Stepping Out of My Crate

If you need me, I'll be here:

Or here:
















Or maybe even here:

See you in a couple of weeks . . .

Making the Case for Obama

NOTE:  This is reprinted from an email that's been going around that I thoroughly enjoyed receiving.  I believe I have done my due diligence in terms of fact-checking, but feel free to challenge me on any inaccuracies you may find.

I'm a little confused. Let me see if I have this straight

• If you grow up in Hawaii , raised by your grandparents, you're "exotic, different."

• Grow up in Alaska eating moose burgers, a quintessential American story.

• If your name is Barack you're a radical, unpatriotic Muslim.

• Name your kids Willow , Trig and Track, you're a maverick.

• Graduate from Harvard law School and you are unstable.

• Attend 5 different small colleges before graduating, you're well grounded.

• If you spend 3 years as a brilliant community organizer, become the first black President of the Harvard Law Review, create a voter registration drive that registers 150,000 new voters, spend 12 years as a Constitutional Law professor, spend 8 years as a State Senator representing a district with over 750,000 people, become chairman of the state Senate's Health and Human Services committee, spend 4 years in the United States Senate representing a state of 13 million people while sponsoring 131 bills and serving on the Foreign Affairs, Environment and Public Works and Veteran's Affairs committees, you don't have any real leadership experience.

• If your total resume is: local weather girl, 4 years on the city council and 6 years as the mayor of a town with less than 7,000 people, 20 months as the governor of a state with only 650,000 people, then you're qualified to become the country's second highest ranking executive.

 My understanding is that Palin's resume actually begins with "2nd runner-up Beauty Queen/Miss Congeniality, local sportscaster, 4 years on the city council, etc. . ."  But, onwards.  - Cocktail Maven

• If you have been married to the same woman for 19 years while raising 2 beautiful daughters, all within Protestant churches, you're not a real Christian.

• If you cheated on your first wife with a rich heiress, and left your disfigured wife and married the heiress the next month, you're a Christian.

• If you teach responsible, age appropriate sex education, including the proper use of birth control, you are eroding the fiber of society.

• If, while governor, you staunchly advocate abstinence only, with no other option in sex education in your state's school system while your unwed teen daughter ends up pregnant , you're very responsible.

• If your wife is a Harvard graduate lawyer who gave up a position in a prestigious law firm to work for the betterment of her inner city community, then gave that up to raise a family, your family's values don't represent America 's.

• If your husband is nicknamed "First Dude", with at least one DWI conviction and no college education , who didn't register to vote until age 25 and once was a member of a group that advocated the secession of Alaska from the USA , your family is extremely admirable.

OK, much clearer now.

Friday Happy Hour - Hurricane Chuck

Hurricanes.

The season has officially started and we've been hearing a lot about them. Some of us have unfortunately been experiencing them. Hello Louisiana, Galveston, Cuba, Haiti - my heart goes out to the victims in the paths of Gustav and Hanna and Ike. Being on the West Coast of the US and therefore completely jaded about earthquakes, hurricanes tend to scare the bejeezus out of me. I'm sure the opposite would be true were I a native of the Gulf Coast.

Now, I thought I hated Hurricane cocktails, too. But this recipe? This is truly tasty. I can't claim credit for this one, I'm afraid. This fantabulous recipe comes from Mr. Chuck Taggart, a California-transplanted New Orleanean who keeps the faith on his Gumbo Pages. So, since I have set aside Fridays for recommending cocktail recipes, allow me to present for your imbibing pleasure, the best dang Hurricane recipe ever.

Chuck Taggart's N'Awlins Hurricane Cocktail

• 1.5 ounces light rum*
• 1.5 ounces dark rum
• 1 ounce orange juice
• 1 ounce fresh lime juice (NOT Rose's or RealLime)
• 1/4 cup passion fruit juice, or 1 tablespoon passion fruit syrup
• 1 teaspoon superfine sugar
• 1 teaspoon grenadine
• Cherries with stems*, and orange slice to garnish
• Ice cubes

In a cocktail shaker, mix the rum, passion fruit juice or syrup, the other juices and the sugar until sugar is dissolved. Add the grenadine, and stir to combine, then add ice and shake. Half-fill a hurricane glass with ice, then strain drink into glass; add ice to fill. Garnish with orange slice and cherries.

Chuck? You're welcome to come sip Hurricanes on my front porch anytime.

* Maven modifications: My personal preference is to use all dark rum and eliminate the cherry garnish. Maraschinos just give me the heebie-jeebies. -- Cocktail Maven

PROMPTuesday #22 - Writing Poetry

San Diego Momma's PROMPTuesday #22:

Today, write a poem including the following lines in any order:

“I tie a ribbon in a foolish way”
“The delicious fragility of this travesty”
“Where we still laugh and wish”

(Prompt courtesy of CreativeWritingPrompts)

Okay, here we go.  Quick and dirty per request.

I walk this street a lifetime ago

Where we still laugh and wish

For a future we would never know

Once  promised in a kiss

A sun bleached boardwalk a lifetime ago

With ribbons in my hair

Skipping barefoot as I throw

Rose petals in the air

Here again a sunny day

My mind too tired to wander

I tie a ribbon in a foolish way

Skip the boardwalk in your honor

The delicious fragility of this travesty

Not lost to the observant

Abandon is my majesty

And I her humble servant

Tequila Update

Coincidentally, there is a tequila tasting event going on in San Diego this weekend.  I just now heard one of the judges on the radio.  Though he doesn't know yet which of the hundreds of tequilas that are being judged will win (that will be revealed tomorrow), he specifically named Clase Azul as his favorite so far!  I feel validated.

Top Tequilas and Tequilas That Tanked

My politically adversarial but no less dear friend (and Tales of the Heliosphere blogger), "tdr" hosted a tequila-tasting-slash-Mexican-food-gorge-fest at his home last Friday night. I brought the Sangrita.

As I promised in last Friday's blog, here is a rundown of the tequilas we tasted (in the order we tasted them), my totally subjective rating and my notes and comments about the level to which my palate was impressed. With one exception, we limited ourselves to anjeos for the purposes of this tasting, that is, tequilas that were aged for one year.  Tasting was blind with the names revealed only after all 14 tequilas had been tasted.  The ones I have no intention of ever drinking again after this experience were given a flat-out zero.

Tequila	Comments	Score
Dos Lunas	tdr started with the favorite from a previous tasting I did not attend, and I'm glad he did.  This was terrific, and the one to beat for everything that followed.  Sssssmooth with a beautiful smoky color, a scent of honey and a tobacco aftertaste.	10
Patron	This was the pale color of ginger ale and was much more acrid.  Tasted like Novocain and smelled like petroleum products.  Nasty.	0
Jose Cuervo 1800 Reposado	Slightly pink, sweet and strong, this reminded me of an expensive French lipstick -- which is not necessarily a bad thing!  Pleased all senses respectably.	5
Corazon	Ginger ale color, sweet and slightly floral smelling. This had a unique buttery flavor and feel to it that I didn't get from any of the others.	7
El Tesoro	Wow.  I was excited about this one after the first whiff.  It smells really amazing, but Lordy, Lordy, once I tasted?  Blech.  It leaves your mouth tasting the way I imagine glue huffing would.	1
Gran Centenaro	Nice, nice nice!  Good color, great esthers, lingers on the palate like a fine cognac with a hint of orange peel in the aftertaste.  I literally had to taste the first one again after this, to make sure I still liked it better.  I did.  Hence the score of 9 here instead of 10.	9
Herradura	Very vanilla in the nose and on the palate, but a little too much burn to make it enjoyable.  I think this would be an exceptional mixer to complement sweeter tequila-based cocktails.	6
Los Azulejos	This one reminded me of a really horrid pear brandy I once tried.  All alcohol burn and no flavor.	0
Camilo	Slightly pinkish color, tasty.  Not too much burn. Very respectable overall.	6
Jose Cuervo	This was much too sweet and tasted cheap.  The moment I tried sniffing it, my nostrils literally rebelled and tried to close up at the scent.  Felt like I was drinking cheap perfume.	0
Abandonado	This one was very nice.  It was sweeter than my favorite, but equally nice in the mouth.  Loses points for an unimpressive nose.	7.5
Cabo Wabo	Utterly boring.  Good color but not much flavor.  Use this for mixing if you want a Margarita but really don’t like the taste of tequila.	4
Jose Cuervo Reserva de la Familia	Really good!  This one genuinely surprised me.  The color was nice, but the standout feature was an earthy flavor I didn’t taste in any of the other offerings.	8
Clase Azul	Terrific flavors of coffee and honey with a pleasing mellow burn.  The esters are a tad too strong, causing your eyes to water, ultimately too strong to beat out my fave.	9

PROMPTuesday #21 - Navel Gazing

San Diego Momma's PROMPTuesday #21:

Tell us a story!  It can be long, short, true, false, silly, honest, colorful, quiet, meandering, punchy, ANYTHING!

"Get the door open, John!  I have GOT to get these pants off!"

“I’m trying, babe! We forgot to leave the light on before we left. I can’t see a damn thing.”

The deadbolt successfully negotiated, Kate squeezes past him through the door and trot-squirms her way toward the bedroom, kicking of her flip-flops and unzipping her jeans on the way. She is hopping on one foot and pulling off the second pant leg before he has even removed the key from the lock.

“I don’t know what the hell they did to these jeans”, she yells back over her shoulder, “but something was poking me in the stomach through the entire movie!” She clicks on the bedside lamp, the brightest lamp in the house, sits on the bed, and squints at the front placket of her newly purchased designer jeans. “Damn it.”

She reaches for her reading glasses and takes another look. Nothing. The stitching is tight and sewn with uniformly smooth, soft cotton thread. There are no tags she has forgotten to remove. She sees absolutely nothing that could cause her so much discomfort. She stands and walks to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. Dropping the jeans, she examines her reflection. She raises her t-shirt and there is the irrefutable physical evidence of her torment. A hot, angry red splotch roughly the size a silver dollar surrounds her navel and spreads upward like the map of a north flowing river delta. In spite of the pain and itch and her general irritation, she can’t help but be pleased with how very trim she’s looking. She hasn’t had abs like this since she was on the high school swim team two decades ago.

“Did you find it?”

John is leaning on the bedroom doorframe, a smirk on his face. Kate is suddenly aware of how ridiculous she must look staring at herself in her boring white cotton underwear and Batman t-shirt. She suppresses a smile of her own. She won’t give him the satisfaction.

“No. There’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of COURSE I’m sure. There is nothing at all wrong with those jeans.”

“Then it must be your belly button.”

In a flash, Kate picks the jeans up off the floor and flings them in his general direction.  Then she struts toward him, sticking a finger in her navel with a sweeping gesture and, bending back at the waist, she proclaims, “my good man, I can assure you that there is likewise nothing whatsoever in the sanctum sanctorum of my perfect navel.”

Only there is.

Tom sees her muscles tense. He watches as her eyes widen in shock. She tilts her head down and attempts to peer into her navel. “ John?” She says.

“Yeah, honey?”

“It’s attached.”

“What is? What’s attached?”

“This THING! This THING in my navel! It’s ATTACHED to me! What is it? I’ve got to get it out. What is it?!”

Before he can cross the room to her, Kate grabs hold of the offending object and yanks. Hard. Her tiny yelp, not-so-tiny intake of breath, and the thin rivulet of blood that begins to creep slowly down her abdomen seem to indicate that yes, whatever it is, it WAS attached.

Scarcely noticing the blood, Kate dashes into the adjoining bathroom and fumbles through the medicine cabinet with bloody fingers. She comes away with a pair of tweezers and the magnifying eyeglasses she uses when applying makeup. Swapping these for her reading glasses, she bends over the counter and starts fiddling with the thing from her navel.

Magnified thus, the object is revealed as a metal cylinder, no more than a quarter of an inch long with one pointed end and one flat. Toward the flat end Kate notices a seam and what appear to be concentric rings. A lid? Yes! It’s a canister! Pinching the impossibly small canister between two fingernails, she can just manage to twist the lid with the tweezers. The lid comes away at last and out slides another cylinder. This one is flat on both ends and seems to be a stainless steel bar. There is writing etched into the surface. It reads:

GenuSem

S/N 186143684486

Made in the USA

"GenuSem", she whispers, wondering at the connection.  Already knowing.  GenuSem.  Where her husband works.

She looks at herself in the mirror over the sink. Even under the magnification of the makeup glasses, her skin is flawless. Dewy. Peaches and cream. Thirty-seven years have washed over her face and form and left no trace. Thirty seven years old and not even one toe of a crow’s foot. Her friend Irene just had fat removed from her buttocks and injected into her nasolabial folds. Kate questions for the first time where her own nasolabial folds are.  And now that she thinks about it, doesn’t she remember having a mole over her left eyebrow?

 

“Kate?” John has crept into the bathroom unnoticed. He exhales her name in a short burst, cautiously, tentatively. He looks worried.

And well he should.

“Something you want to tell me, John?”

His shoulders slump.  The furrow between his eyebrows deepens.  Kate suspects she will never see a similar furrow on her own face.  She waits for him to speak.

“Listen, Kate. I didn’t know what else to do. You were so sick last year, and the medical bills. . .”

“Where’s my body, John?”

"You don’t understand, Kate! If it weren’t for GenuSem . . ."

“Where is my body, John? I assume the brain is mine, but what did you do with my body, John?”

“Kate, I . . .”

“WHERE . . . IS . . . MY . . . BODY . . . JOHN?”

He hesitates. The moment is endless.  He balances briefly on the parapet of a lie and falls truthward.

“I told them to save your eyes", he says. "Those are yours, too, Kate. The eyes are yours, too.”

Camping Ranting

So, Labor Day weekend my husband and I went tent camping in the Sierras. We had planned to stay for three nights. We left after only one. Why? in my mind it was because far too many campers simply do not possess common camping sense or practice common camping courtesy.  In fact, I have a strong suspicion that some of these so-called "campers" view camping merely as a cheap alternative to the hotel room they truly desire.

Thus I was inspired to create a common-sense etiquette guide for camping, but instead, I offer you two open letters to the fellow campers that made our camping experience less than ideal.

Boys and Thier Toys

Dear fellow campers -

We couldn’t help but remark upon the hulking behemoth of a portable apartment building parked on your modestly-sized campsite. How clever that it actually has a four-motorcycle garage at the back, and how convenient. You and your three “best-buds” were able to each bring a bike for your long, stud weekend in the Sierras. Where does one go to ride those dirt-bikes in the Sierras, I wonder? And at 6:30AM, too! How very industrious.

I just wonder if you are quite certain this is where you intended to “camp”. You will no doubt have noticed that the campsites here are not exceedingly large. In fact, now that you have placed the apartment building (with attached garage), the two-man tent and the four motorcycles on your campsite, there is no alternative but for your king-sized pickup truck (Goodness! What large tires!), to poke conspicuously out into the drive that enters the campground. Also, you are aware that this campground has no running water, are you not? And no hookups? Silly me! Of course you are aware there are no hookups! Otherwise, you would not have brought the generator with which you so graciously lulled us to sleep last night. Why, I do believe I heard the crickets and the frogs in the surrounding woods give up altogether when faced with your generator’s mighty thrum.

It might interest you to know that there is a campground a few clicks down the road specifically designed for RV and trailer camping. There are LARGE spaces, hookups and even a shower facility provided. I know you would appreciate the showers since you and your friends must have spent a great deal of money on your body art. It seems a shame all those tattoos should be hidden under a layer of campsite grime.

Regards,

Site #1

A Family Affair

Dear fellow campers –

Family is so important. It is wonderful that your extended family enjoys vacationing together. Two, or is it three families on one campsite! That’s impressive. The smallest one in the campground, too. How ironic that the smallest site will host the largest group. One. . . two. . three. . . EIGHT of which are children! They have the adults outnumbered two to one.  Let's hope the dears don't decide to mutiny.

I just wanted to thank your family for helping us decide whether to stay through the weekend, or to go home. Watching all of you tumble energetically out of two cars like a Ringling Brothers circus act this morning, left us still on the fence. However, when the first bit of “camping gear” to come out of those cars proved to be a portable stereo the size of Rhode Island, we had reached a decision.

Our campsite reservation is prepaid and nonrefundable. Please avail yourselves. It is right next to yours and I think it will handle two or three of your smaller tents quite comfortably.

Best,

Site # 1

Tequila Sippin'

There are a slew of amazing, high-quality tequilas out there these days that have completely transformed my view of agave-based liquor. Today's higher-end tequilas have legs that go on for miles, like the finest cognacs or old-vine Zinfandels. They feel buttery in your mouth, and in the esters you get hints of vanilla or honey. They are transcendent. In the past two years, I have gone from someone who completely reviled Tequila as one step below Thunderbolt and bathtub gin and one step above moonshine, to someone for whom Tequila-sipping is a new favorite pastime. The key is to find a tequila worth sipping. When you do, you'd be doing yourself a favor to sip it from a brandy snifter. More on tequilas worth sipping next week.

Today's weekend elixir is actually NOT a cocktail, but an accompaniment. I got this recipe off of he manager of an exceptional "Mexico City style Mexican" restaurant in downtown San Diego, Candelas. They have a terrific selection of tequilas, they make a mean mole, and their food is really fresh and scrumptious.

I recommend starting with your own very basic homemade Bloody Mary mixture of tomato Juice, Worcestershire sauce, celery seed, salt, fresh pepper and tabasco, all according to your taste. I do NOT recommend adding Old Bay or beef boullion for the purposes of this recipe. The goal is to end up with something a bit lighter, fresher and fruitier than bloody mary mix.

Sangrita (2 servings)

Approx 8 - 12 oz of bloody mary mix (homemade or store bought)
Juice of 1 1/2 limes
Splash of orange juice
Pinch of kosher salt
Pinch of fresh cracked black pepper

Tabasco (to taste)

Combine all ingredients in a cocktail shaker with ice. Shake well. Divide pour between two double glasses and enjoy alongside your favorite tequila.

Sangrita is not only the perfect chaser for tequila but it is also great for cleansing the palate between tequilas when conducting your own at-home tequila tasting (as long as you don't make it too spicy!). Amounts are approximate, based on watching and asking questions as he made it. This makes two servings.

Now I'm off to whip up a pitcher-full for . . . you guessed it . . . a tequila tasting!

I'll report back next Friday with the results.

Weekend Recommendations

This will get you started this weekend.  I'll be updating this with some theatre events this evening.  In the mean time, in order to enjoy any of the activities below, you will find it helpful to be living or working in San Diego (as am I) and to have slightly retro sensibilities (as do I). If you are and if you do, you may run into me at any of the following:


TONIGHT! September 4, Thursday

Taryn Donath at Patrick's II
This saucy lassie plays a mean boogie woogie piano, and she's got the pipes to keep up with her fingers.  Think Jerry Lee Lewis in a skirt, only cuter.

Wild Child at House of Blues
Too young to have seen the Doors in concert, or maybe just feeling nostalgic?  This Doors tribute band will bring the experience to life for you.

Thursday Night Thing at the San Diego Museum of Contemporary Art
First Thursday of every month.

Friday, 9/5

Taryn Donath at Patrick's II
Boogie woogie baby, Round II.

Saturday, 9/6

Tea Ceremony at the Japanese Friendship Garden

At 1:00 the Japanese Friendship Garden Society of San Diego will be performing the traditional Japanese tea ceremony.  Admission to the garden is a paltry four bucks.  You can have your own tea for another three. 

Sunday, 9/7

House of Blues Gospel Brunch
Each and every Sunday, just like Jesus likes it.


ONGOING

The Stilettos at Henry's Pub

Rockabilly Swing that will put a spring in your rock-step.  Every Tuesday night.  Lucky us!

COMING SOON:

Trolley Dances

Yup!  It's exactly what it sounds like!

"The Women" at the Old Globe Theatre

So, SO excited about this.  Glamourous, vicious, loquiacious fun.

Flashy Snacking

So yesterday I paid a visit to my favorite little sandwich shop. I always order the same thing: Tuna salad on sourdough with everything, add sprouts too, please. Tasty and filling, and only about $3.50. Sometimes, I will also pick up a little something for afternoon snacking. They have whole oranges, apples and bananas, hard-boiled eggs and the like. Usually, I go for the small, colorful bowl of raw veggies.

Yesterday, they were particularly colorful.


What is wrong with this picture, you ask? Simple. The orange stuff? It ain't cheese. It's cauliflower! Pretty, isn't it?

Now, this is my very first exposure to orange cauliflower, so naturally I had to rush to the nearest computer and do some internet research. According to this four-year-old USA Today article, orange cauliflower has been commercially available since 2004, but it was actually first discovered as a natural mutation as far back as 1970. A man named Michael Dickson is credited with heading up developing a new hybrid. Here's a quote from the article:

Dickson started developing the vegetable in 1981 after researchers from the National Vegetable Research Center in England who were familiar with his work forwarded him some seeds from the mutant plant, first found in the Bradford Marsh north of Toronto in 1970.

Research is also showing that the orange cauliflower varietal may actually be more healthful, allowing the plant to store higher levels of beta-carotene. Further research could lead to a wide range of crops genetically-modified to provide more complete nutrition, potentially good news for developing nations.

Regardless of where you stand on the issue of genetic modification of food, the new cauliflower sure is purty.

PROMPTuesday #20 - Memory Description

San Diego Momma's PROMPTuesday #20:

What are your back-to-school memories? Tell us about one. Your memory can be your own, or one from watching your child go to school, or a story inspired by a memory, or anything back-to-school-y. Either way, make us smell the must of the chalk or the acridity of teen spirit.

I remember my very first day of school. I had been judged one week too young to have been able to start the year before, so I had quite literally been anticipating my first day of kindergarten for over a year. Everything was so new and exciting. I remember marveling at the teeny hard plastic chairs and low, wide desks. Everything was brightly colored and just the right size, like Baby Bear’s chair in the Goldilocks story. I remember being shocked and disappointed, even at five years old, by how many of the other kids had not learned to read already. I still remember the names and faces of a good dozen kids from my Kindergarten class. I remember fighting against my instincts and prissily telling myself that, yes, it is okay to paint with your fingers, as long as I don’t get paint on my outfit. And, yes, there you have it. Of all my kindergarten memories, what I remember most are my outfits.

My mother has always been a very frugal and resourceful woman. In an effort to save (and eventually make) money, she became quite an accomplished refinisher of battered desks and dressers, re-upholsterer of worn out chairs, and sewer of lothing for both herself and for me. In fact, there is a two-page fashion spread in the family photo album that chronicles my first week of school in outfits. Five days, five hairdo’s, five outfits. . . one pattern. It’s pretty impressive, actually. The pattern was a skirt set. You could either make it as a skirt and vest combo, a skirt with attached suspenders, or a skirt with an overall-style bib front. My mother did all three in an array of fabrics (mostly man-made), but my favorite was the bib-front in a dark purple corduroy, velvety to the touch, with multi-colored flowers in the pattern. I'd sit primly in one of the hard chairs and periodically glance down to smooth my skirt over my lap, just to feel the luxurious fabric under my hands. I happened to love going to school, but even if I hadn’t? I would have begged to go solely for the purpose of showing off my outfits.