Balls and Walnuts
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Letter to the Democratic Senatorial Campaign Committee
(Feel free to use this yourselves. The DSCC’s email addie is info@dscc.org. Now, I’m off to post this as a Kos diary. See ya later!)
Dear Sirs,
I am a registered Democrat, and my wife and I contributed heavily to the last Democratic Presidential campaign. In the 2006 election, we fully intend to contribute both time and money to help defeat the Republican majorities in Congress.
However . . .
It has become increasingly difficult to support a party that fails to show spine in opposing the Republicans and their imperial President. I am opposed to the confirmation of Judge Samuel Alito, because I feel he will push our country further from democracy, closer to fascism. Judge Alito has made clear his opinion regarding the unlimited range of Executive power. I feel that his opinions are discordant with my wishes and the wishes of a majority of my fellow citizens — and even if most Americans wanted to be led down the path of fascism, I still don’t think his confirmation would in any way be good for the country. It’s the old, “If your friends were jumping off a cliff, would you jump off a cliff too?” routine.
I will not donate my money or time to a Party of Lemmings.
Actually, lemmings are not that stupid. This is a myth, but it is also a useful metaphor. In reality, humans are this stupid.
Let me be very clear: at this time, more than ever before, I expect to see leadership and resolve on the part of the Democratic Party. This may be the last chance we have to oppose an Imperial Presidency. Please, for the health of our democracy, get our Democratic Senators to vote to oppose cloture, and to support Senator Kerry’s filibuster.
Thank you.
Douglas Hoffman
Is there a dog whisperer in the house?
I had to share this with you. This morning, RaZen at YesButNoButYes brings us a video of a possessed dog. I think St. Francis needs a day or two a month, not just one day a year — this dog needs to be blessed big time.
You may not know this if you’re sane, but dogs will acquire the psychopathology of their masters. I’ve seen it again and again. Mostly in my family. But I do have one family-safe story to tell regarding psycho canines.
As some of you may recall, I volunteered at Napa State Mental Hospital for a few years, during my time at UC Berkeley. Napa had a halfway house on their grounds, a building that looked and functioned like a real home, nothing ward-y about it. Folks who were ready for the real world could spend a few weeks there, cooking in their own kitchen, using actual knives.
The halfway house had a pet dog, one of those creatures that looks part poodle, part terrier, part chihuahua, and part Tasmanian devil, and this dog had a favorite pillow.
After you’ve watched the possessed doggy video (linked above), imagine our runty little hero treating his pillow in just this manner. Just when you think he had given that pillow what-for, he would change tactics and hump the pillow. A minute or two of fruitless humping, and he’d back in full attack mode, snarling, biting, ravaging that poor pillow.
I’d never met a dog with borderline personality disorder before, but I’m sure he had it.
For those of you who read my boogers blog, I’ve posted a long rant on ear wax. Just what you wanted with your Sunday coffee.
D.
PS: and this is partly a note-to-myself, so that I can find the links first thing Monday morning . . .
Vichy Democrats has a one-stop resource in the fight against confirmation of Sam Alito: Senators’ local phone numbers, fax numbers, email addies, web forms, plus where they stand on the cloture vote. Also, links to online petitions.
For those of you wondering what all the fuss is about, Georgia at Kos says it better than I ever could. Many of us who oppose Alito do so because of his opinions regarding the powers of the Executive branch. In the context of the George W. Bush power grab, Alito is downright dangerous.
This may be our best chance to block the Imperial Presidency, folks. Let your voice be heard, preferably over and over again.
Tomorrow, I’ll be getting up an hour early so that I can make lots of phone calls and send lots of faxes before my day begins. We can do this!
Oy, what am I doing wrong?
Here’s what happened:
One of Jake’s pet millipedes died. He fusses over these critters to no end, spraying them once or twice a day with water, giving them bits of lettuce. He didn’t seem too upset by the death, but he kept talking about it. He wanted to show his mom the dead millipede, and she refused, saying it was a yucky, dead, decaying millipede (based on Jake’s description of brown stuff oozing out of its body).
Jake got insulted and demanded an apology. Karen wouldn’t apologize. Meanwhile, he was supposed to be reading his biology, and he kept turning the pages with his feet. Or something like that. I wasn’t there, didn’t see it happen. All I know is, I came upstairs, saw wrinkly pages in his nice new biology textbook, and said, “Um. You know, I wish you wouldn’t mess up your new book.” No anger. I didn’t realize Karen had already said something to him about it.
Next thing I know, we’re in Tantrum Central. Then he kicks me in the shin. Now, I’ve almost never hit this kid. One little slap on the butt to get his attention (at about 18 months old), nothing since, and he’s ten now. So I sent him to his room and told him if he DIDN’T get down to his room right away, no computer for a day. For three days. For a week. (I’m upping the ante because he’s standing there, refusing to go downstairs.)
I think he misunderstood me, because he thought he had to go to his room AND was getting booted off the computer. Next thing I know, he pops out of his room with his pillow, blanket, and flashlight. He leaves the house and begins running away. Slowly.
My parenting skills are exhausted at this point. In the old days, you were supposed to just let the kid go, right? Let him have his temper tantrum and wander back sheepishly. But this isn’t the old days, and besides, we live on a street where folks barrel down in their trucks at 50 MPH. Nevertheless, I had Karen come downstairs (her pelvis has mended well enough that she can get around with a cane, but still) so she could see Jake running away down the driveway in slow motion.
“Go after him,” she said. “Bring him back. I don’t want him walking down the road.”
I met up with him at the entrance to the driveway. Another ‘don’t you think you’re overreacting’ speech, to no effect. He wouldn’t come back. “I’ll carry you back if I have to,” I said, and he said, “You can try.”
I lifted him up and carried him back, with him kicking me in the shins as hard as he could all the way. We put him in his room and left him there. That was about an hour ago.
Karen’s thinking we should punish him extra (for all the shin-kicking): no computer, no TV. But I don’t think we’ve seen the end of this insurrection.
Look, folks. My parenting skills are for sh*t. As a kid, I didn’t get much of an example, and neither did Karen for that matter. Dr. Phil me, people (tell me what to do). Thanks.
D.
Support the Alito Filibuster
Gilliard has coverage. Be warned: every Senate office number I called has the same message (this mailbox is full), so I had to resort to emailing as many Senators as I could.
From Daily Kos, here is a great list of links to Senators’ web forms.
The main point to make, assuming this Senator is not your Senator: “My contributions of time and money to the DNC will depend on the outcome of the upcoming filibuster.” Or words to that effect. Even if he or she is not your Senator, this message should still hit home.
Update: here is the most recent action post from Daily Kos. We have 15 no votes for cloture — up 3 votes from this morning.
One easy thing you can do to help: sign the petition at SaveTheCourt.Org.
D.
Your morning bwaahahahahaha
The BEAST brings us the 50 Most Loathesome People in America of 2005, including a special punishment for each one. Warning: if you think George W. Bush and Dick Cheney are great, wise, and wonderful human beings, stay away from this list.
This BEAST article may be old news, but I just discovered it this morning, by — how else? — snooping around Technorati.
My take? Michelle Malkin deserves to be much higher in the list than #49; Michael Brown and Scooter Libby got off too easy; Terry Schiavo — cheap shot, not funny; most chilling entry: #4; person most conspicuously absent from the list: Tim Russert. I mean, really. They put Geraldo Rivera on the list, but not Russert? Rivera’s a has-been.
Okay, Hoffman, stop goofing off and get to work.
D.
Fesenjan
I’ve given you balls up to your ears; now, at long last, I shall deliver on my promise to give you walnuts.
By necessity, I’ve learned how to cook ethnic. I can bake pita bread (since our grocery stores consider this too exotic), fix a mean baklava, do a delicious baba ganouj or hummus. My Chinese stir fries are passable, yet better than the local fare, and my Indian cuisine is excellent. One of our favorite dishes is leftover tandoori chicken stewed in a sauce of onions and cream.
Tonight, I felt like doing something special with duck. Cassoulet takes days to prepare, and Peking duck at least a full day, so that meant either pan-seared duck breast or fesenjan. Karen opted for fesenjan.
Ninety percent of the labor comes from boning the duck, so if you want to substitute boneless chicken thighs and breasts, be my guest.
Fesenjan
1. Skin and bone the duck. (Use the carcass to make a quick stock, and render the fat from the skin. Fried duck skin is great all by itself, but it’s also yummy on salads. Duck fat can be substituted for butter or olive oil for any savory dish. I use it to make chopped chicken liver.) Chop the meat into one-inch pieces and sprinkle the pieces with salt and freshly ground pepper.
2. Meanwhile, toast 2 cups of walnuts in the oven at 350F until, erm, toasty. Don’t let ’em burn. Do let them cool, then grind them in a food processor. You want the mixture to be a little coarse.
3. In a heavy-bottomed pot (a Dutch oven works great), brown the duck meat in two or three tablespoons of butter. Set the browned meat aside in a glass bowl to catch the drippings.
4. Chop a large onion — fine, coarse, doesn’t really matter. Fry the onions in the leftover butter. If you’d like, add a teaspoon of cinnamon to the onions towards the end of the frying. You want the onions to be golden, or a little darker.
5. Add to the onions the duck and its drippings, the ground walnuts, about 1 cup of pomegranate paste, and 1 to 2 cups of stock. Start with one cup of stock, stir the ingredients, and add more stock until you get the desired consistency. (You know — like stew!) Here’s an online Persian Grocery that sells pomegranate paste and oh my heavens zereshk berries, too! Now I can make zereshk polo.
6. Add about 1 tablespoon of sugar, and adjust the salt to taste. Add more pomegranate paste if you’d like your stew a bit more sour, or (if you’re like my wife) you just love pomegranate. Simmer for 20 to 30 minutes.
7. For tender meat, you want to brown the meat as quickly as possible, and then simmer as gently as possible. Remember, dark meat doesn’t toughen up nearly as readily as white meat, so if you’re using chicken, you may want to use nothing but thigh meat.
8. Serve over basmati rice. (Yes, that Persian Grocery sells basmati, too.) Best basmati rice: rinse a cup of rice, boil the rice in LOTS of salted water until it is not quite tender, then strain the rice. In a non-stick or heavy-bottomed pot, melt 2 to 4 tablespoons of butter. Layer the rice on top of the butter. Put the lid on the pot. Now, let the rice steam by keeping the pot over a very low heat for, I dunno, 15 to 30 minutes. It will be done long before 30 minutes, but that doesn’t matter. If you do it right (and believe me, this is an art I still haven’t quite mastered) you’ll have a delicious golden brown crust of rice at the bottom of the pot.
Any questions?
D.
When Chihuahuas attack!
First killer bees, now attack chihuahuas hungry for human flesh:
The officer suffered minor injuries including bites to his ankle on Thursday when the five Chihuahuas escaped the 17-year-old boy’s home and rushed the officer in the doorway, said Fremont detective Bill Veteran.
Nor is this an isolated incident. According to this professional consultant who dresses his chihuahuas in camo gear, “Before they’ve had their morning coffee, attack Chihuahuas are not to be trifled with.”
Fortunately, for $44.95, you can warn neighbors and passersby that your attack Chihuahuas are on duty.
So — what do you think — Worst? Photoshopping? Ever?
More later. The Du Bist Deutschland campaign has given me ideas.
D.
Will Gabriele or Darla . . .
please come over here and tell me about the significance of Du Bist Deutschland and klowände?
They are both top search terms at Technorati, but I can’t find much of an explanation in English. I feel so out of the loop.
D.
Late night variety pak
It’s late, I’m tired, and this is all ya get.
Helen Wheels left one looooong response to my Sunday blog on the rise of fascism in America. I thought about reprinting it here, but it turns out Helen posted the more detailed version on her blog, yesterday. She quotes Lawrence W. Britt’s article on fascism at length, to chilling effect.
Consider that a mighty shout.
Many thanks to Kate and her hubs for turning me on to Campbell & Reece Biology, Seventh Edition. Looks like this is going to be a great experience for my home schooler AND his dad. This beautiful textbook includes a CD with useful material (how rare is that?), and the online resources rock. Tests! They have tests! They sure know how to make home schooling easy.
Jake dove into it with both feet. Right away, the book stimulated a useful discussion on embryogenesis, haploidy, diploidy, gastrulation, and neurulation. We had to backtrack a bit to talk about gametogenesis and fertilization, but I didn’t mind. Damn it, if there’s one thing I’m qualified to teach, it’s biology. No, really, I have a PhD in this stuff (didn’t know that, did ya?)
I warmed to the discussion, eager to share my knowledge of meiosis and mitosis, spermatogenesis and seminal vesicles, ovulation and the menstrual cycle. Then, suitably enlightened, I guided Jake back towards the subjects of fertilization, implantation, and early embryonic development: initial cell divisions, morula (what the Germans call zellballen, IIRC), blastula, morula, gastrula, neurula, embyro.
Me: Any questions?
Jake: I still don’t get how the sperm get up there.
Me: Their tails spin round and round, like little motorboat propellers. They swim up there.
Jake: But how do they get up there?
Me: Well, during orgasm, muscular contractions in the uterus help draw the sperm upward.
Jake: But how do they get up there?
This clearly called for a visual aid.
Moral of the story*: never take anything for granted.
D.
*That part of the story is false. Of course my ten-year-old already knows the basic mechanics of intercourse. He’s my son, for heaven’s sake.
Moral of the story: never discount my willingness to pounce on a cheap visual joke.
A timely Thursday Thirteen
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Thirteen Things about Doug And, dammit, you’d better play this time, or next week, I’ll tag your ass. 1. Goethe, not Nietzsche, said, "What does not kill me makes me stronger." Three intervals in my life put this to the test, but I was not so much tempered by them as torn apart and put back together.
2. As a four-year-old, I was traumatized by a cantaloupe (AKA musk melon). This was not one of those desperate, ego-formative moments. I got over it. 3. My first memory: I’m two, nearly three, and my brother and sister are helping me get dressed in the back seat of my dad’s car. (A blue Chevy, Sis?) It is the first day of my first Voyage of the Damned: summer vacation, driving from LA to Boston to see the rest of the family. It would not be my last such voyage. 4. I liked to get up when my parents got up. They would eat breakfast, drink coffee, and not yell at each other. I hid in the hallway with my back against the wall heater, listening to them talk. My mom didn’t like this. She thought the wall heater would give me “arthuritis.” 5. On that first Voyage of the Damned, we stopped for breakfast in Needles. I saw a red firetruck I dearly wanted. My mother wanted to buy it for me, but my father didn’t. Much psychodrama ensued. 6. We took the southern route that year. One night, in a motel room in the Deep South, we woke up to find the room infested with giant water bugs. Trust me: you really don’t want to click on that link. 7. Bliss for five-year-old me was a day at the beach . . . although I hated it when my mom would towel the sand from my back. Ow. 8. I had my first mathematical epiphany in kindergarten. I told my teacher, Mrs. Biyotch, “One and one are two!” and she replied, “One plus one equals two.” Talk about buzz kills. 9. I loved my pediatrician, Dr. Johnson. Or maybe I just loved ripping off all my clothes as fast as I could. 10. I didn’t like my next doctor, Dr. May. To this day, I don’t understand why a doctor would feel the need to do a rectal exam on a ten-year-old boy (or younger) at every visit. Actually, I do understand, and I don’t like it one bit. 11. Among other childhood fears, I was afraid of the dark, and of mysterious strangers coming into our house. My sister knows why. I didn’t get over my fear of the dark until med school. 12. My grandfather groped me once, but I didn’t hold it against him. (Hah! I love that gag.) No, this wasn’t one of those ego-formative moments, either. 13. To some degree, I live in a constant state of breath-holding, waiting for the next traumatic interval. 1. Dariana |
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D.