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Archive for the ‘Culture’ Category

And for the Foodies…a couple of gear recommendations.

First, a great stocking stuffer idea.

I’ve made a bit of a study of corkscrews. I’ve tried a ton of them, of nearly every type. There’s the old-school helix-with-a-handle jobs; turn the handle and pull with all your might. There are the standard wing version (or, as I always thought, the little man who raises his arms when you twist his head). For a decade or so, the two-prong slip-n-grip models ruled the world; they were good, too, but they’re not as popular now. Most recently, it’s the “rabbit” type that’s in vogue; a gripper and a handle that plunges the screw down into the cork in one clean shoop, and pulls it out on the pull-back.

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Obey the Kitty!Regardless who you voted for, thank you for voting.

Washington State is now all mail-in ballots, so voting for me was easy. Not so for many people in other states who had to wait in line for hours just to exercise this essential civic right. Nor was it easy for those still caught in the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy and who, displaced or homeless or without even a polling place to go to, somehow managed to get in there and cast a ballot. Bless you for your efforts, for your perseverance, and for your example. (more…)

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Kurt R.A. GiambastianiA quick swing through this blog-site or just a brief glance at my gravatar (what a stupid word) to the right will clue you into a fact: I like old, low-tech things. As an old, low-tech thing myself, I feel an affinity with the slower pace, the more thoughtful process they require. A clock requires winding. A pen requires filling. A letter requires consideration and preparation.

Letters…I know. How 19th century! But I write letters. I have always written letters. I communicated with distant cousins with letters. I wooed women with letters. I have built friendships with letters. To this day, I write letters to pen pals, to my father, and on occasion, to my wife. Letters take time. Letters make me slow down. Letters make me think about what I want to say before I put pen to paper, because you can’t backspace through a handwritten letter or cut-and-paste your way out of an awkward syntax.

In our world of instant communication—IMs, emails, tweets—even a phone conversation can seem old-fashioned. To set aside ten minutes or an hour for a chat is just too much effort for some people. Why? Why is it so much work (or too much bother) to plan some time with a friend or relative? How superficial do our relationships become when we reduce our interaction to 140-character bursts? (more…)

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I have often said, “Every book has its own lesson to teach, even the bad ones.”

Okay…now you’re looking off to the right and seeing the cover for the latest Richard Castle book and you’re thinking…”Oooh, guess he didn’t like that one.”

Wrong.

I liked it fine. It’s a tie-in, meta-reality, police procedural mystery, and as such, it worked just fine. It’s not high art or lasting literature, but it’s a fun read, and filled with all the little “Castle” and “Firefly” jokes that come from this clever and, dare I say, unique confluence of reality and fiction.

However, it wasn’t perfect, and through its imperfections, I learned something as a writer.

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Obey the Kitty!All Saint’s Day. All Hallows.  All Hallows’ Evening. Hallows Even. Hallowe’en. Halloween.

Not my favorite…well, you can’t really call it a holiday…not my favorite festival. Not even my second favorite. To be honest, my least favorite, which is to say, I really dislike it. A lot.

Growing up, it was just another example of social stratification, another peer-review spotlight that illuminated my inner nerd. You must understand that, back then, at that age, carrying a violin to school on a regular basis did considerable damage to one’s street cred. So did liking to read. Wearing glasses didn’t help. Neither did being sports-deficient. So, being a scrawny, gawky, four-eyed kid who walked to school, a violin in one hand, while reading a book with the other…it pretty much guaranteed that I was going to peg the lower end on the Cool Scale.

Halloween just rubbed it in.

There was only one time where Halloween and I got along. One night. In college.

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Obey the Kitty!The world changes quickly, and as I get older, I start to feel the current move faster than I am. Slowly, inexorably, I’m being left behind. This is something I work hard against; I try to keep current, but I never was “edgy” or “cool” and I sure as hell don’t expect to start now. I suppose this makes me a member of the Curmudgeon Party. I’m pretty happy over here. I can rant and rave, piss and moan, and no one is surprised when I do it. So, don’t be surprised. I’m going to do it again.

Last night—on an October night—I voted in a general election. My wife and I sat in the living room, discussed each of the initiatives and reviewed the candidates, colored the little bubbles on our computer-ready form, and stuck them in envelopes to go out in the morning’s post. Washington State now has a wholly mail-in election system.

And I hated it.

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Obey the Kitty!(All the puns I could have used to title a post on stock, consommé, and au jus are terrible, so I refuse to pain you with them. Besides, you’re hearing them all in your head right now, anyway.)

Egg whites and I have a long, antagonistic history. I don’t “get” them, and they don’t do much for me. It all goes back to my attempt, at the age of about twelve, of making an angel food cake, from scratch, while my family was out for the day. “Whip the egg whites until they form peaks,” the recipe said. So, bowl in arm and whisk in hand, I beat them until my wrist was ready to crumble. What’s a “peak” anyway? How does one judge”peakiness”? I poured the resulting froth into the cake pan, presuming it would rise during cooking (don’t all cakes rise during cooking?) I took it out of the oven just as my family arrived home. The resulting half-inch high hard-pan custard…jerky…would forever be known as my Angel Food Flop. Egg whites and I have never gotten along, since.

One of the things I’ve always wanted to be able to make is a nice, flavorful, crystal clear beef stock. A consommé, to be precise. Years ago, I went to my copy of La Varenne Pratique to find out how to do it. Great. Egg whites. I tried again and again, and all I got was cloudy stock and a couple of wasted eggs. Or worse. Enter Julia Child.

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