Naw. Never mind.

I was thinking about the German character, and had an idea for a post.

Scotch that one.

I am not all that interested in the German character, really. I know several, of course, but to have to think about the mirk that is the German mind, well, it is all too much.

What is funny, though, is that the thing that triggered the thought was listening to Edvard Grieg, who is one of our far northern cousins. Not really a German, but not really not a German.

German music? Love it.
German art? For the most part, yes.
German literature? In small doses.
German politics? Ach! Nein!
German language? Well, it is fun. Small doses.
German fascination with bowl movements? The less said the better. Scheissaffe!
German food? Now, we are getting somewhere. Tonight we had Bratwurst and Sauerkraut. Have I written about Rouladen? I should. I should. I should.
German photography? pre-war, yes. Contemporary? Spare me.
German film? Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes.
German wine and German song? Naturlich!
German women? Did I mention how pleased and, yet at the same time, saddened I was to learn that Melanie had a little German ancestry mixed in with her Irish side? Fortunately her features are purely Lusitantian of the Azoran bent. We Krauts are a strange looking people, when you think about it. Of course the rest of you would kill to have eyes like mine.

So that is about it for the dear Vaterland and its Volk tonight.

People really should never live North of the Alps. It is a land of wolves and barbarians.

Now, if you excuse me, I have some jodling to do.

I hate this kind of headline writing

"Vic, Ruth: Here's the latest 411 on red meat in 94596"

oooh, how clever! The latest 411! Using a zip code to identify a region! How hip.

The surefire way to sink a declining readership is to indulge in trite hipness. It is rather, well,....liturgical dancingesque.

Ender's Game

Over the last two nights I read Orson Scott Card's Ender's Game. I am not normally a fan of science fiction, but once in awhile something comes along with the right recommendation that I will pick it up and read it, as did this book. I also came to it knowing full well that Orson Scott Card is a member of a demon cult, and that he is a smart fellow, one who would probably try to insert demon cult stuff into his book.

He doesn't, for the most part (there are a couple of things that look Deseretean, but he keeps pretty clean of Smithite/Youngite nonsense here), and the book is worth reading, although there is something just a little syrupy about parts of it, and the ending just plunges into it.

Overall, however, I would recommend this for a last summer read. It is not a great book, but it is a good story, well told.

French Symbolists, Roasting Pork, A Good Pinot Noir, A Bite in the Air....it must be.....ah! yes! autumn!

With the tertiary colors favored by the French Symbolists, not to mention the inherent autumnal notion of decadence in their work, it is probably natural to speak of them at the beginning of autumn. Perhaps the rescheduling (it was originally to be July or something), was a bit of Divine Providence (now, if only He would help us with the advertising!).

I love autumn. I like to cook in the autumn. I like to roast pork and saute wild mushrooms and short braise lacinato and bake focaccia and listen to John Coltrane (middle period - the modal stuff like Crescent or the duets with Johnny Hartman) and feel the bite of the evening air. Soon the fall-blooming osmanthus will make that evening air almost intoxicating, especially when tinged with the perfume of fire and rotten leaves. I can start to think of eating polenta without first grilling it in the autumn. The season for heavy cabernet sauvignons is just starting, and I can still get a good tomato (but the writing is on the wall there. We are nearing the end of that). A cigar on the porch with a Scotch. It is time to read denser stuff, too: I am always in the mood to wrestle with Eliot and Pound and Homer in the autumn.

My studio is finally coming into a form that I can see hope in. It is far from ready for work, but I can actually imagine the work space, and have some idea of where everything will go (and some of it has actually started to go where it needs to!). This means that the other website will finally go live, preferably with some new paintings to kick it off with a bang (it has been way too long since a brush of mine, loaded with oil and pigment, touched canvas).

Summer, for me, is hit and miss. If I get it off to a good start, it can be amazingly productive. But, you see, there is this thing called spring, which is a ghastly season for my productivity. Everything is in bloom. Life and excitement are bursting out all over, or however the song goes. The world doesn't really seem to need MY creative energies: look at it. I get very energized by the spring, but rarely do I do my best work in the spring.

Winter is like summer. If it gets off to a good start, with a particularly vigorous autumn, then I will will have a good, productive winter. Winter is a good season for wood working projects, since the trees all look like wood anyway.

So, if you missed the lecture last night, and most of you did, fear not. We are thinking about creating a St. Anthony of Padua Institute art series for television/video. This one will certainly be part of it. And with that, it is time to call the pupil back from recess!

A Few Things

1. Dawn Eden is a really good speaker, and her book, which I have not yet read, sounds interesting. Her talk at UC Berkeley was quite good, and I hope she is still doing the lecture circuit when Amalia is older and needs to hear some of these things from someone who is not a (yawn) parent (especially when the (yawn) parent is a fascist, and when Amalia calls her father a fascist, you know she is not just whistling Dixie). She is also a really personable sort: easy to get along with, smart, etc.

Which reminds me: where is her blog on my sidebar? Will have to fix that right away.

2. The nineteenth century was a confused mess, but it was a confused mess that we are still living in, and it was a confused mess that produced some great artwork. The French are a confused mess, yet they are are a confused mess that still influences us, and that produced some great artwork. Want to know more? I knew you did:

Erik Keilholtz (your humble blogduce) will be speaking TONITE! TONITE! TONITE! at St. Margaret Mary's in Oakland at 7:30pm on French Symbolism and Neo-Byzantine expressions in nineteenth century art. I hear that there are refreshments, but probably not the sort of refreshments that I will be looking for after the talk. If there are others who will be looking for those sorts of refreshments after the talk, I know of a couple of very good establishments in Oakland that serve the purpose well. Of course perhaps after a talk on this French stuff, my usual post-talk beverages, which come from those islands, those islands, those miserable islands, are not appropriate. Perhaps I will have to sip cognac or chartreuse or (preferably) absinthe. Must I also pick up a package of Gauloises? Now, where is the beret?

Yes, you guessed it. 3:30. Up at 8. Fueled by espresso, adrenaline, and delirium.

3. This storm system is from Canada. I say we launch a retaliatory expedition and seize their timber and oil reserves. Meanwhile, I have a stack of mdf boards that will come together into a cabinet someday. However, in the meanwhile they are in one 230 lb. box, right in the line of the probable flood path in my studio. The door to my studio is blocked by a fallen tree branch (the rain was introduced by ferocious gusts of wind). I still have images to scan for the talk. It is a school day, and Amalia needs her lessons.

Espresso. Adrenaline. Dementia.

Talk to you later. Pray for me!

We're back (almost)

We are in Redding, en route to Vallejo. When I came on to check the blog, there were about 1300 spam comments. So much for disabling comments. I am not going to change anything until I get back tomorrow, but I have a favor to ask:

If you could attempt to post a comment on this post, I would appreciate it. Then I will see if any legitimate comments are getting through. Then, if your comment does not show up tomorrow night, when I will be changing the settings, then let me know by way of a comment on Wednesday.

This spam thing is driving me batty.

Away for a few days

We are going camping for a few days. I have turned off comments, to avoid the thousands of spam comments that would otherwise await me.

Have a good week. I will be back Sunday or Monday.

The Mixer...

Gregg mentions my fixing of the mixer.

I was able to extract the broken gear (a nylon worm gear that had become worn down to sort of a nylon putty), to replace it, pack the gears with grease and to get the whole gear assembly back together. Yippeeee!

However, in my fiddling, I managed to disconnect something from the motor, because when I went to test it, I got a dead zero. Nada.

Which is not really all that bad, because it means that the highest probability is that one wire got knocked off a terminal or I forgot to reground it or something easy to fix like that. However, cracking the thing open, keeping track of all the screws, taking apart the gears, finding the wire, putting the gears back together, etc., is going to take a good couple of hours. Grrrrr.

That, of course, is why God invented beer.

Melanie walked in the room and asked, "what are you doing?"

"Oh, just some blogging," I replied.

"It's not one of those 'I have nothing to blog about ones, is it? Those are the worst kind of blogs.'"

I will not comment on the weather. I will not comment on the weather....

I might not comment on the weather, but I am just about at the point of posting other such mind-numbing mundana, just to let the world know that I am still here.

Of course, without good content, does it matter?

Will there ever be good content here?

Has there ever been good content here?

Pro'ly not, but some folks keep coming back for more. Gluttons for punishment.

I am not even going to say "oh, check by tonight, cause that's when the good stuff gets posted," because who knows? Perhaps. Probably not. I don't know. This weekend might be a tough one. I have to finish compiling the database of my paintings by Sunday, and there are already demands on my time. Perfectly good demands, and not altogether uninteresting, but that is how it goes. The good ones are the worst ones, because I have even less incentive to wiggle out of them.

No luck in finding a good arachnid book, by the way. The hunt continues.

Speaking of hunting, recess is over, and Amalia and I are going to check out an area with ample wasps' nests (with bug vacuum and first aid kit). Wish us luck!

Chupacabra?

For those of you into cryptozoology, treat this article as an early Christmas present.

The Studio!

Today (Monday) work began in earnest on getting the studio up and running. It is a big task and will take much longer than I originally thought (although I knew that already, which is why it has taken me so long to start), but at least things are moving forward. As to the kitchen...well, it is unfortunately pretty functional as is. This means that the many nuisances can be tolerated, making this a back-burner project.

But that is why the blogging was sparse Monday. It should pick up later in the week, as there are things that must be discussed (Borat for one thing, which I finally got around to seeing Sunday night, and recipes, finally).

For those of you in the Bay Area, please note that I will be giving my second lecture in the three part 19th century art and Catholic thought series on September 20 (or is it the 19th - whichever is Thursday) at 7:30pm at St. Margaret Mary's in Oakland. This one will be on French Symbolists and neo-Byzantinism. Cocktails to follow at a local watering hole, perhaps? The real information can be found on the St. Anthony of Padua Institute website (see the sidebar).

There's no Anti-Biker like an Ex-Biker

Now, we all know that the most obnoxious anti-smoking neo-Puritans are the former smokers. What motivates their nastiness? Deep down missing something and knowing that they have to do without because they could not moderate? The intensity of a recent convert? Who knows?

I am an ex-bicyclist. I used to wear improbable outfits and little caps with the bills turned up and would find nothing better than to come up really close to a slower biker on the American River Bike Path and pass within an inch of disaster while uttering a curt "on your left."

Yes, you see, driving a BMW doesn't make the jerk. The jerk gravitates towards the superior technology of the BMW. And as jerks grow up, they should trade in the sleek French racing bike for a German car. Bicycling is a childish matter.

But the inner jerk remains.

Q: What is the difference between a porcupine and a BMW?
A: The porcupine has pricks on the outside.

Har har har.

So, now that I am an ex-bicyclist who drives an over-powered German car, and looks at two wheelers as irritating cretins who get in the way of true progress and don't obey the traffic laws even as they demand all the rights of automobiles (yes, how do I know they do this? never you mind)... I have to say that seeing this video perhaps doesn't inspire Schadenfreude exactly, but... well, something along those lines:

What is that in the air? Autumn?

For the second time this week I got the distinct feeling of autumn in the air. Today it was while walking up the porch stairs after taking out the trash. The wind, the wind's direction, the temperature, humidity and air pressure, they all said "autumn". Some of the leaves in the area are starting to turn from the deep green of late summer to the gold and red and orange of autumn.

I love the early autumn, because I have the best tomatoes, the best figs, the first of the winter squashes, and the weather is just getting cold enough to really make me want to drink rich, heavy, tannic wines, like a good cabernet sauvignon, and to eat big roasted chunks of pig or even, as the weather gets colder, braised beef.

The Internal Combustion Engine...The Automobile...The Volkswagen (different class than "Automobile")...The Rocket...The Jet....Bach....Mozart...Haydn....The Speed of Light

Eventually you all are going to have to recognize that, yes, we may be bastards, but we are smart bastards. Even the Poles, who have very good reason to look at us with a measure of suspicion, recognize that we are smart.

Now, I am not expecting you to all break into a round of the Deutschlandlied, just yet, but, c'mon... we just broke the speed of light.

The laws of physics are no limit to the German spirit!
(yeah, yeah, the German spirit is the major obstacle to the German spirit...I suppose God gave us our personalities as a natural handicap to make up for everything else, but between pleasant personalities on the one side and eyes of sapphire and a nearly uncontrolable urge to take over the world on the other...hmmm.).

A Redneck's Last Words....

Or file this under "you can take the boy out of the Central Valley, but you can't take the Central Valley out of the boy."

Anyway, a redneck's last words?

"Hey, watch this!"

Tomorrow I take a new step. I venture into unknown lands. I have done this sort of thing before, and it has been with mostly good results, but the ante has been upped. The stakes are higher. The horsepower is, well, actually measured in horsepower.

The stand mixer needs servicing, and the nearest shop is in Santa Rosa.

"Shucks!" thinks I, "it's just an electric motor and some sort of belt drive."

I have gotten very good as espresso machine repair and improvement. I can take apart and reassemble a fishing reel. OK, there is that automatic winding fly reel, but I will swear up and down that it is defective design. Why not have a crank anyway? Stupid design. It never worked very well, although it never malfunctioned enough to be considered "defective" and worthy of being returned to the rod and gun shop.

Of course, I risk a lot more by cracking open the expensive, professional stand mixer, but it died during a giant batch of heavy almond cake batter, leaving us scrambling as to what to do to make sixteen pounds of buttercream frosting. It's not just a broken kitchen gadget, it is a vendetta. There is a bad belt in there, and I am going to tear it out and show it how to transfer kinetic energy from one wheel to another. Or replace it.

Ah, now to find a source for mixer parts...

The fun never ends. If I am feeling motivated I will take pictures.

Cooking is Good...

Bookkeeping, on the other hand...

Although it is not really awful, just dull, and gives me a headache, since I am convinced that I am about to transpose numbers or create some other error.

But the worst, is estimating.

No. It is kind of fun to do.

The worst is comparing the estimated costs and hours to the actual costs and hours and realizing that, on an hourly basis, my kitchen grunts are making more than I do. I used to think that it was a grand gesture when an employer retired, giving the business to the employees. I now realize that it is nothing more than a parting act of vengeance.

Anyway, I can't really complain, since the nature of estimating is that one gets better at it (unless one is a bit slow), and we can also expect improvements in our processes and systems which will help us hit lower numbers. And, meanwhile, the whole thing is pretty fun and exciting, even the feeling of impending doom when your stand mixer dies on you while you are making a batch of wedding cake batter, and the sixteen pounds of buttercream that need to appear in the next twelve hours suddenly seems like a totally different task than what you had planned on (yes, this happened).

Anyway, that was my whine for the day. Now back to bookkeeping (and trying to keep Amalia on task in her room cleaning).

Back at the Computer!

Actually, I was at the computer a lot these last couple of days, as the computer is my command center. I even, at one point, had the thing on a shopping cart because I had not been near a printer since the last modifications of the shopping list were made. Egads.

It was a success and a disaster. A beautiful disaster. The human body was not meant to endure that sort of thing. Melanie was on the crew for one and a half of the days.

"My work is a lot easier than yours," quoth she.

She is right. Cooking professionally is for the birds, but, mamma mia, those birds are well fed! And if they didn't cook they would probably be felonious birds.

Felonious Bird. Well, yes. Architect of beebop. Nevermind...

Anyway, the gig went well. Probably since our big day of cooking was the feast of the patron of cooks.

So, now blogging will go back to its usual rhythm, which is, as you are painfully aware, rather arhythmic.

Cooking Has Begun.

As you can imagine, the next couple of days will be pretty hectic.

I had some food musings to write about, but opted instead for a few short stories (reading, that is, not writing 'em) from the 1995 edition of The Best Short Stories from the South. Sitting on the front porch on our new rattan chairs, sipping a Scotch and reading Southern fiction must be one of the high points of those great minor pleasures we can enjoy here and there.

Also, we are unveiling our catering company's website this weekend. I need to write some more text for it and to email some pictures to the webmistress.

Perhaps tomorrow I will feel like writing about the smell of sauteing mushrooms, or the joy of buying a whole case of Sadie Farm dry-farmed tomatoes (which might well be the best tomatoes in the world). Or I might read another 60 pages of Southern fiction, sipping at a Scotch and feeling the breeze on the bottoms of my bare feet. We'll see.

Happy Feast of St. Dominic

Go out and feed your inner greyhound.

Meanwhile, I am in the state of having made my timeline and finding that it looks too easy, which means that I have undoubtedly forgotten something crucial.

But, thanks to modern technology...and BLEACH!...my whites are dazzling. When I walk into the room, I will project the perfect image of cleanliness. The microbes will be afraid to come near anything I cook. They won't even want to be in the same room as me.

Don't do that in here! I run a clean kitchen. What do you think this is, an operating room?

There is something awfully nice about having your whites slightly blinding. It won't last all that long, but it is one of those great anticipatory moments, sort of like the parade at the start of the bullfight. You don't know if the bulls will be good, or if the matador y su cuadrilla is going to be up to the challenge, but the potential is there.

Baseball needs something like this. The first pitch and that silly flag squawking are lame compared to the opening of the bullfight. The umps should come in on horseback, make a ceremonial tour of the ballpark, as the players, managers, groundskeepers and bat boys march in in stately procession, salute the representative of the Commissioner, and then procede to their respective dugouts, as the organ plays "La Virgen de la Macarena."

Hey, now. That's an idea. When the cooking gig is over, I think I am going to arrange "La Virgen de la Macarena" for organ. I am sure the neighbors will love that, especially when played at full volume, fueled by half a bottle of tequila and punctuated by cries of "Ole!" and demonstrations of toreo al salon on the front yard at 2am.

Although it seems odd to still call it toreo al salon when it is done outdoors, although who has a large enough salon to wield a cape and shadowbox with imaginary miuras? Come to think of it, I have only seen toreo al salon done outdoors.

Transfiguration and The Bomb

Don Jim has a good post up on the Transfiguration and the moral teaching of the Church on the atom bomb. Of course, he is right, and even I have to admit that the indiscriminate bombing of London by the Luftwaffe was probably morally wrong. The Church doesn't mention the English by name, though...

Oh Sweet Caffeine

Yet another of the many benefits of coffee (although if you read, it is the caffeine that does the trick) can be found in this article, especially for the women.

Coffee is really one of the most wonderful things in the world, especially when brewed into a good espresso ristretto.

One of the signs of the greatness of Bach is that he wrote a Coffee Cantata (not to mention setting "The Edifying Thoughts of a Tobacco Smoker" to music).

Bach. The Osmonds.
Bach. The Osmonds.
Bach. The Osmonds.

Luther may have gotten some things wrong on the Sacraments, on the nature of the Church, on Scripture, and so forth, but he did not create a false religion that produced crap like the music of the Osmonds. Gotta hand it to him.

And, yes, if you want to take this as an invitation to point out cheesy Lutheran musicians, go ahead, but be charitable. Lutherans tend to be very nice people.

So do Mormons, but there is something creepy (well many things, starting with Joseph Smith) about the whole LDS business. And don't get me started on the L.Ronists, Falun Gong, and the rest of their ilk.

Calm Before the Storm

I have a big cooking gig this coming weekend. By Friday, I will be a basket case, stressed out, exhausted, ready for the rush of Saturday. Right now is just the feeling of impending doom, which is normal. Tomorrow I make the production timeline, teleconference with my co-chef, test a recipe, etc. The fun begins. I am slightly relaxed, knowing the once that timeline is written, all will go well, as it always does. But until I have that timeline with every dish charted, I feel like I am a sitting duck on the Gulf Coast awaiting the hurricane.

Blogging might be sparse, or it might be heavy, as it can be a good way to think about something, anything else, but it will certainly be a little odd. That much I can guarantee.

So, if you are not in the mood for odd posts, stay clear for a week. Although, odd posts are pretty much what I have been giving you recently (yeah yeah, recently?), so you know what is in store.

We are settling into our new location. It is good. The weather is good, the neighbors great, the food scene, well, crap, but we are not far away from good eats, and since we aren't going out for great meals all that often these days, I can't say that I am missing anything from being out here (and when things settle down, we are frightfully close to the Napa Valley).

Appropriately enough, the feast of St. Lawrence is coming up. As you all know, St. Larry is the patron of cooks. I think I will be praying for his intercession frequently in the coming week.

I have been doing these cooking gigs to get it out of my system, which is sort of like doing dope to end the urges to do dope. It feeds itself. I find myself planning the next event as soon as the last dish is cleaned from the current event. To think that this is all part of my mad scheme to avoid opening up a restaurant. I think I will call it Pizzeria Mazentio. Har har har. Yes, the first record of pizza that I know of is in the Aeneid (the Trojans are told that they will be so hungry that they will eat their tables - in Italy they are served a peculiar dish that uses a flat bread as the table for the meat and vegetables, which they eat). Mazentius is a bastard, but I cannot help but think that his name sounds like a good name for a restaurant. It is one of those names that sounds good even in the thing it stands for stinks. Listeria is another one. It sounds like a fragrant flower. It could make a great bouquet with Chlamydia, which is also an entirely too lovely name for what it is.

Plumbago, which is a lovely flower, on the other hand, sounds like a disease. Perhaps they could exchange, sort of like a spy exchange. Two cars approach each other in a remote parking garage. They flash their lights. Agents of each side step out of the car and check the surroundings. Plumbago and chlamydia switch names. Everyone goes home and it all appears in a Freedom of Information Act file sometime in fifty years when the whole thing is declassified.

I need to get some sleep.

Just a Reminder

I just want to remind my readers to check out Don's fantastic photographs. In the process of the move, I have been spending far less time on the computer (a good thing, and a bad thing), and got out of the habit of checking some of my favorite blogs every day. In doing so, I missed out on some great photos. Check him out, if you have not done so yet.

Hats off to the Kraut Protties...

I am glad that there are some people who see Scientology for the demon cult that it is. However, I only partly agree with the Kraut in this. Goebbels was a lot smarter than Tom Cruise. And, when it comes to demon cults, I have to say Nazism is a lot more attractive than Scientology, in the sort of "which is better, a plate full of poop or a plate full of boogers" way. Hitler was certainly more interesting than L. Ron.

"But wait!" cries the indignant, who cannot understand saying the slightest bad thing about any one religion, so long as someone out there sincerely believes in it, "what about the death camps?"

My answer: if Scientology ever had policing powers anywhere, the deathcamps would appear like mushrooms after a rainstorm.

I always salute the government of Bavaria for banning that cheeseball psychotic Chick Corea from performing there. Before he got into the cult of L. Ron, he showed some promise as a pianist. Now, however, it is nothing but his crappy Dianetics jazz. Scientology ruined him creatively.

Yet another silly thing for handwringing...

Look, astronauts don't really have all that much to do during liftoff, besides just lying around. It is not like they are piloting the thing.

So, I don't give two bits if they have one or four martinis before launch. I don't blame them if they do. They are being strapped to a giant bottle rocket and launched into space by an agency plagued by colossal ineptitude. I would have to have a few before going on a NASA mission. I would probably need about six to agree to go in the first place.

"Yeah, I'll go to space. You guys are great. Just great. Remind me to write to my Congressbeast to tell them what a wonderful bunch of guys you are. NASA is going to end war and poverty."

Right.

So, a twelve hour bottle to throttle rule?

Per che?

Twelve hours of teetotalling to keep some silly Suthrun Congressional type happy? And then to have one of them have the nerve to talk about not having the right stuff?

I don't think any astronaut (besides a senile John Glenn, perhaps, although for all I know the laws were already in place before he was elected), ever had anything to do with drafting any Federal (!) dogfighting legistlation. And John Glenn would have been the sort of wiener who would have gone into space stone sober.

Sun and a light breeze... I should go roast a pig.

This weekend we were in Redding, where it gets notoriously hot. In fact, my mother-in-law gave us an outdoor thermometer for our deck, and I had it sitting in the front seat of the car. It topped out, then burst.

Melanie and I have always needed to make retreats into the heat so that we felt like we actually had some summer going on. Then we could return to the foggy gloom of the East Bay and not feel cheated out of summer.

However, now that we are outside of the Ring of Pea Soup, we realized that it not the extreme heat that we missed, just the warm evenings, which we have in Vallejo.

Weather best by government test?

No, that would be Redwood City, but we have to be a close second.

Government best by weather test?

No, but I would take our government over the Berkeley City Council or the San Francisco Board of Stuporvisors any day (except in the Keilholtz Dictatorship Work Camps, where great fun will be had by all watching Kriss Worthington and Tom Ammiano chipping rock all day long. Tickets for that will probably sell out early).

Anyway, today is another perfect day, and I am not sure how many of these I can take before I have to go out and roast a large piece of pork. I would prefer to roast a whole pig, but that would generate too much food.

Speaking of animals, am I the only person in America who does not think that dogfighting is that big a deal? Dogs fight on their own, in fact, it seems to be what they do best. Why is Mr. Vick facing federal charges for dogfighting? Why are there federal laws against dogfighting? Are we going to make sure that Iraq has federal laws against dogfighting?

Why do people have dogs as pets? I can understand work dogs for this, that or the other thing (including for food and for fighting), but as an object of affection? This is part of the problem of our society. Sick. Sick. Sick.

Now, I am not in favor of dogfighting. It has no appeal to me. Unlike bullfighting, it is not an art of any sort, but a sort of atavistic type of gambling, and I am not really into gambling, although the atavistic sorts are more attractive to me than the sophisticated forms. I have never been to a dogfight, but would not automatically say "no" if I were invited. I have been to cockfights and enjoyed them tremendously, so perhaps I would like a dogfight. I certainly like dogs less than I like chickens. Chickens don't bark their heads off all night, don't howl at sirens, and don't menace children, and, if they do, aren't followed by some indignant turd of an owner who says, "oh, don't worry, little Cujo is a good chicken, in spite of the snarling, baring of teeth, etc."

So, given my experiences with dogs, the idea of a couple of the nasty beasts tearing each other up, is, well, not exactly listening to a Bach fugue, but is certainly not worthy of much handwringing. In fact, it should probably be government supported as an endangered cultural practice. Hmmm. Now there's a thought.

Something to Remember when Moving.

Add your new number to the Do Not Call Registry.

It seems worse than the old days, which may be attributed to one or both of the following:

1. I am not used to telephone solicitations and have forgotten just how frequent and obnoxious they are.

2. The few suckers who are not on the Registry are being attacked by the hungrier phone solicitors.

The funniest so far? The newspaper solicitation from the local paper's "competing" paper. The reason this is funny is that both are owned by the same company and share circulation and marketing efforts. When the person was told that we don't need both papers the person asked "why?"

"Well, is there really a point to reading the exact same stories twice? We see no point in taking two MediaNews papers."

"Oh."

And what a couple of papers they are! At least one can get through it fast.

And yes (is this becoming another of those semi-Caenish three dot columns? If so, sorry), I have fallen off the wagon and now read a daily newspaper again. Although it is only for the duration of the free trial, and only to get a handle on local politics (the mayor is a neighbor, so it is a good idea to know the local issues and personalities). If it weren't such a thin paper, it would be a fairly tedious daily task.

Ach...The Englisch

There are a few things that I have begrudgingly admired about the Englisch: smoke-filled pubs, lawyers and judges in wigs, foxhunting, hereditary House of Lords, etc.

Yet another one of these admirable things bites the dust as the Englisch are on the fast track to where their false "church" has been leading them for the past few centuries.

Perhaps a fitting Fourth of July present would be for us to invade and restore the stuff that they were the able guardians of for many years.

More Lame Excuses

I wanted to rip a new one in this idiot surgeon general, and the whole doctoring/pharmaceutical complex, but time does not allow it. We are going camping for a few days.

And then, I promise, serious excuse making will resume! I mean, serious blogging. That's the ticket.

hmmmph

Well, the Holy Father may wear white, but please note that you have never seen him with a red bandana and sash.

He might be a wonderful Pope, but he is oblivious to the importance of San Fermin. For some reason, he chooses the week of San Fermin's feast to issue a Motu Proprio. Does he make San Fermin's feast a Solemnity? Does he even move it to the universal calendar? Does he proclaim San Fermin the patron saint of bullfightin? Does he even publicly raise a glass of sangria in the saint's honor?

No. Instead we get all this stuff about the traditional mass.

NPR was in top form, with Silvia Poggioli making all sorts of goofs. For some reason Abe Foxman thinks that the Motu Proprio oppresses him. I would be happy to show him real oppression. Some elderly wop was calling yesterday "a day of mourning." Unfortunately the elderly wop is a bishop.

As you know, I am fairly cool to these various extraordinary forms of the Roman rite, but I am all in favor of them being allowed to exist. If the choice is between the music of Marty Haugen or Richard Proulx (who is really Marty Haugen in a costume - drag perhaps) and the 1962 mass, I will take the 1962 mass. If the choice is between Latin and English, I will take the 1962 mass. Fortunately we have the normative Roman Rite in Latin, so I don't have to do the indult thing.

Meanwhile, we are settling in nicely, and should be all unpacked and organized by the end of the year. I mean, month.

Sorry for the sparse blogging

Moving is a headache. But you already knew that. Blogging will hopefully resume its normal pace over the weekend.

Happy Fourth

Enjoy the fireworks, parades, barbecues, etc.

First Post from Vallejo!

We are not completely moved, but our beds are moved, so here we are.

This post, ushering in a new era (let's call it the Solano County Era of Erik's Rants and Recipes), will be brief, since I have yet to unpack the espresso machine.

San Fermin?

Now, we all know that the recent Motu Proprio wasn't the one that everyone was expecting (but I bet a few eyes brightened when they read the phrase "restored the Traditional norms..."), and the one that has been in the rumor mill for the last two years is due to come out on July 7.

July 7. Now, that date rings a bell.

Ah yesssss, San Fermin, and the running of the bulls in Pamplona.

I betcha that this Motu Proprio will put the feast of San Fermin on the Roman Calendar, thus making it a feast day for the Universal Church.

I will make the sangria, you bring the bulls.

And the Move...

The move continues. This morning has been consumed with bureaucracy (30 minutes (!) with the phone company to move my phone service, a good portion of that time dodging sales pitches, 20 minutes with the utilities, etc.), which is inevitable, even though it can be maddening. So now a little lunch break, and the driving resumes.

Doing it in one fell swoop is more stressful, but I am thinking that it is good to just get it over with at once.

The Truth is...

I don't really like New York. Well, I do, but I don't at the same time. It is complex. New York is fun. New York gets some things very right. It would even be fun to live there, provided one had the means to enjoy what it has to offer. New York is also a very bad influence on the rest of American culture at just about every level. And New York gets some things very wrong.

In a way, New York is a lot like the Bay Area.

So...

You Are 64% NYC

You are probably a real New Yorker, though there's a good chance you really live on Long Island.

Old Testament Parenting

I am in the thick of moving. So, go entertain yourself with this very funny post at Happy Catholic. I have read it before, but I still laugh out loud.

Five dogs!

People who are overly sensitive to noise should live in isolation. Ditto people who are sent into shock with the slightest whiff of fragrance or smoke or whatnot.

People with five dogs, as the bitchy neighbor who brought charges against a family whose 5 and 11 year old girls were making too much noise at the pool, should be put in isolation, preferably with sleeveless jackets.

The sound of children playing is the sound that should be heard in areas where people live.

On the Topic of Homosexual Pride...

Well, not completely, as the case I am blogging about is definitely one of heterosexual folks, but pride is certainly the issue.

Kathy Shaidle, in her huffy emotion-driven retreat from the sacraments, informs us that she is smarter than the officials of the Roman Catholic Church, whom she derides as "Eurotrash". Unfortunately she then goes on to prove that she isn't, although her regular readers have suspected this for a long time. One doesn't read Kathy Shaidle so much as to be informed, as to be amused.

It is similar to watching a dwarf bullfight: one does not go expecting great work with a bull, rather one goes looking for the grotesque. And eventually one stops going, when one realizes that the whole thing is a bit repugnant. Eventually I will probably stop reading her, as I have finally stopped reading Maureen Dowd, but I continue to be fascinated with this sort of Tory Rosie O'Donnell routine (a sort of poor man's Ann Coulter). All emotion, little thought, and funny as hell, when it doesn't seem like pissing on the front porch and expecting rewards.

More often than not I agree with Shaidle, as I often do with Coulter. She preens herself on what a good writer she is (look! she won a prize from the government, a government she claims to despise, and a government that will give her the blessing she wants for her marriage, hell, they will bless anything, men and men, dogs and cats, whatever. Why let a prior marriage get in the way?), which is unsavory to say the least, particularly when she is only slightly above average, but is generally entertaining.

However, I have a pretty strict policy: no ex-Catholics will have regular links on my blog, even semi-Catholic ones. To knowingly and willingly put yourself in an excommunicant state is even worse when you realize what it is that you are rejecting.

No, Kathy, you are not smart, not at all.

Turks!

God forbid! It turns out our ancestors were from Anatolia. Now, they left well before the Turkic people came in, so we are not really Turks, but closer to Greeks, and we already knew that. And, a little bit of irony for those of you familiar with mythologized Italian history, a rather famous city in that part of the world also sent some refugees to our fair peninsula, and the blending of their blood with Etruscan and other Italic tribes gave birth to the greatest nation on the planet so far.

Last time we were back in Tuscany I had a great time drawing the sarcophagi of the Etruscans. There were a couple that really looked like relatives. So much so, that I decided that I want to be buried in an Etruscan marble box, complete with my statue reclining on the lid, raising a toast with a rather relaxed look on my face.

Torn!

Ack! This image kills me.

On the one hand, what they are doing is something I think should be done, just that it should be done by Germans and not towelheads. In this battle, the English have to be on our side and we on theirs.

Es tut mir Leid.

England. Mohammedans.
England. Mohammedans.
England. Mohammedans.

Decisions. Decisions. Decisions.

The Move Begins!

Yesterday we got the keys and today we started, ever so slightly, to move our stuff to the new house in Vallejo.

I have done the big moving day thing before. I hate it. We have a couple of weeks to do this, and I am planning on doing one trip a day and leaving the big stuff (beds, couch, etc.) for one big day.

Will it be better or will it just prolong the misery? Ask me in July.

So far we are still very excited about the move. The house is bigger, in a better neighborhood, and it is closer to my parents' house by about forty-five minutes. Vallejo is a bit remote from a lot of the stuff we love about the Bay Area, but not as bad as it seems. We realized that a big part of the feeling of distance has to do with crossing a bridge. If we had moved out the other direction, we would probably not have thought of it as all that far.

Anyway, since this is a "low impact moving event" (ha ha hahahahahaha), blogging should continue, and I will get those photo-essays of Las Vegas posted. I promise!

I'm a Dork

So, my dinner will be ready in a few minutes, and I might forget to post something afterwards.

Why does it matter?

Because I am trying to make a cool pattern on the calendar on the blog. I have to post something today to keep the pattern.

I told you it was dorky.

Maybe something better later, maybe after midnight. Maybe not.

Pray for this Little Girl's Conversion

If this girl were to convert to the True Faith, it could drive a dagger into the heart of one of the more vicious forms of Paganism. Rather than being an ambassador for falsehood she could be a witness to Truth.

St Francis Xavier, Pray for us!

Noted Quack is still...well...a quack!

Someone asks Deepak Chopra whether or not they should listen to an astrologer. Instead of saying what any intelligent, educated MD ought to have said, which is, "no, that stuff is hogwash at best," he talks about the "right" and wrong uses of astrological nonsense.

I have always held that believers in horoscopes are among the lowest wits in the book. Their popularity (sure, plenty of people claim they are skeptics, but if such is their skepticism we are in trouble), as attested to by the frequency of still finding the things in daily newspapers, is a dim sign for our culture.

Deepak ought to be stripped of his medical license, tarred, feathered, and deported. Along with all of his Boomer following.

Happy Feast Day!

I know, it is almost the end of the feast, and, really, it belongs on Thursday anyway, but, better late than never.

Right now, we are in the midst of preparing for the Feast of St. Anthony, which is Wednesday.

In other news, Amalia had her annual dance recital this afternoon, and we were quite proud of her. She was given the front center position, and did a great job. She is probably not destined for fame as a ballerina due to her Portuguese/Teutonic build, but she was fantastic.

Part of the relocation is going to be finding a good ballet school for her. Princesses need to have a good ballet school, at least that is what ours tells us.

Things that don't bother me...

I love Jeff's list. I echo it, except that vegetarians (at least the millitant ones) and Thomas Kinkade's paintings (not the man himself, whom I have never met) do bother me.

As for Dick Cheney, there are certain aspects of his ideas that bother me, but I have a feeling I would get along with him quite well if I ever met the man.

Pesticides, too, have their place, although I think that many farmers would be in better economic situations if they minimized or eliminated their use, as there are more economical ways of pest management.

I am especially not bothered by the smell of dairy farms. To me it means that I am in close proximity to Portuguese or Italians, and that there might be a bullfight in the immediate future.

Yeah, more work. Blah blah blah.

I know, I keep saying, "oh, not tonight, dear....reader...I have work to do!"

And it is partly a lie, since, yes, I have been busy with work, but there are also those other things that eat up time: grilling and taking advantage of little moments of pleasant weather outdoors and so forth.

Tomorrow should be a little better, and I will post some photos.

Who knows, after my night time espresso, I might even find the energy to do it tonight. We'll see about that.

Meanwhile, have I ever mentioned how much I love cherries?

Amazing things. Not the Raniers, but the plump, firm, sweet and slightly tart bing.

Catering Proposal Due...Other Work Bekons

I have come back to a mountain of work, including a catering proposal that is insane, yet, so much fun. Of course with moving looming, it can all be very daunting. I still will get to that photo essay of Las Vegas.

Meanwhile, I am listening to Flaco Jimenez and a strange, yet excellent collection of Portuguese neo-folk stuff, editing some texts, and pretending that it is hot and that I am in Texas or the Central Valley or somewhere that isn't cold and windy. Bah. Bay Area weather stinks in the summer.

So, the bulk of this proposal will be done tomorrow morning, the editing will be done tonight, and I should be able to start editing photos. I took a lot, deleted half of them, and want to push the others into some sort of organized form, and then to add some text on the phenomenon of Las Vegas.

When the Cat's Away, the Mice will Play!

I am home, and, no, I did not start painting Yoda on black velvet, I do not listen to Babs Strsnd, nor to The Captain and Tenille (yuck, yuck, double yuck). I do not object to "Ebony and Ivory", however, and I do generally give Glen Gould an exemption to my vehement hatred for Bach played on the piano.

And I still maintain that Augusto Pinochet was the best thing that ever happened to Chile.

So, who led you to believe otherwise? A cell of infiltrators, headed by the lovely Melanie. Can you believe it?

Anyway, I am back, and I have plenty to write about the bizarre city that is Las Vegas. Plenty.

I also have some good photos, and will post a photolog of my trip by the weekend, if not sooner.

And the big news is that we are moving to Vallejo. An opportunity came up for a bigger house in a better neighborhood, accross the street from some friends. I have mixed feelings, as I have been in love with Oakland since the mid-1980's, but things have been a little rough between us recently.

You see, there is this matter of electing that evil twit Ron Dellums as mayor. I can forgive a lot, but voting for Dellums just shows a particular stupidity that is stuck in 1967. Somewhere in Montclair, a village has lost it's idiot. He's not my mayor. Don't blame me, I voted for De La Fuente.

There was a time when the left was a little smarter, when it could actually follow an argument, but that time is gone. It simply suffices for them to congratulate each other on how smart they are, and they get dumber and dumber. We live in an era when the difference between "it is", "I think", and "I feel" are considered insignificant, if they are seen to exist at all. The East Bay leftist is an imbecile, ready to jump on whatever cause Central Planning points to.

There is an excellent little grocery store near us that has been under attack by the union. They let their employees vote, the employees voted against the union, but the union will not let up. The other day they were picketing. I saw several people walk up, be told that "this is an anti-Union store" and turn away. Not to ask for more details, not to find out what the store's management has to say. The Left says it, I believe it, that settles it, and thank God we are not like those bigoted right wing fundamentalists who cannot think for themselves.

I have gotten to the point where I simply cannot stand liberals. Once in awhile you can find one who actually understands his position and can defend it beyond the use of misquotes and misapplied sayings (often ripped straight from bumper stickers), but these sorts are an increasingly rare breed.

"Why do you quote Chomsky on this matter? Has he studied it?"

"Noam Chomsky," she replies indignantly, "is one of the biggest geniuses in academia."

"Sure, he knows linguistics, but he is playing fast and loose with concepts in politics that he doesn't seem to fully grasp, and why are you accepting his basic philosophical premises anyway?"

-The look of an offended leftist, looking for all the world like I called her grandmother a toad.

I am sick of people who worry about their carbon footprint.

And I loathe and detest vegetarians. All of them. There was a time when I tolerated them and even numbered some of them among my friends. No more. They get stiff cordiality and a patronizing smile that says, "yes, run along, Boomer, I have friends my own age." And yet, not a one has ever caught on. Lack of animal protein turns you into a carrot. Be warned!

Speaking of Boomers, anyone who gloms on to Chinese philosophy is a fool, yoga is creepy, animals have no rights, Lenny Bruce was not that funny, the Beetles were not that talented, smoking tobacco in moderation is good, homosex is never good, marihuana makes you stupid, every last Volvo ought to be melted down, and...you people voted for Carter! Carter! Carter! For shame!

Not all Oaklanders are stupid leftist boomer clones, but that sector fo the public has gotten more and more self-satisfied. The being wrong I can live with, it's the smugness I can do without.

Sayonara, Dellums-voting twits.

And then there is the murder rate. I understand the concept that is cynically called by cops "public service killings" in which one gangster offs another, saving the public sector the hassle. But, Oakland goes beyond that.

Last week, a fellow was gunned down and killed four blocks from us. A few weeks before that, there was a SWAT action in our neighborhood. Last year, I was held up at gunpoint on my front stoop. I am more than done with this, and I am afraid that much more will turn me into a wild-eyed vigilante, heavily armed and ready to shoot anything with the wrong hairstyle or baggy pants. This, in and of itself, is probably not a bad thing. However, with Jerry Brown as AG, I wouldn't stand a chance in our justice system.

It is not that Vallejo is without problems. After all, the utterly insipid form of "music" called hy-fi was invented there. Think of hip hop uttered by kids too retarded to make up halfway clever rhymes.

And, it is Jeff Gordon's hometown.

So, no, we are not escaping into the walled security of suburbia, although the neighborhood we are moving to is much better and with a lower crime rate than what has crept into our neighborhood recently.

There are still things to love about Oakland: the parks, the waterfront, the domestic architecture.

And there is Amalia's school, which we are really happy with (and a public school to boot!). The Vallejo school district is wretched. We will probably have to figure out some way of getting an inter-district transfer (we have a couple of secret tricks in that deparment), or will have to send Amalia to Catholic school.

Whatever we do, I am sure that we will miss Crocker Highlands Elementary. Kindergarten has been a great experience for Amalia.

In other news, Melanie is singing again, which is always a good thing, and our new place will have room for a harpsichord.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

Hmmm....this might be a good new product line...

Someone came here looking for racial rants on tape.

I am sorry, but I don't have any, currently. I could make some. I have a little cassette recorder. If I am ranting about race, it is generally against the English or French, although if I am spending too much time around my own people, I have been known to rant against Germans and Italians, too.

I prefer to rant on other topics, but if the market is there, I can deliver. So, if you would like to order one, the cost is $50 for a sixty minute racial rant on tape plus shipping and handling (runs about $8), prepaid. Please specify if you want me to rant on the English, French, Germans or Italians. I can probably so a sampler, too.

However, from today's readings at Mass, I have to recognize that even the English can be saved.

Who woulda thunk?

A few things that I will never understand the appeal of...

Perhaps my readers can help me, but is it just me or is there absolutely nothing to the Dave Matthews Band? Or how about Smashing Pumpkins? Or Soundgarden? Or anything from Seattle? Tori Amos? I can understand someone saying about any one of these, "well, ok. They are not completely offensive. Kind of dull." But to be a fan of one of these? To pay money to go to a concert? I don't get it. Not one bit.

ANZAC Day

Ah yes, I let ANZAC Day pass without comment, mainly because I couldn't figure out how to say "Bah! Humbug!" in good, old fashioned German.

Who more worthress...Arec Bardwin or Richard Gere? And my acoustical attic...

OK. I shouldn't take nearly as much amusement from this story as I do. It is just that I have never liked Richard Gere as an actor, and his obnoxious politics leave me even colder.

Still, I must have sympathy for his supporters. You know how it is for us these days when we hear of a sexual scandal involving a priest and we get more details and breathe a sigh of relief and say, "at least it was with a woman?" Well, for Gere's supporters, they can at least say...never mind. Even I will not go there.

There are cheap shots and there are free shots.

Does anyone still remember that stuff? Sort of like Kemp's Lake Tahoe. You can find out little bits about the scandal with Google, but, my oh my, has it evaporated, compared to other scandals.

Anyway, since my new studio is smaller than the old studio (yet better in many ways...I keep telling myself), I have to make sure that everything has a place, and a use. Anything that doesn't, gets tossed or sold. Period. I cannot save anything that I cannot find a use for in the next year or two. And that includes the box of cassettes that has been following me around for years.

I have been wary of simply throwing away the box, since there are tons of unmarked cassettes with gems on them. I have been going through those cassettes, listening, labeling, shelving, etc.

I was mightily pleased to discover cassettes of some of my electronic compositions from many years ago, one in particular that came out of my work with Stockhausen's "Four Criteria of Electronic Music." What makes me most interested in this piece is that I am using the system I developed for the compositional structure for a series of paintings right now, yet I have not been able to find anything but the reel-to-reel master tape of the piece (and I don't have a reel-to-reel player/recorder any more). So I was overjoyed to put on this unmarked cassette to hear this piece.

Now, I was curious about two things about this piece (which I composed in 1993 or 1994):

1. Since I used just about the whole spectrum of human audible sound, would I be able to hear some of the high frequency patterns that I put in there?

2. This was a piece I wrote when I was thoroughly immersed in mid-century avant-garde music (Xennakis, Stockhausen, Boulez, Yuasa, Subotnick, Cage, etc.). While I still listen to and enjoy that music, I am not nearly as involved in it as I was then, and I wondered if I would enjoy hearing, even to be able to endure this long composition of pure electronic music.

Well, I am pleased that, yes, I can still hear even the very highest parts of the music, and that I enjoyed listening to this piece even more now than I did the last time I heard it (when it was used at a dance performance many years ago).

I also found lots and lots of concert tapes of various ensembles I have been in, and have really been enjoying listening to the Balinese gamelan that I played in (although there the ragged edges on some of the pieces annoy me now even more than they did then - although I no longer have the same pique at the musicians who were responsible for those ragged edges - I remember days when a couple of us wanted to strangle a tempo-challenged musician or two).

The worst was a live tape from a band I was in back in 1991/1992. The performance was pretty good, but I had one solo where my intonation was out to lunch. Egads.

Overheard Chez Keilholtz

NPR: blah blah blah French election. Sergoline Royale. Runoff. Blah blah blah.

Erik: Grrr. I was hoping that LePen would knock her out of the final election.

Melanie: Is that because you don't like her ideas or is it because she is a woman?

Erik: This is France we are talking about. They are all women. No, it is because she is a Socialist.

Millipedes, centipedes, and scorpions

I have a strong aversion to millipedes, centipedes, and scorpions. Very few other creepy crawlies bug me (ouch), and I have spent plenty of time playing with all sorts of insects, arachnids, and other arthropoda. But these three things are a whole other ballgame.

Ick. Too many legs, cheating by having claws AND a stinger, outlandishly long fangs, all of these put me slightly on edge.

So, keep this in mind as I tell you about going to Cal Day at UCB, and going to the Museum of Entymology, where it was definitely "Hands On Day."

You can touch all sorts of things: cockroaches, walking sticks, praying mantises, millipedes... in fact, you can even have the millipede crawl on you. It is not some little millipede, but a big, black, shiny African giant millipede. This sucker is ten inches long and is propelled by all of these creepy little legs.

"Would you like to touch the millipede?"

"And then do I get to put a scorpion on my tongue?" I thought to myself.

Amalia immediately reaches out to touch the millipede. They let it walk over her fingers. I can't let a five year old girl be more adventurous about arthropoda than I. After all, I am the one who taught her how to identify many types of insects, who helped her run her ladybird beetle farm, who constantly tells her that, no, arthrododa aren't necessarily creepy.

Aw, great. Money where the mouth is time.

No grimmacing, no hesitating. I first touch the back of the millipede. An exoskeleton is an exoskeleton. It might as well have been a cockroach. Then it is time to have it walk accross my hand.

Hmmm. Not too horrible. All those little legs are a little disconcerting, but not terrible.

So, there you have it.

Today I had a giant African millipede walk accross my hand. I certainly did not wake up this morning expecting that.

Are you Ronery?

Read this and then come back for the sing-along:

You are worthress, Arec Bardwin...

Aw, I suppose I should go easy on the head of the Film Actors' Guild.

For those of you who have not seen Team America: World Police this is not making one bit of sense to you. Go see it.

Mongolian Cryptozoology

Almas and Mongolian Death Worms are your cryptids of the day.

Alas, I think I hear a Tasmanian tiger rattling about in the studio.

After the War

We saw After the War last night. It is not really worth seeing, as the plot is fragmented and melodramatic (at the same time that it manages to be lackluster and dull - probably because the instances of melodrama are all loose threads. There really is no central plot to the thing), sort of a soap opera with post-war racial relations themes. Yawn. If you are a fanatic for local history, you should probably see it, because it covers an interesting time in San Francisco, but it is far too caught up in ithues: who is the bigger victim, the black fellow or the fellow who was in a concentration camp; is the brother who fought in the 442nd the brave one or the one who was the "No-No Boy?"; and all of these questions boil down in the final scene to "whitey is at it again."

The tragedy of urban renewal in the Fillmore certainly had racial undertones, but that was one part of a complex and diabolical zeitgeist.

But, this play wasn't really an essay on a particular time and place, nor was it a thorough evaluation of black-Japanese relations. Instead it was a story, and it is in its storytelling that it failed.

The playwright (can't remember his name), needs to remember that if you show a gun in the first Act, it had better be fired in the sedond. Not waved around (wimpy, wimpy, wimpy - is this the Liberal gunphobe way to deal with that rule?). Fired. Bang.

And the acting was quite disappointing. Three of the actors seemed to be trying to out-ham each other. ACT usually does better work than this.

My recommendation: if someone gives you a ticket, go. If you have to pay, skip it.

Baked with Lust since 1932?

Could somebody please tell me when Pride became a good thing?

The loaf of bread I bought yesterday informs me that the bakery has been "baking with pride since 1932." The homosexualists engage in "Gay Pride" parades, even though Lust is probably as much as part of the problem as Pride.

We never hear "made with Envy for 150 years." We never have to think about "Black Wrath Day."

Jim's Chocolates - Made with Gluttony for 280 years!

Yet, Pride gets, well, pride of place. Pride seems the deadliest of the sins, too. Naturally, the homosexualist movement is about lust at its core. Yet, pride is what fuels it, what transforms the "love that dares not say its name" to the "lust that simply will not shut up, even for an instant."

And while I am being offensive (which is sort of like water being wet), let me recommend Team America, World's Police. We just saw it last night, and many scenes had me in stitches. To top it off, the puppetry is exquisite, the scenery beautifully crafted, and the writing solid.

Now, be warned. This is not a movie for children or the squeamish. In fact, there are a couple of things that are offensive. And if you don't find them so, there is something wrong with you. However, in toto, this is a fantastic film that hits the nail on the head so many times (one of those songs could probably be aired with a straight face on a new country station) that it is really worth seeing. Would it be as effective if the offensive stuff weren't there? I don't think so. Part of the outrage that we should have about this war is that the aims of it seem to be exporting our pornographic culture and consumer-turbo-charged economy.

Yes, I know, if you are the type who gets all sappy over voting, then there is that, but, frankly, I don't trust Mohammedans with the vote, either here or abroad, so the Democracy! bit loses its appeal to me. Saddam was the best leader the Arab world has produced in generations (and that says much more about the Arab world than it does about the vicious Saddam).

Anyway, from either side of the political spectrum, especially the side that detests actors (who speak in the Film Actors' Guild, thus earning them the designation "F.A.G." after their names), this is a funny film.

We will resume the England v. France match later. I have used my lunchtime blogging time, and have too much to do.

I have been asked...

The question was posed to me as to whether or not I am more of a Francophobe (the nation, not the late saintly jefe of Spain) or an Anglophobe. I honestly can't say, but there are more things about French culture that I like than about the English. So, let us make a list and give points:

1. Literature. Now, the English have the depth here, but the French have some gems. From Chaucer to Shakespeare to Graham Greene, though, the English (and we are not even counting the English colonies: America, Ireland, Canada, India, etc., except for writers in those colonies who remain English subjects) are remarkable. We will have to give them 10 points here, to France's 7 (they are no slouches, either).

England 10, France 7

2. Music. Here is where the French kick some serious Anglo behind. For heavy hitters, the Angloes have Byrd, Tallis, Vaughan Williams, Britton (I am probably giving him a promotion, but there were a few great pieces), and Purcell (Handel was German, sorry boys). Many of their big names were boring, unmitigated doo doo like Holst and Elgar. We will give the English a 3. The French, on the other hand, have a musical tradition that goes back to the Leonin and has shining lights in every generation, with major dominance in the Ars Nova, the Baroque, and modern years (with remarkable contributions in Romanticism and the Renaissance). So, Leonin, Perotin, de Vitry, Machaut, Lully (OK, he probably should count as an Italian, if the English can't claim Handel), Rameau, Couperin, Marais, Saint Saens, Berlioz, Faure, Satie, Ravel, Debussy, Messaien, Henri, Schaeffer, Boulez, Risset, et al, give France a 10.

England 13, France 17

Painting. In the visual arts, we are looking at two countries with remarkable achievements, albeit both rather recent. When it comes to the 18th, 19th, and 20th centuries, both countries have long lists of great painters. Before and after those centuries, however, neither one is that great. The French have some lovely medieval painting, and the English kept good painting going longer in the twentieth century, after the French gave up (sometime around WWII), so the balance is kept. Let's give both countries a 7 and be done with it.

England 20, France 24

And that will end the first quarter of the great English-French Battle of 2007. The referee must go shower and get dressed for mass, so the second quarter, with its food, film and architecture rounds will happen this afternoon/evening.

Kurt Vonnegut and then...Don Ho?

Does anyone else see the connection, or are you all blinded by the Government Propoganda?

Anyway, Don Ho was never a favorite entertainer of mine, but I never saw him live. I heard an interview of him on NPR a few years back, and he sounded like a nice guy. I probably would have liked to see one of his shows in Hawaii.

RIP

Ah, the sweet, bucolic nature of Nature...

Elephant seals are dangerous. If you can imagine two tons of angry, territorial might, you get the idea of a bull elephant seal. They are magnificent creatures, but they easily blow away notions of nature as a gentle, restful thing. So, when you consider that they themselves are prey to the great white shark, you are confronted with a portrait of stunning viciousness, the portrait of the natural world.

Don Imus and Thenthitivity

Now, I don't know Don Imus from Adam. From what I have heard about his show, it sounds like the sort of thing that I have no interest in, therefore I have not wasted any time listening to it. It would seem, from what I have read about him, that he has made a career of being obnoxious.

What I can definitely do without is the hysterics over a comment that seems to be what one would expect when one elevates the "transgressive" and worships at the altar of shock.

One comment that "crosses the line" and he is to have his head served on a platter. Paul Robeson had a whole career of sucking up to the genocidal mass murderer Stalin, and he is revered as a hero who resisted blacklists and censorship.

The Internet and the Time Vortex

I have always known that the internet, which puts information at our fingertips, allows us to communicate at lightning speeds, etc., increases efficiency on one side of the coin, while decreasing it on the other. For instance, just about any blog owner will admit that most readers come around during normal business hours. I know that I have used the internet to put off doing unpleasant tasks (what, is that my messy studio I hear calling right now?). One day at the office I was disgusted at the low level of efficiency I was having. It was a balmy, slightly muggy day, and what was a little research into a European record distributor got a little off track, looking at photo sites of the city the distributor was in, and that reminds me of the Roman ruins in...etc. As I went downstairs to force myself from the computer, I saw the graphic designer frittering away time looking at irrelevant stuff. Downstairs, three coworkers, including the general manager, were crowded around the monitor looking at vintage guitars and mandolins on eBay. 100% worker non-productivity, and this with employees who were generally conscientious and content.

This article confirms some of what I guess is the case, but I am willing to bet that it is even worse. My guess is that all gains in efficiency from the technology have been wiped out, and the net productivity change has been negative. I can't p