometimes, where there are little critters to be cleaned, vegetables to be carefully trimmed and par-boiled and shocked in ice water, with stocks and sauces and all of that yummy stuff. I don't do it every day, but a couple of times a week I like to prepare a meal that would not be out of place in one of the finer restaurants in the area. Part of it is the joy of smells and of getting my hands dirty with ingredients. Part of it is that a good meal is a good keystone for good conversation. Part of it is that I need to be in good form when it comes to evaluating the work of chefs. I need my palate to be sharp, and the best way to do that is to get dirty with the ingredients and techniques of cooking.

However, usually when I am giving someone a recipe it is really quite a simple dish, maybe an hour from prep to table, with ample time to make a salad or some side dishes, to set table, select a wine, etc. And I give the recipe and get "where do you find time?"

How do you answer that, especially when you hear the person say later, "did you see that episode when Jerry blah blah blah?"

Part of me wants to say, "no, I did not see that episode, nor any other episode of that stupid show, because I was busy making good food for my family."

Television is such a part of people's lives that they don't see time wasted with it as time that could be used for anything else.

I am not immune to its siren call. Years ago, before Amalia, there was a time when Melanie and I would come home from work and watch the rerun of Friends that one of the UHF stations ran. It was insidious. They ran three episodes in a row. You would watch one, not find it particularly interesting or funny or any of the characters that engaging, but then you would realize that you were watching the third episode in a row.

"Do you like Friends?"

"Not really."

"Why are we watching it?"

"Good question."

Fortunately that habit did not take for long, but my guess is that many of the time-starved folks who are glued to their television sets (does anyone call them "sets" any more? It used to be a stock feature of the fear of urban crime: some youth running down the street with a television set under his arm. I remember talking to a cop on a rainy day. I asked him if crime went down when the weather was bad. "Sure," said he, "no one is going to go running through the mud with a television set under his arm." Now they are just TV's or televisions. What happened to the set? I guess it got stolen...except that it is still ON! Perhaps they regressed to Games or progressed to Matches. Sitting down with a frozen dinner in front of the Television Match sounds like some Japanese inspired reality craze) don't even like the dreck that they watch incessantly.

Did you see that episode when Erik went completely ballistic and threw his risotto spoon at a television set?

No, I was busy running down the street with my neighbor's television set under my arm.

Oh yeah. I saw that show back in the 70's. Scary. We moved out to the suburbs.

More on The Lack of Protestants in Heaven...Budweiser Gelato...A Good Bar

First, my apologies to John Salmon, whose comment I deleted by mistake in my rampage against spam. I will address his, and Patrick's concerns right now.

Both of you did not read my post very carefully. It was not a Feeneyite position. I am not saying that Protestants don't get into Heaven, just that once there they cannot be Protestant anymore. Just as there are plenty of Catholics in Hell, I have little doubt that there are plenty of good Protestant people who, although lacking the Graces of the Eucharist and Penance, have, after sufficient purgation, been admitted to Heaven. This is not bigotry at all.

Second. There were two non-spam comments that I deleted due to their content. One was a Protestant post that blasphemed the Eucharist. The second was a Protestant post of the sedevacantist stripe. I do not tolerate sedevacantists. Their posts will be deleted.

Third. Budweiser gelato. I could not believe it and had to try it. It was very good. IF you are in the Bay Area, go to Yoogo Gelato on Columbus and Broadway and try it, along with their other great gelati. Next time I might try Durian. Or maybe not. Mango jasmine was good, too.

Fourth. If you are looking for a good bar in downtown San Francisco, might I suggest Azul off of Grant by Post (accross from the old White House department store, now a Banana Republic). It is a bit more hipsterish than my usual hangouts, but the owners are a Catholic couple with three kids and refreshingly Conservative views. The bar is cool looking, well-stocked and will hopefully become a Caribbean restaurant soon. More on that as it happens.

On Flattery

One of the strategies for slipping spam into the comments's box is to use flattery.

"Nice blog! Keep up the good work"

"This is really an interesting post..."

It will get you nowhere, unless it comes with a left-knee genuflection and the minimum tribute of a pound of decent coffee beans. Flattery that comes with tribute, I accept. Otherwise, I might just look at you with contempt, especially if you are using flattery to get your spam through on my blog.

Of course, if you can't afford to give me a bottle of 100% blue agave tequila or an original Rembrandt, flattery can be accepted if it is interesting flattery. I am no Puritan.

Speaking of which: all of the flap over Meier or whatever her name is bores me. All I need to know is that she defected from the Catholic Faith as an adult. To Hell with her.

Bush can do better than that. Or, if not, to Hell with him too. Too much more of this crap and I might have to vote for Democrats.

Har har har.

Vote Falange! It's good for the body, it's good for the soul. Or don't vote. What you have to say on the matter is probably of little consequence anyway. Stay home. Resist The Man.

Believe! Obey! Fight!

Anyway, speaking of Democrats, of the repugnant variety, I have decided, against my usual practice of trying to pick the least offensive of a wretched slate, to endorse Ron Dellums for mayor of Oakland. If four years of that inept ass doesn't break the back of the East Bay Democratic machine, then, well, to Hell with Oakland. The people get what they deserve and they deserve to get it good and hard.

Or you can vote Felange!

B.!O.!F.! and, yes, AEIOU to you too.

Just don't tell me that you like my blog in the comments box before touting your particular goods or services, or I might make you drink castor oil. It's good for you, quite whining.

The Alligator and the Python

This story is about a python that ate an alligator and exploded.

Who needs Harryhausen?

I Love Anti-Catholics!

It is probably because I am a bigot myself, but I can't help but feel a warm glowing feeling when a Baptist or some other semi-literate Prottie goes mouthing off about the Church. To do the right thing means making enemies, and if our enemies are the likes of Ian Paisly, Jerry Fallwell, Martin Luther, Brigham Young, and so one, well, it is a sign that we are on the right track.

Ultimately Anti-Catholicism says more about the anti-Catholic than it does about the Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church. You will notice that the most decent of the Protties, like Billy Graham, do not go stooping to this level. This is not to say that there is much chance of their salvation, because I tend towards a fairly narrow interpretation of EENSE, not quite Feeneyite, but with little inclination to think that C.S. Lewis is anywhere but fairly deep in the Eternal Bog. We don't know, and, naturally, we should err towards caution. No fence sitting.

So, finding this thread on historical anti-Catholicism (courtesy of TSO, was a delight indeed.

For too many years the American Catholic, when accused of taking orders from a foreign potentate, wanting to abolish the separation of Church and state, not believing that all ideas were equally valuable insofar as they were cherished by various individuals, etc, would bend over backward to prove how American they were. I won't pinpoint a specific type of American Catholic, but let's say that I would figure that JFK is probably getting the treatment from the same demon that is tormenting C.S. Lewis.

Hopefully when we look at these old tracts and cartoons we can stand and say, "yeah, that's right. I do take orders from a foreign potentate, I do take a dim view of secularism, and so on. Oh, but look at how well your Freemasonic, French Endarkenment ideas have served you! Oh, you can't talk now, because you must rush off to your son's (by your fourth marriage) homosexual "marriage"? Too bad. Maybe after you pick up your other child's ritalin we can continue the argument!"

That is your ecumenical moment for the day!

Checking in!

I was hoping for a more substantial post, but duty calls. I have to get food ready for tomorrow's camping trip. Redding was fun: horseback riding, swiming in Whiskeytown Reservoir, Turtle Bay, etc. If you find yourself on I-5, definitely stop in Redding for the Turtle Bay museum. The Calatrava Bridge is worth it just by itself.

Anyway, that will have to do for today, as chili awaits (and I have to learn the ropes of this new version of MT. For some reason Blacklist is not working quite right).

Back Under the Volcano(es)

Tomorrow we head up to Redding for a few days. Blogging will be light to non-existant, but will resume Thursday, when we are back in Sacramento. Then we will be off to Mark Twain country for some camping, fishing, hiking, yodeling, etc.

Hell and Dirty Dishes

In my little demented Teutonic mind I like to see the Cosmos as a perfectly structured factory, with everything an assigned place with an assigned job. So, yes, I suppose that Heaven is the Great BMW Factory in the Sky.

So, in this perfectly ordered factory, it is obvious that one gets to cook and eat in Heaven, then the dishes go down the Cosmic Dumbwaiter (ah, perhaps there is an eternal role for Mattie Fox after all!) where the denizens of Hell get an infinite pile of dirty dishes to clean. When they are done, then they get to fold laundry.

So, yes, I am sitting in the kitchen looking at the carnage from last night, thinking of ways to put it off.

But I know, it only makes it worse that way. I will have to just dig in and start scrubbing. Make it a game. Have fun with it! Smile!

Cut it out. Amalia doesn't buy it, and neither do I. Doing dishes is part of the price of original sin. We weren't meant for this sort of work.

Nor for folding laundry. Now I imagine that there is some smiling psychotic who loves to fold laundry, who takes great pride in folding a perfectly symetrical tee-shirt. Well goody for them. Probably teetotallers too.

Feh!

As Holy Roman Emperor of the Europeans, San Franciscans, &c., we hereby declare today to be "Complain About Household Chores and Invest Far More Energy in the Complaining Than If We Simply Made Another Espresso And Took Care Of Them Day"

Bah! Humbug!

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?

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.

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.

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.

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....

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.

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.

Oui! Oui! Oui! Mais non...

I am so overjoyed at the French doing the right thing at the polls (and surprised, to boot, as I never pass up the opportunity to lower my expectations of the Franco-Gallic people), that, in honor of the vote that should derail the evil mess of an EU Constitution, the Keilholtz household will speak exclusively French for the next day (with, of course, Italian, the rightful language of large parts of so-called France, always being allowed).

And, to mark this historic occasion, the German language is going to be banished for the next 24 hours (or until Amalia really gets my goat to the point that I am reduced to hollering in German), in favor of French.

No, it is not April 1, but sometimes the French do the right thing, besides creme brulee, that is. They always do that right. I wish I could say the same for croissants, but this modern age has seen such a decline in the small patisserie, that I am more confident in my ability to find a good croissant in Oakland than I am in Paris (which is part of the cultural trends the French people are resisting).

So, Francois*, if you happen to be reading this, part of this act of Francophilia will mean that I will not call you "Maginot," "Frosch," "Grenouille," "Frankreich," or "Dirty Slug Eater" for the next 24 hours. Don't get used to it, though.

Now, you guys have got to do something about your Mohammedan problem...

*Francois was my roommate in college (Freshman year). He used to drive me crazy, so I kept him in line by shouting at him in German and talking about the Maginot Line. Then I realized that he was baiting me, and that by getting irate, I was giving in to his merde. I was contemplating killing him, but then the year was up, and I did not have to be his roommate any more. We remain good friends to this day, although I keep finding excuses to not go hear his band play.

Some Odds and Bits...

I did not get home from the bullfight until very late, so I am more inclined towards three dot writing...

Ouch. This is not something I usually like to do...

Har Har har...

Anyway...Why would I trust a website to deliver good medications when they use deception to lure visitors to their website? Ditto mortgage brokers and double ditto laywers.

Oh yeah. Dot dot dot...

Is it just my imagination or are the Turlock forcados looking pretty sad? They have courage and determination, but it seems that their group work is suffering. Of course those were monsters last night: lots of prime rib came through the toril.

Now, this in no means indicates that Artesia is looking much better. I think everyone, including the diehard Turlock enthusiasts, felt for them last night and admired their willingness to go back over and over again to the same ungrababble toiro.

Dotdtootododooootttt

How about Alberto Conde? I don't think I had ever seen him before. He has style, grace, and established good control of his bulls, even the second (rather difficult) bull. One thing that I liked about him is that when he was dealt a difficult bull he made sure to first and foremost torear. Then, once he established his mastery over the bull, he tried some fancy moves. Pedro Franco bombed his second bull because he kept sinking lower in lower in his attempts to cover up his inability to control the bull by trying (and missing) increasingly fancy moves.

First, he should have quit when he failed to place the two smaller darts. Coming back with a banderilla was pathetic. Second, he should have had the cojones to refrain from coming back into the ring for honors. He and the forcado, who also failed, should have made their salute from the gate and gone back to the callejon. The forcado had that decency, why not the horseman?

DOT DOT DOT (DASH DASH DASH DOT DOT DOT - and quick, before this entry gets even worse)

I get to see Tony Bennett on Thursday night! I left my heart... in...San...Fran...Cisco. Yeee haw!

Dot (oh stop it already!)

Anyway, I have little to do and a lot of time. No. Reverse that. So I might or might not post my risotto nero recipe. If not today, then tomorrow. Certainly not yesterday.

Check your brains at the door!

Thanks to all who have contributed ideas to the Lepanto League Mackerel Snap. Some of the ideas that will definitely be incorportated into the festivities (including some that were already on the schedule):

1. Snapping mackerel. At around $2 a pound, how can you go wrong? Recipe? Grill them over a smokey fire with lemon slices, garlic, salt, pepper and a bit of olive oil. When they are done:

2. Burning wet or dry straw to announce the fact.

3. A brain check at the door.

4. Venerating statues.

5. Repetitious prayers in a dead language.

6. Taking orders from a foreign potentate in Rome.

7. Since it is a food event, men will take center stage and cook, leaving women to the minor roles.

8. Drinking, smoking, perhaps some gambling.

9. Foreign priests who will perhaps give the benediction with their backs turned to the rest of us.

10. No one shall bring in a Bible in the vernacular.

11. Heretics will be properly identified and denounced to the proper authorities.

12. Irish will be allowed in (this goes against my better judgement, but I am outnumbered, particularly by my half Irish wife), particularly since the author of distinction for this event is James Joyce (Catholic bad boys being the year's focus). Of course they can always be counted on to resort to pious superstitions, so this will be OK.

13. We do not want to specifically brand anyone as an "old lady," so we will generally encourage wearing o' the black, muttering o' the rosary (click them beads, natch), and the like from everyone.

14. On Monday, a field trip to see a bullfight.

15. Etc.

I will report on the event afterwards, after filing the required report with proper Ecclesial Authorities!

St. Anthony of Padua Institute

I can't believe that I did not already put this one in my links.

I certainly hope that you have read something about the St. Anthony of Padua Institute. If not, go here and read all about it. If you have questions, feel free to ask me, as I am one of the co-conspirators in this little venture.

If you live in the Bay Area, why not participate in one of our programs?

For instance, on Tuesdays, at 7:30 in the evening at the The National Shrine of St. Francis of Assisi, we are holding a film series. Right now we are watching Krzysztof Kieslowski's The Dekalog, which will keep us going into early July. After the film we have discussions. It is free, interesting, and a lot of fun.

Also, on Wednesday nights at the same place and time, the North Beach Lectura Dantis is reading Don Quixote. We are up to chapter 21, but it is a fast read, and you can get up to speed easily in a week or two.

Let the stereotypes flow...

This weekend the Lepanto League is having a Mackerel Snap, during which we will snap mackerels, worship statues with repetitious prayers in dead languages, call a man "Father" and take orders directly from foreign potentates in Rome.

If we can drum up interest we might play a little bingo. Certainly there will be some drinking and smoking going on, as well.

So, in the combox, please list your favorite stereotypes of the Romish mackerel snappers. Perhaps we will incorporate them into the festivities!

Too bad local regulation prevent us from burning heretics at the stake, though.

The Highwayman and Traveler

A Highwayman confronted a Traveler, and covering him with a firearm, shouted: "Your money or your life!"
"My good friend," said the Traveler, "according to the terms of your demand my money will save my life, my life my money; you imply that you will take one or the other, but not both. If that is what you mean please be good enought to take my life."
"That is not what I mean," said the Highwayman; "you cannot save your money by giving up your life."
"Then take it anyhow," the Traveler said. "If it will not save my money it is good for nothing."
The Highwayman was so pleased with the Traveler's philosophy and with that he took him into partnership and this splendid combination of talent started a newspaper.

-Ambrose Bierce

Glass Blowing

Yesterday I did a profile on a glass blower, and it reminded me of how visually interesting the whole process is.

The first time I saw this art was in Italy as a little one, and I still remember watching the glowing orb of glass expand when the glass blower blew on the pipe.

The artist I interviewed yesterday created a gigantic platter, starting with a multi-layered orb of glass, which he blew into a basketball-sized globe, then opened into a bowl, used a different color for the lip, then spun it into a plate.

There is something really exciting about watching about seven pounds of molten sand (around 2000 degrees) being spun at the end of a five-foot-long stainless steel pipe into a platter.

Anyway, if you have never watched glass being blown, particularly art pieces, it is definitely worth a trip to your local glass studio.

Dizzy with Fighting Heresy!

"Hey Pete, Let's Eat More Meat!"

No, that is not a line from some dumbed down translation of the Acts of the Apostles, but is a song by John Birkes "Dizzy" Gillespie.

So, if you want to do your part in fighting the neo-Cathari, then go to the nearest butcher, get yourself a few pounds of beef, and read my latest article on Spero Forum.

Mohammedanism and a dose of Keilholtzian Ecumenical Dialog (Sit still, there, Infidel, I am dialoging to you!)

There seems to be something in the air among our permascowlers. Certainly one of the recent whiners came from a recent article in the Contra Costa Times, but one stumbled by here a few days ago.

You can go read their comments here, but I will address some of them here.

First, it seems that I need to explain once again why I call the religion Mohammedanism and the followers Mohammedans.

The various professionally thenthitive sorts like to point out, "actually, the followers of Islam call themselves Muslims... blah blah blah." They generally conclude that I am ignorant of this fact and often suggest that I get to know a Mohammedan personally.

So, let's dismiss this one. I have. Very personally. I have even maintained friendships over the years with several of them. And yes, they know what I think of Mohammed, and they know that I know what they think of "men of the book." We don't trivialize each others' views by pretending that they are inconsequential (because, unlike the worthless screeds of the followers of Matthew Fox or Starhawk (boy I do seem to be picking on one local "Catholic" institution, don't I?), we have no doubt that we hold beliefs that we take extremely seriously, to the point of life and death decisions based on them. Doesn't mean that we have to go about killing each other over them, just yet). That is what the liberals and other Endarkenment types do when they prattle on about a marketplace of ideas. If all ideas are equal, or weighted only by popularity in a free market, then none of them are worth a hill of beans, and you might as well shut up and let me turn old useless Grandma into soap, because your truth is not my truth.

Did someone talk about the "dictatorship of relativism" or something of that sort recently? Or did I just dream it?

I fully realize that these Mohammedans call their faith "Islam" which basically boils down to "submission [to the will of God]." I submit that "Islam" when used properly means the Holy Catholic Church of Rome. The real "Muslims", the ones who REALLY submit to the will of God, rejoiced when their Cardinals elected His Most Emminent and Reverend Lord, Lord Joseph Cardinal of the Holy Roman Church Ratzinger to the See of Peter.

So, why give up an important linguistic point? If you want to be opposed to "submission to the will of God," then so be it. I would rather be opposed to submission to the misunderstanding of the will of God promoted by one Mohammed.

"Ah," but the thenthitive will say, "Mohammedan implies, like Christian, that the follower worships Mohammed, who they don't, they see him as simply another prophet." [three to one odds that it is about this point that they start mentioning that, "actually [they do love that "actually", especially when it is used to preface some superficially understood balderdash], the Muslims revere Jesus, too."]

Fine, then what does that say about the Lutherans, the Calvinists, the Swedenbourgians, the Marxists, the Confuxianists, etc.? Let us be serious here. No one assumes that the Lutherans worship Luther. They have a whole bunch of goofy ideas (and stop before you begin with the "you should really get to know a Lutheran before you..." because I will have you know that I used to go to a Lutheran church every Sunday to take my grandfather (followed by a Catholic Mass with my grandmother, and, yes, Virginia, the Novus Ordo is similar to the Lutheran worship service, which does NOT render it defective, you ninnies) There you have it, pissing off the Left and the Right, in one fine post. Sheesh, get this boy to a bullfight before he starts tearing a new one into Abe Lincoln and Apple Pie).

OK. Maybe Marxists do worship Marx, but they are really bad (once again, don't tell me to get to know one. I was one), and I might argue that some Protestants worship the Protesting more than anything, but again, it is different.

But the point is that in the languages of the West, we identify a set of creeds with the founder, particularly when they share a root with other creeds. So we can distinguish patriarchal monotheists who revere Jesus by the creeds of their founder (you really could see this one coming, couldn't you?):

Christians follow a Church (that has four marks) built by Christ.
Lutherans follow a creed cooked up by Luther.
Calvinists follow a dismal religion hatched in the darker recesses of Calvin's brain.
Mohammedans follow a creed cobbled together from a variety of Eastern heresies by Mohammed.
And Baptists don't recognize each other at the liquor store...oh wait, that is another punchline.

For Mohammedans to insist that the mechanics of our languages be set aside so that they can gloat that "even the infidel calls our faith 'submission to the will of God'" is laughable.

To call Mohammedanism "Islam" is blasphemy. It is saying that God has no Son. No Catholic ought to do it. I am not saying that a Catholic who uses the term "Islam" casually believes that the Koran is anything more than an interesting bit of Classical Arabic poetry, but it gives the wrong impression.

Now, on to the second point, which is the feeble whining about censorship.

Erik's Rants and Recipes is a benevolent dictatorship. It is (ah, my Marxist roots are showing) the Organ of the Central Committee of Keilholtz, under the direction of Chairman Keilholtz, the Secretary General of the Keilholtz Party.

I am a surprisingly tolerant dictator. There are no concentration camps in the land of Keilholtz. OK, we might have the occassional hard labor experiential reeducation facility here and there, and we might exile Joe d'Hippolito (and the funny thing is that one of the few things that Joe and I agree about is the danger of Mohammedanism. Unfortunately Joe thinks that the cure is mass slaughter, which is really horrid) until he shows up in sack cloth and ashes, but dissent is allowed, to some degree.

What is not allowed is to use this Organ of Keilholtz to spread unauthorized propoganda. I don't care if you are spreading the word of Mohammed or the sale of penile enlargement devices. Normally, spam comments are deleted. If anything I was being gentle in only deleting the url reference in the young lady's comments (which were, by and large, written in that irritating professionally thenthitive tone that you so often find among Ethnic Studies grad students- I think I have figured out who the writer is, by the way).

I am not trying to protect my readers. I cannot do that even if I wanted to. I am certainly not trying to argue via deletion (you will notice that I did not even respond to the young Mohammedan's comment), rather I am simply refusing to be a party to this sort of propoganda.

Finally (for now), let us discuss the notions of being "racist" as Miss Jones (who in a private email assures me that she is older than 19, and not a special needs person, which was a petty dig, I admit) suggests, when she writes:

What you are encouraging here is a narrow, stereotyped, frankly uneducated view of Islam, and it is downright racist.

First, I will bet you anything that Miss Jones has not studied Mohammedanism as much as I have. I can't guarantee it, but I just have a hunch. So, we will leave the uneducated view of Islam bit for now.

Racist, however, is a scream. Which "race" do the Mohammedans belong to? Let's see, if I dig around some old physical anthropology books I find that there are only three races: caucasoid, negroid, and mongloid. But then it tries to convince me that the Australian aborigines are caucasoids with melanin. OK, the archaic taxonomies are being a bit useless here.

So I go and look for linguistic groupings, which is a lot more fun. So, I can lump Arabs (but not all Mohammedans, certainly) as Semites. Where does this leave Cat Stevens or Richard Thompson? Did they get kicked out of whatever race they were before when they converted to Mohammedanism? It would seem that the racists here would be those who wish to see followers of a creed as part of a distinct race.

Ah, but Miss Jones will probably never read this, as she has told me in a private email, "I will not be stumbling into the world of Erik's rants and recipes again, I
prefer proper, reasonable debate." Preferably the sort where all ideas are considered equally true, even if they are in direct opposition, and that one gets to pat oneself on the head for thinking that all ideas are true. Meanwhile Grandma gets made into soap and the local Church is turned into a mosque.

I used to belong to these circles, where "nuance" and "open mindedness" are so highly valued that no other truth can come in their way. They are tiresome and, dare I say it, flat out wrong.

One of those mornings

Do you ever have one of those mornings where you think that you did not finish your espresso and go over to the cup only to find it drained? Now that I think about it, it was a good espresso, too. Time for another.

Cobwebs bigtime this fine, sunny morning. I was experimenting with various adhesives for tile and cement last night, and, well, you know how it goes when you are absorbed in a project...you look up and it is suddenly 2 am.

Anyway, I think I found a good combination, but will have to test it with the pressure hose today, which is good news for Amalia, since playing with water on warm days can only mean getting good and wet. Yippeeee!

If you are wondering what I am doing with tile and cement, the answer is "mosaic." Beyond that, I will remain silent. Not so much because I am being hush-hush, but because I am not sure where this thing will go.

It has to do with an homage to Rodia and Gaudi, and sculpture. So far the plan is for four mosaic-covered pillars and a ferro-cement and mosaic covered bench and a variety of plantings. But it depends on the site, and the sun, and all that, so when I get to actually put it in, well, who knows? It might be a winged teapot.

But I think I have a good outdoor mosaic adhesive. We'll see.

Meanwhile, it is time for another doppio espresso, and subito!

Later tonight I might write about California, I might write about Diebenkorn, I might write about bedwetting liberals, it all depends on my mood.

Vatican Smoke Recipe

Someone found this site looking for "Vatican Smoke Recipe." This is something I have been wondering about, too. Does anyone know? What do they use to make it white or black? I can think of many ways of doing it, but I am wondering what the traditional way is.

Undoubtedly there is a traditional way, and somewhere in Kansas or Nebraska there is an anti-Pope who has found that they used something different, thus invalidating the past twelve elections...

Pick Yer Pope!

Go to Pope-u-lator.com for all of your Papal election needs. I am not sure how the questions generate the probable candidates, although it gave me Tettamanzi, Arinze and Ratzinger as my popes, so it certainly got something very right. I would love to see the database that it draws from.

Also on the site are some interesting Papal name statistics, and some unexpected results at the name-u-lator (click on the "progressive" and "conservative" choices for some fun), a good page on the titles of the Pope, and a blog.

Ah, yes, Sunny California

On AOL's front page they are promoting trips to Orlando, San Fran and OTHER SUNNY PLACES!

That's just mean.

I used to work near one of San Francisco's (what is this San Fran business anyway?) new trendy hotels. One of the regular sights in the summer was to see families of tourists (particularly the Germans) walk out the front door dressed for Hawaii. You should see their faces as the cold, wind-whipped fog chilled them to the bone.

If you want sun in the summer, you might want to reconsider San Francisco as a destination.

Remember, "she hates California, it's cold and it's damp..."

Marooons!...and midgets.

Yesterday our dear friend, Anonymous Poster, left the following message:

THIS SITE DID NOT HELP ME FOR MOONSHINE!

Since the poor fellow posted it under the Nocino recipe (and that reminds me, I owe one of the Summamamas a recipe for limoncello, which I will post shortly), I assume that he is another of the legion of poor souls who cannot figure out how to use a search engine.

Perhaps this fellow should consider laying off the moonshine, as it seems to be making his linguistic abilities falter. He also seems to be one of those pugnacious drunks who SCREAMS when he is three sheets to the wind.

So that is the Marooooon! part of the post.

I realize that most of you came here for the stories about midgets, or at least about miniaturized versions of grown-ups. So here goes...

This morning my parents had a 6am flight from Oakland, so they spent the night at our house and I drove them to the airport at some hour that really ought to be illegal.

When I got home I was shocked to find that my place in the bed had been taken by a midget. Upon closer examination I gasped, "they done shrunk Melanie!" But then I had to figure out what she was doing next to her shrunken self. "They done copied Melanie with the reduction setting on?!?" No, that couldn't be it.

Anyway, at that hour I was more intent on getting back to bed than figuring out why there was a big Melanie and a mini-Melanie in the bed. Anyway, the mini-Melanie thought that it would be better to sleep on top of my head than it would to be content to sleep between us. And I was far too exhausted to take the mini-Melanie back to her bed, so if posts seem grumpy and rambly, blame mini-Melanie (who is now being incredibly amusing, bringing me pieces of fruit from the fruit bowl for me to smell).

St. Peter and the Holey Socks

Last night at the North Beach Lectura Dantis (a fun bunch of folks you should really visit at least once if you are in the area), we were discussing Peter's examination of Faith in Canto XXIV and the subject of Peter's denial of Christ came up. So we looked at scripture and read the passage where each of Peter's three denials (before the crucifixion) was answered by an affirmation of faith and Jesus' corresponding commission, post Resurrection.

So, this was on my mind as I put my socks on this morning to find that, for the second day in a row the socks I chose had annoying holes in them. As I was making my espresso I was thinking that, as far as minor peeves go, holes in my socks rank right up there, especially when my big toe finds its way to the fresh air.

But, just as each of Peter's denials was answered, I realized that, as far as minor joys go, there is nothing quite as satisfying as taking a pair of socks off and throwing it directly in the trash. It is sort of a foretaste of the day when we will finally have fully disposible clothes, thus negating the need for laundry altogether (just kidding. Unless you have an inkling to write to me whining about landfills and the "throwaway mentality" in which case I advocate the direct transfer of raw resources to the dump, you filthy hippies!).

So here we have the perfect minor annoyance of holes in the socks met by the perfect minor joy of removing an article of clothing to throw it away, without the prospect of EVER having to wash it again.

Silly analogy, perhaps, but it is the sort of thing that goes through my mind as I struggle to focus on making my morning espresso.

That's another thing. When I make my morning espresso it has been nearly eight hours since my last espresso. How can I possibly be expected to pull of a complex task like that when it has been so long since my last one?!?

You want to know something even more mysterious?

My first espresso pull of the day is generally pretty good, too.

Go figure.

Come back often for more inane observations of daily life!

Viva La Oildale!

I was reminded, thanks to an anonymous comment posted on last year's birthday announcement of the matter, that Merle Haggard is 68. Happy Birthday to one of California's finest musicians! If you are ever in the area, be sure to take a spin through Oildale, just to say you did it, and to tip your hat to Merle and Buck.

Pope John Paul II

I really don't have anything to say about the Holy Father that has not already been said.

I will miss him, certainly. I have to remember far back to dim memories of a world without Pope John Paul II. Nearly three years ago we had went to an audience in Rome. He had been going through one of those periods of particularly bad health that he has suffered from in the past few years, and we didn't really expect him to make it through that year (certainly not having to endure the Roman heat in all those audiences).

Even in his poor health he was electrifying. He preached in several languages (which was good, as it was getting hard to understand him, so hearing the homily in Italian, Spanish, and German was quite useful) and seemed to actually enjoy being there. We found it quite touching to see the line of newlyweds in their wedding finery approach for special blessings.

I have always enjoyed reading his encyclicals, and his "Letter to Artists" has provided me with considerable food for thought.

We have lost one of the greatest Popes of all time, and we should count it as a great blessing to have been alive during his pontificate.

However, I am confident that the next Pope will be fine. I am not going to speculate as to who it is going to be (and to tell the truth I am more curious as to which name he will take), because it will probably be someone we know next to nothing about anyway. Perhaps it will be an African cardinal, perhaps a Latin American.

Yes, I really would like to see it go back to an Italian, but being Bishop of Rome makes anyone Italian. Even if he is Polish, or Armenian, or Nigerian. To be Pope is to be the Top Wop, even if one was originally born Chinese or Sicilian.

Top Wop. They ought to add that to the official titles:

Vicar of Christ. Bishop of Rome. Servant of the Servants of God. Top Wop.

Mussolini wanted to be Top Wop, but even with the Lateran Treaty (a fine treaty, by the way), it was always a fiction. Our Capo di tutti Capi is the Papa.

Meanwhile, as a matter of Blog Policy, I will tolerate sedevacantists in my comments box until the white smoke appears over the Vatican, so long as they recognize that the seat has only been vacant since today.

So, farewell, Pope John Paul. You were one fine Pope!

Oh Great...

Another whacko search engine request:

This current wannabe Borgia has asked for "cyanide recipes."

Wannabe Borgia. That is a phrase I have not heard before.

Speaking of great phrases, I have a NEW personal motto:

Let Me Crazy!

It comes from the poster for tapioca ball shakes in Chinatown. I think they wanted to say "Go Crazy!" but did not quite get the idiom. Anyway, it is what I want on my tombstone:

Erik Keilholtz
Let Me Crazy!