strawberry gardens at the hilltop

I've been meaning to pass along an update on what I feel has been an exact reenactment of the banking and financial dowfall; and, it's happened right at my dining room table over the last few weeks. The kids, along with one of the kids from the old neighborhood, have taken to playing Monopoly. Before I get to the details I'd like to point out a few of my feelings on this 'game'. First, nothing good ever comes from a game of Monopoly. Nothing. In the history of mankind, never has a game ended cordially with a good round of handshakes and utterances of "good game, good game, good game." By it's nature, the point of playing is to crush the life from every other being at the table - preferably with extreme prejudice. Second, you always have players who are up for a bit, down for a bit, middlin' for a bit, and then eventually out. But, you also have the one hack who always has about $200 on hand, who manages to always miss Marvin Gardens (with a hotel) and your killer row of the cheap shit just passed 'Go', and who ends up either in jail repeatedly are hitting Free Parking just as he's about to be eliminated...I hate that guy. He'll be around all night acting as some kind of property lawyer while begging and borrowing his way to the inevitable 3am finish.

Right, back to the story. The kids vaguely play according to the rules - those rules being a roll of the dice, moving your men, buying things, getting $200 when passing go...and that's about it. They play a truly free enterprise version of the game beyond those basic steps. I'll be cooking in the kitchen and G. is exchanging a piece of property with L. because he wants her orange juice and doesn't want to get up and walk to the kitchen. I've got kids mortgaging property that can't be mortgaged because they have houses or hotels on them (you have to pull those before you mortgage), you have one kid offering up a utility of $500 to another, money supposedly being exchange for property, railroads being gathered via the use of picking or not picking Chance/Community Chest cards, and overall unregulated credit default swaps. Even though it might seem a joke, it isn't. They have no sense of what's actually happening nor any inkling of the results - they are in it purely for profit and hell be damned. In the end, one will win, a bunch will get pissed off and throw the board on the floor, and they'll play again tomorrow. Sounds familiar, doesn't it?

As it's the end of the berry season I gathered a flat of strawberries from the farmers market and spent a chunk of my afternoon making two dozen half-pints of strawberry jam. I'm not sure why I felt the need but berries will do that to you. We go through a lot of jam in the house and if I can make it by hand with a little effort, why not? If I'd got myself in order a few weeks ago I could have made a triple berry jam with strawberries, blackberries, and raspberries but my potential energy was just that. I was able to get a 12 lb. flat of for $40 from one of the farmers so each jar - minus jars, etc. - comes to about $2.

american shakedown

I got an e-mail today concerning my subscription to The New Yorker. It was funny in a few ways: first, it was a bit pissy about notifying me “three times” about my renewal (even if I’m not sure how) and essentially demanding payment. The second bit was the price: $69.95 for 47 issues (one year). “It’s simple, just click here, pay the money, and everything is good.” Sure. I finally find a phone number to call and the conversation ends up with “Josh” letting me know that I’m on auto-renewal (which is fine by me) and that the computer kicks out a $69.95 rate for 47 issues. The tone of his voice was actually implying, “Isn’t that great? Automatic computer stuff and we have to do nothing!” I told Josh that I wasn’t going to pay him jack at this point, let alone $69.95 for one year, so he needed to just simmer down. It went something like this:

Me: “Listen, Josh. I’ve been with you guys for 7 or 8 years now and you’re trying to junkpunch me with a $69.95 rate for one year.”

Josh: “Umm. That’s the standard rate.”

Me: “For what? Delivery via yak to a monastery in Tibet?”

Josh: “Umm. Did you get a special offer or rate in the mail or via e-mail?”

Me: “No, why? I'm renewing.”

Josh: “Well, what’s the best rate you can get?”

Me: “Where?”

Josh: “Umm, anywhere.”

Me: “Is this really the route we are going to take?” [me typing while talking]

Josh: “Umm.”

Me: “Okay, Josh. At your Web site I can get 94 issues for $69.95 or 47 issues for $39.95. Your move.”

Josh: “Umm.”

Me: “Josh, let me help you out here, you seem like a nice kid. I’m renewing my subscription with your publication. I love The New Yorker and I’ve been with you for years. What I don’t want is you sending me some bullshit e-mail about paying my bill and the cost being about the highest rate you can come up with. Make sense?”

Josh: “Yes.”

Me: “You’re saying that it’s automatic and computer-y doesn’t actually make me feel any better or confident in this process.”

Josh: “Yes.”

Me: “Good. How about you fix my rate on the Web site and I’ll log-in this afternoon and pay my bill which will be $69.95 for two years (94 issues).”

Josh: “Okay.”

I wonder. I really do.

t

coinops

I was never particularly well-versed in video games; we’re talking about ‘put a quarter in and play your life’ video games. Even at the peak of my powers, circa 1981 or so, I was only actually good at tabletop football and half-decent at Missile Command and Asteroids. In the early days of home gaming I vaguely remember Frogger and some other where you jumped log-to-log across a river. Back in those days, by the time home consoles arrived, we were more interested in Foosball, playing quarters, and air guitar. I bring this up because I swung by the mall a few days ago – that being a separate challenge in things that I hate – to pick up a another controller for the Wii that the boys have at home, and maybe a game of some type to occupy people’s time. I ended up with Wii Resort and two motion (?) sensors for the controllers. I’m so slow on this stuff that I didn’t even realize the sensors are just controller add-ons so I had to return the next day for an actual third controller, third sensor, and additional nunchuk. It gets a bit expensive at some point. At least the Resort game comes with stuff that interests me: archery, Frisbee, flying, etc. I played a bit with L. last night and set some high scores on dog-catching Frisbee and some sort of jet-ski slalom thingy. While I was speaking with the sales guy at the shop – we were the only two in the place while I checked out – I sounded vaguely like my ironic/moronic/iconic character that talks to someone about cars and all I can spit out are words that I’ve made-up and/or gleaned from listening to my friend, Buzz. I don’t know anything about either subject.

I found out today that one of my favorite shows, Foyle’s War, has three more episodes out on DVD. We thought it had ended a few years back when WWII ended (on the show, not in real life) but suddenly I’m alerted to some new installments, post-war. Along with The Wire, I consider Foyle’s my favorite drama TV, ever. As if that matters.

We’re only a week away from a long-needed vacation. The biggest issue we face is getting a cargo carrier so the luggage can be hidden away and five people can ride in the bejeweled car. We’re splitting the trip in half both ways but only need room on the way up: both boys are staying up yonder for a few days before flying back. L. can have the entire car to herself on the jaunt home.

I’m sure there’s more but it all escapes me. I will give you a song by newest favorite band, Mumford and Sons.

northwestside story

I finally remembered my camera after all these years and snap some photos while heading to the DuPont Circle farmers market this morning. I usually park right near the Iraq Embassy on 18th St. NW and walk north a block before turning east to the market. These two badass associations are right across 18th St. from each other and I always imagine them as two rival gangs occasionally getting drunk on a Friday night, calling out insults across the street, and eventually rumbling in the middle of the street around midnight.

"You guys suck at splitting binomials!"

"What are you made of? Iron? Waffle iron? Wafflers!"

"Oh, yeah, find x, you no-talent eighth grade dropouts!"

"Quick, call Karl Rove. The game is on!"

I'm vaguely watching the Germany v. Australia tie at the World Cup and with Ally McCoist doing the color, I feel like either Sue Barker or John Parrott are going to bust in soon enough with either flirting or quips, respectively. I know, that's pretty deep, but if you lived in England for any period of time then you'll know what I'm talking about.

It's pizza night so I'm busy enough this evening. L. has added sausage as an option on her cream cheese extravaganza...we'll see how that works out.

t

i get one fucking vacation a year and i'm not going to fucking wisconsin

This gentle quip passed my darling's lips the other night. I have nothing more to say.

skool's out 4 summer

This is for Fairfax County Schools. The district is allegedly a top district but I’m downgrading them severely for a complete lack of actual professionalism. Sure, I imagine some schools work hard, some teachers work hard, but the guidance from the district board is severely lacking. The required school year and number of days of instruction for Virginia are 180 or 990 hours. Virginia also participates in the Standards of Learning annual tests (SOLs) that, in and of themselves, are a joke. What happens after completion of the SOLs for the elementary kids is…nothing. The kids sit on their asses, watch movies; do nothing. G. finished his SOLs for sixth grade on June 2nd. The last day of school is June 25th. That’s 17 days of Fairfax schools providing zero schooling – or, if it makes it easier, 9.4% of the school year. I don’t even have a kid in FCPS and it still infuriates me. And for this year, you can add the hair pulling and gnashing of teeth that took place while these mental giants tried to figure out what to do about the two blizzards and the days of school missed. They were due to add something like 3 or 4 days to the year so they petitioned the Virginia DOE to not have to complete those make-up days that would have taken them to required 180. They were relieved of one day, I believe. Why even apply for the waiver? Why not just say “We aren’t going to actually do anything but have the kids watch Escape to Witch Mountain so let’s call it good.” This also isn’t a one-year thing; it’s been like this for all three years in FCPS. It’s really an embarrassment. And, to add to the jackassery, the schools spend at least two weeks simply prepping the kids for the SOLs.. And by prep, I mean simply having them come as close to memorizing the test portions/questions as they possibly can without actually cheating…in a court of law. Together, we’re talking five to six weeks of nothing. Well done, FCPS.

I was searching for some tickets to a show in D.C. – the Black Keys – and came across this mildly, or totally, unrelated ad for a keyboard on craigslist. I think it might be translucent. I think it might have 97 keys – I hate 95-key keyboards – and more importantly, since they didn’t include a picture, I think it has white lettering on black keys. Do I need a USB port for this to work?

I’ve finished my quarter at school and don’t start anew until Monday, July 12th. It was a good quarter and I’ve wrapped up American Regional Cuisine, Latin Cuisine, and Nutrition: a nice summer break with a week in Stowe before I turned my attention to Baking, Pastry, and Garde Manger for the spring. L. also finished at the New School with very good grades – I think she’ll miss the place quite a bit come the fall.

things to ponder...and then eat

Every few months I end up stopping at the Italian Store in Arlington either on my way to pick up X at work, or on the way home. The gravitational pull that gets me into the parking lot is usually my complete lack of interest in cooking that evening; believe me, it's rare. The Italian Store is known far-and-wide for its made-to-order deli and pizza - swing in at lunch or at 6pm on a weeknight and there'll be a line of people; and, about a half-dozen folks knocking out sandwiches. (They are also a very good Italian market if you're searching for pastas, sauces, wines, etc.) Last night was one of those nights so I swung in and got a veggie sandwich for us, a turkey/salami for L., and a hot meatball sub with provolone for G (oh, and two hand-rolled cannoli). The first two sandwiches were excellent (they have great breads and top-of-the-line meats) as expected but it's the meatball sub I want to focus on. G. wasn't hungry so the sub sat for a while before I decided that I was still peckish and decided to give it a quick microwave hit and try what the boys call the best meatball sub out there...as if they know. I've no idea how or what they do but that thing was amazing. Simply. Amazing. I've never in my live eaten any deli sandwich, meatball, grinder, or whatever you call it, that was so utterly fantastic. The meatballs, the sauce, the cheese, the soft bread. I have nothing more to say about that.

We've got spanakopita and big beans for dinner. The kids have tacos. Two loaves of potato bread are doing their thing.

That is all.

t

eh, pay

As I was driving home yesterday I ended up at a light behind a car with this personalized plate:

ISITART

For some reason I felt the need to break it up and interpret it multiple ways:

IS IT ART
I SIT ART
IS I TART

That last one being an homage to Ali G.’s “Is you the fox?” (You either know your Ali G. or you don’t.)

Later on, in the same series of events, while driving home after picking up the kids at the Metro I asked them how school went, to which H. replied, “I did good today.” I, of course, said that it should really be “did well,” and he parried with, “no, did good.” It was pretty funny up to that point but got better when L. piped up, in the flow, with, “Did good? Like Superman?” Funny stuff, that.

I read Kitchen Confidential about ten years ago (?) when it first came out we were living in England. That was also about the same time I started to get more serious about cooking. I haven’t watched more than 20 or 30 minutes of Bourdain on TV in all these years but I’ve followed along a bit with his celebrity and career. Confidential was a really cool book that I feel should have been (and still should be, based on the lack of ‘go’ I see in some of my classmates) required reading for anyone considering the career. I bring this up because there’s a great interview with him at Slate.com today; an interview that covers a lot of ground and should also be required reading for everyone – maybe for some life guidance and cooking doctrine. Along with that, it’s an interview that reads very well in text format and that’s pretty rare. (The intro to the interview is also timely since I just baked a strawberry-rhubarb pie last weekend. For the record, I like it.)

I have little idea what’s on tap for the weekend.

experiences

On NPR this morning they were teasing an upcoming discussion about the Israel v. flotilla story and the clip they played from the expert who was to join them went something like this:

'The problem between the Israelis and Palestinians is about what’s going on in Israel. It’s also about what’s not going on.'

Nice. Covered all the bases there. I’ll either post this entry, or I won’t.

I lost my phone on Sunday afternoon – after the pool, probably whilst buying taro bubble tea – and nothing came of it. I had my e-mail address labeled on the back so I figured I’d come across someone paying it forward but that hasn’t happened. I checked my usage online and no one is up to nefarious deeds; I’m guessing the next person into the crowded parking lot may have run it over and it’s merely a pile of pieces that no one is much interested in clearing from the asphalt. I have now joined the iPhone army – on the same day they reported they no longer have unlimited data service. Of course, it probably won’t cost me anymore since I doubt I’ll be a massive data user (even X is a less than 200mb per month legal eagle.)

I finished second on my first little competition last night (tapas). There were four judges – three from Spanish places in D.C., and one chef from school – and they seemed pleased. The GM from a D.C. tapas restaurant stopped by afterwards and complimented my offerings, noting the homemade potato bread and Romesco. In the end, that’s the kind of input I’m looking for so it was a success all around. I did, in the end, add crabmeat to the recipe after X suggested it the night before and I think it helped quite a bit.

To offset that little story, I then proceeded to slice the living crap out of my left ring finger while prepping in class. A good chunk of the nail and skin; not to fear, staunched the bleeding after ten minutes, taped that bitch up, and got back to work. Life.

Love to all

t