Saturday, December 30, 2006
[URL] Brilliant app: Montage-a-google
Brilliant app: Montage-a-google.
Montage-a-google is a simple web-based app that uses Google's image search to generate a large gridded montage of images based on keywords (search terms) entered by the user.
A click on any image (max 20 images, scattered with dups over a 9x12 grid) takes you to the source of the image.
The grid size can be fiddled with, as can other features using the "advanced" mode.
You'll need Flash player version 8 (or up) to run the app.
If you want to save your results, use [alt][print scrn] (if you use a PC -- don't talk to me about Mac stuff) to copy the image. Then pop the image into your photo app with ^V and clear the bits you don't want before printing.
You'll wind up with something like this [click image to enlarge]:
Not bad for a first try. I could've trimmed the edges better but I won't go back and fiddle some more because at some point conscientiousness veers into compulsiveness and we're not exactly creating lasting art here.
Google search for "bixby creek" "big sur"
Coolio.
Over 2.5m Montage-a-googles served.
Check out the photos tagged with "montage-a-google" on Flickr.
posted by Sal Towse at 3:50 PM|
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Montage-a-google is a simple web-based app that uses Google's image search to generate a large gridded montage of images based on keywords (search terms) entered by the user.
A click on any image (max 20 images, scattered with dups over a 9x12 grid) takes you to the source of the image.
The grid size can be fiddled with, as can other features using the "advanced" mode.
You'll need Flash player version 8 (or up) to run the app.
If you want to save your results, use [alt][print scrn] (if you use a PC -- don't talk to me about Mac stuff) to copy the image. Then pop the image into your photo app with ^V and clear the bits you don't want before printing.
You'll wind up with something like this [click image to enlarge]:
Not bad for a first try. I could've trimmed the edges better but I won't go back and fiddle some more because at some point conscientiousness veers into compulsiveness and we're not exactly creating lasting art here.
Google search for "bixby creek" "big sur"
Coolio.
Over 2.5m Montage-a-googles served.
Check out the photos tagged with "montage-a-google" on Flickr.
posted by Sal Towse at 3:50 PM|
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Friday, December 29, 2006
Christmas memories lost and found
I love Laura Lippman's Memory Project, as I might've mentioned once or three (maybe four!) times before.
Her current memory burp has to do with her December holiday memories back when (she always deals first) and her questions: What's the best gift you ever gave? What's the best gift you ever got? And have you ever had to fake it?
I answered:
Over the years. So many presents. Given. Received.
The present I especially remember was ... Manhattan Beach, CA. Christmas 1956. My dad was teaching at UCLA that year. We were living in a funky old house on the Strand, which (if my Web sleuthing is accurate) has been bulldozed for condos since the last time I swung by, maybe twenty-five years ago. Alas. Such a house. So many memories for such a short time.
We were only there for a school year. Come June 1957, my dad, with five children to provide for, left academia and signed on with Henry J. and Kaiser Aluminum. We relocated to Belem, Para, Brazil for the next two years or so, while Dad searched for bauxite, exploring the Amazon basin, whacking his machete through the jungles.
Christmas 1956. I was all of four years old and already not exactly your paint-your-fingernails sort of girl. Santa brought me a bright blue metal dump truck that really dumped. You could put four Campbell's soup cans in the bed. And dump them out. And put them back in. And dump them out. I was in hog heaven.
Another memorable present was something my older brother gave me several years after we got back from Brazil. That Christmas, he took an old cruzeiro coin and polished it up then soldered a small brass safety pin on the back to make me a pin. I still have that pin in a place of honor in my jewelry box forty-some years later.
The best present I ever gave? I can't remember, but this Christmas we had the serendipity to decide to give the older younger one a gift certificate to Borderlands, a terrific SFF/H store out on Valencia. I wanted to stick the gift certificate in a book and we found a signed copy of Pratchett's first Johnny Maxwell book. I tucked the gift certificate into the book.
Turns out the older younger one had been searching for years for that title. He had the later Johnny Maxwells but wanted to start with #1 and hadn't been able to find it. The fact that we'd found him a copy -- signed -- made his Christmas.
Thanks for the memories, Laura.
Answer yourselves here, folks: "What's the best gift you ever gave? What's the best gift you ever got? And have you ever had to fake it?"
posted by Sal Towse at 11:21 PM||
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Her current memory burp has to do with her December holiday memories back when (she always deals first) and her questions: What's the best gift you ever gave? What's the best gift you ever got? And have you ever had to fake it?
I answered:
Over the years. So many presents. Given. Received.
The present I especially remember was ... Manhattan Beach, CA. Christmas 1956. My dad was teaching at UCLA that year. We were living in a funky old house on the Strand, which (if my Web sleuthing is accurate) has been bulldozed for condos since the last time I swung by, maybe twenty-five years ago. Alas. Such a house. So many memories for such a short time.
We were only there for a school year. Come June 1957, my dad, with five children to provide for, left academia and signed on with Henry J. and Kaiser Aluminum. We relocated to Belem, Para, Brazil for the next two years or so, while Dad searched for bauxite, exploring the Amazon basin, whacking his machete through the jungles.
Christmas 1956. I was all of four years old and already not exactly your paint-your-fingernails sort of girl. Santa brought me a bright blue metal dump truck that really dumped. You could put four Campbell's soup cans in the bed. And dump them out. And put them back in. And dump them out. I was in hog heaven.
Another memorable present was something my older brother gave me several years after we got back from Brazil. That Christmas, he took an old cruzeiro coin and polished it up then soldered a small brass safety pin on the back to make me a pin. I still have that pin in a place of honor in my jewelry box forty-some years later.
The best present I ever gave? I can't remember, but this Christmas we had the serendipity to decide to give the older younger one a gift certificate to Borderlands, a terrific SFF/H store out on Valencia. I wanted to stick the gift certificate in a book and we found a signed copy of Pratchett's first Johnny Maxwell book. I tucked the gift certificate into the book.
Turns out the older younger one had been searching for years for that title. He had the later Johnny Maxwells but wanted to start with #1 and hadn't been able to find it. The fact that we'd found him a copy -- signed -- made his Christmas.
Thanks for the memories, Laura.
Answer yourselves here, folks: "What's the best gift you ever gave? What's the best gift you ever got? And have you ever had to fake it?"
posted by Sal Towse at 11:21 PM|
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Wednesday, December 27, 2006
[WR] A look at your chances
Agent Kristin Nelson has a post up on PubRants giving her "year in statistics."
Heading up the list:
20,800 (Estimated number of queries read and responded to in 2006)
54 (Number of full manuscripts requested and read)
8 (Number of new clients taken on this year)
21 (Number of books sold this year—not counting subsidiary rights stuff)
6 (Number of projects currently under submission)
The numbers are daunting, aren't they? But when the nights are long and the wind is howling 'round your door and your spirits are low, remember, the fine words of Wendy Chatley Green:
The odds are against you, but they are less against you if you actually write and submit something.
Or, as Miss Snark says, it doesn't really matter what the acceptance/rejection rate is for a given agent or publisher when you're submitting your work. What matters is your work. She signed a client who had had eighty-one rejection letters before she signed him. It only takes one agent to say yes, Miss Snark reminds us.
posted by Sal Towse at 6:02 PM||
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Heading up the list:
20,800 (Estimated number of queries read and responded to in 2006)
54 (Number of full manuscripts requested and read)
8 (Number of new clients taken on this year)
21 (Number of books sold this year—not counting subsidiary rights stuff)
6 (Number of projects currently under submission)
The numbers are daunting, aren't they? But when the nights are long and the wind is howling 'round your door and your spirits are low, remember, the fine words of Wendy Chatley Green:
The odds are against you, but they are less against you if you actually write and submit something.
Or, as Miss Snark says, it doesn't really matter what the acceptance/rejection rate is for a given agent or publisher when you're submitting your work. What matters is your work. She signed a client who had had eighty-one rejection letters before she signed him. It only takes one agent to say yes, Miss Snark reminds us.
Labels: writing
posted by Sal Towse at 6:02 PM|
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What interests you. What doesn't. And how that's mirrored in your on-line persona, nay, even your RL persona.
Years ago, when I was living with a different husband, the husband and I went to a Silva Mind Control scoop-em-in-and-hook-em-up seminar.
What I took out of that seminar is that what you write about and what you care about and what makes you flinch and what makes you cry or yell or laugh is what interests you, what makes you tick.
The Silva folk had you think about someone you knew well.
What did you really like about them? What about them irritated you all to heck? Ten things for each list.
The upshot of the lists was that what you like and appreciate and what irritates you all to heck are all things that matter to you.
If someone twitches their foot and foot twitching doesn't ping your consciousness, you'll never mention twitching feet on your list of like/irritate/hate.
If what makes you twitch are people who are chronically late, you will probably mention that the person you're profiling is chronically late, if they are.
Back a day or two ago in Usenet land, someone made a crack that struck me all wrong. Still does. He's now backstepping around the pile of warm stuff that oozed out of his psyche. I don't care if the crack was intended as a troll. The crack was a reflection of who the person was. One wouldn't make the crack if it wasn't handy, somewhere in the psyche.
I think wotzizname Gibson probably had Jews on the brain before he was picked up for DUI by a Jewish cop and spewed his memorable spew. I think whatzizname Michael Richards had a fizz on his brain when he lashed out at the comedy club.
You don't lash out about things that aren't already stewing on your brain. You must've seen someone lash out at something and you just didn't get it. You said, huh?
We used to have to deal with a family member who'd make weird attempts to annoy us and get us twitching and spitting. She'd do one of her gotchas and we could tell she was trying to get us to twitch. We'd sit there and wonder, what is she trying now? Why does she think what she's doing would upset us?
We'd think for a while and then ... Oh ... that's it. Silly girl.
She'd do off-the-wall stuff intended to annoy. Well, she'd be annoyed if someone did something like that to her and she was so self-centered she didn't realize that what annoyed her might not annoy others. She'd hope we'd whine and complain and raise a fuss and storm out of the family and behave badly. We let it go. What's "stuff" anyway, crazy girl.
She was so self-centered she never could understand that what she did reflected more about how she ticked inside than it ever had anything much really to do with us.
She was avaricious and expected everyone else to be. She was suspicious of everyone because she knew that everyone should be suspicious of her.
She's no longer part of the family due to circumstances changing. The only thing I really miss is having a front row seat on her soap opera life. Boy, that girl had a weird view of how people should treat each other. I would love to see how her world view impacts her life these days -- how many friends have deserted her, how many tradesmen have cheated her, how many people are just being mean-mean-mean to her. I would love to know what's going on in her life, but not enough to get back in contact with her. I'm curious, but not enough.
In a similar fashion, the personas that people assume on Usenet ooze with things that they are aware of and care about, things that make them tick or tick them off.
I'm the girl who rummages up URLs. I'd never affect the persona of someone who cared about pink shooz. What? Or someone who cared about The Bulls. They lost last night? What?
Next time, watch what people pay attention to, what they react to, what sort of button pushing really sets them off and you'll see what's important in their lives. You'll also see that people who push buttons pick buttons that they care about. People talk about, act out, or conspicuously avoid things that they are most concerned about. If the subject didn't make their nerve endings twitch, it would never occur to them to even notice.
posted by Sal Towse at 12:24 AM||
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What I took out of that seminar is that what you write about and what you care about and what makes you flinch and what makes you cry or yell or laugh is what interests you, what makes you tick.
The Silva folk had you think about someone you knew well.
What did you really like about them? What about them irritated you all to heck? Ten things for each list.
The upshot of the lists was that what you like and appreciate and what irritates you all to heck are all things that matter to you.
If someone twitches their foot and foot twitching doesn't ping your consciousness, you'll never mention twitching feet on your list of like/irritate/hate.
If what makes you twitch are people who are chronically late, you will probably mention that the person you're profiling is chronically late, if they are.
Back a day or two ago in Usenet land, someone made a crack that struck me all wrong. Still does. He's now backstepping around the pile of warm stuff that oozed out of his psyche. I don't care if the crack was intended as a troll. The crack was a reflection of who the person was. One wouldn't make the crack if it wasn't handy, somewhere in the psyche.
I think wotzizname Gibson probably had Jews on the brain before he was picked up for DUI by a Jewish cop and spewed his memorable spew. I think whatzizname Michael Richards had a fizz on his brain when he lashed out at the comedy club.
You don't lash out about things that aren't already stewing on your brain. You must've seen someone lash out at something and you just didn't get it. You said, huh?
We used to have to deal with a family member who'd make weird attempts to annoy us and get us twitching and spitting. She'd do one of her gotchas and we could tell she was trying to get us to twitch. We'd sit there and wonder, what is she trying now? Why does she think what she's doing would upset us?
We'd think for a while and then ... Oh ... that's it. Silly girl.
She'd do off-the-wall stuff intended to annoy. Well, she'd be annoyed if someone did something like that to her and she was so self-centered she didn't realize that what annoyed her might not annoy others. She'd hope we'd whine and complain and raise a fuss and storm out of the family and behave badly. We let it go. What's "stuff" anyway, crazy girl.
She was so self-centered she never could understand that what she did reflected more about how she ticked inside than it ever had anything much really to do with us.
She was avaricious and expected everyone else to be. She was suspicious of everyone because she knew that everyone should be suspicious of her.
She's no longer part of the family due to circumstances changing. The only thing I really miss is having a front row seat on her soap opera life. Boy, that girl had a weird view of how people should treat each other. I would love to see how her world view impacts her life these days -- how many friends have deserted her, how many tradesmen have cheated her, how many people are just being mean-mean-mean to her. I would love to know what's going on in her life, but not enough to get back in contact with her. I'm curious, but not enough.
In a similar fashion, the personas that people assume on Usenet ooze with things that they are aware of and care about, things that make them tick or tick them off.
I'm the girl who rummages up URLs. I'd never affect the persona of someone who cared about pink shooz. What? Or someone who cared about The Bulls. They lost last night? What?
Next time, watch what people pay attention to, what they react to, what sort of button pushing really sets them off and you'll see what's important in their lives. You'll also see that people who push buttons pick buttons that they care about. People talk about, act out, or conspicuously avoid things that they are most concerned about. If the subject didn't make their nerve endings twitch, it would never occur to them to even notice.
posted by Sal Towse at 12:24 AM|
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Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Denver escort Michael Forest Jones's memoir
Note in today's Pubishers Lunch of the sale of "Denver escort Michael Forest Jones's memoir of his three-year gay relationship with Evangelist and church leader, Ted Haggard, written with Sam Gallegos, to Dan Simon at Seven Stories, for publication in June 2007, by attorney/agent Donald Farber."
More here.
Sam Gallegos is a freelance writer in Denver who helped Randy Shilts with research, when Shilts was writing CONDUCT UNBECOMING: Gays and Lesbians in the U.S. Military.
Judith Regan, eat your heart out.
posted by Sal Towse at 6:56 PM||
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More here.
Sam Gallegos is a freelance writer in Denver who helped Randy Shilts with research, when Shilts was writing CONDUCT UNBECOMING: Gays and Lesbians in the U.S. Military.
Judith Regan, eat your heart out.
posted by Sal Towse at 6:56 PM|
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an inhabited island has disappeared beneath rising seas
DISAPPEARING WORLD: Global warming claims tropical island
For the first time, an inhabited island has disappeared beneath rising seas. Environment Editor Geoffrey Lean reports
Published: 24 December 2006 [The Independent Online]
Rising seas, caused by global warming, have for the first time washed an inhabited island off the face of the Earth. The obliteration of Lohachara island, in India's part of the Sundarbans where the Ganges and the Brahmaputra rivers empty into the Bay of Bengal, marks the moment when one of the most apocalyptic predictions of environmentalists and climate scientists has started coming true.
As the seas continue to swell, they will swallow whole island nations, from the Maldives to the Marshall Islands, inundate vast areas of countries from Bangladesh to Egypt, and submerge parts of scores of coastal cities.
continued ...
posted by Sal Towse at 10:40 AM||
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For the first time, an inhabited island has disappeared beneath rising seas. Environment Editor Geoffrey Lean reports
Published: 24 December 2006 [The Independent Online]
Rising seas, caused by global warming, have for the first time washed an inhabited island off the face of the Earth. The obliteration of Lohachara island, in India's part of the Sundarbans where the Ganges and the Brahmaputra rivers empty into the Bay of Bengal, marks the moment when one of the most apocalyptic predictions of environmentalists and climate scientists has started coming true.
As the seas continue to swell, they will swallow whole island nations, from the Maldives to the Marshall Islands, inundate vast areas of countries from Bangladesh to Egypt, and submerge parts of scores of coastal cities.
continued ...
posted by Sal Towse at 10:40 AM|
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Monday, December 25, 2006
Christmas was everything I wanted
The younger younger guy flew in from Boston late -- after eleven -- on the 23rd. He found me snoozing in the wait lounge when he arrived. Luckily his nibs was awake. I'd been up past my bedtime for the previous two or three nights and had crashed.
We got back to our place and got to bed after midnight, more like one a.m. or so. I was up before seven-thirty (being careful not to wake up the younger younger guy who was asleep on the living room floor) to head down to Liguria Bakery for focaccia for us to snack on during the day before our big Christmas Eve dinner and for a couple raisin focaccia to take to the family Christmas.
But it turned out I wasn't the only one with such plans.
After over an hour and a half in line, I reached the front door around nine-thirty and discovered the bakery had just sold their last piece of my favorite rosemary focaccia. I winged it with the two raisin focaccia I was planning to bring to Christmas brunch, plus one each of garlic, rosemary garlic and two tomato/pizza. Turns out they mixed up the order a bit and I wound up with onion instead of the garlic. I prefer the garlic to the onion (others have the exact opposite preference), but we survived the mixup.
Who knew that focaccia on Christmas was such a big tradition for some people? There were people standing in line who were buying twelve sets of tomato focaccia for Christmas Day. People had driven over from Pacifica and up from the south bay, and that was only the people I talked to or overheard a couple spaces ahead or behind me in line.
I don't know if the people still in line behind me got the focaccia they wanted before Liguria ran out for the day. You snooze. You lose. Now that I know their Christmas Eve hours have them opening at 6 a.m. (instead of the 7 a.m. opening hours that are "normal" for weekends), I'll know to be on their doorstep at 6 a.m. on Christmas Eves in the future.
The older younger guy and his guy drove up from Santa Cruz in the afternoon and we chatted and sat around. I made cheese danish coffee rolls (from scratch ... yeast and knead and raise and all) while the others read until it was time to walk over to the HOPR (hopper) AKA The House of Prime Rib on Van Ness for a Christmas Eve dinner.
Dinner reservation was for 10 p.m., the earliest we could get. We were seated fifteen minutes, a half hour late, but that was okay. The time in the bar area gave us a chance to watch the passing crowd, and what a motley crowd it is. The HOPR is a favorite with a wide variety of people.
Dinner was exactly what we expected. How could it not be when the menu is pretty straightforward and hasn't changed since it opened fifty-plus years ago. The only recent change is an option for the vegetable side: you can now order creamed corn in lieu of the creamed spinach, a result of the E.coli spinach problem earlier this year.
Who knew that Christmas Eve dinner at HOPR was a long-standing tradition for some families? I didn't, although it may become one for us. More than one family party left, saying "Thanks. Good-bye. See you next year." to the wait staff.
I swear the guy and his son who were standing in front of me at Liguria were waiting for a table with the wife and daughter of the family.
Filled to the brim and carrying our bright red HOPR bags with our uneaten pieces of prime rib stored inside, we walked back home.
We didn't get to bed until after midnight.
Up bright and early, we turned on the sparkling tree and had focaccia and cheese danishes for a snack before we opened our presents to each other, to and between the five of us.
Oddly enough, the presents were book-book-book-(gift certificate for book store)-book-book-(magazine subscription)-book-DVD-book-book-mug.
Theme here?
After the opening of presents, we loaded up both cars with presents for the rest of the family and focaccia (and hard sauce to go with it) and cheese danishes and what-not and headed off to the Towse family Christmas in the east bay. Over the bay and through the tunnel and up to the water and east and ... we arrived.
The day was good. Far better than I could've hoped for. I missed Dad, of course, but it was good to see us all together and together.
My present for the matriarch was a box of mixed XOX truffles, which she loved. I mean really loved. Great! Now I know what to bring her for a treat when we visit.
Christmas was everything I wanted. We didn't get or give loads of gifts. There were no piles of presents, no conspicuous consumption. I had what I wanted: family and peace and having us all together. Everything and all that I wanted. Here's to magic. Here's to wonder. Here's to family. Here's to love.
Good night. Good peace.
posted by Sal Towse at 7:13 PM||
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We got back to our place and got to bed after midnight, more like one a.m. or so. I was up before seven-thirty (being careful not to wake up the younger younger guy who was asleep on the living room floor) to head down to Liguria Bakery for focaccia for us to snack on during the day before our big Christmas Eve dinner and for a couple raisin focaccia to take to the family Christmas.
But it turned out I wasn't the only one with such plans.
After over an hour and a half in line, I reached the front door around nine-thirty and discovered the bakery had just sold their last piece of my favorite rosemary focaccia. I winged it with the two raisin focaccia I was planning to bring to Christmas brunch, plus one each of garlic, rosemary garlic and two tomato/pizza. Turns out they mixed up the order a bit and I wound up with onion instead of the garlic. I prefer the garlic to the onion (others have the exact opposite preference), but we survived the mixup.
Who knew that focaccia on Christmas was such a big tradition for some people? There were people standing in line who were buying twelve sets of tomato focaccia for Christmas Day. People had driven over from Pacifica and up from the south bay, and that was only the people I talked to or overheard a couple spaces ahead or behind me in line.
I don't know if the people still in line behind me got the focaccia they wanted before Liguria ran out for the day. You snooze. You lose. Now that I know their Christmas Eve hours have them opening at 6 a.m. (instead of the 7 a.m. opening hours that are "normal" for weekends), I'll know to be on their doorstep at 6 a.m. on Christmas Eves in the future.
The older younger guy and his guy drove up from Santa Cruz in the afternoon and we chatted and sat around. I made cheese danish coffee rolls (from scratch ... yeast and knead and raise and all) while the others read until it was time to walk over to the HOPR (hopper) AKA The House of Prime Rib on Van Ness for a Christmas Eve dinner.
Dinner reservation was for 10 p.m., the earliest we could get. We were seated fifteen minutes, a half hour late, but that was okay. The time in the bar area gave us a chance to watch the passing crowd, and what a motley crowd it is. The HOPR is a favorite with a wide variety of people.
Dinner was exactly what we expected. How could it not be when the menu is pretty straightforward and hasn't changed since it opened fifty-plus years ago. The only recent change is an option for the vegetable side: you can now order creamed corn in lieu of the creamed spinach, a result of the E.coli spinach problem earlier this year.
Who knew that Christmas Eve dinner at HOPR was a long-standing tradition for some families? I didn't, although it may become one for us. More than one family party left, saying "Thanks. Good-bye. See you next year." to the wait staff.
I swear the guy and his son who were standing in front of me at Liguria were waiting for a table with the wife and daughter of the family.
Filled to the brim and carrying our bright red HOPR bags with our uneaten pieces of prime rib stored inside, we walked back home.
We didn't get to bed until after midnight.
Up bright and early, we turned on the sparkling tree and had focaccia and cheese danishes for a snack before we opened our presents to each other, to and between the five of us.
Oddly enough, the presents were book-book-book-(gift certificate for book store)-book-book-(magazine subscription)-book-DVD-book-book-mug.
Theme here?
After the opening of presents, we loaded up both cars with presents for the rest of the family and focaccia (and hard sauce to go with it) and cheese danishes and what-not and headed off to the Towse family Christmas in the east bay. Over the bay and through the tunnel and up to the water and east and ... we arrived.
The day was good. Far better than I could've hoped for. I missed Dad, of course, but it was good to see us all together and together.
My present for the matriarch was a box of mixed XOX truffles, which she loved. I mean really loved. Great! Now I know what to bring her for a treat when we visit.
Christmas was everything I wanted. We didn't get or give loads of gifts. There were no piles of presents, no conspicuous consumption. I had what I wanted: family and peace and having us all together. Everything and all that I wanted. Here's to magic. Here's to wonder. Here's to family. Here's to love.
Good night. Good peace.
posted by Sal Towse at 7:13 PM|
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The Godfather of Soul
Who would've thought after all the years and all that living that James Brown would die on Christmas Day of congestive heart failure/pneumonia in a hospital at age 73?
This was certainly not the way I would've ever figured he'd leave this earthly realm. He always seemed more a "bang!" than a whimper-exit sort of guy.
Spin your copy of "I Feel Good" and wish the man a speedy journey. I think he would've been amused to see the news reports and obits pour in: Siberian News Online, Virgin.net, Sky News Australia, the Telegraph, BET, PBS, Newsday, Bostonist, Irish Times and fourteen hundred plus others.
posted by Sal Towse at 6:49 PM||
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This was certainly not the way I would've ever figured he'd leave this earthly realm. He always seemed more a "bang!" than a whimper-exit sort of guy.
Spin your copy of "I Feel Good" and wish the man a speedy journey. I think he would've been amused to see the news reports and obits pour in: Siberian News Online, Virgin.net, Sky News Australia, the Telegraph, BET, PBS, Newsday, Bostonist, Irish Times and fourteen hundred plus others.
Labels: obit
posted by Sal Towse at 6:49 PM|
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Saturday, December 23, 2006
Another shake or three in Berkeley Friday night
Well, clobbered that old post (this one?) while I was writing up something new.
(Let's see if I can recreate the old post.)
We listened Friday night to Vienna Teng at the Independent, preceded by a delish dinner at NOPA.
While we were watching the show, my seat gave a shimmy, but then the seats at the Independent (and the tables) tend to shimmy.
If there'd been chandeliers, the chandeliers would've rattled.
No one else seemed to notice.
Quake on the Susan Hayward Fault. One large. Two aftershocks.
1.4 23:31:09 37.855N 122.234W 9.1 4 km ( 2 mi) N of Piedmont, CA
2.2 23:11:47 37.856N 122.237W 8.7 4 km ( 2 mi) ESE of Berkeley, CA
3.7 22:49:57 37.861N 122.237W 10.0 4 km ( 2 mi) ESE of Berkeley, CA
Here's hoping my friends in earthquake country have their houses tied to their foundations, a stash of water put away and whatever they'll need when they need it.
On Thursday night we were out to dinner (more on that to follow) and one of our dinner companions said he'd been talking to some cops about what they thought he'd need after an earthquake. Water, they said. A radio with batteries or a hand crank so you can get the news. And a side-by-side.
We don't have a side-by-side.
Oh.
[sorry for the writeover and repost and feh. ...]
posted by Sal Towse at 9:20 PM||
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(Let's see if I can recreate the old post.)
We listened Friday night to Vienna Teng at the Independent, preceded by a delish dinner at NOPA.
While we were watching the show, my seat gave a shimmy, but then the seats at the Independent (and the tables) tend to shimmy.
If there'd been chandeliers, the chandeliers would've rattled.
No one else seemed to notice.
Quake on the Susan Hayward Fault. One large. Two aftershocks.
1.4 23:31:09 37.855N 122.234W 9.1 4 km ( 2 mi) N of Piedmont, CA
2.2 23:11:47 37.856N 122.237W 8.7 4 km ( 2 mi) ESE of Berkeley, CA
3.7 22:49:57 37.861N 122.237W 10.0 4 km ( 2 mi) ESE of Berkeley, CA
Here's hoping my friends in earthquake country have their houses tied to their foundations, a stash of water put away and whatever they'll need when they need it.
On Thursday night we were out to dinner (more on that to follow) and one of our dinner companions said he'd been talking to some cops about what they thought he'd need after an earthquake. Water, they said. A radio with batteries or a hand crank so you can get the news. And a side-by-side.
We don't have a side-by-side.
Oh.
[sorry for the writeover and repost and feh. ...]
Labels: quakes
posted by Sal Towse at 9:20 PM|
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Did we mention a third today? (Another shake or three in Berkeley Friday night)
A 3.5 this Saturday morning at more or less the same spot as before -- the Susan Hayward fault in Berkeley.
Three over 3.0 in less than three days?
Uh Oh.
posted by Sal Towse at 8:20 PM||
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Three over 3.0 in less than three days?
Uh Oh.
Labels: quakes
posted by Sal Towse at 8:20 PM|
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[FOOD] Vienna Teng. NOPA. Independent
We listened last night to Vienna Teng at the Independent, preceded by a delish dinner at NOPA.
VT's intro act was The Animators, well, Devon Copley and Alex Wong, a street-stripped-down version -- the essence -- of the band. Alex played some backup percussion and glockenspiel for VT. VT played some backup piano for the two. And a fun time was had by all. I liked them a lot. His nibs didn't much care for them. Oh. That's what makes God's little green-blue world, though.
VT was wonderful as always. Such a voice. His nibs much prefers her live performances to her CDs, which he thinks are over produced and layer too much production on top of her unique voice. I like her CDs. More differences of opinion. Both of us agree, though, that live, she is marvelous. She has her patter down and she's comfortable on stage. Hard to believe she is a reincarnated computer geek educated at Stanford, but there you have it.
She sang for over an hour, including CITY HALL and MISSION STREET, LULLABY FOR A STORMY NIGHT for her sister. She closed with an audience sing-along of SOON LOVE SOON and we all scattered out into the night with our souls intact.
She's playing again tonight. She'd sold enough of tonight's show that they added last night's show, and happy we were they did. The younger younger nib is arriving in from Boston tonight after 11p and we're picking him up at the airport. We couldn't have made a show tonight.
If VT's ever playing near you, get tickets.
We grabbed the 15 to Market Street and then the 21 Hayes up to Divisadero, getting there precisely at 6p (as was our plan) for a show with doors that opened at 8:30p for which we had will-call tickets. Why so early? Well, we'd been planning on dinner or at least something to eat beforehand. Last December, for a VT show at the I, we'd eaten at the Bean Bag Cafe, a small joint at the corner of Hayes and Divisadero.
This year, as we were poking around on the Web in the afternoon, we realized that there were several new restaurants in the neighborhood that hadn't been there last year.
A new restaurant NOPA, which has got some buzz, had opened in the empty building kitty-corner to the BBC, a building which had been vacant with windows covered with butcher paper last December when we were waiting for the bus home.
NOPA
560 Divisadero Street @ Hayes
San Francisco, CA 94117
Phone (415) 864-8643
Rather than make a reservation, we decided to show on their doorstep at 6p and see if we could get a table. If not, there were other places to try or the BBC.
NOPA's bar opens at 5p. Dining starts at 6p. NOPA has a communal dining table and bar dinner seating that are first-come, first-serve. If we couldn't grab a table, surely we could eat at the bar.
We showed at 6p and were told, yes, they had a table, but wouldn't be able to seat us for ten minutes or so. Fine. We watched while they set everyone up who had a 6p reservation and then around 6:15, they sat us mid-room at a table for 4. I'm not a mid-room sort of person, but a table for 4 means you aren't elbow to elbow with the person next to you so that was a plus.
Appetizers: (him) squash soup -- which turned out to be a beef-barley soup with bits of tasty squash rather than the ginger-squash whirl that so many do. Although it wasn't what we expected, it was tasty. (me) spinach salad with endive, slices of persimmon, walnuts, pomegranate seeds, a tasty bleu cheesy dressing. Delish.
Main: (him) pan roasted black cod on a lentil platform with chicory -- tasty (me) lamb, cooked medium rare. Sliced. Looked a bit like some restaurants' duck breast presentation. No bones. Drizzled with a mint/chopped garlic/onion/something sort of chimichurri sauce. Very tasty. Set on a bed of pureed celery root (cream and butter are such wondrous things). With a side of braised greens.
We had a bottle of pinot noir: ICI/LA-BAS pinot noir. 2002. Les Reveles. Ellee Valley.
Dessert: trio of sorbets: meyer lemon, blood orange, clementine. He was happy. I had a taste of each and a small glass of moscotel romano alicante (bodegas guitterez de la vega 2003) because they had no Bonny Doon vin glaciere. I like. Our charming waiter said he likes the moscatel but really likes the eiswein. Maybe next time.
See? Maybe next time already. Our meal was that good. Our wait staff was excellent. Always there. Happy to be there or a very good actor. Suggestions if you wanted. Not if you didn't.
The building is a transformed bank, with some other incarnations in between. High ceilings. Impressive support structures. We noticed the criss-cross beam bracing over the door for earthquake retrofit, which seemed appropriate after we felt the shake during the Vienna Teng performance.
The vibe is friendly. The food is good. The place got more and more packed as the evening wended on. We got out about 8p and walked across the street and up half a block to the Independent. I stood in the like ten people long line while his nibs picked up the tickets. Doors opened at 8:30p for a 9p show. By then the line was down the block and wrapped around the corner.
We got great seats at a club table for four. The couple sharing the table had been behind us in line. The club, which is "intimate," meaning small, filled up and then standing and then more standing. The mix was geezers like us and YUPs and gen-Xers and more Asians over the age of thirty than I'm used to seeing at a club. VT's brother and younger sister were in the audience, she said. I didn't see her mom and wouldn't've recognized the sister at all. According to VT, the younger sister's almost out of HS. When I knew her, she was probably four or five. Time moves on, doesn't it?
If you're headed to the Independent for a show and want a nice meal beforehand, showing up on NOPA's doorstep at 6p will get you to the show on time with absolutely no stress. If you decide to eat after the show, NOPA serves dinner until 1 a.m., and the place was hopping at midnight as we waited (far longer than the twenty minutes MUNI claims for that time of night, but hey...) for a 21 back downtown.
Caught a 30 back to Washington Square Park and then walked home. The driver was a bit of a poophead. His nibs had pulled the STOP cord as we turned from Stockton onto Columbus. He yanked it again/again when it was clear the driver wasn't stopping at the Park. The driver stopped mid street and said, "Next time, pull the cord sooner if you want me to stop."
Huh? His nibs had pulled the cord like two blocks thataway back there! The driver must've been tired or having a hard night. He couldn't damper my mood, though.
Nice, nice evening.
posted by Sal Towse at 9:30 AM||
|
VT's intro act was The Animators, well, Devon Copley and Alex Wong, a street-stripped-down version -- the essence -- of the band. Alex played some backup percussion and glockenspiel for VT. VT played some backup piano for the two. And a fun time was had by all. I liked them a lot. His nibs didn't much care for them. Oh. That's what makes God's little green-blue world, though.
VT was wonderful as always. Such a voice. His nibs much prefers her live performances to her CDs, which he thinks are over produced and layer too much production on top of her unique voice. I like her CDs. More differences of opinion. Both of us agree, though, that live, she is marvelous. She has her patter down and she's comfortable on stage. Hard to believe she is a reincarnated computer geek educated at Stanford, but there you have it.
She sang for over an hour, including CITY HALL and MISSION STREET, LULLABY FOR A STORMY NIGHT for her sister. She closed with an audience sing-along of SOON LOVE SOON and we all scattered out into the night with our souls intact.
She's playing again tonight. She'd sold enough of tonight's show that they added last night's show, and happy we were they did. The younger younger nib is arriving in from Boston tonight after 11p and we're picking him up at the airport. We couldn't have made a show tonight.
If VT's ever playing near you, get tickets.
We grabbed the 15 to Market Street and then the 21 Hayes up to Divisadero, getting there precisely at 6p (as was our plan) for a show with doors that opened at 8:30p for which we had will-call tickets. Why so early? Well, we'd been planning on dinner or at least something to eat beforehand. Last December, for a VT show at the I, we'd eaten at the Bean Bag Cafe, a small joint at the corner of Hayes and Divisadero.
This year, as we were poking around on the Web in the afternoon, we realized that there were several new restaurants in the neighborhood that hadn't been there last year.
A new restaurant NOPA, which has got some buzz, had opened in the empty building kitty-corner to the BBC, a building which had been vacant with windows covered with butcher paper last December when we were waiting for the bus home.
NOPA
560 Divisadero Street @ Hayes
San Francisco, CA 94117
Phone (415) 864-8643
Rather than make a reservation, we decided to show on their doorstep at 6p and see if we could get a table. If not, there were other places to try or the BBC.
NOPA's bar opens at 5p. Dining starts at 6p. NOPA has a communal dining table and bar dinner seating that are first-come, first-serve. If we couldn't grab a table, surely we could eat at the bar.
We showed at 6p and were told, yes, they had a table, but wouldn't be able to seat us for ten minutes or so. Fine. We watched while they set everyone up who had a 6p reservation and then around 6:15, they sat us mid-room at a table for 4. I'm not a mid-room sort of person, but a table for 4 means you aren't elbow to elbow with the person next to you so that was a plus.
Appetizers: (him) squash soup -- which turned out to be a beef-barley soup with bits of tasty squash rather than the ginger-squash whirl that so many do. Although it wasn't what we expected, it was tasty. (me) spinach salad with endive, slices of persimmon, walnuts, pomegranate seeds, a tasty bleu cheesy dressing. Delish.
Main: (him) pan roasted black cod on a lentil platform with chicory -- tasty (me) lamb, cooked medium rare. Sliced. Looked a bit like some restaurants' duck breast presentation. No bones. Drizzled with a mint/chopped garlic/onion/something sort of chimichurri sauce. Very tasty. Set on a bed of pureed celery root (cream and butter are such wondrous things). With a side of braised greens.
We had a bottle of pinot noir: ICI/LA-BAS pinot noir. 2002. Les Reveles. Ellee Valley.
Dessert: trio of sorbets: meyer lemon, blood orange, clementine. He was happy. I had a taste of each and a small glass of moscotel romano alicante (bodegas guitterez de la vega 2003) because they had no Bonny Doon vin glaciere. I like. Our charming waiter said he likes the moscatel but really likes the eiswein. Maybe next time.
See? Maybe next time already. Our meal was that good. Our wait staff was excellent. Always there. Happy to be there or a very good actor. Suggestions if you wanted. Not if you didn't.
The building is a transformed bank, with some other incarnations in between. High ceilings. Impressive support structures. We noticed the criss-cross beam bracing over the door for earthquake retrofit, which seemed appropriate after we felt the shake during the Vienna Teng performance.
The vibe is friendly. The food is good. The place got more and more packed as the evening wended on. We got out about 8p and walked across the street and up half a block to the Independent. I stood in the like ten people long line while his nibs picked up the tickets. Doors opened at 8:30p for a 9p show. By then the line was down the block and wrapped around the corner.
We got great seats at a club table for four. The couple sharing the table had been behind us in line. The club, which is "intimate," meaning small, filled up and then standing and then more standing. The mix was geezers like us and YUPs and gen-Xers and more Asians over the age of thirty than I'm used to seeing at a club. VT's brother and younger sister were in the audience, she said. I didn't see her mom and wouldn't've recognized the sister at all. According to VT, the younger sister's almost out of HS. When I knew her, she was probably four or five. Time moves on, doesn't it?
If you're headed to the Independent for a show and want a nice meal beforehand, showing up on NOPA's doorstep at 6p will get you to the show on time with absolutely no stress. If you decide to eat after the show, NOPA serves dinner until 1 a.m., and the place was hopping at midnight as we waited (far longer than the twenty minutes MUNI claims for that time of night, but hey...) for a 21 back downtown.
Caught a 30 back to Washington Square Park and then walked home. The driver was a bit of a poophead. His nibs had pulled the STOP cord as we turned from Stockton onto Columbus. He yanked it again/again when it was clear the driver wasn't stopping at the Park. The driver stopped mid street and said, "Next time, pull the cord sooner if you want me to stop."
Huh? His nibs had pulled the cord like two blocks thataway back there! The driver must've been tired or having a hard night. He couldn't damper my mood, though.
Nice, nice evening.
posted by Sal Towse at 9:30 AM|
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Friday, December 22, 2006
Herb Caen is spinning in his grave
(as I commented on Zen's blog) and repeat here because I think it's worth repeating. ...
The San Francisco Chronicle had an article late last month re Ferlinghetti getting tapped for a Commandeur des Arts et Lettres.
[...]
Ferlinghetti was pleased. When I first showed up to San Francisco after World War II, I was still wearing my French beret.
Later on in the article,
Although his surname and North Beach neighborhood bookstore usually associate him with Italians, Ferlinghetti has a strong French connection. His mother is part French, some of his best friends are French and many of his favorite memories are from living in France, he said.
In fact, Ferlinghetti would rather be called French than a beatnick.
"Obliterate that word," he said. "I came to San Francisco before the beats. I was more of a bohemian and what they called a nonconformist. I didn't do the 9 to 5, which is quite a French-based belief."
beatnick? BEATNICK?
Our own Herb Caen coined the word back when and the Chronicle should have "beatnik" somewhere in their spellchecker.
For shame.
posted by Sal Towse at 4:39 PM||
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The San Francisco Chronicle had an article late last month re Ferlinghetti getting tapped for a Commandeur des Arts et Lettres.
[...]
Ferlinghetti was pleased. When I first showed up to San Francisco after World War II, I was still wearing my French beret.
Later on in the article,
Although his surname and North Beach neighborhood bookstore usually associate him with Italians, Ferlinghetti has a strong French connection. His mother is part French, some of his best friends are French and many of his favorite memories are from living in France, he said.
In fact, Ferlinghetti would rather be called French than a beatnick.
"Obliterate that word," he said. "I came to San Francisco before the beats. I was more of a bohemian and what they called a nonconformist. I didn't do the 9 to 5, which is quite a French-based belief."
beatnick? BEATNICK?
Our own Herb Caen coined the word back when and the Chronicle should have "beatnik" somewhere in their spellchecker.
For shame.
Labels: wordstuff
posted by Sal Towse at 4:39 PM|
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Harrison Bergeron
Harrison Bergeron by Kurt Vonnegut (1961)
THE YEAR WAS 2081, and everybody was finally equal. They weren’t only equal before God and the law. They were equal every which way. Nobody was smarter than anybody else. Nobody was better looking than anybody else. Nobody was stronger or quicker than anybody else. All this equality was due to the 211th, 212th, and 213th Amendments to the Constitution, and to the unceasing vigilance of agents of the United States Handicapper General.
Some things about living still weren’t quite right, though. April, for instance, still drove people crazy by not being springtime. And it was in that clammy month that the H-G men took George and Hazel Bergeron’s fourteen-year-old son, Harrison, away.
[...]
Comments in a post at Noise in the Attic reminded me of this short story.
The post at Noise in the Attic was commenting on a recent news report: Seems a "high school in Needham, MA, has decided not to publish their Honor Roll in the newspaper any longer. Why? Because it causes stress in the students who don’t make it. Plus, adds the principal, it puts an "unhealthy emphasis on grades".
Oh.
posted by Sal Towse at 4:06 PM||
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THE YEAR WAS 2081, and everybody was finally equal. They weren’t only equal before God and the law. They were equal every which way. Nobody was smarter than anybody else. Nobody was better looking than anybody else. Nobody was stronger or quicker than anybody else. All this equality was due to the 211th, 212th, and 213th Amendments to the Constitution, and to the unceasing vigilance of agents of the United States Handicapper General.
Some things about living still weren’t quite right, though. April, for instance, still drove people crazy by not being springtime. And it was in that clammy month that the H-G men took George and Hazel Bergeron’s fourteen-year-old son, Harrison, away.
[...]
Comments in a post at Noise in the Attic reminded me of this short story.
The post at Noise in the Attic was commenting on a recent news report: Seems a "high school in Needham, MA, has decided not to publish their Honor Roll in the newspaper any longer. Why? Because it causes stress in the students who don’t make it. Plus, adds the principal, it puts an "unhealthy emphasis on grades".
Oh.
posted by Sal Towse at 4:06 PM|
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And a happy Festivus Eve to you and yours
Not that I'm a believer, mind you, but if you want your Festivus fix, go to festivuspoles.com.
Links.
News.
Video explaining How Festivus Poles Are Made.
An explanation of Festivus.
A click to FestivusWine.com
More ...
I'm off down the hill to buy me mum some of the best chocolate truffles in the world. For Christmas? Festivus? Saturnalia? Winter solstice? Yule?
For Mom. Hope she likes them.
posted by Sal Towse at 1:31 PM||
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Links.
News.
Video explaining How Festivus Poles Are Made.
An explanation of Festivus.
A click to FestivusWine.com
More ...
I'm off down the hill to buy me mum some of the best chocolate truffles in the world. For Christmas? Festivus? Saturnalia? Winter solstice? Yule?
For Mom. Hope she likes them.
posted by Sal Towse at 1:31 PM|
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Thursday, December 21, 2006
[FOOD] Earthshaking food at Cafe Bastille
We still had a few odds and ends to get for gifts. Our extended family downsized the gift giving last year so the adults have a gift exchange. Only the offspring under 18 are exempt.
We'd sent off the gifts for the much-loved wicked stepdaughter and her family back where it snows a couple weeks back. But still.
Jettison. Jettison. Jettison. Let's see. I'd decided unilaterally to heave-ho the stockings from Santa this year. After more than thirty years of stocking prep, I was tired. Santa's elf was retiring. I haven't told the younger nib yet. He flies in on the 23rd and I'll break the news then. I don't think my mom will miss hers. No more windup Godzilla monsters or reindeer meatballs for Dad's stocking. It's just not the same. His nibs and I decided heave-ho it was. No need to find little somethings to stash into stockings. Scratch that off the list.
There are still three under 18 who need gifts. A gift for me to give to Mom. A gift for his nibs to give to my bro. Or maybe it was the other way around. We needed gifts for the younger guys and one for the older younger guy's guy. Gifts for each other except we already gave each other gifts and are more into the random gift giving than not. Some of my gifts, already purchased, needed a specific x to finish up the package.
So we walked downtown to Stacey's Books (581 Market Street ... support your local bookseller) yesterday afternoon, a mile or so. Found what we needed at Stacey's, except that they didn't carry a magazine I wanted a copy of to accompany the subscription I'd bought for one of the youngsters, so it was off to Fog City News just down Market Street where I found the magazine I wanted. If you are ever looking for an obscure magazine, stop at Fog City and see if they have a copy in their racks. Amazing place.
It was a bit early to eat (6p or so), but not too early and we were done shopping, heading home.We had a choice of places to eat on the way home (Sam's, where we'd eaten just last week, any place on Belden Place, The House, and a couple hundred other choices). We opted for Belden Place and, specifically, for Cafe Bastille, where we'd eaten once before.
Cafe Bastille
22 Belden Place SF 94104
(415) 986-5673
French. Duh. All of the restaurants on Belden Place have an interior room or two and an outside eating area in the Belden Place alley. We walked in off the street without a reservation but we were early enough in the evening that that was no problem. Last night the weather was getting nippy, so we opted for eating inside. We were seated near the bar, rather than down in the cellar where we'd eaten the other time we'd been in.
I hadn't remembered the food being as good that time as it was last night.
Last night it was very tasty.
His nibs started with Dungeness Crab Cakes served with french-fried fennel sticks, a mashup of greens and a spicy Pineapple and Chipotle Salsa. I had the Foie Gras Terrine served with orange marmalade (really!) and a basil-aioli swish on the plate. At the side was a puff pastry stuffed until it ooozed with cheese. We swopped halfway through. Both were delicious.
The two crab cakes were mostly crab with just enough filler to hold them together. The salsa was spicy enough to warm all the way down. The terrine was delicious and who would've ever thought that an orange marmalade would go well with it? The puff pastry was delicious and only about a thousand calories.
His nibs had the Braised Lamb Shank with an incredible sauce. Baby carrots and boiled new potatoes were added separately just before serving and so were crisp, not soggy. The lamb melted in your mouth. I had the roast duck, cooked medium rare (and, by golly, it came out medium rare!) sliced with sauce and with a scrumptious lentil dish spread underneath. [Update: and steamed asparagus spears. Peeled stems! I never go to the effort to peel asparagus stems. yow! How could I forget!] We gave each other bites for tastes but didn't swap the plates.
We had a bottle of red wine from Cahors, imported by Kermit Lynch, the astounding import guy and wine merchant in Berkeley. Clos la Coutale. 80% Malbec, 20% Merlot. Way different from any Argentinian malbec blend we've ever had. Smooth and tasty enough that we decided we need to track down which San Francisco wine merchants carry Kermit Lynch imports. (Looks like San Francisco Wine Trading Company fer sures. I don't know if K&L or Wine Club have any of his imports ...)
For dessert we split the cognac creme brulee. The top cracked just as it should and the creme inside was soft but not oozy -- not thickened excessively with carageenan or whatever, like you often find. Alas, no Bonny Doon vin glaciere on the dessert wine menu and nothing there seemed an acceptable substitute so I continued nursing my glass of water.
The service was excellent. The guy who came by to take away plates and fill water glasses was always there immediately when he should be and never hovering when you wished he'd be gone.
The only shadow on the meal was a loud-ish patron at the bar who was overly effusive and talky-talky with the staff, talking about buying her skirt in Paris (a short short short mini skirt that she was wearing over black pants) and introducing herself to other people who came to wait at the bar for their tables. I know her name. I know her grandfather's name. I know what her boyfriend said when she bought the skirt. She reminded me of someone. Who? Who? Finally, thanks heaven, I realized right before we left that she reminded me (mannerisms, brain power, personality, mental whee!) of the woman who lives across the street from my parents. Man, that would've kept me awake all night.
So, why was the food so earthshaking at Cafe Bastille?
My seat shook. I looked down the banquette to see if someone'd just plopped themselves down or hauled themselves up. Nope. I looked around. I noticed his nibs looking around. "I felt a shake," I said.
"I did too," he answered.
No one else seemed to notice.
3.7 in Berkeley last night. 7:12 p.m.
[Update: For those folks unfamiliar with our earth cracks, that tremor (followed by a 2.2 aftershock at 00:55 this morning) was right, smack, dibby-dab on the (affectionately known as "Susan") Hayward fault, it was.]
posted by Sal Towse at 11:38 AM||
|
We'd sent off the gifts for the much-loved wicked stepdaughter and her family back where it snows a couple weeks back. But still.
Jettison. Jettison. Jettison. Let's see. I'd decided unilaterally to heave-ho the stockings from Santa this year. After more than thirty years of stocking prep, I was tired. Santa's elf was retiring. I haven't told the younger nib yet. He flies in on the 23rd and I'll break the news then. I don't think my mom will miss hers. No more windup Godzilla monsters or reindeer meatballs for Dad's stocking. It's just not the same. His nibs and I decided heave-ho it was. No need to find little somethings to stash into stockings. Scratch that off the list.
There are still three under 18 who need gifts. A gift for me to give to Mom. A gift for his nibs to give to my bro. Or maybe it was the other way around. We needed gifts for the younger guys and one for the older younger guy's guy. Gifts for each other except we already gave each other gifts and are more into the random gift giving than not. Some of my gifts, already purchased, needed a specific x to finish up the package.
So we walked downtown to Stacey's Books (581 Market Street ... support your local bookseller) yesterday afternoon, a mile or so. Found what we needed at Stacey's, except that they didn't carry a magazine I wanted a copy of to accompany the subscription I'd bought for one of the youngsters, so it was off to Fog City News just down Market Street where I found the magazine I wanted. If you are ever looking for an obscure magazine, stop at Fog City and see if they have a copy in their racks. Amazing place.
It was a bit early to eat (6p or so), but not too early and we were done shopping, heading home.We had a choice of places to eat on the way home (Sam's, where we'd eaten just last week, any place on Belden Place, The House, and a couple hundred other choices). We opted for Belden Place and, specifically, for Cafe Bastille, where we'd eaten once before.
Cafe Bastille
22 Belden Place SF 94104
(415) 986-5673
French. Duh. All of the restaurants on Belden Place have an interior room or two and an outside eating area in the Belden Place alley. We walked in off the street without a reservation but we were early enough in the evening that that was no problem. Last night the weather was getting nippy, so we opted for eating inside. We were seated near the bar, rather than down in the cellar where we'd eaten the other time we'd been in.
I hadn't remembered the food being as good that time as it was last night.
Last night it was very tasty.
His nibs started with Dungeness Crab Cakes served with french-fried fennel sticks, a mashup of greens and a spicy Pineapple and Chipotle Salsa. I had the Foie Gras Terrine served with orange marmalade (really!) and a basil-aioli swish on the plate. At the side was a puff pastry stuffed until it ooozed with cheese. We swopped halfway through. Both were delicious.
The two crab cakes were mostly crab with just enough filler to hold them together. The salsa was spicy enough to warm all the way down. The terrine was delicious and who would've ever thought that an orange marmalade would go well with it? The puff pastry was delicious and only about a thousand calories.
His nibs had the Braised Lamb Shank with an incredible sauce. Baby carrots and boiled new potatoes were added separately just before serving and so were crisp, not soggy. The lamb melted in your mouth. I had the roast duck, cooked medium rare (and, by golly, it came out medium rare!) sliced with sauce and with a scrumptious lentil dish spread underneath. [Update: and steamed asparagus spears. Peeled stems! I never go to the effort to peel asparagus stems. yow! How could I forget!] We gave each other bites for tastes but didn't swap the plates.
We had a bottle of red wine from Cahors, imported by Kermit Lynch, the astounding import guy and wine merchant in Berkeley. Clos la Coutale. 80% Malbec, 20% Merlot. Way different from any Argentinian malbec blend we've ever had. Smooth and tasty enough that we decided we need to track down which San Francisco wine merchants carry Kermit Lynch imports. (Looks like San Francisco Wine Trading Company fer sures. I don't know if K&L or Wine Club have any of his imports ...)
For dessert we split the cognac creme brulee. The top cracked just as it should and the creme inside was soft but not oozy -- not thickened excessively with carageenan or whatever, like you often find. Alas, no Bonny Doon vin glaciere on the dessert wine menu and nothing there seemed an acceptable substitute so I continued nursing my glass of water.
The service was excellent. The guy who came by to take away plates and fill water glasses was always there immediately when he should be and never hovering when you wished he'd be gone.
The only shadow on the meal was a loud-ish patron at the bar who was overly effusive and talky-talky with the staff, talking about buying her skirt in Paris (a short short short mini skirt that she was wearing over black pants) and introducing herself to other people who came to wait at the bar for their tables. I know her name. I know her grandfather's name. I know what her boyfriend said when she bought the skirt. She reminded me of someone. Who? Who? Finally, thanks heaven, I realized right before we left that she reminded me (mannerisms, brain power, personality, mental whee!) of the woman who lives across the street from my parents. Man, that would've kept me awake all night.
So, why was the food so earthshaking at Cafe Bastille?
My seat shook. I looked down the banquette to see if someone'd just plopped themselves down or hauled themselves up. Nope. I looked around. I noticed his nibs looking around. "I felt a shake," I said.
"I did too," he answered.
No one else seemed to notice.
3.7 in Berkeley last night. 7:12 p.m.
[Update: For those folks unfamiliar with our earth cracks, that tremor (followed by a 2.2 aftershock at 00:55 this morning) was right, smack, dibby-dab on the (affectionately known as "Susan") Hayward fault, it was.]
Labels: bookstores, food, quakes
posted by Sal Towse at 11:38 AM|
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Bob Mankoff, New Yorker cartoon editor
Ever wonder what it takes to get a cartoon published in the New Yorker? Wonder no more. ...
A post at Drawn! contains links to a three-part series over at the Huffington Post in which Matthew Diffee interviews Bob Mankoff.
There's a very interesting read over at the Huffington Post. New Yorker cartoonist Matthew Diffee has posted a 3-part discussion with Bob Mankoff, the magazine's infamous cartoon editor. The two discuss the nature of humour, what makes a good cartoon, and I think, more importantly, what defines a New Yorker cartoon and sets it apart from the rest.
[...]
Clicks to the three parts of Diffee's interview are contained in the blog entry.
Added bonus (for those who read all about the above in m.w and are saying, "So. What."):
A 2001 Bob Staake interview with Mankoff at PlanetCartoonist.
Man, I mean. How hard can it be to draw one of those little cartoons and think up some caption for it?
Here. You try it.
posted by Sal Towse at 12:39 AM||
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A post at Drawn! contains links to a three-part series over at the Huffington Post in which Matthew Diffee interviews Bob Mankoff.
There's a very interesting read over at the Huffington Post. New Yorker cartoonist Matthew Diffee has posted a 3-part discussion with Bob Mankoff, the magazine's infamous cartoon editor. The two discuss the nature of humour, what makes a good cartoon, and I think, more importantly, what defines a New Yorker cartoon and sets it apart from the rest.
[...]
Clicks to the three parts of Diffee's interview are contained in the blog entry.
Added bonus (for those who read all about the above in m.w and are saying, "So. What."):
A 2001 Bob Staake interview with Mankoff at PlanetCartoonist.
Man, I mean. How hard can it be to draw one of those little cartoons and think up some caption for it?
Here. You try it.
posted by Sal Towse at 12:39 AM|
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Wednesday, December 20, 2006
favicons
After folks started nattering about them a while back, I decided to join the crowd and added my "you are stardust" favicon here a week or so back.
Added a purple prose favicon to Internet Resources earlier today.
Wrote about favicons and such on the blog over there.
Some day I'll really need to rethink the blog layout for that site, but I'd abandoned that blog for almost two years and only recently started keeping it up-to-date again. Each time I edit it and pull up the blog it's like yowww! that was then, where is now?
posted by Sal Towse at 3:25 PM||
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Added a purple prose favicon to Internet Resources earlier today.
Wrote about favicons and such on the blog over there.
Some day I'll really need to rethink the blog layout for that site, but I'd abandoned that blog for almost two years and only recently started keeping it up-to-date again. Each time I edit it and pull up the blog it's like yowww! that was then, where is now?
posted by Sal Towse at 3:25 PM|
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Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Some photos of the tree.
Some photos of the tree. Such as they are. Click Rudolph's nose for entry to the gallery.
I'll try again with a tripod tonight or tomorrow to see if I can get some sharper images. If the pictures turn out better, I'll just update the gallery and tack a note up to that effect.
The tree, obviously, is not one of those elegant, symmetrical, sophisticated, balanced, artistic, themed trees but rather a tree with a motley collection of decorations accumulated over the years.
We boxed up several large boxes of decorations and a spare tree stand for the folks at NBC this year for their tree, but still had enough for several more trees in addition to the one we have.
Maybe next year I'll be ready to give even more away. Or not. The ones we have have so many memories attached to them, and I keep buying just a few new ones each year. The kids won't need to squabble over who gets the Christmas decorations after we settle in for our dirt naps. Each will inherit enough! for a tree! or two!
posted by Sal Towse at 6:24 PM||
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I'll try again with a tripod tonight or tomorrow to see if I can get some sharper images. If the pictures turn out better, I'll just update the gallery and tack a note up to that effect.
The tree, obviously, is not one of those elegant, symmetrical, sophisticated, balanced, artistic, themed trees but rather a tree with a motley collection of decorations accumulated over the years.
We boxed up several large boxes of decorations and a spare tree stand for the folks at NBC this year for their tree, but still had enough for several more trees in addition to the one we have.
Maybe next year I'll be ready to give even more away. Or not. The ones we have have so many memories attached to them, and I keep buying just a few new ones each year. The kids won't need to squabble over who gets the Christmas decorations after we settle in for our dirt naps. Each will inherit enough! for a tree! or two!
posted by Sal Towse at 6:24 PM|
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Monday, December 18, 2006
Augie Doggie's Doggie Daddy's dead
Joseph Barbera died, age 95.
Tell the Gatekeeper we voted you a free pass for the happiness you gave millions of rapt cartoon watchers over the years.
Thanks for hundreds (thousands, more like) of hours spent with Baba Louie and Quick Draw McGraw, Yogi Bear and Boo Boo, the prehistoric Flintstones, Bam-Bam and Pebbles, the futuristic Jetsons and all the rest of the gigantic gang of characters you and William Hanna created.
I can't imagine my childhood without them.
Update: Sour Grapes reminds me, Don't forget Tom and Jerry.
As if I could. A quick tour of YouTube gives us Tom and Jerry - The Cat Concerto (1946) and, in the spirit of the season, Tom and Jerry - The Night Before Christmas (1941)
posted by Sal Towse at 7:58 PM||
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Tell the Gatekeeper we voted you a free pass for the happiness you gave millions of rapt cartoon watchers over the years.
Thanks for hundreds (thousands, more like) of hours spent with Baba Louie and Quick Draw McGraw, Yogi Bear and Boo Boo, the prehistoric Flintstones, Bam-Bam and Pebbles, the futuristic Jetsons and all the rest of the gigantic gang of characters you and William Hanna created.
I can't imagine my childhood without them.
Update: Sour Grapes reminds me, Don't forget Tom and Jerry.
As if I could. A quick tour of YouTube gives us Tom and Jerry - The Cat Concerto (1946) and, in the spirit of the season, Tom and Jerry - The Night Before Christmas (1941)
Labels: obit
posted by Sal Towse at 7:58 PM|
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Sunday, December 17, 2006
Tree's up.
After much hemming and hawing and even a "why don't we just rearrange the furniture" episode at lunchtime today, we went over and picked up the decorations and tree stand from where they live eleven months of the year, then stopped by Delancey Street Trees at Pier 32 and bought a tree this afternoon.
We'd already put up a crèche in our seldom-used fireplace a couple few weeks back and strung lights up on the deck.
... but the tree, the tree, we had no tree.
My fault. I hadn't cleared the space we needed. We needed a day with nothing else happening to fetch the tree, which hasn't been happening recently, too. But most of the fault was mine. Stuff stashed, spread, boxed in the space where the tree would live. I finally cleaned the space, but it's just a week before Christmas and can I justify all the tree-effort for such a short spell?
The tree is a magical bit of Christmas for me and a pain in the rear for his nibs, the choosing, the dragging, the setting up, the lighting, the decorations. Because of the logistics these days, the getting and setting of the tree is even more a project than it ever was back in the days when we'd drive with the kids up into the mountains to cut a fresh tree from George McKenzie's Christmas tree farm.
So I'd finally cleared the space, but we were so close to Christmas and his nibs didn't much want to go through the exercise. I decided maybe we'd alternate years: a year for me with a tree, a year for him without one, but then today after I'd rearranged the furniture, I sat in one of the soft armchairs, staring out at the sun-shiny day, the bay, the blue skies, Mount Diablo in the distance, the boats, the east and the day was beautiful and I should've been at peace, but I felt as melancholy as you can feel without drowning in the black ooze. Sure it was all about Dad not being here this Christmas and his birthday and Skip's just past and all the combined blues but then there was the there'll-be-no-tree-this-year on top of it all.
His nibs, bless him, understood and said, let's go get a tree, for pete's sake, or words to that effect.
We sat on the sofa after dinner, in the dark, watching the lights twinkle on the almost-all-decorated tree, watching the lights twinkle on the bridge and in the East Bay, watching the candle in front of the crèche flicker while Jimmy Buffet sang Lennon's Happy Christmas (War Is Over) ...
(The Buffet Christmas Island album is one of my favorite Christmas collections -- probably an even tie with Sinatra's for the best-ever Christmas album of all time.)
... and although I'm still a bit melancholy about the season, the tree is tossing out tendrils of peace and happiness and my mood's much improved over where it was early this afternoon. Much.
posted by Sal Towse at 11:03 PM||
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We'd already put up a crèche in our seldom-used fireplace a couple few weeks back and strung lights up on the deck.
... but the tree, the tree, we had no tree.
My fault. I hadn't cleared the space we needed. We needed a day with nothing else happening to fetch the tree, which hasn't been happening recently, too. But most of the fault was mine. Stuff stashed, spread, boxed in the space where the tree would live. I finally cleaned the space, but it's just a week before Christmas and can I justify all the tree-effort for such a short spell?
The tree is a magical bit of Christmas for me and a pain in the rear for his nibs, the choosing, the dragging, the setting up, the lighting, the decorations. Because of the logistics these days, the getting and setting of the tree is even more a project than it ever was back in the days when we'd drive with the kids up into the mountains to cut a fresh tree from George McKenzie's Christmas tree farm.
So I'd finally cleared the space, but we were so close to Christmas and his nibs didn't much want to go through the exercise. I decided maybe we'd alternate years: a year for me with a tree, a year for him without one, but then today after I'd rearranged the furniture, I sat in one of the soft armchairs, staring out at the sun-shiny day, the bay, the blue skies, Mount Diablo in the distance, the boats, the east and the day was beautiful and I should've been at peace, but I felt as melancholy as you can feel without drowning in the black ooze. Sure it was all about Dad not being here this Christmas and his birthday and Skip's just past and all the combined blues but then there was the there'll-be-no-tree-this-year on top of it all.
His nibs, bless him, understood and said, let's go get a tree, for pete's sake, or words to that effect.
We sat on the sofa after dinner, in the dark, watching the lights twinkle on the almost-all-decorated tree, watching the lights twinkle on the bridge and in the East Bay, watching the candle in front of the crèche flicker while Jimmy Buffet sang Lennon's Happy Christmas (War Is Over) ...
(The Buffet Christmas Island album is one of my favorite Christmas collections -- probably an even tie with Sinatra's for the best-ever Christmas album of all time.)
... and although I'm still a bit melancholy about the season, the tree is tossing out tendrils of peace and happiness and my mood's much improved over where it was early this afternoon. Much.
posted by Sal Towse at 11:03 PM|
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Friday, December 15, 2006
A happy birthday to the uncle who used to take me fishing
... and who shares a birthday with his nibs.
We celebrated with a wild night ... home.
Baked kabocha squash filled with butter/brown sugar/nutmeg.
Spiced lamb sausages from Little City Meats on Stockton with grilled onions, egg noodles.
Dessert was (for the birthday boy -- by request) baked Granny Smith apple stuffed with butter/brown sugar/nutmeg, served warm with French vanilla ice cream and (for moi) French vanilla ice cream with a splash of (non-vintage ... not the Dow '83 sitting on the kitchen counter! not the Dow '83!) port.
Ym.
We had a very nice birthday.
We hope the uncle who used to take me fishing (and his paramour) did as well.
posted by Sal Towse at 10:03 PM||
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We celebrated with a wild night ... home.
Baked kabocha squash filled with butter/brown sugar/nutmeg.
Spiced lamb sausages from Little City Meats on Stockton with grilled onions, egg noodles.
Dessert was (for the birthday boy -- by request) baked Granny Smith apple stuffed with butter/brown sugar/nutmeg, served warm with French vanilla ice cream and (for moi) French vanilla ice cream with a splash of (non-vintage ... not the Dow '83 sitting on the kitchen counter! not the Dow '83!) port.
Ym.
We had a very nice birthday.
We hope the uncle who used to take me fishing (and his paramour) did as well.
posted by Sal Towse at 10:03 PM|
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Today's the day for hooks at Miss Snark's Crapometer
Miss Snark is opening up the Crapometer for the fourth time in history today.
Today's grist to be analyzed for crap-or-not (hence the exercise's name: Crapometer) is 250-wd hooks for your latest agnum mopus.
Miss Snark will critique all submitted 250-wd-or-less hooks on the blog in upcoming days. If she likes your hook, she'll ask for a 750-wd pitch, which she will also critique on the blog.
Rules and regs
MUY IMPORTANTE: The Crapometer opens today (Friday) at 8 pm EST. You have twelve hours to send in your hook. Crapometer closes promptly at 8 am EST Saturday.
NOTE ALSO MUY IMPORTANTE: Miss Snark is verrrry particular about word count. She doesn't mind you sending in 10 words if the max allowed is 250, but if you send in 260, you won't get a critique. Miss Snark uses Word to count the words.
Have at it.
Even if you don't submit a hook for critique, read the blog in the upcoming days for an education in how-to-write-hooks.
posted by Sal Towse at 12:14 PM||
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Today's grist to be analyzed for crap-or-not (hence the exercise's name: Crapometer) is 250-wd hooks for your latest agnum mopus.
Miss Snark will critique all submitted 250-wd-or-less hooks on the blog in upcoming days. If she likes your hook, she'll ask for a 750-wd pitch, which she will also critique on the blog.
Rules and regs
MUY IMPORTANTE: The Crapometer opens today (Friday) at 8 pm EST. You have twelve hours to send in your hook. Crapometer closes promptly at 8 am EST Saturday.
NOTE ALSO MUY IMPORTANTE: Miss Snark is verrrry particular about word count. She doesn't mind you sending in 10 words if the max allowed is 250, but if you send in 260, you won't get a critique. Miss Snark uses Word to count the words.
Have at it.
Even if you don't submit a hook for critique, read the blog in the upcoming days for an education in how-to-write-hooks.
posted by Sal Towse at 12:14 PM|
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Words from Bucky
If success or failure of this planet and of human beings depended on how I am and what I do ...
How would I be?
What would I do?
-- R. Buckminster Fuller
[found at The Buckminster Fuller Institute]
posted by Sal Towse at 10:43 AM||
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How would I be?
What would I do?
-- R. Buckminster Fuller
[found at The Buckminster Fuller Institute]
posted by Sal Towse at 10:43 AM|
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[for Paula] Important Beanie Baby news!
Today's Chronicle chronicles the strange mystery of the Beanie Baby bandit of Piedmont.
Beanie Babies! Kitties! If only there'd been cupcakes with buttercream frosting in the story, the bluebirds would've been singing in the peppermint trees!
(Too bad the crimes didn't occur in Bakersfield or Barstow for even more maximo alliteration!)
posted by Sal Towse at 10:13 AM||
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Beanie Babies! Kitties! If only there'd been cupcakes with buttercream frosting in the story, the bluebirds would've been singing in the peppermint trees!
(Too bad the crimes didn't occur in Bakersfield or Barstow for even more maximo alliteration!)
posted by Sal Towse at 10:13 AM|
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Thursday, December 14, 2006
Ruth Asawa
Took the bus down to Market Street and caught the N-Judah over to the de Young today to see the Ruth Asawa retrospective.
Lovely. The wire work is fascinating, peaceful, mesmerizing. The museum had the lights set so the shadows through the wires fell on the floor and bent and danced across the walls as the air moved the sculptures.
Some of her ink drawings are amazing. The one of her son is pattern on pattern on pattern with very little actual drawing of hand or foot or head, just pattern and lack of pattern and the emptiness between.
Asawa's retrospective consists not just of her wire sculptures (both crocheted and tied and bundled) but also her notes from her time at Black Mountain College (NC), a documentary film, a collection of her paper works and photographs taken of her and her work by her longtime friend photographer Imogen Cunningham.
We discovered, watching the documentary, that the fountain at the Grand Hyatt Hotel, Union Square, which we'd ridden by on the bus earlier in the day, was one of her public commissions. (an in-process view of its construction)
We'd seen some of her wire sculptures in the elevator lobby of the museum tower back a couple months ago and were excited to hear there'd be an entire exhibit.
The exhibit runs through 28 January 2007.
Update: Asawa is a sculptor, an artist, an honored arts activist and the mother of six. I've been wondering what I've been up to lately. No time to do what needs doing? Where was Asawa's time?
posted by Sal Towse at 9:57 PM||
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Lovely. The wire work is fascinating, peaceful, mesmerizing. The museum had the lights set so the shadows through the wires fell on the floor and bent and danced across the walls as the air moved the sculptures.
Some of her ink drawings are amazing. The one of her son is pattern on pattern on pattern with very little actual drawing of hand or foot or head, just pattern and lack of pattern and the emptiness between.
Asawa's retrospective consists not just of her wire sculptures (both crocheted and tied and bundled) but also her notes from her time at Black Mountain College (NC), a documentary film, a collection of her paper works and photographs taken of her and her work by her longtime friend photographer Imogen Cunningham.
We discovered, watching the documentary, that the fountain at the Grand Hyatt Hotel, Union Square, which we'd ridden by on the bus earlier in the day, was one of her public commissions. (an in-process view of its construction)
We'd seen some of her wire sculptures in the elevator lobby of the museum tower back a couple months ago and were excited to hear there'd be an entire exhibit.
The exhibit runs through 28 January 2007.
Update: Asawa is a sculptor, an artist, an honored arts activist and the mother of six. I've been wondering what I've been up to lately. No time to do what needs doing? Where was Asawa's time?
posted by Sal Towse at 9:57 PM|
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Wednesday, December 13, 2006
[BLOG] Pepys as of this day in the Year of Our Lord Sixteen Hundred And Sixty Three
A link on Sour Grapes and then my search (undereducated 'r' me) for a translation for "AVT DOCE, AVT DISCE, AVT DISCEDE" took me back to a place I've been before: the Diary of Samuel Pepys, a very entertaining blog which Grapes hisself (iirc) told me about many many many moons ago.
Pepys' diary is a blog which follows Pepys' diary day-by-day with clicks to the appropriate "whatever is he talking about?" explanations.
Mrs. Pepys, btw, seems not to be an easy keeper.
Today's entry (Sunday 13 December 1663) includes the following (run-on-sentences-r-Pepys) bit.
To church, where after sermon home, and to my office, before dinner, reading my vowes, and so home to dinner, where Tom came to me and he and I dined together, my wife not rising all day, and after dinner I made even accounts with him, and spent all the afternoon in my chamber talking of many things with him, and about Wheately’s daughter for a wife for him, and then about the Joyces and their father Fenner, how they are sometimes all honey one with another and then all turd, and a strange rude life there is among them.
Love that "sometimes all honey one with another and then all turd, and a strange rude life there is among them."
Dysfunctional families 'r' us.
posted by Sal Towse at 7:42 PM||
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Pepys' diary is a blog which follows Pepys' diary day-by-day with clicks to the appropriate "whatever is he talking about?" explanations.
Mrs. Pepys, btw, seems not to be an easy keeper.
Today's entry (Sunday 13 December 1663) includes the following (run-on-sentences-r-Pepys) bit.
To church, where after sermon home, and to my office, before dinner, reading my vowes, and so home to dinner, where Tom came to me and he and I dined together, my wife not rising all day, and after dinner I made even accounts with him, and spent all the afternoon in my chamber talking of many things with him, and about Wheately’s daughter for a wife for him, and then about the Joyces and their father Fenner, how they are sometimes all honey one with another and then all turd, and a strange rude life there is among them.
Love that "sometimes all honey one with another and then all turd, and a strange rude life there is among them."
Dysfunctional families 'r' us.
posted by Sal Towse at 7:42 PM|
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RIP Leslie Harpold
I've been spinning through the Web, reading reminiscences of Leslie Harpold since I first found out a few hours ago through a post at SFist that she had died some time last week.
What can I say?
I hope Heaven is everything she'd imagined it could be.
She was a fine writer and, judging from the stories and posts from her many friends and acquaintances, someone I would've liked to have known.
posted by Sal Towse at 6:59 PM||
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What can I say?
I hope Heaven is everything she'd imagined it could be.
She was a fine writer and, judging from the stories and posts from her many friends and acquaintances, someone I would've liked to have known.
Labels: obit
posted by Sal Towse at 6:59 PM|
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