Friday, November 30, 2007

 

For Our Foodie Friends

Our friend Deb Spear just sent us this most amazing recipe for Christmas cookies. Enjoy!

Tequila Christmas Cookies
1 cup of water
1 tsp baking soda
1 cup of sugar
1 tsp salt
1 cup of brown sugar
1 tbsp lemon juice
4 large eggs
1 cup of nuts
2 cups of dried fruit
1 bottle of Tequila

Sample the Tequila in a large glass to check quality.
Take a large bowl, and check the Tequila again, to be sure it is of the highest quality. Pour one level cup and drink.
Turn on the electric mixer, Beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl.
Add one teaspoon of sugar. Beat again.
At this point, it's best to make sure the tequila is still ok, so try another cup.
Turn off the mixerer thingy.
Break 2 leggs and add to the bowl and chuck in the cup of dried fruit.
Pick the frigging fruit and damm cup off the floor.
Mix on the turner. If the fried druit gets stuck in the beaterers, just pry it loose with a drewscriver.
Sample the tequila to check for tonsisticity.
Next, sift two cups of salt, or something. Check the Tequila.
Now shift the lemon juice and strain your nuts.
Add one table.
Add a spoon of sugar, or somefink. Whatever you can find.
Greash the oven.
Turn the cake tin 360 degrees and try not to fall over.
Don't forget to beat off the turner
Put the bowl through the window, finish off the booze and make sure to put the dirty stove in the dishwasher.

CHERRY MISTMAS TO ALL!


Thursday, November 29, 2007

 

Words of Wisdom

...compliments of Robert Louis Stevenson: "Our business in life is not to succeed, but to continue to fail in good spirits."


Friday, November 02, 2007

 

Burning Man


I know. I know. How long can it take to organize your goddamn photos, right? Well, I guess the correct answer is: Two Whole Months. OK? Get over yourselves! It's taken that long to sort through all our photos plus those from friends who were there -- about six hundred photos in all. Ain't digital great? (Long story short, if you want to view the resulting slideshow, click here and click the -- you guess it -- View Slideshow button.)

The entire Burning Man experience was overwhelming. The location was the most remote, desolate and unbelievably hot place we've ever been. (To this day, my most vivid memory is of being desperately thirsty and only having hot water to drink.) It took us eight hours to get there, the last two through desert so barren we never even saw a telephone pole. And the scale of it all was unimaginable. Miles of flat lake bed surrounded on all sides by distant mountains. And in the midst of this vast expanse of gypsum dust: more than 45,000 freakin' people. Elaborate campsites, vehicles of every shape and size, medical facilities, cafes, nightclubs, multi-story tall art installations, Portalets by the thousands, street signs, security and fire protection, two radio stations, a couple of daily newspapers and an airport (allegedly 130 private planes landed there during the week!) -- a complete community created from scratch each year. Everything's trucked or flown in, then trucked back out. Their deal with the Feds require the Burning Man organizers to police every last inch of the lake bed to ensure -- one week and 45,00 people later -- that it looks exactly like it did prior to the event. You can't even pour water onto The Playa -- each campsite requires an evaporating pond.


The general guiding principals of the place are 1) acceptance ("live and let live") 2) generosity (no money exchanges hands, except to buy ice) and 3) participation (they expect you to actively involve yourself -- volunteering, creating, exhibiting, whatever -- rather than just spectating). It's not exactly a love fest, but I can't remember being anywhere where I felt more relaxed and free. (I discovered that in extreme heat, I'm happiest wearing just sandals and a slip.)


The place was huge canvas for creative expression. Yes, there were large, commissioned works of art, plus, spread throughout The Playa, smaller, personal installations. In a week of walking and riding around, we estimate we saw maybe half of it all. But the crazy vehicles, the campsites, the clothing people wore (or didn't wear), the swag folks created and traded -- it was a constant visual delight. And 24-7, wherever we traveled, we were enveloped by an ever-changing soundtrack. Mostly drumming groups and loud Techno music (which, amazingly, we came to really like). But one afternoon, a woman across the road spent several hours playing a harp, and on another day the people behind us loudly played a tape of William Burroughs reciting his decidely eccentric poetry to a jazz accompaniment. One night we wandered into a geodesic disco with laser lights and a bank of speakers 10 feet tall.


Many people arrived in motor homes or travel trailers. (We had no idea there were so damned many of them available to rent.) We were in a tent. After the first 60-mile-an-hour wind driven sandstorm, our carefully engineered parachute enclosure collapsed, and we had to rebuilt our campsite from scratch. Our tent, and everything in it, filled with fine, white dust. We each showered once, but soon realized it was futile to keep clean. (Another striking memory: naked couples strolling down our street wearing goggles and industrial-strength painter's masks.) Each night we shook out our sleeping bags and pillows as best we could and snuggled into the grit. Oddly enough, the extreme weather and deprivation turned out to be a huge part of the shared experience, bringing strangers together for mutual support and sharing tales of woe.

Most days, we visited friends and explored The Playa 'til noon, then hunkered down somewhere, anywhere we could find shade 'til sunset. Once the heat subsided, the energy level ramped up dramatically. Nighttime was indescribable: Thousands of people -- covered with glow wires or blinking strings of lights, sporting headlamps or flashlights -- walking or biking in all directions, as far s you could see, all trying to avoid being crushed by the hundreds of fancifully decorated, neon-lit vehicles, ranging from the size of golf carts to those built on school bus chassis, that romed The Playa. (The most ambitious of these, carrying dozens of partyers, included platform bars and powerful sound systems.) The main pathways leading to The Burning Man himself were lined with what looked like oversized street lights. Instead of housing lights, however, they sporadically (sometimes choreographed to music) exploded with thunderous blasts of flame. In fact, the art of flamethrowing is most highly developed at Burning Man. At one point, we found ourselves standing between two fire-breathing vehicles, each trying to out-flame the other.

The scene was positively Dante-esque.
The night they burned The Man (Saturday) conjured up a surreal blend of Dante, Cirque de Soleil and some Druid ritual, starting with the spectacle of a hundred or more fire dancers performing to the sounds of primitive drummers (Another indelible memory: a leather-clad, wheelchair-bound woman slinging two torches on chains around her body with unbelievable athleticism and rhythmic intensity, as tall topless woman and huge bearded guy danced around her, dodging the flames.) The night ended with the most amazing fireworks display we've ever seen and the massive fire cannon explosion that destroyed a huge wooden oil derrick.

I could go on, but if you're still interested in knowing more, I'd suggest you check out the San Francisco Chronicle's Burning Man website. It has more photos, some cool video and stories.

Did Burning Man change our lives? Not exactly. Would we go back again? More than likely. Are glad we went? Absolutely.
Thanks, Allen & Kathleen, for nudging us along, and creating a lifetime's worth of memories with us!

 

Halloween!


Maybe they get it from American TV shows, or possibly from relatives back in the U.S. Whatever the reason, all the kids in our neighborhood know about, and are excited about, the North American holiday that immediately precedes their traditional Day of the Dead festivities. Three or four days ago, they started yelling out at us as we left our house, "Halloween? Halloween?" Grinning, hands outstretched. Sure enough, at dusk on the 31st, a gaggle of excited kids showed up at our front door. Problem is, no one bothered to tell them what to say. We opened the door and were greeted with a chorus of "Halloween! Halloween! Halloween!" Pretty hilarious. We tried coaching them to say, "trick or treat." Which they tried, as best they could, to parrot, not having a freakin' clue what they were saying. We loaded them up with dulces (candies) and galletas (cookies) Karen had made, and watched them dance their way down the street, a swirling, giggling mass of pure joy.

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