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30 November 2005
Tomorrow is a new moon and a new month. I can't wait.
Studying today, but not too hard.
Couldn’t get motivated. When I had to move the car to avoid the street sweepers and their attendant meter maids, I drove
over the hill to Golden Gate Park to see the new de Young Museum by daylight. I wandered in through a back door, admired what
I could without paying, went outside to see how the façade and tower looked from the Music Concourse (out of place, but
not bad), and then took an autumnal stroll through the Japanese Tea Garden. It was perfect for a gloomy day. Yellow leaves
on the gingko trees. Bare branches. Nothing blooming. The big 18th Century bronze statue of the Buddha that so impressed me
on field trips as a child. Then a good chest and arms workout at the gym. A simple supper of pork, turnips, and the peppers
in the photo below.
The date last night went very
well. No touching, of course, because I’m not that kind of gal, but a little kissing. We’re going to see each
other on the weekend. I would say more, but I don’t want to jinx anything.
27 November 2005
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It’s cold again. The hot water bottle at the foot of my bed is going to feel almost as good as a boyfriend tonight.
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I spent the day at school working on my brief. I’m about half done. It will be 100% done in twenty-four hours,
I hope. Send inspirational vibes my way, please, dear readers.
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I have a date this week with someone I barely know. We met accidentally when he wrote to me on Friendster, thinking
I was someone else. Once he found out that I wasn’t his secret crush, our correspondence ceased. We’ve seen each
other around town, but have never really talked. We last saw each other, briefly, at Trannyshack. He didn’t have my
number, but Friendster came to the rescue again. Keep your fingers crossed. He’s age and achievement appropriate, which
would be nice for a change. And tall and handsome, if I remember rightly. And I don't think he has blue eyes.
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Oh, yes, an addition to the farmers’ market report: tepary beans, which I’ve never had before. I’ve
seen them at the Rancho Gordo stand, and I was reminded of them by this article in the NY Times. Something to cook later in the week when I can breathe again.
26 November 2005
Thanksgiving was nice. The cheese
straws were fantastic. I couldn’t bring myself to follow the recipe (as usual). Next time: a little more cheese,
and perhaps a little more butter. [The sketch: thoroughly mix together a half-cup of softened butter, a half-pound or more
of grated sharp cheddar cheese, an egg yolk, a big pinch of salt, and some cayenne or red pepper. Add 2/3 cup pastry or cake
flour and 1 cup all-purpose flour. Mix well. Add a dribble of water if the dough doesn’t hold together when you squeeze
it. It will probably still look (but not feel) crumbly when it’s ready. Either wrap in plastic and chill, or roll out
to about 1/8-inch thick, and cut into ribbons about 1/4-inch wide by 4-5 inches long. Bake at 425 about 10-12 minutes, until
golden brown and puffed. Cool on wire racks.]
We had: the cheese straws and
mushroom croutons to start, then a potato and leek soup, and then the Turkey (from Diestel, salted the day before, but not
brined) with a simple onion-celery breadcrumb stuffing; turnips in cream; a ragout of Romano beans with shell beans, onions,
and bacon; the ritual candied yams (without marshmallows); and the Other Stuffing, with Italian pork sausage and black olives;
my mother’s homemade cranberry jelly; and my mother’s magnificent gravy. You will notice that there no mashed
potatoes in this menu. We never have them with Thanksgiving dinner. The whole
idea just seems wrong and un-American. Apple pie, mincemeat pie, and pumpkin pie followed. Manhattans to start, then a German
Riesling, and then a Willamette Valley Pinot Noir and a Sonoma Cab, and then a port from El Dorado County that wasn’t
bad at all. My parents’ neighbors of forty years were sick with the flu and couldn’t join their own children,
so as we had each course, my father ran across the street with two plates for them. I think they enjoyed it.
I tried to study at home on Friday,
but interrupted myself to see the new Pride and Prejudice movie. It’s glossier than the 1995 six-hour BBC version,
and everyone is better looking, but the tone was off in distracting ways (for example, all the piano music – even when
we were to suspend our disbelief and imagine Keira Knightley on the keyboard – was performed on a lushly sonorous modern-sounding
grand piano, not a lighter period instrument.) Judi Dench was fine as Lady Catherine. And whatshisname made a suitably handsome
Mr. Darcy. Mr. Collins wasn’t too bad either, but there wasn’t enough of him.
Farmer’s market report:
pork, Espelette pepper powder from the pepper lady at Tierra Vegetables, eggs, big, fat Chantenay carrots, a few peppers,
and some chrysanthemums.
It’s cold tonight, and
I have eight more pages to write to meet my quota before I can go to bed.
23 November 2005
Going home tomorrow for Thanksgiving.
I’m making cheese straws. I didn’t put any parmesan in them—the combination of parmesan and cheddar in a
cracker makes it taste just like Cheez-it™ Baked Snack Crackers. For those of you following along at home, I'm using
the recipe in Scott Peacock and Edna Lewis' Gift of Southern Cooking.
I am the master of procrastination.
I’ve done more research than necessary, but haven’t been able to make myself commit to writing anything on paper.
In the course of my researches, I had to look up Norton I, Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico, and found this delightful bit:
[Emperor] Norton did receive some small tokens
of formal recognition for his station; the census of 1870 records a Joshua Norton residing at 624 Commercial St, and lists
him with the occupation of "Emperor."
I went early this morning to
get some tea at Peet’s and who did I see in gym togs but my tousle-haired secret boyfriend No. 1, reading Fritjof Kapra’s
Hidden Connections. I’ve admired (read: desired) him since I saw him a few times with his boyfriend at El Rio
last summer. And now we know he’s smart, too. This secret boyfriend is not to be confused with my South American schoolfellow
crush. I almost got into a hair-pulling fight with a friend over the guy at Peet’s. We have very similar tastes, so
one day this could get ugly.
Happy Thanksgiving, and while
you’re eating the ritual meal, give thanks for Patrick Fitzgerald and be thankful that you’re not Chimpy, Rove,
Cheney, or Libby.
20 November 2005
Farmers’ market report:
apples and quinces, turnips, Romano beans, shell beans, sweet potatoes, and chrysanthemums (cream-colored).
I haven’t been as productive
as I’d like the past few days. Still sick, but healing, I think. Too sick to go to the gym, which makes me irritable.
Astrologyzone.com advised me to wait until after the full moon had waned to begin dieting, so I’ve been dutifully eating away until now.
Did the dryer shrink those old jeans or is something else happening?
I did manage to drag my carcass
to the Miss Trannyshack Pageant, where I waited forever in line. The room was beautiful, as always, but the sound system was horrible, the bartenders overwhelmed
(surprise! the Gays like their cocktails), and the performances somewhat underwhelming. The crowd was cute, as usual. No touching
to report, alas. I was home shortly after midnight, narrowly averting a transmogrification into a pumpkin. Diane paid a visit
this morning. Why me?
I had a delightful call on Saturday
night from my favorite Southern American. He helped me understand what the cheese straw means to his people.
I can’t wait for this semester
to be over.
17 November 2005
Other people’s weather
is like other people’s pain: you can sort of empathize, but you can never really feel it. The unseasonably warm weather
we’ve been having (plus the recent full moon) has me thinking of only one thing: Earthquake Weather! It was just like
this in ’89. I’ve updated my kit, bought extra candles, checked the water supply, and so forth. I hope it’s
not true.
I’m still sick. I’m
trying to avoid having it settle down into my lungs. I don’t need a lingering cough on top of everything else.
As I signed up for Spring-semester
classes today, I realized that I no longer want to be in trade school. I’m ready for it to be over. What else is new?,
you ask. Well, I may have a new muse. A schoolfellow. Also went to Berkeley. Plus he’s South American(!). Another chance
for outreach, except I think he’s straight. What else is new?, you ask.
Chimpy is making me grumpy with
his recent speeches about the “irresponsibility” of accusing him of lying to get us to invade Iraq. Bush is
the worst president ever. Remember when we had peace and prosperity?
I caused a big stir in class
when I allowed as how I hate the Beatles, and that I think it will be great in fifty years when all the Baby Boomers
are dead, and the Beatles will be of interest only to musicologists, much like Stephen Foster ("Camptown Ladies" anyone?).
It was as if I had announced that that I deny the Holocaust. Everyone was speechless in horror. However, it’s undeniable
that their oeuvre is no less trivial than the Beach Boys’, and that they had an unfortunate and pernicious influence
on popular music. Proof of my thesis: “I wanna hold your ha-aa-aaa-aand”
and “Yellow Submarine.” Uninteresting melodies, nasty harmonies, and trite lyrics. I say no more, except that
I hope that neither of these “songs” now get stuck in your head.
Nice dinner tonight made by a
fellow former cook at the restaurant: a salad of little lettuces with Fuyu persimmons, toasted and hazelnuts, ravioli stuffed
with braised beef short ribs in a sage-y broth, and then blanco y negro (orange and cinnamon parfait with cold espresso
syrup). And then the first-of- the-season tangerines. We had a lovely deep red wine from Catalunya.
14 November 2005
Argh. I am sick. Bird flu? Probably
not, but a nasty cold. I had a lovely, lovely nap this afternoon. I went to sleep at four and woke up at six, after the sun
had gone down. I was a little disoriented and couldn’t tell whether it was 6 PM or 6 AM until I got some corroboration
from my watch, the cell phone, and my computer (I don’t have any clocks in my apartment).
Because of its inability to manage
even the simplest of tasks, I often receive GOP propaganda in my mailbox. My brain-damaged neighbor is a big supporter of
theirs, but he can’t get them to use his address instead of mine. Today I found in my box a Visa bill (mine, unfortunately),
a letter “from” the White House for my neighbor, and a big letter for me from the Conseil de l’Europe from
Strasbourg. WTF? How does the EU even have my address? It was a brochure for a new book entitled, Culinary Cultures of
Europe: identity, diversity, and dialogue. It looks interesting, with an essay and simple recipes for each of the countries
of Europe (from Armenia, Austria, and Azerbaijan to Ukraine and the UK). It is perhaps a bit too evenhanded, viz: “Monaco:
a rich culinary heritage,” “Germany: sauerkraut, beer, and so much more,” or “Bulgaria: golden fruits
from the orchard.” The UK essay is written by someone named Heather Hay ffrench. I
still don’t know how they ffound my address.
Goals for the new year (thinking
ahead): I must meet two of my favorite bloggers, one of whom lives far away and the other lives right here, in a neighborhood
I visit at least once a week. My inspirations.
13 November 2005
Friday I was a good scholar and
studied most of the day. Not so productive on Saturday, and even less so today, but I had good reason.
Farmers’ market report:
quince, Black Twig apples, Sierra Beauty apples, pan de zucchero (a large, conical, light green cooking radicchio), pork,
and bread from della Fattoria. It was amazingly beautiful on the water that morning.
Bright, clear, and sparkling. Yerba Buena Island seemed close enough to touch.
I went to Kabuki Hot Springs on Saturday night with a big posse. Very relaxing. It was nice to just sit in the quiet and steam and soak. I gave myself
a salt scrub and my skin is now soft and innocent (-seeming). Since I mostly
see naked guys at the gym, I had forgotten what regular men’s bodies really look like. A good reality check. We had
lovely noodles and broth afterward upstairs in Japantown.
Today, somehow, I got nothing
done, aside from reading the paper, having a lovely luncheon at Zuni (a plate of jamon Serrano with walnuts and a very light
celery root rémoulade, and then homemade linguine with clams, and then prunes stewed in bergamot tea). The gym was in there somewhere (back & biceps), and then I went to see my parents and my favorite aunt
and uncle. I made an apple tarte à la Normande (short crust baked blind filled with thinly sliced apples that had been sautéed
in butter and sugar, the pan deglazed with brandy, and a light custard poured over, and the whole baked just until the custard
set). I made a little sauce from the apple peelings. It turned a lurid pink, a color much like Hi-C. The tarte was thin, crispy,
creamy, sweet, and delicious. I may have had more than one piece. My sister brought her flash cards for her therapist licensing
exam, so we took turns diagnosing each other. I decided that I want to have histrionic personality disorder with a disassociative
fugue.
Mercury is now retrograde, so
back up your important files.
There is more to say (no touching
to report), but it’s late and one of my contact lenses is lodged somewhere above my pupil, so I can only see clearly
out of my non-dominant eye, and I’m going crazy.
10 November 2005
A not unpleasant day. I slept
in. I got tea in the Castro while the street sweepers wended their solitary way through my neighborhood. It was warm enough
to sit outside with the smokers and the dogs. I remembered to pay the rent (oops!). School was not bad. The end of the semester
is in sight. A short but decent arm workout with a friend. One of my old crushes was there. I got a smile. He has been eating
his Wheaties--he was slim before, but now he's nicely muscled. Hmm. I'll talk to him next time.
We wanted to go to sushi afterwards,
but the line was so long that we had pizza instead. We sat in the window. My hairdo must have been working because I got cruised
a number of times by the young, the middle-aged, and the old. Very affirming.
Tomorrow: studying! and maybe
Pride and Prejudice in the afternoon. I wonder if it could be as good as the 1995 BBC version.
9 November 2005
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The oral argument went well enough. I could formulate answers to all the questions. All three judges said I needed
to speak louder. Something to work on.
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Since we argued the government’s side, my partner and I wore American-flag lapel pins. It went over well.
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I surprised my parents last night on the way to the argument. They were in the neighborhood having dinner before the
opera (Fidelio, I think). It was nice to see them and show them the snappy
suit they bought me.
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I’ve already made a delightful trip around my apartment to purge it of any and all reminders of that class. A
two-inch stack of drafts, cases, memos, and so forth await the recycling bin.
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Several martinis after the argument lead to insomnia and now a headache. Diane is in the house.
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All of Schwartzie’s initiatives in the California special election lost big time. Hurrah.
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A friend who has been out of touch called while I was struggling into my suit yesterday. I’m glad he has decided
to let me back into his life.
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I still have 20 pages of Lucas v. South Carolina Coastal Council, 505 U.S. 1003 (1982) to read before seminar
this morning. Gotta go.
7 November 2005
It has been a long day. I started
school at 8:30 this morning. I finally talked to my latest school crush. Berkeley graduate. South American (not again!), but
surprisingly levelheaded. We’ll call him F. He’s an avid bicyclist, which accounts for his lovely thighs. Don’t
know if he’s straight or gay. After a quick 11 AM nap at home, I worked until 11 P.M.
My work day was at the new de Young Museum (the building is better than the art, sadly, but the building is still nicer and more interesting than the barren upscale
minimalist mall of MOMA in NY, and much better than our own San Francisco MOMA,
which I'm sure was designed by some intern).
I spent most of the day buried
in the kitchen, cooking. It was the regular crew, so we had a great time. No shouting. No hot tempers. No recipes. As usual,
the cooks whose kitchen we borrowed commented at the end of the night about what a pleasure it was to work with us. My highly
visible sweeping of their kitchen and walk-in didn’t hurt.
Lots of Secret Service agents
and their British counterparts. They all sported black trench coats, even when indoors. And they're all about seven feet tall. I
never got a glimpse of the guests of honor, Prince Charles and his fresh new bride. Probably the most famous people I've
ever cooked for. Lots of local captains of industry, one of whom made a spectacle of himself with his absurd diet requests.
You're not an iconoclast, just a prick, and your childish mindset is probably one of the reasons more people don't want to
buy your overpriced merchandise. I went on a quick tour of the museum just as some of the haughty society ladies were arriving.
Let’s look down on the help, shall we? Why, madame, I do love your hair.
I may have had a glass of Krug
champagne before I left. It's now time for a shower. Tuesday evening I have my oral argument. Send positive thoughts to your
Cunégonde at 6:15-6:30 PST. I expect to have a big (gin) Martini in my hand at 7:30 when it’s all over and the “verdict”
has been handed down.
6 November 2005
Weekend wrap-up:
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More research for my next paper. I found some good stuff on the history of riparian property rights in Michigan.
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More practicing for my oral argument on Tuesday.
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I got the call I was hoping for: I’ll be cooking tomorrow for someone whose name you’ll probably know.
Can you guess?
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A couple of good workouts: legs, back, and chest
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I’m still gaining weight, but not in a good way.
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Things are probably done with the Pisces. I haven’t heard from him since our sleepover on Wednesday night. I’ll
call him in a day or so just to have a little closure. Perhaps I did something to make him mad. It’s always hard to
know with those Pisces guys.
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I have the vague memory that I went out and did something on Friday night, but I don’t recall what it was.
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Farmers’ market report: beef, apples, peppers, Khadrawi dates, and eggs
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I went to a nice Day-of-the-Dead dinner on Saturday (complete with altar and marigolds). I made caipirinhas. I met a guy who’s probably a distant cousin (on the Punjabi side). It’s a small world.
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I slept ten hours two nights in a row. I feel much better for it.
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I hung out at L.’s store. Long-time readers will remember my long-time crush on L., and his usual indifference
or coldness toward me. Somehow that has melted away. Will the crush ever be requited? I doubt it. The more I know him, the
less I have a crush on him, though I like him more. He has gotten into great shape in the last few months. It’s distracting.
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I saw Capote tonight. Very enjoyable.
3 November 2005
Is it true that both Rove and
Cheney are soon going to resign? Pass it on.
Great article in the November
2005 issue Saveur magazine on an American chef who lives half the year in Paris. The article did a good job of capturing his ability to
cook in a way that’s at once both soigné and effortless. His kitchen is tiny, his batterie de cuisine is well
thought-out yet minimal, and his hands are in constant use. Ask me if you want to know more.
Rain tonight. I still have a
few good tomatoes from last week’s farmers’ market, but summer is now over. It smelled like fresh rain and wood
smoke on my wet bike ride home from the gym. As I wrote this, I realized that what Daddy needed was a good piece of cinnamon
toast. . . It’s now in progress. I can’t wait.
I had two dates yesterday with
the Pisces. He came over at lunchtime for a few hours. We watched a DVD of “Closer.” It was awful hetero tripe.
Don’t bother. Clive Owens was fine, but Natalie Portman joined Nicholas Cage and Emma Thompson on my Permanent Boycott
List. Never again. She’s pretty, but the poor thing cannot act; she gutted every scene she was in. The Pisces had
chosen the movie (he owns the DVD). He admitted afterward that he hadn’t realized its flaws until he saw it we me, moaning
and sighing in the background. If there were ever to be a Heterosexual Anti-Defamation League, they’d be bigger and
busier than the NRA. Would you want your children to grow up to be heterosexuals, knowing the unhappiness they’d face?
The Pisces came back in the evening.
We had our first sleepover. Not much sleeping, however (not because of what you’re thinking, filthy reader), but because
he’s a clinger and I need my space. The jury’s still out. I’m trying to give him a chance because he’s
a good guy. On verra.
The toast is ready.
1 November 2005
What is it with the straight couples invading the gay neighborhoods? A disquieting phenomenon. And what are they doing up so early in the morning? Shouldn't they be watching the TV or attending
to their kids? Don't they know that the civic-minded Gays are trying to pursue outreach efforts to underserved populations?
Is it possible that my favorite male Canadian blogger might be posting again?
I had two oral argument practices
today, and lots of reading to catch up on. I’m burnt. I will offer you the opening line of James Agee’s novel,
A Death in the Family. It’s quoted in the November Harper’s
Magazine in a review of the new Library of America collections of his work.
“We are talking now of summer evenings
in Knoxville, Tennessee in the time that I lived there so successfully disguised to myself as a child.”
No ka oi.
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