Slave's Lament

Our friend, Ray Grist, has posted Slave's Lament to YouTube.  Edson DaSilva, Salvador DaSilva, Milciades Teixeira.  Video by Ray Grist.

The Fifth Annual Memorial Ride and Walk / Ghostbikes / Street Memorials

Did I mention that I used our new meat grinder for the first time last week?

Jah, it's true.  Made a little forcemeat of chicken and provolone and parsley and sage and hard boiled egg, then rolled that in some cutlets from Flying Pigs.  If I don't know who raised the animal or who ground it, and it ain't cured, I think I'm heading down the road of grinding it myself.

Still resisting building the bunker.

NYTimes reports terrorists in the USDA plotted to kill schoolchildren and fast food customers

Or, as the headline is written at the times, Company’s Record on Beef Treatment Questioned.

Read this damned article, would you?  Take the trimmings from CAFO raised animals, liquify them, separate their parts in a centrifuge, treat them with ammonia, flash freeze and compress it, mix it with other meat, and get the USDA lunch program people to exempt your product from testing & recalls.  Whoo hoo! 

BUT - all hail Custer & Zirnstein:

Carl S. Custer, a former U.S.D.A. microbiologist, said he and other scientists were concerned that the department had approved the treated beef for sale without obtaining independent validation of the potential safety risk. Another department microbiologist, Gerald Zirnstein, called the processed beef "pink slime" in a 2002 e-mail message to colleagues and said, “I do not consider the stuff to be ground beef, and I consider allowing it in ground beef to be a form of fraudulent labeling.”

BUT - 

School lunch officials said they ultimately agreed to use the treated meat because it shaved about 3 cents off the cost of making a pound of ground beef.“Several packers have unofficially raised concern regarding the use of the product since the perception of quality is inferior,” the 2002 memo said. “But will use product to obtain lower bid.”

Ugh.

Farm-boy Dante

Well, I feel a logo change coming on, and I see I never posted the source for Farm-boy Dante. It's this old Mobilgas ad, Some Horse - All Work and No Hay.

Inglorious batards

Really, at this point I just can't help myself.  Yesterday afternoon I thought, Gee, I haven't made any baguettes yet, and a few hours after dinner I was popping three hopeful batard candidates into the oven.  One turned out nicely, another passable, and one gaphukta.  (I folded it too many times and then it didn't want to stretch for me.)

Soo, this morning I cut the passable puppy in half and grabbed some kippers and that'll be my lunch.  Me love kippers.  Me love sardines.  Me love stinky smelly fishes and almost weep when I can lay them down on my own batard.  (Me only do this when Lota not home or me take to office.)

NYTimes reports al Qaeda backing for NY state plans to drill for natural gas within NY City watershed

Well, maybe the NY Times isn't reporting that.  Maybe I'm making it up.  But only the part about the al Qaeda backing.  While everyone is focused on Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab, let's not forget our own seemingly infinite willingness to risk each others lives right here at home for the sake of money.

David Levine

David Levine.  NPR profile / obit.  Gallery at NRB.

Remember the Bottom Line's Downtown Messiah?

Well, I do and it brings a tear to the eye.  Second best - come see David Johansen with us tonight at City Winery.

Neda Soltan is Times (of London) Person of the Year

Iranian student protester Neda Soltan is Times Person of the Year.

Krugstah: dah beeg zero

I'm sure Lota & Juju have already read it, but if you haven't, here's Krugman's arithmetic re the ending decade.  The Big Zero.  

Percy E. Sutton

Percy Sutton's name was in the air you breathed growing up in and around New York.  Extraordinary man and life.  New York Times obit.    Daily News, WashPost.

Who shot rock and roll

The show is winding into its last 4 weeks and we finally got there to see it: Who Shot Rock and Roll, and the Brooklyn Museum.  Quick like a bunny, get there if you can.  Great fun.  NYT article.

And hey, hey, hey, do yourself a favor and jump over to the David LaChapelle site and watch his video of The Vines performing Outtathaway. It was also in the show at the BM, and I watched it there three times. It was never my scene, but, really, if something doesn't stir in you while you watch it, I dunno.

Vic Chesnutt, rest in peace

Back in March I mentioned that we were lucky enough to have seem Vic Chesnutt perform Everybody Hurts at an REM / Athens tribute here in Nueva York.  And last month, on our way home from SeaTac we were on the same flight as a friend whose husband was on tour with Chesnutt, who played that weekend in Seattle.  Well, a few days ago came the sad news that Vic Chesnutt has died.  Article at Spinner.  Micahael Stipe on NPR re Chesnutt.

Yes. But...

Since Juju posted about the Time Mag Decade from Hell, I've been wanting to say, Yes, I know the world's gong to Hell in a hand-basket, but I'm still living a good life.  A blessed life.  And I've started making a list of how & why and maybe I'll post some of it.  But, for now, meaning no disrespect to others less fortunate and less happy, One, Two, Three:

Mr. Drury

This is the best book about Bigfoot I have ever read, bar none. Ever.

Bigfoot: I Not Dead, by Graham Roumieu.  I laughed, I cried, I shivered, I looked over my shoulder to make sure no one could see what I was reading.  Bubbles of snot formed and had to be whisked away.  Lori picked this up for the two of us for Christmas.  Ho boy.  (Big ups from Juju's local fishwrap - maybe he's read it?)

Right after finishing this miracle of empathetic graphigenic pornoviolent foctobiography -funny! - I tried to pick up Jonathan Nossiter's Liquid Memory.  I tried pretty hard.  Pretty sure this book is the opposite of Bigfoot: I Not Dead.  Pretty sure Bigfoot pop wine-guy head like bubblewrap.  There are no pictures!  None! Dense dense wordy wordy!  I will soldier on.

You're going down, Mr Mouse!

Tuesday I came home a little early, still light outside, and as I opened the front door I called out for Lori, as I just about always do.  I didn't expect for her to be home, and didn't hear any reply to my call, so went about my doings, putting stuff down, picking stuff up, mumbling and singing to myself.  Then, while I was standing in the doorway between the living and dining rooms, in a moment that seemed to stretch time, I saw the dark gray ass-end of an uninvited guest scootch into the gap between the pine floor and the molding of our 130 year old walls, right at the doorway to the kitchen and where the plumbing runs up from the cellar.  Without thought and, I guess pretty loudly, I shouted, You're going down, Mr Mouse!

What did you say?, called Lori from behind me.

Freeze.  Babe, I didn't know you were home.

What did you say?

Uh, when?

Just now.  What did you say?

I don't know.  I didn't realize I'd said anything.  I was mumbling to myself.  I didn't realize you were home.

That night, quietly and without familial discussion, I set out a trap.
And yesterday when I got home, Mr. Mouse had gone down.  With PB on his snout.
And when Lori got home last night, I fessed up.
And Lori said, I thought that's what you said!

At least she didn't see the little dance I did when I said it.

d a m n . . .

well, well, well,
Time Mag pretty much nails it, eh?
the Decade from Hell;
and yourstruly couldn't agree more, 'specially most of the last couple of years. Dreadful months on end, one after another. Not so sure things are going to get much better soon.

jeebus...

Anvil! The Story of Anvil

OK, yes, everyone else saw it last year.  Sweetest movie I've seen in a long time.  Friendship and obsession and aging and metal on metal.  Anvil! The Story of Anvil.  Put another dime in the jukebox, baby.

Diary most dear, 091220, parking, snow, bread

When we stowed Minki in just uphill from the hydrant outside Toto late Friday night and felt all smug about the fine squeezy little spot, the storm was not top of mind.  Little was top of mind.  Fumes were top of mind, vague and lacy, dragging over to moors... hoowwwwwll!.  And at the crack of Saturday dawn, what with the storm now seeming like it really was going to happen here, and already happening in Baltimore where we were supposed to be mid-day, and us knowing we had to be back in Nueva York on Sunday (today), we made the prudent and adult decision to stay put.  And I, Minki's handler, everlasting shame upon my head, never gave another thought to that spot until an hour ago.  Stephen King would have tuned this into The Shining. 

Now that the storm's been here, and I've shoveled out the house and shoveled a path in front of L's (formerly B's), I walked down to Minki's Snugspot.  Uh oh.  Snugspot is on the north side of an westward one-way.  Do you feel my pain?  Do you know that BKLYN plows hang right?  So our parking pride now looks like dig-out hell.  Wall-o-snow to the driver's door and a couple feet high of virgin drift stretched for 20 feet  afore the front bumper.  I put the shovel on my shoulder & walked home, all drag-assed in the mind.

Diary, did I mention that newbie-baker (moi) baked a loaf olive & walnut bread last night?  Shaped as a ciabatta.  Deeeelicious.  Maybe a little too much salt on the surface, but yummalumma.  Crust not nearly as hard as my prior ciabatta (my first) ciabatta but I'm guessing a lot has to do with all the extra moisture from the olives.  This is maybe the 4th loaf of bread I've made in 2 weeks.  I gave one (chocolate cherry - so so) and a half (twisty egg-washed white - pretty good) away.  I can neither figure out what to do with all the bread I want to make nor figure out a time to make it so that I'm not needing to start at real-baker's hours in the AM, or finishing at bed time.  It's a hard life.  Quitting work would make it easier.  Gonna have some bread and coffee right now and think it over.

I got the Diagnosis

Finally got to see a performance of Diagnosis of a Faun (I first mentioned here) and loved it.  & we hear Good Morning America is going to air a piece on the piece (or on Greg & Tamar or on Greg) on Christmas morning.  Nyawkers, try to see it.  Three shows left.  Sex & surgery & Sibelius.

Mitch Montgommery's review in Backstage says:

In Rogoff's loose narrative, two lecturing doctors outline possible treatments for their patients. One doctor, played with stammering charm by actual doctor Donald Kollisch, must operate on an injured ballet dancer (Lucie Baker), while the other (Emily Pope-Blackman) is clearly attracted to the bizarre physiology of her unusual specimen, a 5,000-year-old faun (Mozgala). In both cases the culprit is the go-to literary symbol for weakness, the Achilles tendon: The dancer's exploded ankle has robbed her of her defining characteristic, while the same malformed muscles in the faun afford him his supernatural demeanor and allure. The mission statement couldn't be clearer: Rogoff seeks to provide new context in which to consider weakness and strength.

Whereas the NYTimes reviewer (I link not), says, "There seems to be a message lurking in “Diagnosis,” though it’s not very clear what that is. We all have weaknesses?"  Sigh.  Not very friendly. 

Choose your outlook.  (First see the piece.)

like a visit from an old friend...

juju hisowndamnedself was laid up with a bit of a cold this weekend, and when we felt it coming, we dropped into our local video emporium to pick up some DVDs to watch. Lovely to come across recently released Criterion edition of Wim Wenders' marvelous film, Wings of Desire. A.O. Scott makes recent mention of the film at the NYT's Critic's Picks. Oncet upon a time juju's alter ego posted a d'monkey mention of WoD, if ye be interested look for the 6.27 link you'll find at this page...
damn, 1987?
Egads...

Double liver tonight makes up for the past

The only meat we don't regularly buy from farmers who come to our farmers' market is chicken - me wants that fresh young bird longer and deeper into the year, not just autumn roasters and winter stewers, and so we buy Murray's at a grocer or butcher.

A few months back I bought a Murray's bird, and when I went to clean it and divvy it up... whassup?  No neck or liver or heart or nuthin'!  A mix-up at the farm?  Hanky-panky at the supermarket?  I didn't cry... but close.

Late this afternoon when our weekend guests got picked up to be taken off to JFK, we decided to go shop for dinner.  Bought a Murray's bird, and as I was prepping it.  Whoa!  Mega!  Two necks, two sets of gizzards, livers, and everything!  I immediately set about doing up the livers with itty-bitty dice of red onions, then I chopped that greeny pinky brownie meat and salted it and set aside as the chef's reward.  (Lota is repulsed, but I swoon.)

Now, laddies and lassies, let me say, it was worth suffering through that dark day of cooking this late summer or early autumn, liverless, to get to this bonanza.

But just this once.  OK?

Ginger Cardamom Relapse

Xmas is almost here, and the first batch of gifts is coming together.

(I nearly called this Sister Juana's Ginger Cardamom Relapse, which I love the sound of, but... it would be wrong.  And I'm afraid Sor Juana might be capable of enacting punishment.)

Sor Juana Ines De La Cruz

Yesterday at Unnameable I picked up a copy of the poems of Sor Juana Ines De La Cruz in a a translation by Margaret Sayers Peden.  Knowing nothing about older Mexican or New Spain lit, when I read Bolaño I couldn't quite tell if the Sister was a character of Bolaño's or real.  Now I know - Bolaño is a character of the Sister's.

Emmet Otter's Jug Band Christmas Bloopers

Via Aquarium Drunkard's fine page on the same.

The letters

Yes, I spent a week in Amsterdam last month, with not a single responsibility, and never made it to the Van Gogh museum (or any other museum, for that matter, except FOAM).  But now I'm browsing the Van Gogh letters, annotated, searchable, and all that.  At the Van Gogh Museum, where I probably could have seen the darned things in the papery flesh.  Via the WSJ via Arts & Letters Daily.

Green Porno

Everyone knows about this except me, right?

Saw this ref in Brooklyn Based:

WEDNESDAY: Birds Do It, Bees Do It
Tonight, join the ever-fabulous Isabella Rossellini at Coco66 for a screening of Green Porno, a book signing, a Q&A session, and truffle popcorn. The acclaimed actress wrote and acted in this series of short films for the Sundance Channel; each segment features Ms. Rossellini in elaborate costume explaining and reenacting the sexual proclivities of creatures from snails to starfish. The event, put together by WORD, celebrates the release of the shorts on DVD, as well as an accompanying book; $25 gets you two tickets to the event and a copy of the book, and of course the aforementioned gourmet popcorn. Date night?

and of course I popped right over to Green Porno itself, where lots of episodes are on line.  Gonna watch them all.

The other white meat (with tarragon)

On pp. 94 of my copy of Beard's Delights & Prejudices:

Here one of the features is duck with tarragon which I consider superlative, being devoted as I am to that herb.  I believe if I ever had to practice cannibalism, I might manage if there were enough tarragon around!

I love the exclamation mark at the end of that last sentence. 

The other dough (D'oh!)

Homeland Security Newswire  posted an article today entitled D'oh! TSA Posts Airport Screening Procedures Online.  But that article has been, apparently, taken down.  Jeepers.

$2.69. Bread vs lots of bread

My corner grocer (which I call Tazio's, but it is not) sells very nice baguettes from Tom Cat and from Amy's for $2.69, and their 3-pack of active dry yeast for the same price.  Just saying.

A. Dobrov Dante

I feel a logo change coming on, but never did say where the current Dante header came from.  From this A. Dobrov poster.  That's where.

Diary, most dear, Dec. penta 2009

Was feeling overwhelmed by the relentless crazies of Already Dead, and rummaged about the shelves for something else.  Ahhh, James Beard's 1964 memoir, Delights & Prejudices.  Perfect.  I'll go back to Mr. Johnson when I'm a little less broken.

Hey, what's that tucked between pages 128 and 129?  A folded page of Lota's handwritten notes, planning a dinner party menu.  Looks like there were 10 of us.  One of couples on the list broke up years ago, and one the dear friends on the list passed away longer ago than that.  But that planned-for & no longer remembered (by me) night sure looked like we were bound to eat well.  Starting with an eggplant and country bread deal (this was ages before I started making my now famous-in-my-own-home caponata).  1st course was either mussels w/ginger & lemongrass or a fennel / mushroom / Parmesan salad or crab chevre ravioli.  Main course was either whole snapper w/ dill & peppercorn or grouper w/ fingerlings & morels, plus a veg and Lori's grandmother's cole slaw.  I've tucked the notes back where they were.  Check in with me after the twenty-teens, and we'll see if they are still there.

& food-wise, it's been a pretty perfect day, Diary, hasn't it?  In the morning I made the dough I prepped yesterday it into a ciabatta.  Mmmm, fresh baked salty bread for breakfast.  And because Lota is shooting this evening, I made dinner at lunch-time: chicken with ginger-scallion sauce, edamame and brown rice.  And this evening, the reverse-lay-up-lunch, more of the ciabatta with some of the cheese I brought back from Amsterdam and some left-over kielbasa from Flying Pigs.  And a generous dose of Luzon Verde.  (Mourvèdre.  I woke up early on Friday to Mourvèdre the car.  Nu?)  Have I mentioned, Diary, the Amsterdam salamis that were confiscated from me in Customs?  I was scolded.  I had put my country at risk!  Weep!

What with all the running around and worries these last weeks, I never got started on the liqueurs I was expecting to make for X-mas gifts.  Well, I started a couple this evening, an anisette and a ginger-cardamom concoction.  Double-sized batches.  Both will be ready around X-mas or New Years.  I feel like maybe I've made these just for me, rather than for giving away.  I'm awfully thirsty, Diary.  Well, invite whomever you like to come over and share them .  xoxoxo.

Diagnosis of a Faun

Lori has posted about this (and the film she is producing) at her Hard Working Movies site.  In addition to the NYTimes piece, CBS news has done a piece.  Tonight's the opening at LaMama.

From the Times article, Learning His Body, Learning to Dance:

Gregg Mozgala, a 31-year-old actor with cerebral palsy, had 12 years of physical therapy while he was growing up. But in the last eight months, a determined choreographer with an unconventional résumé has done what all those therapists could not: She has dramatically changed the way Mr. Mozgala walks.

In the process, she has changed his view of himself and of his possibilities.

Roger & Dave: A Benefit For Yoko Ono

Yes, the lads are following last year's benefit for Warren Buffet with this year's Benefit for Yoko Ono.  Beatles complete on ukulele @ the Brooklyn Bowl.  Comeoncomeonnowbabaynow.  All about it on their blog.

Government Comics Collection

Oh, my god, everything I'll ever need.  And another reason for Nebraska.  Government Comics Collection at UNL, via the Scout Report.

Everybody's talkin' at me

And in the words of the poet,

Who-o-o-a whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa...

Whoa-whoa whoa-whoa whoa-whoa-whoa...

Who-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-a...