Don’t Go Out the Back Door

Some months ago.

Miss Sasha: We’re having ‘Panky christened in August.
Tata: In a church? Like, splashy-splashy, scrub off the original sin?
Miss Sasha: Yes, and then we’re having a luau at Dad’s house.
Tata: You’re serving roast pig to old Jews on a Catholic occasion and setting it to soothing hula music?
Miss Sasha: When you put it that way…
Tata: Lightning’s bound to strike. I’ll go roller skate under an antenna in some other town.

Later.

Daria: You’re going.
Tata: I’m not going.
Daria: You’re going.
Tata: Nope. Not going!

Also.

Tata: Dude, I can’t go.
Minstrel Boy: It ain’t about you. Zip yer lip and go.
Tata: Thanks for setting me straight, cowboy – as straight as I get, anyhow.
MB: Well, gotta mosey off into the sunset, fight crime and mix metaphors. Burr whisk, away!

Later.

Daria: You’re going.
Tata: Maybe.
Daria: You’re going.
Tata: Maybe. Man, I’m sick of talking about this.

After that.

Tata: I cannot in good conscience spend my whole week fighting the homophobic and anti-choice rhetoric and violence of the church and show up on Sunday in a grass skirt. Hey, did you know I could say the words in good conscience without laughing hysterically?
Miss Sasha: Fine. Wear your coconut bra to the party. I know you have one.

Thursday.

Miss Sasha: I have potentially upsetting news.
Tata: I’m still the black sheep of an increasingly angry family?
Miss Sasha: My biological father’s coming on Sunday.
Tata: Who knew that black sheep came blacker? Because there’s one now.

Saturday.

Tata: I thought you were staying in Cape Cod and coping with a plumbing disaster.
Mom: If he goes to the christening tomorrow I’m not going.
Tata: Have you made this declaration to Miss Sasha?
Mom: Not yet. If I call now it’ll ruin dinner.
Tata: …Whereas if you wait, you can wreck her entire evening! I’ll have to try that next time.

You will no doubt be pleased to hear that no one was killed in the baptizing of this baby.

Time To Let It Grow

If I hadn’t recently started taking bellydancing lessons I might not have noticed this right away. The teacher lives in the house directly behind me as I pointed my camera toward the town’s main drag. Many streets in this town look just like this: large, old houses and snug, old Cape Cods, surrounded by trees and plants. A large number of the houses were built by the same builders in the early twentieth century. My great-grandfather bought a house for his wife and seven children eight blocks away in 1917. The trees are an important part of the character of the town, which prides itself on being a walking community: you can walk to the store, to a restaurant, to buy a snow shovel. A few years ago, the Department of Public Works began doing something mysterious: cutting off the tops of healthy trees and leaving fifteen or twenty foot stumps. Two avenues over, there’s a block that looks like totem pole training school.

One day, I drove past the teacher’s house and saw a Department of Public Works crew had taken the treetop of the tree on the corner and started hacking asymetrically at the next one. I was horrified but not as horrified as the teacher and her family, who were traumatized. After some thought, I proposed the homeowners turn that one tall stump on the corner into art supplies by inviting woodworking sculptors to make something of it. They’d have to wait a year for the wood to dry, but it could be done. As you can see, surprises were in store.

If this story sounds confused time-wise, there might be a good reason for that: I was frantically working on other things. Each time a treetop came off it was after crews departed, apparently finished, but returned. On Thursday as I drove home from work I saw five crew trucks and a large crew taking down the second and third trees. I had my digital camera with me but I was so busy fighting the urge to turn a chainsaw on a chainsaw-wielding lunkhead it didn’t occur to me to menace same with a camera. So: that’s totally my fault. I’ll try to remember next time to calmly threaten cobags with Kodaks, their natural enemies. The moment passed, but there’s one important thing to remember: the trucks weren’t from the Department of Public Works. They were from a private contractor, the trees were on town land and were town property.

Sometimes the town takes down a tree when it interferes with the electric lines, but these were no different from trees anywhere in town in that the had grown up around the wires. So what’s to stop Public Works from deforesting the entire town? This drives my brother-in-law Dan crazy. He’s a landscape architect. Every time I tell him the Department of Public Works is up to something he gets a weary look in his eye like he’s retired from crimefighting, hung up his tights and it’s someone else’s turn. He says the last tree the crews cut has a hollow, round spot, which made me wonder if they’d started with the wrong tree and kept going. He says, “The trees must have been a hazard of some kind, right?” I’m so mad about this Dan’s in grave danger of explaining to a judge why I should be denied bail.

When I took these pictures yesterday the sunlight was so bright I couldn’t see the pictures I took. I was guessing. The teacher turned into her driveway as I stood there, staring at electrical wires and wondering what the camera saw. She was shocked to see the fourth tree apparently cut in half after she left the house that morning. My sister says a consultant working for the Department of Public Works gets paid to decide to take down trees and if there’s no deciding there’s no job. That may or may not be the case. The town has a committee that makes decisions about trees. Yesterday, that group’s website was down.

There may be a perfectly rational explanation for what’s happened here. I’d like to hear it. The homeowners would like to hear it, too.

Friday Cat Blogging: Roof Rusted Edition

Pretty Princess Drusy cannot let a goblet of water go un-gobbed. We must share! It’s like a Greek wedding with somewhat fewer assaults around here! Thus, at Casa Rococo, we’ve gone unbreakable – though just this morning an unwary ancestral demitasse cup took a header off the sideboard while lovely Topaz said, “Who, me?” The demitasse cup miraculously survived its swan dive with but a mild splash and the carpet rippled coyly. I blame the East German judge, who remains annoyed that she’s an anachronism.

What, your cat doesn’t play with her trebuchet?

We’re packing and moving my things a little at a time. My landlord seems to know this, since no new lease arrived last month for me to fret over and send back. It seems symbolic, but I’m not sure how. If there’s nothing to worry over I shouldn’t worry, right? But with my landlord it’s not like that and I keep waiting for another shoe to drop. I could save myself some worry, I guess, by packing and moving my shoes.

Making lovey-dovey, not war, Madame Topaz blinks her eyes slowly, which cat afficionados assure us is the kitty version of blowing kisses. Wherever Pete sits, Topaz’s lavish lip-prints fly by and stick to the wall. As you can see from this glamorous shot, Topaz has white lips. I’d buy her white patent leather go-go boots to work this look but she doesn’t have the legs for it. Which I’m not going to tell her. Noooo. I tell her I’m still catalog-shopping for just the right pair.

My Brain Is Hanging Upside Down

Ben Wattenberg’s appearance on The Daily Show scared me. I was afraid he’d get away with saying any old poisonous thing. Jon Stewart softens his style when confronted with an older person or a genteel woman. His interview of Nancy Pelosi earlier this week contains a few Jon, did you hear what she just said? moments, for example. But back to Ben Wattenberg – or more specifically, back to me, on the edge of my seat last night: Jon lets a few very dangerous assertions get past him before he’s had enough.

Let me declare, now and forever, that after 9/11 I supported the bombing of NO ONE, the declaration of war on NO ONE, no shredding of the Constitution, no denial of anyone’s human rights, no lunkhead rush to vengeance, no. At no time have I ever supported the insensible and grammatically insupportable War on Terror. No. And I know plenty of people who did not lose their minds and wet their beds, plenty of people who opposed rash action and depraved indifference to genocide and torture – you probably number among those people. The media’s narrative says EVERYONE supported and supports this pointless, endless, and cowardly fool’s errand. It simply isn’t so, and insisting doesn’t make it so.

Now – with that much straight – now, we can start talking seriously.

Man, They’re All the Same

It doesn’t take a genius to see that the financial news is going to get much, much worse before it gets better. In fact, despite our short attention spans and denial, we may not see our economy ‘normalize’ for a decade or more. In this country, the lines at food banks and soup kitchens will lengthen. Around the world it’s going to get very rough, and we’re all going to wonder what we could have done differently.

I already wish I played games more often.

Spelled H-E-D

I’ve been tired and run down, and feel forced to conserve my energy. There are friends I want to talk with but just can’t right now, when I fantacize about splitting in two so half of me could be sleeping while the other paints the attic. Some years ago, a nerd pile-on determined that the universe had a color that is roughly similar to a neutral bone color, though initially the universe’s true hue was a peculiar light green. NASA, you vex decorators! I can’t take so much into account without a roller extender. A karma-conscious gal can’t tune into her aura with the spectre of future accent walls blocking her chi!

But enough about me! While you contemplate what you think of my color scheme, I’m mulling over this:

The government defines poverty as an annual income of only $16,227 for a family of three.

In 1985, I took a job at a fast food joint making $16,500. I had a baby, an employed boyfriend and a small apartment in Perth Amboy.

My current apartment, which is modest, is approximately $12,000 a year without utilities.

Where in New Jersey do people making $16,227 in 2008 live?

I’ve Come To Take You Home

Driving, windows open, radio playing.

Tata: There are a few things I’d like to do before I move. I’d like to bury Larry’s ashes. It seems pretty stupid to carry them around with me.
Pete: At your mother’s house, right?
Tata: Well, why not bury him where we live? Would you mind?
Pete: No, that’d be fine. You want to scatter your Dad’s ashes, too, right?
Tata: Yeah.
Pete: Have you picked a place? You were talking about the Shore.
Tata: I think so. I think the place where his grandparents had a house. His ashes would join the Gulf Stream and he could go around the world. He loved Europe and Iceland, and Japan was really good for him.

At the first notes of a new song I burst into tears.

Pete: What’s wrong?
Tata: Nothing. That’s what we’ll do. Do you believe in signs?
Pete: Sometimes.
Tata: I don’t think you could get a clearer sign than this one.

See Innocence Shining Through

On Planet Green, a Discovery offshoot, you can learn a whole lot in a few short episodes. For instance, since Suzette’s waiting impatiently for fruit-based beauty product pointers, you can fast-forward by going positively retro.

Why go buy face masks when you can make them totally naturally yourself? Here are some basic face masks that you can make on your own, and in a matter of minutes.

All of these ingredients are simple to put together to make a great face mask. Just mash the given ingredients together and let the mixture sit on your face for 10-15 minutes.

Here are the items you should try combining:

Apple+Honey+Oatmeal
Avocado+Honey
Banana+Yogurt+Honey
Brown Sugar+Milk
Strawberries+Cream+Honey
Egg Yolk+Honey+Olive Oil
Oatmeal+Olive Oil
Cucumber+Yogurt+Strawberries+Honey
Blended Almonds+Honey+Egg White
Baking Soda+Water
Apricots+Milk
Lemon+Egg+Honey

All of these combinations make for wonderful masks and they help to green up your life and improve your skin simultaneously. Try them!

None of this is new. In fact, it’s deeply old because it works. The Egyptians slathered themselves and each other, alive and dead, in fruity goo. More to the modern point: smart vain people indifferent to corporate advertising have nurtured dewy complexions with yogurt, honey, berries, olive oil, milk, almonds, egg, oatmeal, cucumber, avocado and apple since fragrant time immemorial.* In fact, I distantly recall a Facts Of Life episode where Mrs. Garrett lectured Natalie on the stupidity of buying into buying beauty, sort of. Oh, irony! The best tightening mask I ever used – and still do when I can – is an aqueous suspension of magnesium hydroxide or Milk of Magnesia. It was recommended to me by a little old lady with the tiniest pores you’ve ever seen. She said glop the stuff on once a week, wait until it dries and rinse with cool water. It’s cheap and – bonus! – the teenage cashiers at your drugstore think you’ve got a glamorous eating disorder!

Back to Planet Green: some shows don’t interest me. They’re celebrity gossip in organic cotton, and who cares, really? But some offerings are really exciting. Renovation Nation pits host Steve Thomas against his own ideas. Homeowners are renovating green, often spending a great deal of time and money, and Steve, former host of This Old House, turns up to help and heckle. Sometimes, you can tell Steve’s not entirely convinced by the homeowners’ plans, some of which are really innovative – green tech is developing really fast right now in all kinds of directions. It was really exciting for me three days ago to see photovoltaic roofing heat water and collect energy for electricity. Before that episode, solar roofing seemed to do one task or the other but not both. So while engineering green moves forward in breathtaking leaps and bounds, some of the most charming developments are old-fashioned and humble.

I saw an interview with Dan Phillips on a Planet Green show but for the life of me I can’t figure out which. The interview I saw emphasized the unique and totally original nature of each house, reminding me of a book Daria had when we were kids called Andrew Henry’s Meadow.

If you read celebrity gossip, you know that Zach Braff remembers this book, too. Doris Burns published this book in 1965 about an intrepid little boy who gets tired of his family, takes his tools and goes for a long walk. He finds a meadow and builds himself a house. Other children see this and join him in droves in the meadow, where Andrew Henry builds each child a house suited to him- or herself with materials he finds lying around. Eventually, the worried parents find the children, see the special houses and take the children home. For their parts, the parents learn to see their children as people. The children go home, happy to be loved for themselves. When I saw the treehouse in the Dan Phillips interview my heart sang a bit. I will deny that sentimentality under oath. You’re a terrible person for mentioning it.

The other day, a woman in my office made a derisive comment about “the environmental frenzy” and I stopped in my tracks. She’s nearly ready to retire, which means she was born during or after WWII. Her earliest memories are of living in a 16-room house in Newton, Massachusetts, not unlike the one in current episodes of This Old House. An address like this and wasting money were signals to the community, in some way that matters to her, of prosperity, though she talks about rooms closed off and left unheated. She and I have even talked about the Newton project, which may be all about real estate for her. I’m not sure. As for the show, I recall the utter delight with which the guys toured warehouses full of reclaimed materials during the New Orleans rebuild. Reusing and recycling isn’t new. It’s the oldest trick in the book.

* Whatever you do, please don’t try picturing Burma Shave signs in hieroglyphics. You’ll be up all night with that one.

Brush Me, Daddio

The aforementioned cookbook edited by Marion Howells is Australian. Sort of. The stats:

First published 1970 by Golden Press Pty Ltd
10-16 Dowling Street, Potts Point, Sydney Australia
© Australian Consolidated Press Ltd 1970

This edition first published in the United States of America in 1971 by Crescent Books, A Division of Crown Publishers, Inc., 419 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10016

This edition © Octopus Books Limited 1971

I probably received this book in 1975. The recipe:

Strawberry Hazelnut Gateau

4 egg whites
pinch salt
10 oz. (1 1/4 cups) castor (superfine) sugar
4 1/2 oz. (1 cup) ground hazelnuts
1 teaspoon vinegar
1 teaspoon vanilla
4 dessertspoons black coffee

Filling

1 lb. strawberries
1 pint (2 cups) whipped cream
6 oz. (6 squares) plain chocolate)
water

Beat egg whites with salt until stiff; gradually add sugar; beat until mixture is of meringue consistency. Fold in remaining ingredients. Spread n 2 greased and floured 8 in. springform pans. Bake in moderate oven, Mark 4 350ºF, approximately 35 minutes; release sides of pans. Cool on base of pans.

Remove from base, place a layer of meringue on serving plate. Spread with thin layer of chocolate, which has been melted with water. Spread 1/2 in. layer of cream over chocolate. Top with layer of sliced strawberries; reserve remainder for decoration.

Spread second layer of meringue with remaining chocolate mixture; place on strawberry layer, chocolate-side up. Cover and top with cream.

Refrigerate several hours, or preferably overnight. Serve decorated with reserved strawberries.
****************************************************************

The cookbook opens with two pages called American Weights and Measures. Even as a kid, I was troubled by these comparisons. You will be relieved to know that the answer to the pertinent question What the fuck is a dessertspoon? is A tablespoon, duh! I know I was! But the tables don’t explain why the list of American dry measures includes weights without mentioning why that would be important, and did you know that in American measures a half-cup is called a gill?

I love that the whipped cream has no sugar in it. The full, rich flavor of cream is a good balance with tart strawberries, semisweet chocolate and the melting sweetness of the meringues. I’ve never tried it with bittersweet chocolate but I’d be very careful not to serve that to persons expecting some form of conventional dessert.

A chocolatier worth his salt reads that recipe and sees a couple of things that shouldn’t work. Make it and see how you feel about it. One thing you should know: this is extremely messy to eat and you should put down a tarp in the formal dining room. It will never cut into neat cake slices so do not think this is your moral failure. Hand out your best spoons and cozy up to the scrumptious gateau.