Fragile Industries

Tuesday Recipe Corner - Tuscan Relish

True provincial cooking is an exercise in economy and what's on hand.  When I was a starving student and newly married with irregular habits, dinner was largely a function of what was nearly rotten in the refrigerator, which resulted in some unusual combinations.  I learned a lot then, and was fortunate to be married to an undiscriminating eating machine.  It was sort of like provincial cooking, as close as one could come in Southern California in the 1980's.

This recipe is a good example of my favorite way to cook: all amounts are approximate, the flavor can vary according to what's good, fresh and available, and the method is instinctive.  I'm still dreaming of Tuscany, like last week.  After reading the recipes in "Under the Tuscan Sun" and several Italian regional cookbooks, I felt I had a feeling for the ingredients and techniques of central Italy.  Slow food, but simple.  Mellow, but fresh.  So I bought some roasted peppers (though you could make your own if you're ambitious), rummaged around for the rest, and made the following for an antipasto relish, similar to caponata or tapenade, but with the voluptuous taste of roasted garlic and a beautiful red color.  Spread it on crostini, over polenta, toss with pasta -- it blends beautifully with any starch, and is plenty good on the side of any roasted meat.  Adjust the flavor or seasoning to your liking, although it won't need additional salt, with the olives and capers supplying plenty.  Top with grated Parmesan-Reggiano, if you like.

• 1 full head garlic
• good quality olive oil (about 1/2 cup in all)
• 8-10 cherry tomatoes
• 1/2 large brown or yellow onion
• 2 T capers
• 6 oz (about 3/4 cup) roasted peeled red peppers (in jar is fine)
• about 15 pitted caponata olives
• 1 tablespoon fresh oregano
• 4-5 large basil leaves, chopped

Slice the top off the head of garlic, exposing the tops of the cloves.  Drizzle with a tablespoon or so of olive oil, wrap in foil and bake at 400 degrees for about an hour, until cloves are very soft.  Put cherry tomatoes in small baking dish, drizzle with some olive oil, and roast with the garlic until tomatoes are soft, puckered and slightly browned here and there.  In the meantime, slice onion into thin rings and very very slowly cook in 3-4 tablespoons of olive oil, covered, stirring from time to time, for about 40 minutes until resembles marmalade -- do not allow onions to brown.  When tomatoes and garlic are done, allow to cool, then squeeze garlic into food processor bowl.  Pulse with tomatoes, any cooking juices from the garlic and tomatoes and about half the peppers in food processor until smooth.  Add cooked onion and its juices, along with remainder of peppers and other ingredients, and process in short bursts until finely chopped, but with recognizable texture remaining.  Mix in more olive oil as desired.  Refrigerate overnight (it just gets better and better for up to a week) to allow flavors to mellow and blend.

recipes Food and Drink

Sometimes A Cigar Is Just A Cigar

Another goodie from  Blondesense (I should pay royalties):

Satirical Bush Poster Banned After Complaint

Posters that depicted President Bush with a Groucho Marx-style mustache and cigar were ordered torn down at a high school after a student complained. Seems the theater students, who had created the posters to advertise a satirical play, countered with new posters with a First Amendment message.

The principal ordered 100 posters removed from the campus of El Camino Real High School in Woodland Hills tow weeks ago on grounds that they promoted smoking and "endorsing one ideology over another." Gee, didn't Groucho Marx smoke cigars?

The school-funded posters were advertising the student's play, "The Complete History of America (Abridged), " which satirizes the U.S. history.

A senior who supports the president wrote a complaint letter to the administration, teachers. The principal asked the drama students to come up with new posters. The new designs all feature a silhouette of bush and a burning cigar, along with inscriptions such as "Free Expression for All (unless you are in high school)" and "What First Amendment?"

This story warmed my heart. Maybe the youth of America aren't as ready as our government thinks to live in a police state.

current affairs

Facism for Dummies

The following is taken directly from Blondesense (beauty brains & boobs);

Dr. Britt, a political scientist, studied the fascist regimes of Hitler (Germany), Mussolini (Italy), Franco (Spain), Suharto (Indonesia), and Pinochet (Chile). He found the regimes all had 14 things in common, and he calls these the identifying characteristics of fascism. ]

1. Powerful and Continuing Nationalism -- Fascist regimes tend to make constant use of patriotic mottos, slogans, symbols, songs, and other paraphernalia. Flags are seen everywhere, as are flag symbols on clothing and in public displays.

2. Disdain for the Recognition of Human Rights -- Because of fear of enemies and the need for security, the people in fascist regimes are persuaded that human rights can be ignored in certain cases because of "need." The people tend to 'look the other way' or even approve of torture, summary executions, assassinations, long incarcerations of prisoners, etc.

3. Identification of Enemies/Scapegoats as a Unifying Cause -- The people are rallied into a unifying patriotic frenzy over the need to eliminate a perceived common threat or foe: racial, ethnic or religious minorities; liberals; communists; socialists, terrorists, etc.

4. Supremacy of the Military -- Even when there are widespread domestic problems, the military is given a disproportionate amount of government funding, and the domestic agenda is neglected. Soldiers and military service are glamorized.

5. Rampant Sexism -- The governments of fascist nations tend to be almost exclusively male-dominated. Under fascist regimes, traditional gender roles are made more rigid. Opposition to abortion is high, as is homophobia and antigay legislation and national policy.

6. Controlled Mass Media -- Sometimes the media is directly controlled by the government, but in other cases, the media is indirectly controlled by government regulation, or through sympathetic media spokespeople and executives. Censorship, especially in wartime, is very common.

7. Obsession with National Security -- Fear is used as a motivational tool by the government over the masses.

8. Religion and Government are Intertwined -- Governments in fascist nations tend to use the most common religion in the nation as a tool to manipulate public opinion. Religious rhetoric and terminology is common from government leaders, even when the major tenets of the religion are diametrically opposed to the government's policies or actions.

9. Corporate Power is Protected -- The industrial and business aristocracy of a fascist nation often are the ones who put the government leaders into power, creating a mutually beneficial business/government relationship and power elite.

10. Labor Power is Suppressed -- Because the organizing power of labor is the only real threat to a fascist government, labor unions are either eliminated entirely or are severely suppressed.

11. Disdain for Intellectuals and the Arts -- Fascist nations tend to promote and tolerate open hostility to higher education, and academia. It is not uncommon for professors and other academics to be censored or even arrested. Free expression in the arts is openly attacked, and governments often refuse to fund the arts.

12. Obsession with Crime and Punishment -- Under fascist regimes, the police are given almost limitless power to enforce laws. The people are often willing to overlook police abuses, and even forego civil liberties, in the name of patriotism. There is often a national police force with virtually unlimited power in fascist nations.

13. Rampant Cronyism and Corruption -- Fascist regimes almost always are governed by groups of friends and associates who appoint each other to government positions, and who use governmental power and authority to protect their friends from accountability. It is not uncommon in fascist regimes for national resources and even treasures to be appropriated or even outright stolen by government leaders.

14. Fraudulent Elections -- Sometimes elections in fascist nations are a complete sham. Other times elections are manipulated by smear campaigns against (or even the assassination of) opposition candidates, the use of legislation to control voting numbers or political district boundaries, and the manipulation of the media. Fascist nations also typically use their judiciaries to manipulate or control elections.

current affairs

Kissing

There are all kinds of kissing, everyone knows that.  There's the social kiss that brushes a cheek and means, " Hi," or "Why the fuck are you here," or "Leave before I call the police," all highly context-dependent.  There's the forehead kiss for children you want to cuddle for hours but they're wiggly and want to get down, there's the slow squeeze and nuzzle for babies and their sweet talc smell before they sleep.  There's the forbidden kiss for a babysitter, who is too cute and young and you're married and she's too silly to know the middle-aged yearning behind it. 

There's grandma false teeth kissing and the First Kiss from an elementary school Valentine, and the horny, too spitty kissing around the back of the gym at the high school dance.  There's the revelatory kiss between two young women who suddenly realize that they've been wasting their time dating men until now.  There's the "practice kiss" between two "tweens", spinning fantasies and arguing about who plays the boy, neither admitting the thrill, even to themselves; there's the tired long-married kiss that serves as the thirty-second preface to tired, long-married sex.  There's the angry kiss, the get-the-fuck-out-of-here-Uncle-Leo-you-pervert kiss, the kiss with a tongue like a slug in your mouth at the first spin-the-bottle party, the muffed kiss that lands on the chin.

And then.  And then there's the kiss that lights you up like a Christmas tree, the kiss like slow honey, the kiss that bubbles like Champagne and knows to move, to come up for air, the kiss that moves the blood to one almost painful pulsing point.  There are artists of kisses, the biters of lips and Puccinis of tongues, the kisses that melt wedding vows and Rules and let hips go loose and liquid.  Mobile kisses that have soft "oh's" in the middle.  These kisses are all the sweeter, like wild blackberries or the thick tropical air, if unexpected, if served on a white plate without garnish, if not offered up with drama, simply given and yet inescapable, kisses without end. 

To these kisses and those who provide them, I say thank you.  I say, thank you for offering belief in kissing again, that simple pleasure, beyond all else, the kiss that offers hope to the lonely widow, the mother of orphans, the salt splash of the surf and open mouths and the refuge of the sand.   

Let's all kiss someone today.

Poetry For Memorial Day

Thomas McGrath (1916-1990) was a brillant and prolific poet, a socialist, and concientious objector during WWII, jailed for his beliefs.  He was outspoken in his opposition to the Vietnam War, when he wrote the following.  I'm sure he would have something to say now.

FRESCO: DEPARTURE FOR AN IMPERIALIST WAR

They stand there weeping in the stained daylight.

Nothing can stop them now from reaching the end of their youth.

Somewhere the Mayor salutes a winning team.

Somewhere the diplomats kiss in the long corridors of history.

Somewhere a politician is grafting a speech

On the green tree of American money.

Somewhere prayer; somewhere orders and papers.

Somewhere the poor are gathering illegal arms.

Meanwhile they are there on that very platform.

The train sails silently toward them out of American sleep.

And at last the two are arrived at the very point of departure.

He goes toward death and she toward loneliness.

Weeping, their arms embrace the only country they love.

Thomas McGrath, Selected Poems

poetry

The Rules

A friend came over this weekend and asked about "The Rules."  This guy thinks conceptually, rather than instinctively.  I live entirely within my feelings; I had no idea what he was talking about. "What rules?"

"The ones that govern behavior, human relationships."

"Isn't that the province of religion and philosopy?"

He doubted the usefulness of either.  There should be a written, codified standard text on how people act and interact, he said.  I should expect this from a Libra, the scales need to balance at all times.  I suppose the Ten Commandments are such a work, at least for Charlton Heston and some school principals in the South, and at the other end of the spectrum you could do worse than Emily Post.  At the very end of the evening, I reminded him that I expected a bread-and-butter note written and sent within 24 hours, as dictated by Ms. Post, if he wanted to live within Miss Manners-type Rules.  Jesus said, "And love ye one another."  That's pretty good general advice, and I have to give the WWJD folks credit, if they'd only stop ascribing their own petty preconceptions to the Son of God.  But I think we were talking about a real code for human interaction, like the Laws of Hammurabi. The sex-on-the-third-date rule.  Who sleeps over where and when.  How many goats as a fine for a hurtful comment. 

Personal discipline has never been my strong suit.  Chuck, a former co-worker, has had a cartoon posted in his office for years.  The first panel is captioned, "The Voice of Reason."  In it, an ordinary-looking person says, "It's raining.  Put on your galoshes."  The next panel is captioned, "The Voice of Binky."  A circus clown shouts, "Throw your galoshes out the window!"  Binky has served as my personal advisor for years.  A metaphorical pile of galoshes as tall as I am sits outside all my windows.

In such cases, Rules can be comforting.

For several years, over a decade ago, I was part of a subculture that thrived on rules; the interactions and encounters were all negotiated beforehand, or at least agreed not to be restricted by rules.  I think I liked that aspect; I was unlikely to be tripped up by my discarded galoshes.  I still think personal negotiation is best, although impractical for every interchange.  It's pretty well understood that if you pay the teenager at the drive-through window, you get your hamburger in return.  But what about potentially deeper relationships?  What about shy people who have a hard time approaching the topic, let alone articulating their needs and boundaries?   Is it shyness or laziness, or simple irresponsibility, that keeps me from setting out my own rules when asked for them, as my friend was doing, I now realize.  There is no point of refuge -- unless I stay a shut-in the rest of my life.  And only meet intruders.

It's probably time for me to stop listening to the Voice of Binky.  What, and turn into a grown-up?

personal history

Rock & Roll Justice, or: They've Got THE LOOK!

They looked in their mirrors that morning, and said, "I got it goin' ON." (Thanks to Freshman 44 for Spector picture.)

music current affairs humor

Friday Shuffle -- Hubble Telescope Edition

A slight flavor of the zodiac in today's shuffle, as I continue to expand my musical empire.

1. "Honestly," Annie Lennox (my Goddess is again #1 this week!  I sang this song, along with "Wonderful" from the same album, incessantly between 8/03 and 11/04, and the words still capture the madness of that time)
2. "Precious Heart,"  Tall Paul vs. INXS
3. "I Can't Stand The Rain," Tina Turner (for more rain songs, see Phantom Scribbler's list for today -- coincidence?  Pause for Twilight Zone theme)
4. "Total Eclipse of The Moon," Enigma
5. "Don't Let The Stars Get In Your Eyes," k.d. lang
6. "The Mercy Seat," Johnny Cash (an amazing song, by another icon)
7. "Planet Queen," T. Rex
8. "People Say," The Dixie Cups
9. "Return To Me," Bob Dylan (cheesyissimus, Bob sings Dino, with a chorus in Italian, even -- from The Sopranos soundtrack)
10. "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger," (Neptune Remix) Daft Punk

music

Quick and Cheap

That's me, according to  Freshman 44.  She's usually accurate and, by the way, a funny, terrific blogger (who just plugged me, in the interests of full disclosure, but my comments are completely unbiased).  However, what I laughingly call my honor has been impugned (David, notice that I used the word correctly this time).

SO, FOR THE RECORD: I have been married and divorced twice.  No more.  By the time she was my age, Liz Taylor had six or seven old wedding gowns kicking around in her closet.  Both marriages lasted a respectable period, more than enough time to write the thank you notes.  Each groom was and remains a really great guy and we really are all friends to this day.  I do divorce much better than I do marriage.  I have my parents' example to thank for that.  This is, after all, California, and I was raised in a family with so many multiple parents that seeing everyone at Christmastime was as elaborate as a gavotte.  I'm going back to San Francisco (the scene of my last marital crime) next month for a culture-and-companionship infusion and, among other diversions, am seeing an opera and a play with Houston, the "man of the cloth" at my last wedding (and definitely not an ex-boyfriend, his preferred cloth being, occasionally, gold lame), and another play with Antonio, my most recent ex-husband.  Perhaps we'll all do brunch.  So there were just two, OK?

AND I'M NEVER, EVER DOING IT AGAIN. One day at a time.

As for boyfriends, ex or otherwise, that's none of your beeswax.  I don't really know myself, so I'm not a reliable historian.  Future biographers will have to remain baffled.   And now, that's Too Much Information. Sheesh.

personal history

Open Mic at the Ojai Poetry Festival

On Saturday, inspired by the previous night's poetry reading at the Ojai Poetry Festival, I returned to take part in the open mic reading.  It had been years since I had read my poetry.  If there was ever a friendlier ambiance or a setting of greater natural beauty, I hadn't seen it during the years I had made the rounds in San Francisco.  It also marked just over a year since I moved to the Central Coast . . . I figure the Witness Relocation Program has succeeded, and I can now make public appearances.  So I hopped in Ringeaux, my convertible Beetle (Beatle/Ringo, get it?  Sorry.  Hey, if Houston can name his car, so can I) and drove up to Ojai on a stunning hot day, sustaining the season's first shoulder burn in the process.  It's hell having blue Irish skin.  Sign-up for the reading was at 1:00; I tried to get there by a quarter to, because I had the feeling that one hour of reading time would not accomodate all the would-be poets.  The place had been packed the night before.  Usually, poetry fans write poetry themselves -- with varying degrees of success.  Sure enough, well before 1:00, there was a line in front of the stage -- 20 ahead of me, to be exact.  Let's see, a one hour program, 3 minutes allotted to each poet, times 20, carry the one, add the atomic weight of tungsten, and . . . fuck, I've driven all this way for nothing, I'm screwed.  At the suggestion of the organizers, I signed up anyway in the event of short-winded poets (highly unlikely).  I let go of the consequences and settled in to enjoy.

Well, contrary to expectation, about a third was actually enjoyable, about half was bearable, if you had a sense of humor, and a few were painful.  There was a heartfelt paen to Harriet Tubman that closed with a respectably sung spiritual, two unpleasantly hostile women who announced with some belligerence that they were from LA (one describing it as "the hellhole to the south"), two sweetly earnest high school girls -- quite talented, a cowboy poet, one woman who trilled "I write about JOY!" (as I cringed), and a parade of Ojai clones. 

Let me explain that concept.  In San Francisco, there emerged in the '70's a type of gay man called the Castro clone: the look you would see replicated time and again in the Castro district -- blow-dried hair, a Mark Spitz mustache, plaid shirt, tight ass, Levi's.  Last time I checked, the type was bulkier and gym-buffed, close-cropped to shaven head, perhaps an eyebrow piercing and certainly tattooed.  It's simply the prevailing aesthetic of the day.  Now that I'm spending more time out and about in Ojai, I'm noticing the prevailing male (at least predominantly straight) aesthetic: over 50, bald or balding, white hair if there is any, and a white or graying beard.  Usually plump.  Hats and Hawaiian shirts optional, but likely.  This cracks me up:  I am very fond of this aesthetic.  In fact, my first visit to Ojai and Libby Bowl nearly 20 years ago was with Jeffrey C., who fit this look perfectly but for a full head of prematurely white hair, and who now, I believe, has moved to Ojai.  At the poetry reading, I kept thinking I saw Jeffrey, and then recognized the existence of the Ojai clone.  (The women are a more mixed bunch, but a few I saw affirmed my belief that white people should NOT have dreadlocks.)

Where was I?  So they cut off the reading at #20, and I missed reading by that much.  Two very nice people, who did read and were very good, sat nearby.  They had been rooting for me, and demanded that I at least read my poem to them.  I did -- talk about an up close and personal audience -- and they were very kind.  One of them hosts regular poetry readings in Ventura, so I may be able to reconnect with that part of myself again; hearing and reading other poets is a terrific encouragement, it keeps ideas popping and the juices flowing.  I was charmed by the enthusiasm for poetry, for words and ideas and beauty, for (as Galway Kinnell said) the loveliness of sow, by this many people.  Libby Bowl packed in at least several hundred the night before, and probably nearly 75 for the open mic.  Of course, it may have something to do with the fact that there is not a lot else to do in Ojai.  Next week's paint-drying festival REALLY packs them in, I hear . . .  (I joke, I joke, I LOVE Ojai, really, you've been a great audience, I'll be here all week and then you can catch me at the Acid Reflux Retreat in the Poconos . . . )

poetry