Getting a head in the new year

Cheer up. It could be worse.

Somewhere over the rainbow

Best comments I've received for this photo were, alas, not my own.

"Please tell me you got a picture of flying monkeys."

"I bet they have great shoe-shopping there."

I am not worthy.

Somewhere in the Flint Hills

Temperatures rising

Is this any way to deliver the weather? In France, peut-être, mes amis, peut-être . . .

My favorite little Lolita of the Longitudes and Latitudes is at it again - TV5Monde presenter, Karine Arsene, giving the weather in a sparkly, black cocktail dress, of which this photo gives poor reflection.

No matter where you are on the planet, when Karine's temp-telling and cloud-busting, it's always 45 C in the shade with a 100% chance of va-va-va-voom.

Photographer: Roger Higgins, 1959. From the Library of Congress
Prints and Photographs Division. New York World-Telegram and
the Sun Newspaper Photograph Collection. Digital ID cph.3c19337.

* * *

Later that same day . . .

I was watching some cultural programming on TV5Monde this evening (really good documentaries and movies in the evening, often subtitled in English) and patting myself on le dos for being able to understand more French than I would have imagined possible a few years ago.

When all of a sudden I hear them talking about American author Truman Capote. Except that they didn't pronounce it Ca-po-te, three syllables, like we do in American English. No, instead, they kept referring to him as Truman Ca-pote, two syllables. Like "fruit compote."

Which of course he was . . .

Back in black to the cul-de-sac

The gods help me, but I have had the theme to '80s powerhouse soap Knots Landing stuck in my head for a couple of weeks now. California dreamin' or such a fugly winter's day? Mayhaps, y'all, mayhaps. The tune has been rather incessant, especially for a show that I haven't had a flashback to for a few years at least.

On Friday, oddly enough, the version featured in the opening credits above--the one with the punchy horns at the beginning--started to intermingle in my mind with "Ballroom Blitz," a power pop tune by '70s UK glam act, The Sweet.



I have no idea why, really. There's nothing about the holiday season that seems particularly sweet this year.

But come to think of it, there's plenty that seems particularly Sweet. The season does put me on edge enough that I could fantasize about colliding the two pop cultures together into one fireball of holiday doom. Imagine now: A ballroom blitz featuring the cast of Knots Landing, losing it feral-style in some sort of glamtastic, Clockwork Orange, Bob-Carol-Ted-and-Alice barbecue-cum-orgy-cum-meltdown. All in the blandly beautiful, '70s swingers cul-de-sac and split-level underworld of Caligula's (or Califigula?) worst erotic, tambourine-and-Hell's-Angels Orange County afternoon-cocktails-by-the-poolmare.

Wow. And sigh

Perchance I do need an escape. A rescue. A refuge. Or even just a vacation.

Exit stage West . . .

Word to the unwise

My word of the week: "Synapstasy" - an ecstasy of synapses firing and misfiring in a professional meeting. Lots of ideas, dreams, desires, and plans get discussed and launched. But nothing much ever comes of it. Mainly because the next synapstasy overwhelms the previous one.

So pretty much Monday through Friday for me. How about you?

Un lieu dans la campagne

Moi à la Chute Pedernales, ca. 1997

Soyez gentil, y'all. This is only my second attempt ever to write an essay en français. This one's about Fredericksburg, Texas, a favorite place of mine.

* * *

Un lieu dans la campagne que j’aime est la petite ville de Fredericksburg, dans l’état de Texas. Pendant j’habitais au Texas, je visitais souvent cette belle ville et cette région historique.

La ville n’est pas ancienne à coté des villes et des lieus de l’Europe : Des immigrés de l’Allemagne ont établis la ville pendant le moyen de la XIX siècle, bien que la région s’ait eu installée déjà par des gens indiens. 

Malheureusement, aujourd’hui il n’existe presque personne de ces gens originaux, à part des noms de lieu (que sont rares) et des reliques que on peut trouver parfois dans la campagne.  Cependant, il existe encore beaucoup de caractéristiques allemandes dans la ville. Par exemple, il y a des restaurants allemands qui servent la nourriture traditionnelle du pays. Il y a beaucoup de noms de lieu qu’on écrit en l’allemand (par exemple, « Hauptstrasse » et le « Vereins Kirche »). Il y a encore des coutumes allemandes qui sont pratiquées à Fredericksburg, inclus des fêtes, la fabrication de la bière, et de l’architecture de la ville.

Mais, cependant, Fredericksburg est une ville texane, avec une culture « cowboy » et « western. » Les rues de la ville sont très larges – parfait pour tourner une charrette et des chevaux. L’architecture inclut des motifs traditionnels de l’ouest des États Unis, par exemple, la roue de la charrette, le fer à cheval, les clôtures à bois, et les murs à calcaire. C’est la campagne du cheval, du cowboy, du ranch, et du élevage de bétail. Il y a une tradition riche de la musique « country » aussi : La région est très célèbre pour la proche village de Luckenbach et sa mode de musique, « outlaw country. » Des musiciens célèbres ont habitées dans la région, inclus Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, Jessie Coulter, et plus.

Mais il y a plus de la musique et de la nourriture à Fredericksburg; il y a aussi beaucoup de belle campagne. Fredericksburg est située dans la région appelée le « Texas Hill Country. » Par conséquence, il y a beaucoup de collines et de vues panoramiques. Il y a beaucoup d'arbres, comme le chêne, le pecan, et le peuplier qui fournissent beaucoup d’ombre quand il fait chaud et le soleil brille. Malgré le chaud, il ne fait pas trop humide. Il y a beaucoup de parcs et il n’y a trop de voiture sur les chemins. La région est presque parfaite à faire de la randonnée et à faire du velo.

Mais faites attention! Voici des animaux dangereux! J’ai vu des serpents proche des rivières et j’ai vu des tarantules et des scorpions sur la terre. Il y a des coyotes dans les champs. J’ai vu une fois un puma au parc « Enchanted Rock », mais, par bonheur, il ne m’a pas vu. Même le tatou timide et mignon est dangereux – il porte les bactéries que font la lèpre. 

Broken hipster

Or just hipster replacement?

I.e., fashionable specs on a sloughing through middle-age kind of guy.

Hey ho.

Ah, je souhaite . . .

File under "gifts from Twitter": Israeli artist Riff Cohen performing "À Paris." This is a lovely, sexy video the current host for the @MoroccoCuration account sent me, after I shared with him a favorite of mine, "Ya Salam" by Moroccan performer, Ahmed Soultan.



The Riff Cohen video reminds me of my trip to Paris this past summer. It doesn't hurt or help that I spent the morning going through photos of that trip in an effort to cobble enough together for some Christmas gifts.

Nevertheless, there are far more naked, writhing men of color in these videos than I managed to encounter en France or anywhere else in recent memory.

I really must remember to come back sluttier and less shy in my next life.

Ah, je souhaite . . .

I like big discs, I cannot lie

Record-shopping at Jerry's in Squirrel Hill always brings out the perv in me.

But then again, what doesn't?

Christmas unwrapping

I should be playing The Waitresses' "Christmas Wrapping"--one of the best modern holiday songs, I would argue. But I can't find a decent video for it, and besides, knowing what boys like is all I want for Christmas.

Sleazin' is the reason for the season.

Sucker! Ha ha.

Beet it

I can't remember who first mentioned chocolate beetroot cake to me. It was definitely someone on Twitter from South Africa, but as to who exactly, I won't reveal, in part because I can't remember. Are beets good for short-term memory? Let's hope so.

Anyway, I finally gave it a go, baking one tonight--after first roasting the beets nearly a week ago and after having roasted another batch a month or so ago but, after repeated culinary delays, eventually tossing them. I figured I didn't want both beetroot cake and salmonella.

The cake turned out pretty good, if I do say so. Chocolately and rich bit not cloying or sickening. I thought it could have been a little sweeter (I used honey and maple syrup, rather than sugar) and moister (at 40 minutes, it didn't seem done enough; at 45, mmmm, maybe a little too done?). Thus I'm going to make a glaze tomorrow, which will hopefully resolve both issues or at least hide both failings.

Truth be told, I'm not a great baker. I can generally manage cakes, but I am ashamed to admit I've never really attempted a pie, other than a Québécois tarte au sucre, which after two goes, I still can't get right. The filling never sticks--which is amazingly difficult not to do with a mixture of brown sugar and butter--and I'm too skittish to make my own crust. Resolution for a new year: Bake a damn pie already.

And maybe make more cakes. The good thing about a beetroot cake is that it gives the illusion of healthiness. I'll take what I can get at this point, but all in all, this wasn't as deadly as it might have been. Some butter, yes, but the aforementioned honey and maple syrup, a little olive oil, and no dairy. So I'll have to go screw it up with some cream cheese, Karo syrup, or a stick of butter. That's the solution! Beetroot Kiev! The perfect Russian-Ukrainian dessert.

* * *

Ah yes, the South African obsession continues, having moved on from music and history to foodways. I roasted a fairly decent chicken over Thanksgiving, stuffed with sage and onion, coated in butter and stone-ground mustard, taking the recipe from Lazy Days (or as my friend Cali put it, Boozhy Days), a cookbook by South African "lifestyles" author Phillippa Cheifitz, with which my sister gifted me after her last SA sojourn. Lazy, boozhy, lovely, snooty--whatever, it's a gorgeous book featuring some delicious food, even if there's not a chance in Good Hope I'll find a supply of snoek at Wholey's fish market in the Strip District anytime soon.

I'm even toying with the idea of trying to make koeksisters, a South African pastry that resembles twists or braids, which sounds inordinately complicated to prepare and taxing even to my level of cultural stalking.

So maybe, instead, focus on pie for the new year. Something all-American, like apple. Or cherry. Or beetroot pecan.

Y'all come back now, ya hear?

If I were a country music show, I'd be known as the Grand Ol' Ornery. I'd be broadcast 24 hours a day, 6 days a week, and twice on Sunday.