abracadabra, voila, open sesame...

Everyone doubts the otherworldy around us. We doubt, yet we can't turn away from the approaching scent of mystery. A street magician tugs us close even as we try our damnest to walk away. Have you ever been to a restaurant that had table-to-table entertainment while you wait for your meal? That's probably a too-specific question so I'll just come right out and say what I need to say, tell what I need to tell. There was (still is) a Mexican place in Omaha called Julio's that had a very good sleight-of-hand magician on selected Friday and Saturday nights (he is the was, the restaurant is still there). He'd move around the place doing two or three very quick and deftly executed tricks before moving along to the next top. Not only was he a great trickster, he was hugely funny. (As an aside, his name was Pat Hazell. I can remember that because my friend dated his sister and he had finished second one year to one Jerome Seinfeld as funniest new comedian in America, circa 1982.) But back to me...in my house I have my very own tricks. Tricks that not only astonish and bewilder but also filly your tummy when I'm done. I'd certainly offer thanks to my magical mentor but I don't have one...my bestest monkeyshine is something dubbed 'magic' potatoes. The onset of this mystical doing came as I prepared some salmon and potatoes for Laurel way back when. (We've covered her love of both off in some other post.) The fish is easy enough, but it seemed to me that pototoes can be a little bit...bromitic: baked, mashed, french fried, boiled, on and on and on. I was overcome with the need for something different, easy, and appealing to the ever increasing loss of taste you get with those six or seven-year olds. It struck me as I stared at the new pototoes in the the stainer....slice, oil, salt, pepper, and in the pan. I thought some more, eyed my salmon accouterments, and suddenly I knew what to do....slice, oil, salt, pepper and in the pan. Crispy discs of delight with just the perfect texture and flavor for the fish. Now, I know that this is something that's been done with potatoes for eons and eons all across the galaxy, but the wonderment when people see it for the first time is just silly. I could just as easily pull a rabbit from the hat and get the same response. Laurel called on the phone Saturday evening and asked if the pototoes needed to be cooked before they were put in the pan. Cooked? Isn't that was the pan is for? It can't be...potatoes cooking in a pan! Shazam!

Many thanks to the lovely that gave the moniker "magic pototoes"...she had her doubts.

t

so it tumbles

Finally, the best season of the year is in full bloom. Get out the sweaters, nice jeans, and just-cool-enough kit...it's really Autumn. September and early October are all well and good, but Fall really kicks you in the behind between mid-October and the 1st of December....everything else, imposters. The leaves are getting raked and that strange smokey smell takes over the days. I don't know if it's burning leaves, burning old wood from last year, clearing brush, or whatnot, but it smells of Autumn. The last two weeks here have been beautiful and it's because the temperature in the afternoon is so perfect. I'll refine that; the temperature from 9:30A to 5p is perfect. I never felt that morning freezes and cold nibbles meant much in the grand scheme of things (tomatoes, flowers) simply because it's the brace of hours after sunrise, and few before sunset, that tell the mind and body all. How nice it is to wander over and close the windows about 6p; the feeling of starting a fire near dusk so the house is warm by sundown; that chill that sets in and makes you start thinking about the flannel sheets on the bed. I went out on Sunday and tried my best to get some pictures of the colors around town. Fallon is full of irrigation canals... it isn't so much desert as it is a green strip of agriculture across the high plains. Water flows with the roads and the fields are full year-round. Very East Anglia...pitch in the overcast and I'd swear I was back in England. A few colors in the picture for all to see. Wednesday always seems to end the week as my classes are finally done until Monday. My mid-week hopes are in Florida....

xxx for those that need them

t

would you rather have the tuna?

There are things that computers can't do for you. Actually, that's not so true...there are things that search engines can't do for you. If I correctly remember those crap tests they used to make me take, the old "this is to blah as that is to blah" was for applesauce. Is that logic? Is that hoohah on the LSAT? Someone? Anyway, I'll try - chefs are to waiters as computers are to search engines. Let's give it a go. The chef can pretty much make anything on the menu, it's his (or her) menu. Excellent, step one is complete. The waiter comes out to our table, spews forth the memorized daily specials (the memorized, not the specials) then wonders off to get our drinks (red for me, and you?). We thoughtfully discuss the full menu and weigh our options against the canvas of daily specials. What we should do is order the calamari off the menu, the blackened catfish from the specials portrait, and freely share the dishes. What could be better? Nothing. The waitron returns, pad or computer in hand, and cross-examines the table for the order, "We'll have the calamari and the blackened catfish special please. We're going to share dishes..." To which the lunkhead (he or she-lunkhead) says, "sorry, we're out of the catfish". What the hell? See? See it? Wait... Okay, here goes. We had the menu from which we could order but the dolt-waiter comes over and blindly offers up the specials....catfish included, yet there is NO catfish. All gone, can't do. The chef knew it, the waiter didn't. Figures. Chefs are to waiters as computers are to search engines. Have you ever googled for something, let's say "cottages in England", and google comes back with no hits and the sweet, loving touch of "Did you mean cottages in Wales?" Why, yes I did, I adore Wales.... Then the blow to the chops, "SORRY, NOTHING FOUND". What the hell? Why offer if you can't fulfill the g-damn offer? Why? This little story is brought to you by the word "undickered". Go ahead, go to websters.com and type in undickered. Nothing but the sweet kiss of "did you mean un-dickered?". Why, yes I did......

You know the rest.

Someone thinks my laminated periodic table of the elements signifies something other than "total cool".

Kisses to all

T

about effing time

There were five, and now here's the follow on... Somewhere there was discussion of eleven, but I don't think that "selling your house before moving and paying rent", meets the 'so much fun' criteria I'm throwing out. Damn good advice, but meant for a more serious list.

Old Crow Medicine Show...Live - I don't know where to begin. My initial worry is that I'm doing a disservice to Slobberbone, but I'm not...apples and oranges. You will NEVER in your life have as much fun as you will at an OCMS concert. I'll personally refund any monies spent if you find yourself bored and/or left wanting at their show. These are guys named Ketch, Critter and Willie and they play what's known as NewGrass...bluegrass updated (just a little) by young folks with strings. I first saw them in SanFran last Fall, then London in November (lots of making out!), and again in the Tenderloin area of SanFran in May. The May show was the first 'bar' show that Sarah's ever been to...she bought the CD and t-shirt! If a 16-year old girl can hang out with me and be transformed then I know I'm right. 'Wagon Wheel" has usurped Springsteen's 'Thunder Road' as my all-time favorite song.

The Current, Minnesota Public Radio - MPR brought the Current (KCMP/89.3) to indie format almost a year ago. You can stream online and listen to the best playlist in radio...with NO commercials. KEXP out of Seattle has a similar format but the DJs aren't quite as polished. The Current online represents everything that can be good about music, online surfing, and lazy days...what technology should be.

Drinks at Mr. Toad's Library in Omaha - So many years ago that Todd, Skip, Jeff and I used to sit at Toad's before shows at Howard St. Tavern. The Old Market holds so many memories but for some reason sitting on the 'patio' at the corner of 10th and Howard holds up the best. The library is still there, the patio is always full, and maybe that's why it rings so strongly with me. Howard St. Tavern closed about 15 years ago, some of the Market has changed, the city's music scene is different, but Toad's is still gold. My strongest memory? Todd Wagner ordering us Campari and sodas while we sat at the bar and moaned about where our lives were going. We've survived wherever we've been and now we both seem to be off to nursing school. Funny.

The Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam - Here's a list that's nearly impossible to sort: The Orsay, the British Museum, the National Gallery, the Louvre, the Van Gogh, the Miro, the Uffizi...but the Rijks is the best for me. Barring Bottecelli's 'Primavera' and 'Birth of Venus' in Florence, I have everything I need in Amsterdam. The Dutch Masters are my favorites and the half-dozen Vermeers make up for Italy. Throw in the Jan Steens and Rembrandts and I'm VERY happy. The dif between the Louvre (too damn big), the Uffizi (too many annunciations), and the Rijks, is that the you can live with just a piece of the Rijks, no need to feel compelled to do it all. I'm very comfortable going in for an hour, leaving, coming back a few days later, and not thinking ever feeling there's much I haven't seen. Can you really argue with Dutch still life? I didn't think so...

and finally,

Sunday mornings - It's really a myriad of stuff that makes Sundays what they are: the season, the paper, the location, who you're hanging with, that end of the weekend feeling. Much like Labor Day, I think Sunday marks the final stage of a long something and beginning of another. Rules state that nothing overly important can be done before noon...nothing. The smell of coffee in the air, the NYTimes crossword throwing you a sideways glance, the windows open (spring, summer, fall) or the fireplace going (winter), and those hours padding around in pajamas or sitting on the sofa. Ah, Sundays....

There you have it. It's my list and I'm sticking to it.

t

what happens when life moves on

Yes, I'm alive. About ten days seem to have run together but I'm back at school and my DNA and RNA words got mixed up on my A&P exam the other night. No real worry, merely a bump in my road. The weekend was spent in San Francisco listening to Bluegrass (Hardly and Strictly) and lamenting Sunday's trip to the airport. I'd drafted in all the supplies needed for the weekend: lawnchairs, cooler, blankets, corkscrews, extra gloves, hats, containers for wine and water, survival silverware, camp cups, and a miniature version of the two-day playlist (not laminated...but don't think it didn't cross my mind). We met at the airport and I proceeded to drag Christine (she had to carry the cooler) through the park on Saturday in search of the ever-elusive Star Stage. But to back up...on Saturday we started at the Rooster Stage and saw Chip Taylor and Carrie Rodriguez perform the opening set of the festival. Funny enough, Chip Taylor wrote both "Wild Thing" and "Angel of the Morning", what are the chances? The residuals from "Wild Thing" must be huge, but the 14 million copies of Shaggy's ripped-off sample from "Angel" is surely sweet. Funny to be with someone (hmmm?) that recognizes "Angel" from her clubbing days in Cambridge and London...whether on a fiddle, or on a turntable. This was followed by Patty Griffin and then Joan Baez. Joan is forever engaging, and hearing "Hard Rain" by the 'Monster' (see Mr. Dylan), and "Jerusalem" (see Steve Earle), was worth the weekend. Off to the Star Stage (hey, it's over there, over here, behind the trees...trust me) to see Buddy Miller (again) and the Knitters. We managed to sneak in between sets and had an excellent view of the stage. Sunday brought the crazies (and I mean the indescribable freaks that only the Bay can provide) to the Star Stage. We opened with the Be Good Tanyas (unfinished business), followed by The Legendary Shack*Shackers, Austin Lounge Lizards and Split Lip Rayfield...bluegrass of sorts. We didn't stay for Dolly, who finished the festival on our stage, because I put forth the idea that dinner before running to the airport would be nicer than fighting crowds and wondering if we'd make it. There was some concern amongst the crowd (around us) that we were leaving before 'The Arrival'. Hey, I love Dolly, but I had other stuff that was much more important (pssst...bus to Fillmore and dinner at the Grove). Through the BART, the MUNI, the in-and-out of travel, SFO, and the freaks (see above), it was a dreamy two days. The funny bit is that I don't have my festival, my falafel shop, my hotel, my bus routes, or my lovely SanFran to hide behind anymore. Once you give up the secret hideout you've lost the mystery...and losing the mystery dents the aura. A fews shots from the Bay...what you wear on a sunny day in SanFran, the Shack*Shakers onstage, and a sweet, obidient dog across the street from the Grove. love to all.