Hillbillyisms
My blog cousin, Sara, over at Hillbilly Sophisticate is collecting a list of words which are pronounced uniquely by our hillbilly cultures. (And if you don't think East Texas is populated by hillbillies, just go visit and listen to 'em sometimes.) Here are some East Texas, Westen Louisiana specialties:
Hisn. His
Hern. Hers
Pert near. Close
Batry. Battery
Clum. climbed
Cyore. To cure
Puore. Pure
Pizzen. Poison
We got a bunch more, but this this is Sara's project. I'm jist tossin' in a few of iron.
Friday, August 15, 2003
Tuesday, August 12, 2003
Texas
The widow of my father's oldest brother lives on the Sabine River where Nichols Creek empties into it. Her name is Winnie Harden Bridges and she is now 81 years old. I call her Aunt Melvin and have since I was 4. I have no idea why, but I must have been persistent enough for it to stick, and now my siblings and my mother also call her Melvin.
Aunt Melvin is a Roman Catholic. It's an important part of how she sees herself, the world, and everything in between. I think my father was infatuated with her from the first time he met her, shortly before World War II. When he got back from the war, he lived with his oldest brother, Cliff and his new wife, Winnie.
Prior to his being killed in December 1952, my father converted to Catholicism and had all of us children baptised Catholic as well. I can't remember if my mother converted at this time, and neither can she. I've asked. After the death of my father, I lived with my maternal grandmother in East Texas who was a Pentecostal. I cannot bring myself to use the term "holy roller" because it fails to reflect the dignity my grandmother brought to her simple faith.
My grandmother was appalled at the idea that any of her family could embrace Catholicism. Thus began the competition between my Aunt Melvin and my grandmother for my soul which resulted in my being very conflicted about religion from the time I knew there were different churches until I became a Zen Buddhist Jewish Pentecostal Episcopalian several years ago. Suddenly, it all made sense, but that's another story saved for another time.
Anyways, I was talking to my Aunt Melvin and she asks in her simple Bayou drawl, "Raymond, are you going to move back here after you retire?"
"Sugah," says I, "it's hot as hell there most of the time, except when it's freezing. You have every variety of poisonous snake found in North America: rattlesnakes, copperheads, coral snakes and water mocassins. You have not only black widow spiders in abundance, but you also have the deadly brown recluse, and while not deadly, the tarantula is also plentiful. In late summer you have what we called "fuck bugs" that turn the sky black and ruin the finish on your car. Now the are mosquitos, always fierce and abundant, are spreading the West Nile virus. I don't know about you, but I find it disconcerting to see birds dropping dead around you, y'know? Oh, and the fire ants. Deadly fuckers. And wasps. And probably killer bees. And the worsest of them all, the state is populated in large part by redneck assholes. Who else but Texans could be taken in by an upper class, Connecticutt yankee pretending to be a Texan pretending to give a fuck about common people?
But my story is about Texas. The first record of any of my ancestors getting to Texas was a census taken by a Spanish commandante at a camp near what is now Liberty, Texas in 1807. The ancestors from my mother's mother's family, John Aaron Drake, his wife Chastity, and several of their children were among the first American settlers to make it into Texas. They had been in Louisiana for 20 years prior to the excursion into Texas. They went back to Louisiana the following year.
In the early 1830s, the next two branches of my family would enter Texas. One to the north to San Augustine, the other to southeast Texas, to what is now Jefferson and Orange counties.
The part that always amazes me is that they came, they liked the place and they stayed. Well, I don't know how much they liked the place, but they did stay. They made history, in that their story is the story of Texas. They were players, all of them.
My great-great-great-grandmother's brother, Alexander Horton, was Aide-de-Camp to General Sam Houston. His brother-in-law, my ggggrandfather, Colonel James Whitis Bulloch, a veteran of the war of 1812, led Texian volunteers who attacked and liberated Nacogdoches 4 years before the fall of the Alamo. This is my father's mother's mother's family.
My mother's mother's people, the Ashworths, fled South Carolina around 1803 to Louisiana. Fled being the operative word here. If I were to speculate as to their reason for abandoning South Carolina where my gggggrandfather, James Ashworth, had received a land grant from the English Crown in 1774, I'd probably guess it had something to do with James showing up in the record books as a Tory serving under British command during the American Revolution. Did you know there were over 100,000 Tory refugees who fled the Southern colonies alone following the American Revolution. That was by boat. Probably a lot more, like my family, just moved West. The new nation was not very forgiving to those who had opposed its quest for independence. There was a lot of revenge taking.
James Ashworth's problem was further complicated by the fact that he was a mixed blood, probably Indian and White, although family lore always claimed our swarthiness came from our "Portygee" roots and our Indian grandmother on the Perkins side of the family. I think the Indian Grandmother of our family mythology was Esther Perkins. In the stories of several of my kindred families, the Indian Grandmother is obviously one single character. In Richard Maxwell Brown's book, The South Carolina Regulators, James Ashwroth is described as dark and swarthy with black hair. It also goes on to say that he had a "t" branded in his hand for "breaking out of jail." Odd choice of letters, but I bet he preferred a simple "t" to "BOOJ."
James married Keziah Dial also of South Carolina. Family tradition says that Keziah was an Indian, but I discount this. That she was part Indian I'm pretty certain, but subtle evidence suggests that Keziah's family (who came to Louisiana with the Ashworths) were White identified. For example, Keziah's mother, Elizabeth Hill Dial, sued her sons for failing to support her after the death of their father. That was the action of someone who considered themselves White.
When the Ashworths left South Carolina, they were all White. By the time of the next census, 1810, over half had become "colored." In another 10 years, they were all "colored." My sister says they all just got darker from working in the fields. Good point, but there was something else going on as well.
In 1803, the South was beginning a downward spiral under the weight of racism and slavery. Slavery was not as heavily a race based system in the 18th century as it became in the 19th century. Despite the fact that its not taught in American history, there was a lot of enslavement of American Indians by the colonists. By 1800, this resulted in a lot of mixed blood populations. Indian and White. White and Black. Indian and Black. Indian and White and Black. The United States has the peculiar history of being about the only former European colony without a significant population of mestizos. You see, as slavery became more and more a Black thing, Southerners became busier and busier making all mixed bloods eligible for slavery by classifying anyone suspected of having Black blood, Black.
James Ashworth, having taken refuge in a Cherokee village in the northwestern part of the state, gathered his family up and moved to Louisiana. In total, about a dozen families joined James in the migration to Louisiana. They settled in Louisiana in an area called "the Neutral Zone." The Americans claimed Louisiana went as far as the Sabine. The Spanish who had just given Louisiana back to the French, claimed the Calcasieu River about 70 miles to the East of the Sabine as the border. The American and Spanish generals facing each other off decided between themselves to avoid war and just let the outlaws have the land between the rivers until it was worked out. The area quickly filled up with mixed-bloods and outlaws. I'm proud to count both amongst my ancestors.
By the early 1830s, these mixed bloods had coalesced into an identifiable subculture in the remote bayous of Louisiana. They had a reputation of being fierce and violent. Don Marler says this was to make them unattractive as candidates for slavery. They were also part of a larger western migration of small, isolated Indian groups and mixed blood groups moving west towards Texas. Word had gotten out that they were welcome in Texas. The Mexicans supposedly wanted a buffer to the Americans.
They were a formidable people: White identified, but not accepted as such by the dominant White culture. An Army of almost 200 men could be made up of first and second cousins. Probably for that reason, no one ever called the Ashworths or their cousins anything but White to their faces, in Texas and Louisiana, until after the Texas Revolution.
After Texas won its independence, it became a Southern nation and eventually state. Our old enemies from South Carolina were not in charge of the government. They immediately started their war against us, calling us "Niggers" and classifying us as Free Blacks. They denied us the bounty lands given to other Texans for their support in the Revolution, saying Blacks couldn't own property. We fought them in courts, we fought them with force. We could form a "posse" of 200 heavily armed first and second cousins in a relative short time.
In February 1839, Texas passed a law which gave mixed bloods now being called Free Blacks, two years to leave the republic, or risk being sold into slavery. By December, after petitions from the leading citizens of Jefferson County, the legislature passed the Ashworth Act, naming my family specifically as excepted from the harsh provisions of the act.
MORE TO COME.
The widow of my father's oldest brother lives on the Sabine River where Nichols Creek empties into it. Her name is Winnie Harden Bridges and she is now 81 years old. I call her Aunt Melvin and have since I was 4. I have no idea why, but I must have been persistent enough for it to stick, and now my siblings and my mother also call her Melvin.
Aunt Melvin is a Roman Catholic. It's an important part of how she sees herself, the world, and everything in between. I think my father was infatuated with her from the first time he met her, shortly before World War II. When he got back from the war, he lived with his oldest brother, Cliff and his new wife, Winnie.
Prior to his being killed in December 1952, my father converted to Catholicism and had all of us children baptised Catholic as well. I can't remember if my mother converted at this time, and neither can she. I've asked. After the death of my father, I lived with my maternal grandmother in East Texas who was a Pentecostal. I cannot bring myself to use the term "holy roller" because it fails to reflect the dignity my grandmother brought to her simple faith.
My grandmother was appalled at the idea that any of her family could embrace Catholicism. Thus began the competition between my Aunt Melvin and my grandmother for my soul which resulted in my being very conflicted about religion from the time I knew there were different churches until I became a Zen Buddhist Jewish Pentecostal Episcopalian several years ago. Suddenly, it all made sense, but that's another story saved for another time.
Anyways, I was talking to my Aunt Melvin and she asks in her simple Bayou drawl, "Raymond, are you going to move back here after you retire?"
"Sugah," says I, "it's hot as hell there most of the time, except when it's freezing. You have every variety of poisonous snake found in North America: rattlesnakes, copperheads, coral snakes and water mocassins. You have not only black widow spiders in abundance, but you also have the deadly brown recluse, and while not deadly, the tarantula is also plentiful. In late summer you have what we called "fuck bugs" that turn the sky black and ruin the finish on your car. Now the are mosquitos, always fierce and abundant, are spreading the West Nile virus. I don't know about you, but I find it disconcerting to see birds dropping dead around you, y'know? Oh, and the fire ants. Deadly fuckers. And wasps. And probably killer bees. And the worsest of them all, the state is populated in large part by redneck assholes. Who else but Texans could be taken in by an upper class, Connecticutt yankee pretending to be a Texan pretending to give a fuck about common people?
But my story is about Texas. The first record of any of my ancestors getting to Texas was a census taken by a Spanish commandante at a camp near what is now Liberty, Texas in 1807. The ancestors from my mother's mother's family, John Aaron Drake, his wife Chastity, and several of their children were among the first American settlers to make it into Texas. They had been in Louisiana for 20 years prior to the excursion into Texas. They went back to Louisiana the following year.
In the early 1830s, the next two branches of my family would enter Texas. One to the north to San Augustine, the other to southeast Texas, to what is now Jefferson and Orange counties.
The part that always amazes me is that they came, they liked the place and they stayed. Well, I don't know how much they liked the place, but they did stay. They made history, in that their story is the story of Texas. They were players, all of them.
My great-great-great-grandmother's brother, Alexander Horton, was Aide-de-Camp to General Sam Houston. His brother-in-law, my ggggrandfather, Colonel James Whitis Bulloch, a veteran of the war of 1812, led Texian volunteers who attacked and liberated Nacogdoches 4 years before the fall of the Alamo. This is my father's mother's mother's family.
My mother's mother's people, the Ashworths, fled South Carolina around 1803 to Louisiana. Fled being the operative word here. If I were to speculate as to their reason for abandoning South Carolina where my gggggrandfather, James Ashworth, had received a land grant from the English Crown in 1774, I'd probably guess it had something to do with James showing up in the record books as a Tory serving under British command during the American Revolution. Did you know there were over 100,000 Tory refugees who fled the Southern colonies alone following the American Revolution. That was by boat. Probably a lot more, like my family, just moved West. The new nation was not very forgiving to those who had opposed its quest for independence. There was a lot of revenge taking.
James Ashworth's problem was further complicated by the fact that he was a mixed blood, probably Indian and White, although family lore always claimed our swarthiness came from our "Portygee" roots and our Indian grandmother on the Perkins side of the family. I think the Indian Grandmother of our family mythology was Esther Perkins. In the stories of several of my kindred families, the Indian Grandmother is obviously one single character. In Richard Maxwell Brown's book, The South Carolina Regulators, James Ashwroth is described as dark and swarthy with black hair. It also goes on to say that he had a "t" branded in his hand for "breaking out of jail." Odd choice of letters, but I bet he preferred a simple "t" to "BOOJ."
James married Keziah Dial also of South Carolina. Family tradition says that Keziah was an Indian, but I discount this. That she was part Indian I'm pretty certain, but subtle evidence suggests that Keziah's family (who came to Louisiana with the Ashworths) were White identified. For example, Keziah's mother, Elizabeth Hill Dial, sued her sons for failing to support her after the death of their father. That was the action of someone who considered themselves White.
When the Ashworths left South Carolina, they were all White. By the time of the next census, 1810, over half had become "colored." In another 10 years, they were all "colored." My sister says they all just got darker from working in the fields. Good point, but there was something else going on as well.
In 1803, the South was beginning a downward spiral under the weight of racism and slavery. Slavery was not as heavily a race based system in the 18th century as it became in the 19th century. Despite the fact that its not taught in American history, there was a lot of enslavement of American Indians by the colonists. By 1800, this resulted in a lot of mixed blood populations. Indian and White. White and Black. Indian and Black. Indian and White and Black. The United States has the peculiar history of being about the only former European colony without a significant population of mestizos. You see, as slavery became more and more a Black thing, Southerners became busier and busier making all mixed bloods eligible for slavery by classifying anyone suspected of having Black blood, Black.
James Ashworth, having taken refuge in a Cherokee village in the northwestern part of the state, gathered his family up and moved to Louisiana. In total, about a dozen families joined James in the migration to Louisiana. They settled in Louisiana in an area called "the Neutral Zone." The Americans claimed Louisiana went as far as the Sabine. The Spanish who had just given Louisiana back to the French, claimed the Calcasieu River about 70 miles to the East of the Sabine as the border. The American and Spanish generals facing each other off decided between themselves to avoid war and just let the outlaws have the land between the rivers until it was worked out. The area quickly filled up with mixed-bloods and outlaws. I'm proud to count both amongst my ancestors.
By the early 1830s, these mixed bloods had coalesced into an identifiable subculture in the remote bayous of Louisiana. They had a reputation of being fierce and violent. Don Marler says this was to make them unattractive as candidates for slavery. They were also part of a larger western migration of small, isolated Indian groups and mixed blood groups moving west towards Texas. Word had gotten out that they were welcome in Texas. The Mexicans supposedly wanted a buffer to the Americans.
They were a formidable people: White identified, but not accepted as such by the dominant White culture. An Army of almost 200 men could be made up of first and second cousins. Probably for that reason, no one ever called the Ashworths or their cousins anything but White to their faces, in Texas and Louisiana, until after the Texas Revolution.
After Texas won its independence, it became a Southern nation and eventually state. Our old enemies from South Carolina were not in charge of the government. They immediately started their war against us, calling us "Niggers" and classifying us as Free Blacks. They denied us the bounty lands given to other Texans for their support in the Revolution, saying Blacks couldn't own property. We fought them in courts, we fought them with force. We could form a "posse" of 200 heavily armed first and second cousins in a relative short time.
In February 1839, Texas passed a law which gave mixed bloods now being called Free Blacks, two years to leave the republic, or risk being sold into slavery. By December, after petitions from the leading citizens of Jefferson County, the legislature passed the Ashworth Act, naming my family specifically as excepted from the harsh provisions of the act.
MORE TO COME.
Thursday, August 07, 2003
Let the Circus Begin!
Arnold Schwarzenegger has joined the race for Replacement Governor in the event of the success of the recall against Gray Davis. He joins about one to two hundred others who think they have as good a shot as anyone else. I'm not writing Davis off just yet. As of right now, he gets to run against chaos, and that does give him an edge.
Schwarzenegger hasn't impressed me with an ability to run the state. Maybe if he'd stop being a caricature of himself I'd take him more seriously. He even ended his press conference with a movie line, "I'll be back." The last time we had a governor who thought being governor amounted to delivering old movie lines was Ronald Reagan who is generally considered to have been a disaster as governor. Maybe he was jealous of his actor-buddy, Jesse Ventura who gets to be called Governor Ventura for the rest of his life. I think he'll get bored too easily.
To all of my fellow Californians, let me remind you that you can have it both ways. Vote against the recall and then for whichever clown you like the most. After the election, Gray will go back to work, a little humbler for the experience, the Republicans will cower down for awhile, and stay out of our face while we try to fix our economy and budget woes.
Arnold Schwarzenegger has joined the race for Replacement Governor in the event of the success of the recall against Gray Davis. He joins about one to two hundred others who think they have as good a shot as anyone else. I'm not writing Davis off just yet. As of right now, he gets to run against chaos, and that does give him an edge.
Schwarzenegger hasn't impressed me with an ability to run the state. Maybe if he'd stop being a caricature of himself I'd take him more seriously. He even ended his press conference with a movie line, "I'll be back." The last time we had a governor who thought being governor amounted to delivering old movie lines was Ronald Reagan who is generally considered to have been a disaster as governor. Maybe he was jealous of his actor-buddy, Jesse Ventura who gets to be called Governor Ventura for the rest of his life. I think he'll get bored too easily.
To all of my fellow Californians, let me remind you that you can have it both ways. Vote against the recall and then for whichever clown you like the most. After the election, Gray will go back to work, a little humbler for the experience, the Republicans will cower down for awhile, and stay out of our face while we try to fix our economy and budget woes.
Wednesday, August 06, 2003
On Being a Gay Episcopalian
We have a new bishop, the Right Reverend Gene Robinson of New Hampshire, who has just been approved by the House of Bishops. He seems like an ordinary, caring, faith-filled man who speaks softly and with a voice oozing compassion. See anything wrong with this picture? Oh, he's Gay. Well, holy fucking Mary mother of God. What's this "In Your Face" shit from Gays? How dare they take a place at the table that's been reserved for others? Dave Cullen, a writer living over in Denver, in a piece entitled A Bishop of Our Own makes it personal.
Dave has about 4 or 5 postings on the subject. I incorporate all of his posts with this one Amen. Dave's right, it is important to us, and it is personal.
I do want to comment on the accusation by David Lewis that Bishop Robinson "touched" him inappropriately. First, background to the story summarized by Dave. I have a few questions for Mr. Lewis. First, did you get all tingly when he touched you? Did you get physically stimulated? You seemed quite sure it was inappropriate and amounted to sexual harrassment when you emailed the charge to all of the bishops. Are you the slightest bit worried, Mr. Lewis, that your reaction to the Bishop's touch says more about you than it does the Bishop? Maybe you have some issues about your own sexuality.
Amongst us flamboyant homosexuals, we have noticed that some straight men think that homosexuals everywhere are after them. We laugh at their sexual paranoia, and consider the issue to be more about them than about us. Excuse me, Mr. Lewis, but I saw a picture of you and I've seen pictures of Bishop Robinson. Dude, you're not in his league.
I believe in the spiritual idea that God hides her light from no generation. Those who believe that God hasn't revealed herself to humans since the Bible are too silly for words. Maybe their God is dead and hasn't spoken for two thousand years, but mine lives. She lives in me. She lives in the love I have for my family, my friends, my partner(s). She lives, Mr. Lewis, she lives.
Congratulations, Bishop Robinson. Thanks, Dave for your help in expressing the range of feelings about this subject.
We have a new bishop, the Right Reverend Gene Robinson of New Hampshire, who has just been approved by the House of Bishops. He seems like an ordinary, caring, faith-filled man who speaks softly and with a voice oozing compassion. See anything wrong with this picture? Oh, he's Gay. Well, holy fucking Mary mother of God. What's this "In Your Face" shit from Gays? How dare they take a place at the table that's been reserved for others? Dave Cullen, a writer living over in Denver, in a piece entitled A Bishop of Our Own makes it personal.
Dave has about 4 or 5 postings on the subject. I incorporate all of his posts with this one Amen. Dave's right, it is important to us, and it is personal.
I do want to comment on the accusation by David Lewis that Bishop Robinson "touched" him inappropriately. First, background to the story summarized by Dave. I have a few questions for Mr. Lewis. First, did you get all tingly when he touched you? Did you get physically stimulated? You seemed quite sure it was inappropriate and amounted to sexual harrassment when you emailed the charge to all of the bishops. Are you the slightest bit worried, Mr. Lewis, that your reaction to the Bishop's touch says more about you than it does the Bishop? Maybe you have some issues about your own sexuality.
Amongst us flamboyant homosexuals, we have noticed that some straight men think that homosexuals everywhere are after them. We laugh at their sexual paranoia, and consider the issue to be more about them than about us. Excuse me, Mr. Lewis, but I saw a picture of you and I've seen pictures of Bishop Robinson. Dude, you're not in his league.
I believe in the spiritual idea that God hides her light from no generation. Those who believe that God hasn't revealed herself to humans since the Bible are too silly for words. Maybe their God is dead and hasn't spoken for two thousand years, but mine lives. She lives in me. She lives in the love I have for my family, my friends, my partner(s). She lives, Mr. Lewis, she lives.
Congratulations, Bishop Robinson. Thanks, Dave for your help in expressing the range of feelings about this subject.
Tuesday, August 05, 2003
Hurricanes and the Planet Mars
This just off the wire, folks. Okay, not off the wire, but from my blog cousin, Sara, whose blog, Hillbilly Sophisticate, alerts us to a request from Rep. Sheila Lee of Houston that the names chosen for hurricanes include names more common in the Black community. Sara snickers at the whole thing by wondering aloud why names more common to West Virginia aren't used.
And just in case Hurricane Kinesha isn't obscuring your view of the sky, comes word that Mars will be the closest to the earth as it has been in recorded history, and may not be this close again for another 60,000 years. Whoa! This is from my cousin who raises horses somewhere in New Mexico. Want to see some pretty horses? Visit Victoria and check out her Tiger Horses. I'll quote her email to me since she didn't provide a link:
"The encounter will culminate on August 27th when Mars comes to within 34,649,589 miles of Earth and will be (next to the moon) the brightest object in the night sky. It will attain a magnitude of -2.9 and will appear 25.11 arc seconds wide. At a modest 75-power magnification Mars will look as large as the full moon to the naked eye. Mars will be easy to spot. At the beginning of August it will rise in the East at 10 p.m. and reach its azimuth at about 3 a.m. By the end of August when the two planets are closest, Mars will rise at
nightfall and reach its highest point in the sky at 12:30a.m. That's pretty convenient to see something that no human being has seen in recorded history."
Be there or be square.
This just off the wire, folks. Okay, not off the wire, but from my blog cousin, Sara, whose blog, Hillbilly Sophisticate, alerts us to a request from Rep. Sheila Lee of Houston that the names chosen for hurricanes include names more common in the Black community. Sara snickers at the whole thing by wondering aloud why names more common to West Virginia aren't used.
And just in case Hurricane Kinesha isn't obscuring your view of the sky, comes word that Mars will be the closest to the earth as it has been in recorded history, and may not be this close again for another 60,000 years. Whoa! This is from my cousin who raises horses somewhere in New Mexico. Want to see some pretty horses? Visit Victoria and check out her Tiger Horses. I'll quote her email to me since she didn't provide a link:
"The encounter will culminate on August 27th when Mars comes to within 34,649,589 miles of Earth and will be (next to the moon) the brightest object in the night sky. It will attain a magnitude of -2.9 and will appear 25.11 arc seconds wide. At a modest 75-power magnification Mars will look as large as the full moon to the naked eye. Mars will be easy to spot. At the beginning of August it will rise in the East at 10 p.m. and reach its azimuth at about 3 a.m. By the end of August when the two planets are closest, Mars will rise at
nightfall and reach its highest point in the sky at 12:30a.m. That's pretty convenient to see something that no human being has seen in recorded history."
Be there or be square.
Saturday, August 02, 2003
Cooking Gumbo
I was at the Famers Market this morning and bought half a pound of the prettiest okra.
I like okra. Not everyone does. Last summer the French kids were over and they fought for the okra cooked in the crowder peas. It impressed the hell out of me. But I'm digressing. I'm talking about gumbo, not French kids and not okra.
For three years now I've donated a gumbo cooking lesson for 4 to the San Francisco Choral Society. It's a huge success. For me, it's a chance to be the center of attention and share a tradition given to me by the women of my family and community from when I was growing up. Although I ate a lot of good gumbo at my grandmother's table, it was Hilda Roberts Marioneaux, a neighbor, who taught me to cook gumbo.
Okra is used in gumbo to thicken the broth. The alternative to okra is file, which is ground sassafras leaves. Bet you didn't know that. Most of the time, I cook gumbo I use file, but this okra was too pretty and I decided I was going to do a chicken and andouille gumbo with okra.
First you make a roux. Using about half a cup of oil and a half a cup of flour, begin stirring in a large cast iron skillet. Does it have to be cast iron? Yes, now hush. Cook the roux slowly, taking your time. We don't want to burn the roux. Used to, I'd get ready to make my roux by freshening up my drink and calling my cousin Sue on the phone.
When the roux is dark brown, and I do mean dark, as dark as brackish swamp water, I add about a cup each of chopped onions, bell pepper and celery. My aunt Winnie calls this the "holy trinity." It with the roux is the basis of 90 percent of Louisiana cooking. Personally, I like the taste of garlic, so I ad about 4 or 5 cloves of chopped garlic and cook it with the rest of the holy trinity.
After about 15 to 20 minutes of cooking the vegetables (I'm calling the holy trinity and the garlic vegetables, so y'all stay with me here), I add about a cup or so (this isn't rocket science) of sliced okra, and continue to cook until the okra is hot, then I add my vegetables to a large soup pot of heated chicken broth (approximately 4 cans). Now, I live in the city, work full time, and have a very busy social schedule, so yes, I use canned chicken broth. If you've got more time than me, make the shit yourself. I don't have time.
At this point, you add the chicken and the sasage, which you have previously sauteed a bit. When I was growing up, the chicken might have been pecking in the yard a couple of hours before I started the gumbo, but see the above paragraph about living in the city and being busy, so now I buy chicken parts. Quick and easy. I especially am fond of chicken thighs. Make it easy on yourself and buy 3 or 4 pounds of chicken thighs, season them, dredge in flour, and saute for a few minutes and they're ready to add to the gumbo. Prepare the sausage by cutting it up into bite sized pieces and searing before adding to the gumbo.
SECRET INGREDIENT: I add about a spoonful of liquid crab boil after everything is in the gumbo. Not more than that 'cause it's hot, very hot. Just about a spoonful.
At this point, everything is in the gumbo. Cook it for about an hour and let it sit for awhile. If I'm doing a dinner party, this is all done in the afternoon. Then I take my nap. Naps are very important. About the time your company arrives, put the rice on to cook (this takes 20 to 30 minutes), and put the gumbo back on the fire at a low heat and bring to its serving temperature.
When the rice is done, we're ready to eat. What kind of bread, you ask? Well, if you're going to be traditional, throw a slice of white bread at them. I prefer to be fancy and will often serve a hot baguette if I haven't had time to make cornbread. My people are bayou people, without pretention to being French. We're a lot more likely to serve cornbread than store bought bread, but you do what you want. Bread don't matter. This is about the gumbo.
Bon appetit!
(Note: Gumbo is a soup made in Louisiana and East Texas made from vegetables and meat (such as chicken, or seafood, and is thickened with okra or file powder). (That's pronounced fi'lay. Please bear with me since I can't figure out how to do an accent aigu on my blog.) It's one of those "culturally defining" dishes of the French in Louisiana, like chicken soup is to Jewish cooking, or haggis is to the Scots.)
I was at the Famers Market this morning and bought half a pound of the prettiest okra.
I like okra. Not everyone does. Last summer the French kids were over and they fought for the okra cooked in the crowder peas. It impressed the hell out of me. But I'm digressing. I'm talking about gumbo, not French kids and not okra.
For three years now I've donated a gumbo cooking lesson for 4 to the San Francisco Choral Society. It's a huge success. For me, it's a chance to be the center of attention and share a tradition given to me by the women of my family and community from when I was growing up. Although I ate a lot of good gumbo at my grandmother's table, it was Hilda Roberts Marioneaux, a neighbor, who taught me to cook gumbo.
Okra is used in gumbo to thicken the broth. The alternative to okra is file, which is ground sassafras leaves. Bet you didn't know that. Most of the time, I cook gumbo I use file, but this okra was too pretty and I decided I was going to do a chicken and andouille gumbo with okra.
First you make a roux. Using about half a cup of oil and a half a cup of flour, begin stirring in a large cast iron skillet. Does it have to be cast iron? Yes, now hush. Cook the roux slowly, taking your time. We don't want to burn the roux. Used to, I'd get ready to make my roux by freshening up my drink and calling my cousin Sue on the phone.
When the roux is dark brown, and I do mean dark, as dark as brackish swamp water, I add about a cup each of chopped onions, bell pepper and celery. My aunt Winnie calls this the "holy trinity." It with the roux is the basis of 90 percent of Louisiana cooking. Personally, I like the taste of garlic, so I ad about 4 or 5 cloves of chopped garlic and cook it with the rest of the holy trinity.
After about 15 to 20 minutes of cooking the vegetables (I'm calling the holy trinity and the garlic vegetables, so y'all stay with me here), I add about a cup or so (this isn't rocket science) of sliced okra, and continue to cook until the okra is hot, then I add my vegetables to a large soup pot of heated chicken broth (approximately 4 cans). Now, I live in the city, work full time, and have a very busy social schedule, so yes, I use canned chicken broth. If you've got more time than me, make the shit yourself. I don't have time.
At this point, you add the chicken and the sasage, which you have previously sauteed a bit. When I was growing up, the chicken might have been pecking in the yard a couple of hours before I started the gumbo, but see the above paragraph about living in the city and being busy, so now I buy chicken parts. Quick and easy. I especially am fond of chicken thighs. Make it easy on yourself and buy 3 or 4 pounds of chicken thighs, season them, dredge in flour, and saute for a few minutes and they're ready to add to the gumbo. Prepare the sausage by cutting it up into bite sized pieces and searing before adding to the gumbo.
SECRET INGREDIENT: I add about a spoonful of liquid crab boil after everything is in the gumbo. Not more than that 'cause it's hot, very hot. Just about a spoonful.
At this point, everything is in the gumbo. Cook it for about an hour and let it sit for awhile. If I'm doing a dinner party, this is all done in the afternoon. Then I take my nap. Naps are very important. About the time your company arrives, put the rice on to cook (this takes 20 to 30 minutes), and put the gumbo back on the fire at a low heat and bring to its serving temperature.
When the rice is done, we're ready to eat. What kind of bread, you ask? Well, if you're going to be traditional, throw a slice of white bread at them. I prefer to be fancy and will often serve a hot baguette if I haven't had time to make cornbread. My people are bayou people, without pretention to being French. We're a lot more likely to serve cornbread than store bought bread, but you do what you want. Bread don't matter. This is about the gumbo.
Bon appetit!
(Note: Gumbo is a soup made in Louisiana and East Texas made from vegetables and meat (such as chicken, or seafood, and is thickened with okra or file powder). (That's pronounced fi'lay. Please bear with me since I can't figure out how to do an accent aigu on my blog.) It's one of those "culturally defining" dishes of the French in Louisiana, like chicken soup is to Jewish cooking, or haggis is to the Scots.)
Determining Priorities
I'm with this guy. I'm copying rather than linking because that's all I can do. I just want him to get the credit for highlighting an important point that no one seems to have raised. It is about priorities.
"Guns vs. Butter, or Children vs. Seniors.
"So we're gonna hand $400 freakin' BILLION dollars of cash to drug companies, as a freebie to seniors. Is this really and truly the best way that we could be spending our health dollars? Is this the single most effective place, in terms of return on investment? Let's rephrase the question: Exactly how far would $400 freakin' BILLION go when it comes to insuring the uninsured children of this country? As hard as I might, I just can't seem to find a scenario under which I'm more sympathetic to a senior citizen, living in his own home, driving his cadillac to the doctor four times a week because of aching back, than I am sympathetic to the child of a poor single mom somewhere in an inner city...where a tiny fraction of that drug money can save a life or provide the regular medical care that is so important in a young life.
"Where does the AARP get off, exactly? Let's call this what it is: A gigantic giveaway to the drug companies. We're just going to take out a huge debt and hand the slip to them. We'll say to them, "Come up with the most expensive drugs you possibly can! Do it now!".
"You can BET on the fact that drugs are going to get more expensive. Why? Because as these drugs are directly marketed to senior citizens through the airwaves, they'll be going to their doctors and demanding these medications, which will now be covered under these stupid programs; drugs companies know this, and will raise prices, knowing they're gonna get paid. And as the population continues to age, this voting block gets stronger and stronger, wants more and more under these programs, and will finally succeed in burying a younger generation under the weight of their parents' greed."
All I can say is amen.
I'm with this guy. I'm copying rather than linking because that's all I can do. I just want him to get the credit for highlighting an important point that no one seems to have raised. It is about priorities.
"Guns vs. Butter, or Children vs. Seniors.
"So we're gonna hand $400 freakin' BILLION dollars of cash to drug companies, as a freebie to seniors. Is this really and truly the best way that we could be spending our health dollars? Is this the single most effective place, in terms of return on investment? Let's rephrase the question: Exactly how far would $400 freakin' BILLION go when it comes to insuring the uninsured children of this country? As hard as I might, I just can't seem to find a scenario under which I'm more sympathetic to a senior citizen, living in his own home, driving his cadillac to the doctor four times a week because of aching back, than I am sympathetic to the child of a poor single mom somewhere in an inner city...where a tiny fraction of that drug money can save a life or provide the regular medical care that is so important in a young life.
"Where does the AARP get off, exactly? Let's call this what it is: A gigantic giveaway to the drug companies. We're just going to take out a huge debt and hand the slip to them. We'll say to them, "Come up with the most expensive drugs you possibly can! Do it now!".
"You can BET on the fact that drugs are going to get more expensive. Why? Because as these drugs are directly marketed to senior citizens through the airwaves, they'll be going to their doctors and demanding these medications, which will now be covered under these stupid programs; drugs companies know this, and will raise prices, knowing they're gonna get paid. And as the population continues to age, this voting block gets stronger and stronger, wants more and more under these programs, and will finally succeed in burying a younger generation under the weight of their parents' greed."
All I can say is amen.
Friday, August 01, 2003
Bless Your Heart
This appeared in the blogosphere half a dozen or so years ago. It bears repeating. Anyone knows the author of this piece, let me know. She has a fan.
Bless Your Heart
Someone once noted that a Southerner can get away with the most awful kind of insult just as long as it's prefaced with the words, "Bless her heart" or 'Bless his heart." As in, "Bless his heart, if they put his brain on the head of a pin, it'd roll around like a BB on a six-lane highway." Or, "Bless her heart, she's so bucktoothed, she could eat an apple through a picket fence."
There are also the sneakier ones that I remember from tongue-clucking types of my childhood: "You know, it's amazing that even though she had that baby seven months after they got married, bless her heart, it weighed 10 pounds!"
As long as the heart is sufficiently blessed, the insult can't be all that bad, at least that's what my Great-aunt Tiny (bless her heart, she was anything but) used to say. I was thinking about this the other day when a friend was telling me about her new Northern friend who was upset because her toddler is just beginning to talk and he has a Southern accent. My friend, who is very kind and, bless her heart, cannot do a thing about those thighs of hers, so don't even start, was justifiably miffed about this. After all, this woman had CHOSEN to move south a couple of years ago "Can you believe it?" she said to my friend. "A child of mine is going to be taaaallllkkin' a-liiiike thiiiissss."
I can think of far worse fates than speaking Southern for this adorable little boy, who, bless his heart, must surely be the East Coast king of mucus. I wish I'd been there. I would have said that she shouldn't fret, because there is nothing so sweet or pleasing on the ear as a soft, Southern drawl. Of course, maybe we shouldn't be surprised at her "carryings on." After all, when you come from a part of the world where "family silver" refers to the large medallion around Uncle Vinnie's neck, you just have to, as aunt Tiny would say, "consider the source."
Now don't get me wrong. Some of my dearest friends are from the North, bless their hearts. I welcome their perspective, their friendships and their recipes for authentic Northern Italian food. I've even gotten past their endless complaints that you can't find good bread down here. The ones who really gore my ox are the native Southerners who have begun to act almost embarrassed about their speech. It's as if they want to bury it in the "Hee Haw" cornfield. We've already lost too much.
I was raised to sware, not swear, but you hardly ever hear anyone say that anymore, I sware you don't. And I've caught myself thinking twice before saying something is "right much," "right close" or "right good" because non-natives think this is right funny indeed. I have a friend from Bawston who thinks it's hilarious when I say I've got to "carry" my daughter to the doctor or "cut off"" the light. That's OK. It's when you have to explain things to people who were born here that I get mad as a mule eating bumblebees.
Not long ago, I found myself trying to explain to a native Southerner what I meant by being "in the short rows." I'm used to explaining that expression (it means you've worked a right smart but you're almost done) to newcomers to the land of buttermilk and cold collard sandwiches (better than you think), but to have to explain it to a Southerner was just plain weird.
The most grating example is found in restaurants and stores where nice, Magnolia-mouthed clerks now say "you guys" instead of "y'all," as their mamas raised them up to say. I'd sooner wear white shoes in February, drink unsweetened tea, and eat Miracle Whip instead of Duke's than utter the words, "you guys." Not long ago, I went to lunch with four women friends, and the waiter, a nice Southern boy, you-guys-ed all of us within an inch of our lives. "You guys ready to order? What can I get for you guys? Would you guys like to keep you guys' forks?"
Lord, have mercy. It's a little comforting that, at the very same time some natives are so eager to blend in, they've taken to making microwave grits (an abomination), the rest of the world is catching on that it's cool to be Clampett. How else do you explain NASCAR tracks and Krispy Kreme doughnut franchises springing up like yard onions all over the country?
To those of you who're still a little embarrassed by your Southernness, take two tent revivals and a dose of redeye gravy and call me in the morning.
Bless your heart.
This appeared in the blogosphere half a dozen or so years ago. It bears repeating. Anyone knows the author of this piece, let me know. She has a fan.
Bless Your Heart
Someone once noted that a Southerner can get away with the most awful kind of insult just as long as it's prefaced with the words, "Bless her heart" or 'Bless his heart." As in, "Bless his heart, if they put his brain on the head of a pin, it'd roll around like a BB on a six-lane highway." Or, "Bless her heart, she's so bucktoothed, she could eat an apple through a picket fence."
There are also the sneakier ones that I remember from tongue-clucking types of my childhood: "You know, it's amazing that even though she had that baby seven months after they got married, bless her heart, it weighed 10 pounds!"
As long as the heart is sufficiently blessed, the insult can't be all that bad, at least that's what my Great-aunt Tiny (bless her heart, she was anything but) used to say. I was thinking about this the other day when a friend was telling me about her new Northern friend who was upset because her toddler is just beginning to talk and he has a Southern accent. My friend, who is very kind and, bless her heart, cannot do a thing about those thighs of hers, so don't even start, was justifiably miffed about this. After all, this woman had CHOSEN to move south a couple of years ago "Can you believe it?" she said to my friend. "A child of mine is going to be taaaallllkkin' a-liiiike thiiiissss."
I can think of far worse fates than speaking Southern for this adorable little boy, who, bless his heart, must surely be the East Coast king of mucus. I wish I'd been there. I would have said that she shouldn't fret, because there is nothing so sweet or pleasing on the ear as a soft, Southern drawl. Of course, maybe we shouldn't be surprised at her "carryings on." After all, when you come from a part of the world where "family silver" refers to the large medallion around Uncle Vinnie's neck, you just have to, as aunt Tiny would say, "consider the source."
Now don't get me wrong. Some of my dearest friends are from the North, bless their hearts. I welcome their perspective, their friendships and their recipes for authentic Northern Italian food. I've even gotten past their endless complaints that you can't find good bread down here. The ones who really gore my ox are the native Southerners who have begun to act almost embarrassed about their speech. It's as if they want to bury it in the "Hee Haw" cornfield. We've already lost too much.
I was raised to sware, not swear, but you hardly ever hear anyone say that anymore, I sware you don't. And I've caught myself thinking twice before saying something is "right much," "right close" or "right good" because non-natives think this is right funny indeed. I have a friend from Bawston who thinks it's hilarious when I say I've got to "carry" my daughter to the doctor or "cut off"" the light. That's OK. It's when you have to explain things to people who were born here that I get mad as a mule eating bumblebees.
Not long ago, I found myself trying to explain to a native Southerner what I meant by being "in the short rows." I'm used to explaining that expression (it means you've worked a right smart but you're almost done) to newcomers to the land of buttermilk and cold collard sandwiches (better than you think), but to have to explain it to a Southerner was just plain weird.
The most grating example is found in restaurants and stores where nice, Magnolia-mouthed clerks now say "you guys" instead of "y'all," as their mamas raised them up to say. I'd sooner wear white shoes in February, drink unsweetened tea, and eat Miracle Whip instead of Duke's than utter the words, "you guys." Not long ago, I went to lunch with four women friends, and the waiter, a nice Southern boy, you-guys-ed all of us within an inch of our lives. "You guys ready to order? What can I get for you guys? Would you guys like to keep you guys' forks?"
Lord, have mercy. It's a little comforting that, at the very same time some natives are so eager to blend in, they've taken to making microwave grits (an abomination), the rest of the world is catching on that it's cool to be Clampett. How else do you explain NASCAR tracks and Krispy Kreme doughnut franchises springing up like yard onions all over the country?
To those of you who're still a little embarrassed by your Southernness, take two tent revivals and a dose of redeye gravy and call me in the morning.
Bless your heart.
Why do some men name their penis?
I've called mine names (like, opportunistic), but I've never like, given it a name. Do women name their vaginas? I think not. Okay, now that we know men do, here is a list of the 50 worst names you can choose.
I've called mine names (like, opportunistic), but I've never like, given it a name. Do women name their vaginas? I think not. Okay, now that we know men do, here is a list of the 50 worst names you can choose.
Hepburn and Tracy, NOT!
I'd like to say I don't watch much tv, but that's not exactly true. I don't pay attention to a lot of tv, but I watch it more than I have time for, and the only part of tv that interests me is news about people, i.e., gossip.
Now because I watch it peripherally, I see different aspects of it, and miss others all together. I mention all of this as a background for my next topic, Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez. All I know about either is what I've gleaned from tv gossip, advertisements, and information I think I pick up from the commentators on the morning entertaining news shows. I think Ben Affleck must be one of the smartest young newcomers to hit Hollywood in a generation or so. Notice I didn't say he could act. Doesn't matter. He's cute. He comes across as nice. His friends are nice. He may be as mean and nasty as Joan Crawford, but he's got a clean image. Ms. Lopez has come from a different direction. For all her talent and determination, she's mentioned as much for the men whose company she has kept as for her own skills and talents.
Her greatest skill so far has been looking out for the JLo phenomenon. She's going strong. Same for Ben. He's going strong. They have one shared strength: the camera likes them.
Still can't act. Either of them. She better than he, but that doesn't make her good or even close to good.
About a year or so ago, I heard that Ben and Jennifer had obtained the rights to remake Casablanca. Oh my God, I thought. Is nothing sacred?
Okay, that was a silly question, but I shuddered at what I imagined their updated and "cool" version of Casablanca would be like. If it's anything like this, there oughttabe a law. Apparently others dislike the new movie also.
I certainly wish Ben and Jennifer the best. If they do a porno flick, I'll buy it in a minute. But they can't act. Their problem is they have too much power, and they think they're smater than they really are. People like them need to let directors, writers and producers be in charge. A good director can make a mediocre actor look good. A good writer can give cute people actual words to say to give their beauty context. And a good producer can . . . well do whatever producers do better than someone who's done what they've done so far because they're cute. If they need a warning example, I give them Kevin Costner and Barbra Streisand. (Hasn't her decline into mediocrity been sad?)
Meanwhile, Ben, Jennifer, please leave Casablanca alone. Oh, and leave those other Hepburn and Tracy movies alone, too. I don't care how cute the two of you are together, you can't act. I feel bad for you about that, but heck, you're rich and beautiful, ain't that enough?
Oh well, there goes my invitation to the wedding.
I'd like to say I don't watch much tv, but that's not exactly true. I don't pay attention to a lot of tv, but I watch it more than I have time for, and the only part of tv that interests me is news about people, i.e., gossip.
Now because I watch it peripherally, I see different aspects of it, and miss others all together. I mention all of this as a background for my next topic, Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez. All I know about either is what I've gleaned from tv gossip, advertisements, and information I think I pick up from the commentators on the morning entertaining news shows. I think Ben Affleck must be one of the smartest young newcomers to hit Hollywood in a generation or so. Notice I didn't say he could act. Doesn't matter. He's cute. He comes across as nice. His friends are nice. He may be as mean and nasty as Joan Crawford, but he's got a clean image. Ms. Lopez has come from a different direction. For all her talent and determination, she's mentioned as much for the men whose company she has kept as for her own skills and talents.
Her greatest skill so far has been looking out for the JLo phenomenon. She's going strong. Same for Ben. He's going strong. They have one shared strength: the camera likes them.
Still can't act. Either of them. She better than he, but that doesn't make her good or even close to good.
About a year or so ago, I heard that Ben and Jennifer had obtained the rights to remake Casablanca. Oh my God, I thought. Is nothing sacred?
Okay, that was a silly question, but I shuddered at what I imagined their updated and "cool" version of Casablanca would be like. If it's anything like this, there oughttabe a law. Apparently others dislike the new movie also.
I certainly wish Ben and Jennifer the best. If they do a porno flick, I'll buy it in a minute. But they can't act. Their problem is they have too much power, and they think they're smater than they really are. People like them need to let directors, writers and producers be in charge. A good director can make a mediocre actor look good. A good writer can give cute people actual words to say to give their beauty context. And a good producer can . . . well do whatever producers do better than someone who's done what they've done so far because they're cute. If they need a warning example, I give them Kevin Costner and Barbra Streisand. (Hasn't her decline into mediocrity been sad?)
Meanwhile, Ben, Jennifer, please leave Casablanca alone. Oh, and leave those other Hepburn and Tracy movies alone, too. I don't care how cute the two of you are together, you can't act. I feel bad for you about that, but heck, you're rich and beautiful, ain't that enough?
Oh well, there goes my invitation to the wedding.
Wednesday, July 30, 2003
POTUS News Conference
Tried to watch it. Irritated by the press. Why wasn't this question asked: " did you wretchet up the talk about nuclear weapons development in order to show the inevitability of the conflict with Iraq?" Of course he's going to take responsibility for his words. That was the easy question. Why wasn't he asked about the implication that we were misled as to the seriousness of the Iraqi threat? Fucker got a free ride today.
And what was that rambling shit about Gay marriages? There's already a controlling federal law, the Defense of Marriage Act, signed by good ol' boy, Clinton himself. If I were Gay, why . . . why nothing.
I edited this post. I guess it took a few minutes for all that crap about the sanctity of marriage and "we're all sinners" shit to sink in. Screw him. I'm not interested in his simplistic understanding of religion and morality. If you think I'm mad at the s.o.b., this guy's even madder.
Despite Andrew Sullivan's total capitulation to the religious right, I don't think the constitutional amenment thing is going anywhere. I can't imagine the great majority of Americans are willing to let the religious conservatives foul the Constitution with their crap. At least I hope not.
Tried to watch it. Irritated by the press. Why wasn't this question asked: " did you wretchet up the talk about nuclear weapons development in order to show the inevitability of the conflict with Iraq?" Of course he's going to take responsibility for his words. That was the easy question. Why wasn't he asked about the implication that we were misled as to the seriousness of the Iraqi threat? Fucker got a free ride today.
And what was that rambling shit about Gay marriages? There's already a controlling federal law, the Defense of Marriage Act, signed by good ol' boy, Clinton himself. If I were Gay, why . . . why nothing.
I edited this post. I guess it took a few minutes for all that crap about the sanctity of marriage and "we're all sinners" shit to sink in. Screw him. I'm not interested in his simplistic understanding of religion and morality. If you think I'm mad at the s.o.b., this guy's even madder.
Despite Andrew Sullivan's total capitulation to the religious right, I don't think the constitutional amenment thing is going anywhere. I can't imagine the great majority of Americans are willing to let the religious conservatives foul the Constitution with their crap. At least I hope not.
Tuesday, July 29, 2003
Damn, what a fine sunset!
It was only one color, sort of a pinkish salmon that was on fire! Think Maxfield Parrish, at least the sky part.
You need clouds to get the full range of sunset colors. I lived half a dozen or so years in Alaska, and all sunsets and sunrises in my life now are measured against that rule. Man! What a place. The cycle much of the year is ...the sun rises in the north, coming in at a gradual angle breaking the light into that prism that gives our eye the most color. The sun rises, does sort of a "U" pass, setting a dozen plus hours later in the north, the same direction from which it rose. Did I say "set"? It dips below the horizon, with the horizon lit by it's bent rays which create so much color. So sunset lasts a couple of hours when you realize that there has been a subtle change in the colors and now sunset is sunrise. It's a different energy.
But tonight's sunset from Oakland was pretty good.
It was only one color, sort of a pinkish salmon that was on fire! Think Maxfield Parrish, at least the sky part.
You need clouds to get the full range of sunset colors. I lived half a dozen or so years in Alaska, and all sunsets and sunrises in my life now are measured against that rule. Man! What a place. The cycle much of the year is ...the sun rises in the north, coming in at a gradual angle breaking the light into that prism that gives our eye the most color. The sun rises, does sort of a "U" pass, setting a dozen plus hours later in the north, the same direction from which it rose. Did I say "set"? It dips below the horizon, with the horizon lit by it's bent rays which create so much color. So sunset lasts a couple of hours when you realize that there has been a subtle change in the colors and now sunset is sunrise. It's a different energy.
But tonight's sunset from Oakland was pretty good.
Tuesday, July 22, 2003
Was It About the Oil?
Have to ask the question. Was the Iraq war about oil? I've always said no. I've repeatedly laughed and ridiculed my "no war no way" friends on the Left out here in California. Saddam was a mean and dangerous sonofabitch. I agreed with the Administration when they said we don't want the smoking gun to be a mushroom cloud over an American city. They had been caught with their pants down on 9/11, and by god, they'd err on the side of caution in the future. And Saddam has fucking nukes! The President said so, the Vice President said so, and Donald Rumsfeld said so.
So now, this conservative group called Judicial Watch sued Cheney for the notes from his secret meeting of energy company officials back in 2000, 2001 and won. The administration stonewalls releasing the minutes right to the last minute. Meanwhile, Enron goes bankrupt, California faces record deficits and a recall, partly because of the energy crisis of a couple of years back. Man, there's a lot of related shit coming down, all kin to Cheney's group's meeting. The surprise in the minutes, however, is not the manipulation of the energy crisis by Enron and the rest of George's friends, but that they had studied maps of Iraq and had indeed discussed the value of Iraq, especially controlled by the U.S. Am I the only one who wants this better explained? This is from Wampum, my newest addition to my blog roll. I'm learning about her. She writes about autism, Amerindian issues, politics, and probably a lot of other stuff. Hell, I don't even know her name, but I know some of her ideas and several of her opinions, and you know, it's a good start.
Cheers,
Have to ask the question. Was the Iraq war about oil? I've always said no. I've repeatedly laughed and ridiculed my "no war no way" friends on the Left out here in California. Saddam was a mean and dangerous sonofabitch. I agreed with the Administration when they said we don't want the smoking gun to be a mushroom cloud over an American city. They had been caught with their pants down on 9/11, and by god, they'd err on the side of caution in the future. And Saddam has fucking nukes! The President said so, the Vice President said so, and Donald Rumsfeld said so.
So now, this conservative group called Judicial Watch sued Cheney for the notes from his secret meeting of energy company officials back in 2000, 2001 and won. The administration stonewalls releasing the minutes right to the last minute. Meanwhile, Enron goes bankrupt, California faces record deficits and a recall, partly because of the energy crisis of a couple of years back. Man, there's a lot of related shit coming down, all kin to Cheney's group's meeting. The surprise in the minutes, however, is not the manipulation of the energy crisis by Enron and the rest of George's friends, but that they had studied maps of Iraq and had indeed discussed the value of Iraq, especially controlled by the U.S. Am I the only one who wants this better explained? This is from Wampum, my newest addition to my blog roll. I'm learning about her. She writes about autism, Amerindian issues, politics, and probably a lot of other stuff. Hell, I don't even know her name, but I know some of her ideas and several of her opinions, and you know, it's a good start.
Cheers,
For my Neice upon her graduation from High School
I wrote this back in May and intended to post it then. Better late than never.
June, 2003
Dear Megan,
I think it’s traditional to write a real sappy letter full of good wishes, expressed hopes, reminders of shared experiences. That has not been our relationship. If I pretended it were so now, my letter to you would mean little.
Despite our lack of closeness, I have watched you grow up through the eyes of your mother and grandmother. If you were to measure your wealth in terms of their love, you’d be a multi-billionaire.
Besides my well wishes for your success in life, I offer these tidbits of wisdom that have served me well over the years. Take them as you would all unsolicited offers of advice, with a little salt.
Do what you love, the money will follow. You’re going to have to work for the better part of your life. Seek a career that gives you joy. It will energize you more completely than money ever will.
Be good to your mother. You’ll never appreciate how much she’s done for you over the years until you have children of your own. Ditto in regards to your grandmother. You come from a remarkable line of tough and powerful women. The path you choose will be your own. However, you reached that path having been lifted by the love of many incredible women over many generations.
Go, do well, and be proud.
I wrote this back in May and intended to post it then. Better late than never.
June, 2003
Dear Megan,
I think it’s traditional to write a real sappy letter full of good wishes, expressed hopes, reminders of shared experiences. That has not been our relationship. If I pretended it were so now, my letter to you would mean little.
Despite our lack of closeness, I have watched you grow up through the eyes of your mother and grandmother. If you were to measure your wealth in terms of their love, you’d be a multi-billionaire.
Besides my well wishes for your success in life, I offer these tidbits of wisdom that have served me well over the years. Take them as you would all unsolicited offers of advice, with a little salt.
Do what you love, the money will follow. You’re going to have to work for the better part of your life. Seek a career that gives you joy. It will energize you more completely than money ever will.
Be good to your mother. You’ll never appreciate how much she’s done for you over the years until you have children of your own. Ditto in regards to your grandmother. You come from a remarkable line of tough and powerful women. The path you choose will be your own. However, you reached that path having been lifted by the love of many incredible women over many generations.
Go, do well, and be proud.
Thinking about the Budget and the Recall
First, a disclaimer. I work for the state of California. My salary is going to be affected by whatever budget or lack of budget occurs. I am probably harmed more by the lack of budget than by any specific budget that may be adopted. That is the prism by which I see this issue.
I am more than just a little bit annoyed at both the Democrats and the Republicans. They are at war with each other and see any compromise as defeat. A pox on both their houses. If I followed their example, every time I got into an argument, I'd just punch the guy's lights out.
I worry whether or not Gov. Davis is in any position to provide any leadership in this mess. He's about to face a recall. He has no popular support to speak of, and he's going into the recall election with the state being brought to its knees by an incredible deficit which he is now accused of hiding (at the worst) or of not seeing it coming. Either charge if correct is enough to recall him.
Can he survive the recall vote? That's a tough call right now. I haven't decided how I intend to vote. I dislike Davis immensely. I dislike how he substituted his judgment for the Parole Board and kept Robert Rosencrantz in prison. I dislike how he "fixed" the energy crisis we had several years ago. I dislike how the only thing of importance to him between his first election and his second was raising money. I dislike how he said that the judges and justices he would appoint were there to implement his vision. God, what arrogance. I dislike how he spent his money to discredit the better Republican candidate. I dislike how his campaign made scurrilous charges against Bill Simon, his Republican opponent.
If the only Republican name on the ballot were Darrell Issa (the Republican Congressman who bankrolled the recall), I'd probably vote the retain Davis. If Tom Delay (the Republican Majority Leader of the House) were the only Republican on the ballot, I'd probably vote to retain Davis. However, the field of candidates promises to be much more interesting than that. The likelihood of Davis being replaced by a clown such as Arnold Swarzennegger delights me. For one, he'll be more interesting and sure as hell won't be any worse than Davis. He won't consider the "other side" to be evil. He will be able to talk to both sides in our political debate. Of course, Arnold is a longshot. More likely we'll get one of the Republican's True Believers and the holy war will continue.
Davis should resign and let Bustamonte be the sitting governor. The recall will continue, but it'll fail because the recall is about Davis, not Democrat hegemony over Republicans. Bustamonte's profile will be much higher and generally more positive than any of the Republicans seeking to overturn Davis. The coup fails.
But what about the budget? Do we do nothing for the next six to nine months? Republicans insist on cutting both the size and cost of government. In the five years of Gray Davis, the budget has grown astronomically. Republicans are insisting that the budget be balanced through spending cuts. Is it unreasonable? Probably. Can they pull it off? Possibly. Do I want them to? Harder question. But I can tell you one thing for certain. I don't care for the process we have in place. We seem to have a dictatorship of the minority. That's plain wrong.
First, a disclaimer. I work for the state of California. My salary is going to be affected by whatever budget or lack of budget occurs. I am probably harmed more by the lack of budget than by any specific budget that may be adopted. That is the prism by which I see this issue.
I am more than just a little bit annoyed at both the Democrats and the Republicans. They are at war with each other and see any compromise as defeat. A pox on both their houses. If I followed their example, every time I got into an argument, I'd just punch the guy's lights out.
I worry whether or not Gov. Davis is in any position to provide any leadership in this mess. He's about to face a recall. He has no popular support to speak of, and he's going into the recall election with the state being brought to its knees by an incredible deficit which he is now accused of hiding (at the worst) or of not seeing it coming. Either charge if correct is enough to recall him.
Can he survive the recall vote? That's a tough call right now. I haven't decided how I intend to vote. I dislike Davis immensely. I dislike how he substituted his judgment for the Parole Board and kept Robert Rosencrantz in prison. I dislike how he "fixed" the energy crisis we had several years ago. I dislike how the only thing of importance to him between his first election and his second was raising money. I dislike how he said that the judges and justices he would appoint were there to implement his vision. God, what arrogance. I dislike how he spent his money to discredit the better Republican candidate. I dislike how his campaign made scurrilous charges against Bill Simon, his Republican opponent.
If the only Republican name on the ballot were Darrell Issa (the Republican Congressman who bankrolled the recall), I'd probably vote the retain Davis. If Tom Delay (the Republican Majority Leader of the House) were the only Republican on the ballot, I'd probably vote to retain Davis. However, the field of candidates promises to be much more interesting than that. The likelihood of Davis being replaced by a clown such as Arnold Swarzennegger delights me. For one, he'll be more interesting and sure as hell won't be any worse than Davis. He won't consider the "other side" to be evil. He will be able to talk to both sides in our political debate. Of course, Arnold is a longshot. More likely we'll get one of the Republican's True Believers and the holy war will continue.
Davis should resign and let Bustamonte be the sitting governor. The recall will continue, but it'll fail because the recall is about Davis, not Democrat hegemony over Republicans. Bustamonte's profile will be much higher and generally more positive than any of the Republicans seeking to overturn Davis. The coup fails.
But what about the budget? Do we do nothing for the next six to nine months? Republicans insist on cutting both the size and cost of government. In the five years of Gray Davis, the budget has grown astronomically. Republicans are insisting that the budget be balanced through spending cuts. Is it unreasonable? Probably. Can they pull it off? Possibly. Do I want them to? Harder question. But I can tell you one thing for certain. I don't care for the process we have in place. We seem to have a dictatorship of the minority. That's plain wrong.
Monday, July 14, 2003
Technically Lying
"As you know, in a deposition in January, I was asked questions about my relationship with Monica Lewinsky. While, technically, my answers were legally accurate, I was not entirely truthful with my information."
- William Jefferson Clinton (August 1998)
...while others don't:
"It didn't rise to the standard of a presidential speech, but it's not known, for example, that it was inaccurate. In fact, people think it was technically accurate."
- Donald Rumsfeld (July 2003)
(From Media Whores Online
Well, thank God Shrub brought honesty and accountability back to Washington.
"As you know, in a deposition in January, I was asked questions about my relationship with Monica Lewinsky. While, technically, my answers were legally accurate, I was not entirely truthful with my information."
- William Jefferson Clinton (August 1998)
...while others don't:
"It didn't rise to the standard of a presidential speech, but it's not known, for example, that it was inaccurate. In fact, people think it was technically accurate."
- Donald Rumsfeld (July 2003)
(From Media Whores Online
Well, thank God Shrub brought honesty and accountability back to Washington.
Saturday, July 12, 2003
Summer
My birthday is this week. I'll be 56 years here. When I was young, that seemed like a very long time. Now, I'm not as sure. It seems like it's been a long time, but my grandmother lived to be 98, so I've got the genes in me that say this could be just half way, only during the next half your back hurts a lot, your energy wains more than it waxes, and your mind wanders a lot.
I do know more now than say I did at 26 or even 46. For instance, I'm not nearly as smart as I thought I was at 26. I'm better looking, too. That happens to some men. Of course, at 26 I'd have traded that for a bigger dick. Nah, I wouldn't have either, but it sounds like something I'd have said. All in all, I'm pretty lucky. Hard work is a good virtue, but luck is a blessing from the universe itself. I'm lucky. I was born a (semi-) White male in the richest country on the planet. I could just have easily been born a third world woman.
I was lucky in that I was wanted by both my mother and father, and even though my father was killed when I was only 5, I was lucky in how my aunts and uncles and grandmother helped my mother and saw to my needs, emotional and physical. I hope I showed my gratitude to them as I grew up, and I hope I lead my life today in such a way that they would be proud of the sacrifices they made as they participated in my upbringing.
All of those things are filed under "luck." They were just blessings showered down by the universe.
I'm also rich. My mother would tease me and say that I only spend money like I'm rich, which in actuality, makes me poor. I disagree. Rich is a state of mind. I have an abundance of friends, health, good fortune, happiness. I laugh more than I cry and smiling comes easy. And while I don't have a lot of money, I have enough.
I have a comfortable home. I share it with a Maine Coon cat named Beauregard that I've had for ten years now. We're pretty closely bonded, but we're not all touchy feely about it. He hangs with me, follows me around the house, naps near where I'm working, and talks to me when he wants something as though he's sure I understand his language. He's always talked to me like that. He learned it from me, I suppose. I talk to him all the time like he's supposed to understand exactly what I'm talking about. Sometimes I think I'd rather have put that energy into a relationship with a human, but frankly, Beauregard isn't why I don't have a significant other, and since I don't have a significant other, I'm sure as hell glad I have Beauregard.
Where am I going with this? Oh yeah, give thanks. It's my birthday and I believe one is supposed to begin with a recitation of one's blessings and be thankful. I'm pretty sure the only way that one can adequately give thanks is to go forth and be generous in the world.
Blessed be.
My birthday is this week. I'll be 56 years here. When I was young, that seemed like a very long time. Now, I'm not as sure. It seems like it's been a long time, but my grandmother lived to be 98, so I've got the genes in me that say this could be just half way, only during the next half your back hurts a lot, your energy wains more than it waxes, and your mind wanders a lot.
I do know more now than say I did at 26 or even 46. For instance, I'm not nearly as smart as I thought I was at 26. I'm better looking, too. That happens to some men. Of course, at 26 I'd have traded that for a bigger dick. Nah, I wouldn't have either, but it sounds like something I'd have said. All in all, I'm pretty lucky. Hard work is a good virtue, but luck is a blessing from the universe itself. I'm lucky. I was born a (semi-) White male in the richest country on the planet. I could just have easily been born a third world woman.
I was lucky in that I was wanted by both my mother and father, and even though my father was killed when I was only 5, I was lucky in how my aunts and uncles and grandmother helped my mother and saw to my needs, emotional and physical. I hope I showed my gratitude to them as I grew up, and I hope I lead my life today in such a way that they would be proud of the sacrifices they made as they participated in my upbringing.
All of those things are filed under "luck." They were just blessings showered down by the universe.
I'm also rich. My mother would tease me and say that I only spend money like I'm rich, which in actuality, makes me poor. I disagree. Rich is a state of mind. I have an abundance of friends, health, good fortune, happiness. I laugh more than I cry and smiling comes easy. And while I don't have a lot of money, I have enough.
I have a comfortable home. I share it with a Maine Coon cat named Beauregard that I've had for ten years now. We're pretty closely bonded, but we're not all touchy feely about it. He hangs with me, follows me around the house, naps near where I'm working, and talks to me when he wants something as though he's sure I understand his language. He's always talked to me like that. He learned it from me, I suppose. I talk to him all the time like he's supposed to understand exactly what I'm talking about. Sometimes I think I'd rather have put that energy into a relationship with a human, but frankly, Beauregard isn't why I don't have a significant other, and since I don't have a significant other, I'm sure as hell glad I have Beauregard.
Where am I going with this? Oh yeah, give thanks. It's my birthday and I believe one is supposed to begin with a recitation of one's blessings and be thankful. I'm pretty sure the only way that one can adequately give thanks is to go forth and be generous in the world.
Blessed be.
Friday, July 11, 2003
Another Reason Why I'm Not A Republican
As if I needed another one. Via the Washington Blade, Bob Marshall, member of the Virginia House of Delegates from Loudoun and Prince William Counties, wonders if the Supreme Court's decision will require schools to teach 14 year olds "fisting." Right on Bobo, you probably discovered fisting right after you took your head out of your ass. Where do they find these idiots?
As if I needed another one. Via the Washington Blade, Bob Marshall, member of the Virginia House of Delegates from Loudoun and Prince William Counties, wonders if the Supreme Court's decision will require schools to teach 14 year olds "fisting." Right on Bobo, you probably discovered fisting right after you took your head out of your ass. Where do they find these idiots?