tkw

for the first time ever, i bought a band's album because i liked their youtube videos.

then saw on their myspace page they disbanded four days ago...

i like the idea of B&Bs--the small-business, mom-and-pop, mi-casa-su-casa spirit of them. but i apparently like the idea of them far more than the actual them.

last month, for the weekend of my sister's wedding, we stayed at a B&B in south pasadena. our room smelled like old people, and a week after leaving, so did we, still. each morning at breakfast one of the owners made the rounds in the dining room to force upon his guests chipper chitchat and clippings from that day's paper, perhaps a reader-submitted joke or the latest droll interplay between the lockhorns. he would stand over you as you read.

one afternoon, while sitting and reading in bed, we heard a clanging beneath us, then watched a ventilation unit eject itself onto the bathroom floor, leaving a retangular hole through which a man's head subsequently appeared. "hola!"

on the upside, they did provide homemade cake in the afternoons. the best kind; un-iced and in the shape of a bundt pan. i ate several slices per day.


we just got back from a week in ireland. after a few days in dublin (at a hotel), we headed way out to the countryside for a couple nights at a B&B, a two-story home alongside a loping, single-lane mile of dirt road. the house, though not itself part of a farm, was flanked by fields and a dozen or so sheep.

that night, i commandeered the hallway computer (i didn't bring my own) so as to use the internet as a sleeping aid which i have done in the past "on occasion". after awhile, the man of the house appeared out of the darkness to deliver to me a stern lecture. and brother, you have not gotten a stern lecture until you've gotten one from an irish-catholic father-of-six with a sinister brogue. "do ya know, its thdee in the murrhnin...FDEND"

i felt some shame at being so clueless about protocol--i mean, this was dude's home. and in fact their teenaged son and daughter still lived there. on the other hand, jen and i had been asleep by nine but were woken up at midnight by some clomping around upstairs that continued well past one.

regardless, the bottom line is that sometimes, at home or on the road, i want to get up at whatever hour of the night and walk around or turn lights on or watch tv or tear open a crinkly candy wrapper or make a food run. or say goddamn motherfucker, or have a conversation with jen about poo or genitalia or the quality of lodging. B&Bs are not the ideal place for this. lying in bed, i became aware of what felt like a real foghorn of a fart perched on the edge of the precipice. but then i remembered where i was, and it took a near full revocation of my value system to keep that bubble checked. and so i pulled aside one flaccid butt cheek and let out a deflated sigh. there is nothing sadder than wasted comedy potential.


the next morning, we indulged in the 2nd B, a full irish breakfast with puddings and everything. the food was pretty good, but we had already made up our minds to pack up and leave a day early. the wife did not seem surprised by this, but nor did she seem relieved, nor happy. she bid us farewell and said she hoped we would remember our stay with fondness.

since achieving basic piano competence (let's say circa suzuki book five), my sister has asked every now and again if, when time comes, i would play at her wedding.

well, time came last week. and it, and the two weeks leading up to it, smothered me with an overreactionary amount of stress. some of it was due to my sister saying "play whatever you want, i trust your judgement" but then also responding to "do you want me to compose something" with a pregnant pause and "i guess that would be ok." and to my suggestion for processional music with "I'm curious why you chose that piece." a little was due to knowing that Matt Mahaffey, who i greatly admire, is a friend of a groom's and would be in the audience.

but mostly it was due to having to confront the fact that i am just not very good, particularly embarrassing considering how long i've been playing. sure, i'm fine when propped up by three superior musicians or noodling aimlessly in some discount beach resort cantina. and there are some aspects of piano playing that i'm good at. but playing to "the forced hush of quiet people get when they want to be entertained" drifted out of my wheelhouse long ago. the thought of blemishing my sister's wedding with jittery, fat-fingered, amateurism was crushingly depressing. (yes, everything IS all about me. fu.)


things worked out in the end. my sister came around to the satie piece. we settled on a playlist for the pre-wedding background music. (as my sister is a big fan of 80s alternapop, i played some chilled-out coffeehouse versions of everybody wants to rule the world, one thing leads to another, tenderness, somebody, 500 miles (this made me very sad, but anything for my big sis), what is love, i melt with you, black coffee in bed, and forever young. i'd prepared a version of takin the retards to the zoo ("as close to an 'our song' as there is" says sis) but ran out of time.) the "forced hush" i dreaded never materialized -- my sister's and bro-in-law's friends are too gregarious to let that happen. i met matt and his wife (who are super-nice) and scored maybe a +2 on the pudaite scale of social interaction.

and i played ok. maybe too well...now they want a recording of what i played to go with a slideshow they are putting together.

i'll post it here in 2-4 weeks.

maybe i'll record that covers album i keep talking about.


speaking of piano, a guy that did this also did this.

as part of some trip research, jen queried a popular travel forum about international attitudes towards mixed-race couples. to preempt flip dismissals, she cited her experience in barcelona (a large, modern, sophisticated city) as mostly positive but with some isolated incidents of staring and hostility.

responses were of the following flavors:

* im in a mixed race couple and we've never had problems
* im from [country we're visiting] and we dont care about such things
* the staring could have been for any number of reasons
* your an idot


as a passive observer (nfw did i get involved, are you insane?) i was overcome with mixed but strong feelings about all of this. the underlying sentiment was the simple dissonance of disagreeing with a spouse's (public) opinion. objectively, i do respect jen's viewpoint, and i don't mean like "she's wrong but i'll let it go". i mean, "i think she's wrong, but what do i know" --because my value system is as much a product of hysteria and apocrypha as anyone's. nevertheless--or maybe consequently--hearing about this internet forum dustup caused my viscera to wrench in some parts embarrassment, some parts chivalry, rage.

but there was more to it than simple disagreement and it took me a couple days to work it out.


i am a nonwhite who for most of his life has tried to not to make an issue out of race. but i will say this...one difficult thing about being a nonwhite is not so much systemic mistreatment (in this day and age) but rather just coming to terms with whether race really matters (to me), or when race really matters, or, if race really matters, what is to be done about it. the answers might very well be no, never, and nothing. but i am confident that most whites have never had to even think about it, and those that do have done so purely as a disposable intellectual exercise.

and so it was hard for me, a chinaman who has some carefully measured (albeit half-baked) thoughts on his minority status, to have his race issues co-opted by a honky. aka my wife. that she even asked that question about mixed-race-ness; that she attributed those stares to mixed-race-ness (i don't); that she felt at ease with publicly declaring this attribution; that she was unaware to what degree her opinions on race reflect upon me; that she took up a sword that i'm not even sure belongs to me; all seemed, ironically, a byproduct of white privilege.

we talked about all of this, and she understood where i was coming from. but she had some points of her own: as a white person, she's had interactions with and insight into parts of the white world that i haven't. some whites, total strangers, have thought nothing of interjecting racist remarks in casual chitchat with her, not unlike this. the way she is looked at, talked to, and treated when she is with me is different than when she is by herself or with other whites. i don't get to see any of this. so, that she has more empirical data could account for our difference in outrage.

besides, she's expected to be more protective of me than i am of myself about such things.


i was thinking more about race this morning, reading obama's speech. i am ashamed to say that until now i have been thinking of obama as black...but he is as much white as he is black. (i'm guilty of having thought the same about tiger woods, until a boondocks strip called me out on it.)

also, i found it interesting, appropo of this post, that obama co-opts his wife's black experience:

I am married to a black American who carries within her the blood of slaves and slaveowners - an inheritance we pass on to our two precious daughters.

so at least jen is in good company!

jen and i just watched the 60 minutes segment on the political prosecution of democratic governor don siegelman:

http://donsiegelman.org/pages/press_08/02_February/feb_24_08.html

...afterwards, jen clicked around on some of the links and eventually found this page:

http://www.algop.org/News/Read.aspx?ID=7222

(screenshot in case the above gets changed or taken down)

i stopped writing food reports years before the onset of (food) blogs. and a good thing, too. towards the end of my opus i felt a waxing concern that i was mostly generating future cringe-fodder at that point, and, even without the present-day ubiquity of amateur(ish) food writing, i would now rate that concern as "having merit."

mostly, though, i'd become jaded. i've gobbled at some interesting places since: alinea twice, manresa twice (more), babbo, lumiere (again), west, sasabune half dozen or so times, terra, more i'm forgetting. some were great -- alinea, as great as can be. but even if i felt like saying anything about it, what could i say than the pictures don't say better?

there was one restaurant, cyrus, about which i came close to writing a report. i took notes and computed scores. the scores were all high because the food was uniformly delicious. so good, in fact, that i ate too much of it then, overstuffed past the point of agony, sneaked off to the bathroom to puke half of it back up.

i didn't feel like writing about that, and i also didn't feel like not writing about it. so the report was shuttled.

but now i have found a reason to write a new report, and about cyrus no less: cocktails.


i've really gotten into cocktails the past year or so. i'm starting to think that drinks are really where it's at in terms of art-by-way-of-taste. the problem with food is that it is bound too tightly to the notion, the ritual, of EATING -- nourishing, sustaining, surviving. basic, lowest rung on the hierarchy of needs type of thing. i don't believe one can really be enlightened or elevated by the intake of nutrients any more than you can by expelling their byproducts.

and food requires chewing. chewing is physical work, and is therefore a distraction. imagine if the viewing of masterpieces of pencil and paint required hours-long hikes around a sterile, solemn, cavernous building until your feet were so crushingly sore, and throat so cracklingly parched, that you simply could not go on. imagine if the only way to hear music was to close your eyes, wag your bowed head, and whip your forearm this way and that with a fingersnap crack? would you do it? would you be that stupid fucking turtle-neck-wearing cracker who shows up in the front row of every single jazz show i've ever been to?

why not wine? well... it's time for me to accept that i don't like or understand, and probably won't ever like or understand, wine much more than as a layman/retard. a couple weeks ago, i poured myself a half-glass from a bottle of bandol that i'd accidentally set near a heating grate a few days prior. and i could not ascertain if the wine had gone bad or was just particularly tannic.


so, cocktails. most restaurant cocktails are complete bullshit. not that i'm not turning my nose up or my back on, say, a simple squash of lemon and a couple sloshes of brandy and triple sec. from an honest neighborhood joint like club mallard, that sidecar sets me back $4. at michael mina? $15.

cyrus is in another league. check out their cocktail list and bar guide. written by their head bartender, scott beattie, it is a passionate and encyclopedic tome on liquor. at $12 a pop, scott's drinks are a bargain. they are as good as anything i've put in my mouth -- any foie, any toro, any confit, any zagnut.

this trip was a surprise kidnapping birthday gift from jen.

i have since been fantasizing about frequent future visits.

as always, ratings are scored from -10 to +10.

note: scott beattie was off the night we went. his subs were adept and amiable.

waverly place echo            +7, the post-drink-garnish-snack +10
vodka, satsumas, candied lemon peel, kaffir lime leaf, five-spice honey

an excellent drink, a balance of tart and sweet, with some haunting and, for me, nostalgic, overtones from the five-spice.

but the real treat came at the end: using the tined, metal straw (yes, it's true, there is such a thing as a "strark") to spear and eat slices of macerated tangerines, confetti of lime leaf and lemon peel clinging to the fruit. unbelievably delicious.

gin and tonic    +6

described here. g+ts are not my drink of choice, but it is easily the best i have ever had.

time to order some food....

thai lobster                         +9
avocado, mango, hearts of palm

i'm not a lobster devotee, but this was beautiful. just a really clean preparation with a delicate tropical and acidic finish.

green garlic and potato soup                +5
buttermilk, poached egg, cheese crostini

bright from the garlic, earthy and rich from the potato and egg. not really a good pairing with the drinks, but i would definitely eat this anytime or where.

accompanied by:

pelo del perro               +10
vodka, red grapefruit, lime, agave nectar, b12, grapefruit foam
with hawaiian red salt rim and rosemary flowers

i know! that sounds like a lot of bullshit. but this was an easy +10. the grapefruit foam was a mixture of juice, syrup and coconut milk sprayed through a n2o cannister. the bite of the smoked salt cast an illusion of toasted coconut. the three little rosemary flowers floating on top -- a tiny and cute garnish? yes, belying the herbal-floral explosion when you bit down on them, a startling but pitch-perfect accent to the citrus and coconut.

i am weeping just thinking about it.

next courses:

three preparations of duck
  roasted with tamarind glaze    +5
  seared breast                  +7
  rillette with cashew crust     +1

really good duck pieces, lots of flavor, a good sear on the breast, everything cooked perfectly. the rillette was mushy, maybe a little chalky from the nuts.

pea and pancetta risotto       +8

the flavors were amazing. rich bacon and cheese, but with an intense, fresh burst of green pea and sprouts. the only minor issue i had with this dish is that i prefer my risotto less fussy, a soulful, satisfying, peasant dish.


and to drink:

frankfort manhattan         +7
with amarena cherries

i'd never had a manhattan. but behind the bar they have this magnificent glass urn filled with bourbon and a submerged, splayed nest of vanilla beans and citrus peel -- i could not resist.

in recent months, i've occasionally found myself lovelessly sipping from a coffee mug of knob creek neat, to get my buzz on, to get my self-destruction on. and this drink, the manhattan, was still very much bourbon. it was a hard drink. but the fruit and vanilla gave it a sweetness, a soft, floating glow. and ultimately a thoroughly enjoyable experience.


after all this, one more cocktail would have ruined me. i did not want a repeat performance of my last visit.

two desserts seemed like an okay idea, though.

the caramel plate
  sticky toffee and rhubarb pudding          +7
  caramel pot de creme                       +4
  baked alaska                               +10

the tropical plate
  spiced rum ice cream w/ roasted pineapple  +7
  passionfruit sorbet with coconut risotto   +9
  banana and pomegranate bavarian            +5

pudding: too sweet, but a deep flavor and chewy texture.

pot de creme: feather-light, but a little bland.

baked alaska: caramel ice cream and espresso granite with some kind of crumb base. hit all the textural and flavor contrasts perfectly, warm and cold, pillowy and crisp, creamy and bitter.

rum ice cream and pineapple: would have been a 9 or 10 had the ice cream been firmer.

sorbet and risotto: like the best possible version of the thai dessert.

bavarian: layers of excellent fruit mousse.



secret but enthusiastic advice for dudes whose common sense < heart + money: treat your special lady or special other-dude to a night or two at hotel healdsburg + dinner at the cyrus bar. or maybe once in the bar, and once in the dining room.

hh is really nice, and so is cyrus, and so is the stroll around town. go for it. (but skip dry creek kitchen.)

<dualcataction> hey
<maxXLNT21> whats up
<dualcataction> not much... 
<dualcataction> some things going on here, made me think 
back on madera... wanted to get your take on things
<maxXLNT21> what about madera
<dualcataction> you remember how most of the time we were 
friends with matt, fred, pasqual, and jerry, like as a group.  
but then sometimes you would cause a rift
<dualcataction> and either matt and fred would form a splinter 
cell, or pasqual and jerry.  and always in those pairs, right?
<maxXLNT21> right
<dualcataction> then the two groups would war for awhile, but
eventually everyone would get back together
<maxXLNT21> yeah
<dualcataction> i guess i'm wondering a few things
<dualcataction> first, what caused the rifts
<dualcataction> second, how did the group eventually get 
repaired
<dualcataction> third, why didn't both pairs just tell you to 
go fuck yourself
<maxXLNT21> dang i haven't thought about that for awhile
<maxXLNT21> the wars started because of someones lameness
<maxXLNT21> and i can't stand lameo people 
<maxXLNT21> so i would cut them off
<maxXLNT21> then they would learn to stop being lame so then 
we could be friends again
<maxXLNT21> they didnt tell me to f--- myself because without 
me they didnt have a leader
<maxXLNT21> and were just losers
<dualcataction> i see
<dualcataction> guess self awareness is still a few years off
<maxXLNT21> what do you mean
<dualcataction> nothing
<dualcataction> i was hoping maybe you realized that sometimes 
unity has its rewards
<maxXLNT21> like what
<dualcataction> like having a full crew for four square
<maxXLNT21> oh yeah thats true
<dualcataction> i forget, are you friends with any of them now
<maxXLNT21> no!!!!!  matt is a total dick!!!
<dualcataction> oh yeah!  heh, explain why, again
<maxXLNT21> i showed him how to play the piano solo from alive 
and kicking.  then he went around and told everyone that he 
learned it himself
<maxXLNT21> what a liar!!
<dualcataction> sigh
<dualcataction> yes, of course, how could i forget
<dualcataction> empires have clashed for the want of a simple 
minds transcription
<dualcataction> not to spoil it for you but in a sequel we find 
out that inside the ark of the covenant is a lead sheet for 'dont 
you forget about me'
<maxXLNT21> what is your mental problem
<dualcataction> sorry
<dualcataction> do you care that you're not friends with them any
more
<maxXLNT21> not really i have other friends now
<dualcataction> well i think this is not giving anything away 
but...three of them you basically don't see ever again.  one 
of them you don't see for ten years, but then you reconnect
<dualcataction> and he becomes a good friend for at least fifteen 
years after
<maxXLNT21> who
<dualcataction> oh, that reminds me...the other thing i thought you'd 
want to know... i went to see a howard jones show last week
<maxXLNT21> no way!!!!  where
<dualcataction> great american music hall, sf. 
<maxXLNT21> was jed there
<maxXLNT21> did he have a lot of synths
<dualcataction> jed was not there
<dualcataction> he just had one electronic keyboard, and he kept 
it on a piano patch the whole time
<maxXLNT21> what kind
<maxXLNT21> dx7?
<dualcataction> i dont know what kind
<dualcataction> dx7s are kind of outdated now, but they have retro 
appeal
<dualcataction> basically nowadays you can go to target and get a 
synthesizer with the same power as a dx7 for about $50
<maxXLNT21> whats target
<dualcataction> oh right, you dont know target.  target is a big ass 
store where you can do all your shopping and masturbating in one place
<maxXLNT21> cool
<dualcataction> anyway, howard just played the piano alongside an 
acoustic guitar
<maxXLNT21> guitar, blech
<maxXLNT21> how close were you
<dualcataction> really close
<dualcataction> was up in the balcony maybe 12 ft up, and looking 
right down on him
<maxXLNT21> whoa
<maxXLNT21> what did he play
<dualcataction> i can't remember the exact order but: pearl in the 
shell, what is love, new song, don't always look at the rain, 
equality, hide and seek, like to get to know you well, things 
can only get better, life in one day, look mama, no one is to 
blame
<dualcataction> plus a few songs from albums you haven't 
heard yet
<dualcataction> and another handful of new material
<dualcataction> he did a mashup of one song, everlasting love, 
with twist and shout
<dualcataction> that was kind of cute
<dualcataction> (a mashup is like a medley)
<maxXLNT21> what is his new stuff like
<dualcataction> kinda boring
<dualcataction> i enjoyed his old hits more
<dualcataction> i didn't want to
<dualcataction> i didn't want to be like the rest of the crowd
<dualcataction> who seemed like they were just there to like 
relive their teens or something
<dualcataction> or to see an exhibit at the smithsonian
<dualcataction> but anyway, his older songs, they just had 
more definition and tighter arrangements than the new stuff
<dualcataction> or maybe it is all about familiarity
<dualcataction> hard to separate it out
<dualcataction> he plays really well
<dualcataction> not really a jazzer, but a very solid rocker
<dualcataction> oh also i got to say hi to him after the show
<dualcataction> and shook his hand
<maxXLNT21> OH MY GOD
<dualcataction> heh
<dualcataction> we spell that 'omg' now
<maxXLNT21> omg, that is gay
<dualcataction> exactly
<maxXLNT21> is that like orchestral manuvers in the gayhole
<dualcataction> heh right
<dualcataction> by the way...you're going to miss a synthesizer
extravaganza at the grammys featuring howard jones, stevie 
wonder, thomas dolby, and herbie hancock
<dualcataction> but don't worry about it
<dualcataction> you'll get to see it in 23 years

no one should give a half a dingleberry about dr. phil or britney spears. so you don't really need to follow this link, just enjoy this quote:

Although Dr. Phil -- whose full name is Phillip McGraw -- announced Monday that he is shelving plans for a show on Spears' latest breakdown, some in the mental health community say just showing up at her hospital room last week was going too far.

"It's true people sometimes need to be placed under involuntary mental health treatment because they can't take care of themselves," veteran psychiatrist Dr. Jeffrey Sugar said of the 26-year-old Spears. "But there's a difference between being detained involuntarily for psychological treatment and being forced to endure Dr. Phil involuntarily."

(originally posted oct 31 2007)

last night, jen covertly smuggled some vhs tapes out of my parents house with the intention of transferring the sentimental ones to dvd. for stocking stuffers.

most of them were disposable--a pbs interview with bill cosby, some telecasts from golden gate fields. but one was a compilation of home movies circa 1982.

the tape opened with my first gymnastics meet (competing in class IV). the competitors queued out of the locker room, to applause, and took formation in rows on the floor exercise mat. the first few teams strutted out crisp and sharp, members sporting identical two-toned sweatsuits with diagonal stripes, one team in red and black, another in blue and gold.

then i emerge, bumbling across the floor in the dingiest, ghettoest gym pants and thing-that-is-a-leotard-except-dudes-dont-wear-leotards. it is the sorriest excuse for white clothing you ever did see. the pants are all wrinkled and bunched up in my crotch, and are so flimsy my little-boy briefs are easily visible through them. of all the things on the tape, that really brought me back, i remember feeling so low rent that day, compared to those kids with proper uniforms.

also, my hair. seeing that, i really felt some hatred for my parents for thinking it was ok to let me go around looking like that. i mean, i was never at a loss for friends, so i guess it didn't really matter. but i so did have a look that i would expect bullies to find irresistible.

apparently the memory of my shitty clothes was one of the few accurate recollections of that day. if asked, i would have said that i never scored higher than an 8.0 in a gymnastics meet, that one or any thereafter. even after watching the camera pan to the judge's scorecards, an 8.5 here, 8.7 there, i insisted to jen that my dad was confused about which judge was scoring which event.

but i was wrong, i was in fact receiving those scores, and some even higher than that. granted the judges were lenient (i'd displayed the same apathy for grace and detail that i do now), and on a relative scale i was pretty bad (my overall was 6th out of, i think, seven or eight). nonetheless i am a little shaken at how far reality deviated from the history i've apparently invented for myself.


the next segment was of me playing wizardry on the apple II while my brother observed from behind, sipping on a purple can of store-brand soda. another thing i have no recollection of. i mean, the taping. of course i remember wizardry--who could forget that! but when was my addiction to computer games ever preserved for posterity--and why? "dad, stop taping. daaad! don't start until i reboot." "you said to tape you playing wizardry, that's what i'm doing." "i know, but i need to back up my characters first!" "well, back them up then." "i knowwwww! but i want you to start when the game loads because that's when the music and cool graphics comes on! daaaad! stop. it!"


segment three is of me serenading our dog, skipper, with bach's invention #4 in d minor. somewhere around the 16th measure skipper climbs down from the chair and wanders out of frame. i stop playing, yell cut, and run out of frame after him. skipper and i reapparate, me back at the piano, the dog lying underneath. i restart the piece, this time the dog stays put and i make it all the way through. my left hand work is surprisingly controlled and bell-clear, in contrast to its current state of deterioration.

i reach the end of the piece, holding the final d-minor chord in a fermata. but then i cannot resist appending a series of bombastic V-I cadences, flourished with a hyper-theatrical trill, then turning to the camera with outstretched arms and jazz hands. "ta da!" i shout.


APPENDIX:

just to prove there was a time when i didn't suck complete ass at the piano, here are some clips from my high school senior recital.

ce qu'a vu le vent d'ouest (what the west wind saw), claude debussy. the flashiest piece.

la serenade interrompue (the interrupted serenade), c.d. jen's favorite from this set.

the tomb of melville, david diamond. my favorite piano composition of all time, though i didn't play it well for my recital. it's a hard piece to grok, both as a performer and a listener.

la cathedrale engloutie (the engulfed cathedral), c.d. my second favorite piano composition of all time.

de pas sur la neige (footsteps in the snow), c.d. beautiful, requires some patience.

les collines d'anacapri (the hills of anacapri), c.d. another flashy piece.

Poll #1115872 then and now
Open to: All, results viewable to: All

saddest thing about all this? (check all that apply)

http://www.planetdan.net/blog/2007/12/animated-friday_21.htm

[EDIT: here's another]

Poll #1110073 the overheard on bart poll
Open to: All, results viewable to: All

which is the hardest snap?

last week, jen and i went to a 100-person chinese banquet hosted by my mom's first cousin. we were assigned to a table with one couple i barely knew, and two i didn't know at all. these other couples were in their 60s or so. as such, drinking was mandatory (for me).

one of the unfamiliar couples was of mixed race; a cousin of the hostess (on the other side, so, unrelated to me) and her husband, a reserved, bespectacled black gentleman. well, reserved until after the first glass of wine. then old school held court and ran at some length what i perceived to be long-running shtick, developed over years of being married to a chinese woman from san francisco.

where was he from? southern california. yes sir, better weather, better beaches, and his people in orange county. yes, orange county! i am ULTRA conservative republican, you see, so i feel right at home in orange county. none of this berkeley this, berkeley that NONsense. psh, berkeley! everyone says berkeley leads the way. well, you tell me: what has berkeley done for this country? name one thing berkeley has done for THIS country!

tell you one thing africans and chinese got in common. they eat every part of the animal. tripe, pig feet, chicken feet. mm hm! we eat it all.

but i will say this about the chinese: they's no black o white o brown o whatever, to the chinese. to them, it's either you chinese, or you not chinese. that's it!

went to my college reunion, i go up to the desk and there's a little old white lady sitting there and she's all 'may i help you?' hm! may you help me! i say yes maam you may help me, name tag right there. she could not believe it! i think i was the first black man she ever met graduated from college!


after the banquet, jen and i walked back up grant a bit, then around the corner of washington and down to the portsmouth square parking garage. they have one of those automated cashier machines.


acm: please insert your parking ticket.

me: huh! is that a black-man voice?

jen: i believe it is a black-man voice!

acm: please insert payment.

jen: yeah, wow. i wonder if that is supposed to be for the sake of white people, to make them feel like they are being served by a black person.

me: i was thinking more like, probably blacks care more about this sort of thing than whites -- at least in this town -- so why not grease that squeaky wheel.

acm: thank you. would you like a receipt?

me: naw, dawg! we all good!

jen: omg! stop that!

http://www.iconcertcal.com/

an itunes plugin that tells you if any of the artists in your itunes library is playing in your area. good thing i found out about this today so i could learn that stephen malkmus was playing in sf two days ago. motherfucker.

jen and i went to marica last night. when i made reservations (on monday), i told the host to let chris know that i was coming. he said he would.

when we arrived, we asked the waitress to let chris know we were there. she said ok. later, when she asked for our order, i mentioned that the last time i was there, chris had told me not to order from the menu, that he would fix special things for us, did he mention anything about that? the waitress said no, should she go and ask? i said not to bother.

chris's wife came over to our table to say hi, but we saw no sign of him the whole time we were there.

so, thanks everyone! for helping me look and feel like a world-class dipshit!

earlier this month, while jen was out of town, i thought it might be fun to check out marica, the restaurant owned and chefed by my old boss, christopher cheung. (i mention chris, his eponymous restaurant, and my employment under him in this post.) it'd been seven or eight years since its opening, and i hadn't yet visited.

having squandered the evening with dawdling, by the time i arrived the kitchen was down for the night. ("also," said the bartender, "you just missed it, a bunch of models were in here, they were doing a show for some of the boutiques down the street." ouch.) but that gave me the opportunity to catch up a little with chris, let him wax rueful about bay area restauranteurism ("all of us [chefs in the east bay] cooked really good food back then, now its mostly about lighting and atmosphere") and invite jen and i to a meal ("tell me when you're coming, and don't order from the menu...let me make you dinner").


not too long before that i'd listened to a great episode of this american life called "how to talk to kids." in the third act, which is about yelling or directing anger at children, dan savage tells a story of how, as an elementary school teacher, he once bent down to the ear of an unruly student and hissed 'knock it the fuck off you little piece of shit.'

while this reprimand had the effect of the little piece of shit shutting the fuck up, dan for many years felt twinges of shame for losing emotional control and having to resort to profanity. but now, after talking with many parents and having become one himself, he's reversed his feelings -- yelling at kids, even cussing them the fuck out? perfectly ok. (one interviewee in that segment recounts an anecdote about walking home from the park behind her kids, giving them the finger the whole way back. hilarious!)


these two things coalesced to dredge up a memory from my time at christopher's. i'd been out in the dining room vacuuming the rug. the two other dishwashers, a husband and wife, were standing by the bar, talking in spanish. their conversation grew loud and animated. then shouting, and dude slapping the woman in the head.

the woman ran towards, then behind, me, putting me and my rickety vacuum cleaner between her and her husband, who was fast coming towards us. i got the fuck out of there. now unobstructed, the man pushed the woman down and slapped her a few more times before the cooks dashed out of the kitchen and broke it up.

this incident rattled me. not just because of the violence, or the threat of violence. but because in the cold light of postmortem, i saw it as a test -- of character, of grace under pressure. one that i failed. one that revealed my true cowardice.

but dan savage's story inspired a revelation, and a re-evaluation. that segment, and actually the whole TAL episode, advocated treating and talking to kids as you would adults -- but, ironically, what i took away from it is that while it may be the case that i'm a coward, i was also, at that time, a 14-year-old boy. in some ways close to adulthood, but so very far in others. and if i had a 14-year-old son and some woman pushed him into an oncoming maniac to save her own skin, i would stomp the shit out of her.


merry xmas everyone!!!

(EDIT: not just a poll, also a personality quiz)

Poll #1105369 the danish butter cookie poll
Open to: All, results viewable to: All

which danish butter cookie do you like? (choose all that apply)

( assessment )

from daniel negreanu's blog, re chip reese:

After the ceremony was finished most of the people there headed to TPC Summerlin for food and cocktails. That, and of course more stories of Chip’s amazing life. By the end of the night golf matches were being discussed, other goofy bets were made, and I couldn’t help but think that’s the way Chip would have wanted it.

"that's the way chip would have wanted it" ~= "otherwise, the terrorists have won"

...?

no surprise, i'm the only one pretentious enough to have prioritized aesthetics.

heh, i regret not guessing how others would respond. woulda been fun, and i think i would have done pretty well because most of the people who responded to the poll accomplish what they intend.

of course there is brec claiming catharsis. he must have the smallest bladder in the world!

a close friend of the family just published a novel. he's a good writer -- every month he distributes a company newsletter a la warren buffet, and like warren he talks business in a honest, folksy, shrewd, and compelling narrative. i look forward to these reports.

but reading the novel has thus far been a test of endurance. it is a romantic epic between pilots and flight attendants. strikes one through three.

i hesitate to judge too harshly, because i am a staunch advocate and supporter of amateur/novice artists and do-it-yourselfers. artistic elitism makes me fucking puke. but i cringe a little at some of the circumstances of this novel. it is self-published (bypassing the valuable editorial process). it has a price tag (not low). it is available on amazon.

what is my problem with this? i want to draw a distinction between art-as-process and art-as-product, and i want to say that the latter demands a loftier standard. but if i really feel that way, then why did i take the time to set up a website to pimp my shitty demo tape? true, i've set the price at $0; to more easily convince myself that there is no harm nor shame nor arrogance nor audacity in putting myself out there. but this is disingenuous -- is there equal merit in setting up a stand on the the corner to hand out complimentary poo burritos?


sometime last year i met up with an acquaintance for a little jam session with a relaxed show-and-tell agenda. it didn't really work for me, and i couldn't tell you why other than i couldn't get into his songs. there was nothing wrong with them, per se. i just felt like, as far as songwriting went, he didn't get "it" -- what makes a song, a song.

another friend once claimed to have made salsa exactly like chevy's. it's easy! just mix regular store salsa with chipotle chiles.

no.

is this me? i have some self-doubt and some self-awareness, and a lot of experience with the "creative process" (retch). but bottom line, am i horribly, horribly delusional about my understanding of music? do i really not get blogging/writing? am i just mixing two cans of shit together and slapping it on a tostito? what is really the difference between my demo tape and this novel?


be honest now:

Poll #1100859 blog intentions
Open to: All, results viewable to: All

what do you hope to accomplish with your blog? (choose three max)

thank you internet! have been wanting for 10 years to see videos by suddenly tammy. slightly interesting (to no one but me) that i hadn't thought to look for them until today and that one of those videos was just added just a couple days ago.

there aren't really any good piano bands right now, are there? or has there ever been one?

i'm so desperate i'm on the verge of buying some vanessa carleton.

sleater-kinney's guitarist tests out the video game 'rock band'

Rock Band: You never have to convince yourself that Ruby Tuesday is a good restaurant or that five days is an acceptable amount of time to go without a shower. Your spouse, significant other, dogs, and kids all get to come along without making anyone mad. One major drawback is that you haven't actually left your house, nor has anyone actually attended your shows. You do save on gas.

[...]

I suppose it's pointless to try to break it down in this way, into a dualistic Rock Band vs. real band. Not even the creators of Rock Band could possibly believe that playing the game is tantamount to making your own music. There is, however, a sad similarity between Rock Band and some actual bands, and that is the attempt at realness. With so much of music blurring the lines between ersatz and authenticity, at least the Rock Band game is a tribute to rock, rather than an affront. [...] These days, it might be easier to exalt the fake than to try to make sense of the genuine. But maybe by pretending to be in a band, there will be those who'll find the nerve to go beyond the game, and to take the brave leaps required to create something real.