Where I get 99% of my traffic

Too. Much. Fun.

Hat tip to Jim Donahue. From The Generator Blog. The Ben and Jerry’s Flavor Generator was fun, too, but I couldn’t figure out how to copy the image; I wanted to share my flavor with the world — Deep Throat Sundae.

You’d have liked it. Creamy.

D.

The Carbo King

I made beignets yesterday from this recipe.

Big, big hit with Wife and Boy. I rolled the dough out to one-quarter inch thickness, which yielded a hefty beignet. This was great for Jake since he liked the insides better than the crust; Karen would have preferred a less doughy beignet, so next time, I’ll roll some of the dough out to one-eighth inch for her. Jake preferred them without any sweetener at all. I liked them best with honey (the ones on the bottom of the pic — although you can hardly see the honey).

The recipe can easily make 40 – 60 beignets, depending on how thin you roll out the dough and how small you cut your squares. I divided the dough into four balls and froze three of them.

Key point: the oil has to be at the right temperature, 360F, so invest in a candy thermometer. And by the way, this dough would be terrific for pierogis.

How about the New York Times No-Knead Bread? Not nice-looking enough to take pictures of, I’m afraid, but the flavor and texture were great. I’m wondering what I did wrong. Perhaps, as Spocko suggested, I should have used fresh yeast. And maybe the fact I let it go 24 hours was a problem — the dough lacked oomph for that last rise. Still, the results were promising, and I intend to revisit No-Knead Bread sometime soon.

We had the bread with oxtail stew. I don’t think I’ve ever given you my oxtail stew recipe, so I’ll do that, too, sometime soon.

D.

Spocko hits the big time

Remember Spocko, the blogger who decided to go after Bay Area hate radio station KSFO for their racist demagoguery? He published the audio clips of the offending DJs’ hate speech on his blog, and he contacted KSFO’s advertisers to inform them that their brands were being associated with this kind of language. To date, Bank of America, Mastercard, and the Michigan Economic Development Corporation have pulled their ads. ABC/Disney, the parent corporation which owns KSFO, was not amused. They got Spocko’s ISP to shut down his blog (which has since reopened, hosted by a new ISP: Spocko’s Brain), and soon after, the story hit Daily Kos.

Now, Spocko’s story has been picked up by the New York Times. Last Friday, KSFO preempted their usual programming for three hours to address the controversy. From the sound of it, their apologies were lukewarm at best. “Unrepentant” is, I think, an apt adjective. As for their call-in program, they handpicked their wingnut backers in order to bask in an almost uninterrupted flow of fascist lurve.

Almost uninterrupted. See, they’d invited Kossack Mike Stark (who has championed Spocko’s fight over at Daily Kos) to call in. The NY Times has a great snip:

Mr. Stark: “You’ve spoken of the number of apologies you have tried to make. How many apologies does a professional get before they realize they are an incompetent and move on to another line of work?”

KSFO’s Lee Rodgers: “Well I haven’t apologized for anything and I am not going to start with you. How the hell do you like that, creep?”

And Mike Stark has more. He doesn’t want us to get sidetracked by KSFO and their meat puppet DJs; he wants us to keep our eyes on the big prize:

But it really bugs me that Disney – the omnipresent company for those of us with kids – is on the leading edge of the subversive right-wing propaganda campaign that characterizes so much of what we watch, read and hear. As an information company, they are downright dangerous to the ideal of a better society that we are collectively striving for. And they are doing it under one of the most innocent and beloved brand names in America…

So how do we take on The Mouse? After all, Disney has one of the most aggressive legal teams defending its brand. Here’s Mike again:

I just purchased the domain “DisneyHatesYou.com”. I’m building a bulletin board for people to upload photoshops, stories and videos of their bullshit experiences with Disney. From that central repository, I’m encouraging all of you to copy and paste. Copy the photoshops and stories from DisneyHatesYou.com and paste them into the other sites you visit.

Planning a vacation? Spending time at travel discussion sites? Shoot over to DisneyHatesYou and grab a story. Paste it into your comments and tell people why you won’t visit Disney.

The ironic thing is, DisneyHatesYou.com currently runs ads for Disney! Well, that’s gonna change soon. Mike estimates his bulletin board will be up within a week.

H/T to Gaelic Starover for the NY Times story.

D.

PS: I’ll be making a loaf of No-Knead Bread tonight. Bread cooked in a Dutch oven — wild! I’ll let you know how it turns out.

Oy! So young!

Who says cleaning the garage is a thankless task? It’s only 99% thankless. Yesterday, I found a cache of old photos, including a little packet of wallet photos, much the worse for wear. Here’s the gem, from our first year of marriage, circa 1984:

I’m holding Baby, a Columbian red-tailed boa constrictor, and Karen’s holding Red Sonja, a corn snake. But jeez! That hanging sunset thingie in the background, I’d had that since senior year of high school. And I’m wearing a Garfield shirt (where did that come from?) and I have hair! And Karen, oy, she looks so sweet in her Berkeley College of Chemistry shirt.

I tried to find a better copy of this photo, but this was the best I could manage:

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Beautiful people

Egalia, my favorite Guerilla Woman, tapped into an interesting and lively debate currently making the rounds on the ‘net. I would like to give you my perspective, but first, some background.

Pink Kitty likes to dance, and she’s damned good at it. She posted a vid on her blog. Brittney at Nashville is Talking picked up the vid and reposted it on her blog. First comment, from God’s Gift to Women “Wintermute”:

Skip it, dudes. Another blogging whale.

And thus arose a shit storm. I found Aunt B’s post (on her blog, Tiny Cat Pants) particularly intriguing. One of her commenters asked the question,

I’m constantly tempted to write something about the general unf@#$ability of sexist asshats like our friend Wintermute. I’ve yet to see an attractive MRA, for example. The question is whether my doing so would do more harm than good. I’m not sure, honestly, but I remain tempted. Thoughts?

In other words, does it serve the cause of feminism to call an ugly asshat an ugly asshat? I encourage you to read Aunt B’s full post, including the comments, but her bottom line answer is, No, it’s not okay, because it plays into the very thing we’re trying to condemn:

So, it’s true that, not only are there a great many men who think they deserve beautiful girls to fuck; there are a great many women who believe that certain men deserve beautiful girls to fuck and, if those women can prove that they are among those beautiful girls, that they deserve the perks that come with being the arm candy of a man who deserves to fuck beautiful women (usually, a man who has power of some sort).

I think the trick is to realize that we disagree with that whole worldview and to refuse to play into it at any end. Not because it’s more moral, but because we really do want the world to be different than that, and, in some way, the only way to have a different world is to do the difficult work of already living as if that world were here now.

I agree with this, but I also agree with one commenter, Magniloquence:

Anyway, the shortest answer, and the one that keeps coming to me, is that you can’t tell him how butt-ugly he is because that’s rude. Yes, there are feminist implications, but the main reason you don’t do that is because you’re better than that*, and there’s nothing to be gained.

. . . [snip] . . .

* Not inherently more moral, but better trained. Not “women are better than men” or “feminists are better than everyone else,” but you, as a nice person, are better than the troll, who is not being nice.

I keep thinking, Miss Manners would approve of Magniloquence’s reasoning. It’s a bigger issue than feminism — it’s about common decency. You don’t go around making hurtful comments, you know? It violates the Golden Rule, and y’all know how I feel about that.

But, back to this issue of thinking you deserve beautiful women (or men) to fuck. Of requiring some minimal level of physical attractiveness before you’ll ever deign to consider the other person as potential BF or GF material. Bear with me for a moment — I’m going to say some very self-serving things, but when you get right down to it, I’m not as honorable as it will at first seem.

I’ve never chosen a woman on the basis of looks. Never. Personality, wit, a sense that we looked at things the same way — those are my prerequisites. I’m not saying these women aren’t beautiful, though, because to me, they’re gorgeous. But are they among the Beautiful People of the world? Not really. Would I have traded any one of them for someone more conventionally beautiful? Not if it meant settling for someone with a shade less brilliance.

I wonder sometimes if I’ve been just as ruthlessly materialistic in my own way as the guy who has a list of physical requirements — has to be chesty, has to be a redhead, has to be thin, yatta yatta. Because, like that guy, it always has been about my needs. That guy wants to get laid by a beautiful woman. He wants her to be his public arm candy. He wants a certain level of physical/aesthetic satisfaction.

I want mental satisfaction.

I want to be stimulated (mentally. Well, that other stimulation, too, but that’s another issue). I want to be entertained. I want to feel less alone.

Funny, isn’t it, that my demands should meet with public approval, while the Wintermutes of the world are viewed with scorn? (And, by the way, what kind of guy chooses as his online handle the name of a murderous AI? It’s like calling yourself HAL 9000, only more arrogant, since fewer people will catch the reference.) On some level, aren’t we being equally selfish?

Because I really do think people like me can be every bit as piggishly demanding as Wintermute. If a guy never thinks about your needs, never acts selflessly for your benefit, and instead expects you to satisfy his emotional demands, how is that any different from the egocentrist who expects you to satisfy his physical demands?

This kind of thinking can drive a guy nuts. And what about the supposed “selfless acts”? If I scrutinize the things I do which others might consider selfless, I find a whole host of self-centered motivations. For an extreme example, consider this gedanken experiment:

I can do something which benefits another person, but that person will never know it. No one will ever know about it but me. Do I do it?

Yes, because, thanks to self esteem issues, I’m always doing things like that just to feel less worthless. I do it because it gives me temporary internal relief to do it. An idealized example of selfless behavior, and I’m doing it for purely selfish reasons.

See what I mean? A guy could go nuts. Stark raving nuts.

D.

Rocks on the brain

‘Kay, everyone, Kris Starr has a contest, and it’s easy. (But Kris, you really expect me to believe that guy on the cover is a doctor? He looks younger than Doogie Howser at his youngest! And he doesn’t look like he’s had all the joy stomped out of him by med school and training. He . . . he looks like a pre-med. *Shiver.*) Michelle has a book giveaway, too!

I woke up this morning thinking about the Vasquez Rocks. You all know the Vasquez Rocks, unless you’ve spent the last 40 years or more never watching television, never going to any movies. You may not think you know the Vasquez Rocks, but you do.

Vasquez Rocks are an absolute trip for people like me and my son who love to rockclimb but don’t know a thing about it. And who don’t have proper shoes, not to mention proper equipment. Thanks to the formation of the rocks — a formation which makes them recognizable to damn near everyone — newbies like my son and me can climb to great heights with little risk of broken bones. And it’s always cool to be climbing a little bit of Hollywood history.

Here’s a short list of the Vasquez Rocks’ guest appearances:

Star Trek: The Original Series. Three episodes
Blazing Saddles
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Apache (1954)
Planet of the Apes (2001)
The Outer LimitsAustin Powers: International Man of Mystery (1997)
Army of Darkness (1993)
Dracula (1931)

Give up? Pic below the cut.

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More odds and ends

I’m impressed with the FBI. Honestly, no snark! I received a spam which looked suspicious for child pornography, so I dropped a tip at the FBI’s website. They require you to leave all kinds of contact info, so I gave my office address and phone number.

Yeah, yeah, keep reading . . .

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Cold enough for you?

It snowed Thursday. In California. On the freakin’ coast.

Over the border in Oregon, here’s what happened to our garden goldfish tubs:


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, January 13, 2007. Category: Pix.

Evening grins

From Da Nator, Plumbing and Porn:

Now we’re talkin’ – those gay boys really know how to do it. And look, they have implants, too! On second thought, the idea of trying to fit several steroidal muscle boys into a tiny airplane bathroom is not all that appealing.

You know how I know you’re gay? You keep staring at pretty boy Brad Patton. (Sorry, just watched 40-Year-Old Virgin for the 41st time. Can’t help myself.)

And by way of Blue Gal, Longmire Does Romance — an exhaustive (exhausting!) font of snarky romance cover humor. My favorite: It Only Burns When I Pee. Check it out.

Okay, I had to get in on the act, too. Kate — what do you think?

And

Ooooh oooooh ooooh! Don’t miss this great viddy (hat tip to Maureen):

Effect of Drugs and Alcohol on Spider Webs
Must-see video. Don’t do drugs, chillun!

D.

PS: Join the John McCain googlebomb project!

Ruby Slippers and twelve other junior year memories

Continued from last week.

I was telling Michelle the other day that the only time I ever noticed shoes on a woman was in my junior year of college. Her name was Carmela Maria . . . gaaaaah. How do you forget the last name of a woman you might have married — in a parallel universe where her dad the longshoreman wouldn’t have killed you first? Anyway, they were Carmela’s ruby slippers, and I’m saving that story for a bit later.

1. The house on Milvia. Fellow Napa State Mental Hospital volunteer and all-around pal Debbie — she of the corn silk smooth hair and affinity for boyfriends with huge hands — knew I was miserable in the dorms. Her lesbian roommates were graduating that year, and Debbie was looking to find a smaller place. She invited me over to her apartment to watch Gone with the Wind and, more to the point, to check the place out. By the way, watching GwtW with three hyperintelligent women, two gay and one most emphatically not gay, had to be a high point of my sophomore year.

I loved the place. Quiet neighborhood close to school, grocery stores, fresh produce stand, cheese shop, bakery, fish market, bookstore . . . heaven, the best place I’ve ever lived in. It was one of those sleepy, concrete pylon-obstructed areas where you just know everyone’s growing hemp in their garages, watched over by a beautiful Husky named Nikka Sue, a dog who had come to Debbie’s rescue one evening when some creepy dude was following her home.

It took me a while to recognize the apartment. Remember how my hippy cousin dowsed a map to find me a place to stay, freshman year? The apartment complex without vacancies? This was the very same place.

More stories below the cut.

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