I saw tanks as well.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
How to be cool like Paolo Angeli
1. Get Sardinian guitar, which is about the size of a cello.
2. Cut it up. Attach propellers and whirly-gigs.
3. Connect to monitors and other electronic gadgets
4. Cover Bjork
Awesome.
Chez Terre-ben
Spent the weekend in the picturesque town of Asnan, at the summer home of R and T.
The trip began a la chinoise--standing in a hot regional train for 3 hours. Then missing the station (this was actually fortunate, because it earned me the sympathy of the conductor, who overlooked my lack of ticket). Then waiting to be picked up in the middle of nowhere while huge flocks of black crows circled ominously overhead. But once I arrived all was forgotten.
Lots of rural things.
Sheep!
Plenty of brisk walks o'er the rolling hills...
There is quite a cast of eccentrics in this town of 100 inhabitants: M. Johnson, the British spy; Francios and Pierre, who have made their house into the 17th century; Ana, the New Zealand seductress with an appetite for farm boys, the lesbian chanteuse couple, the stoner mayor, and of course our friends R and T.
They were over-the-top hosts: fresh flowers in every room, ridiculous thread-counts, only the most decadent foodstuffs. Felt rather pampered.
But then the dark side of this life began to reveal itself. With R and T, fascinating conversation on many topics is possible. With their several house guests (Parisian professors), the areas of overlapping interest are precisely three: renovating quaint homes in the French countryside, antiquing, and literary theory. Since my enthusiasm for any of these topics is exhausted after about two minutes--and my ability to discuss them intelligently in French is exhausted after one--there was a lot of smiling and nodding. And wishing they would stop discussing the wine long enough to pour it.
Also, it was rainy and cold, a fact that did not deter our intrepid hosts from insisting on dining in the garden.
In sum, a pleasant two days that ended none too soon. Which is why I'm smiling/grimacing as we zip back to civilization.
The trip began a la chinoise--standing in a hot regional train for 3 hours. Then missing the station (this was actually fortunate, because it earned me the sympathy of the conductor, who overlooked my lack of ticket). Then waiting to be picked up in the middle of nowhere while huge flocks of black crows circled ominously overhead. But once I arrived all was forgotten.
Lots of rural things.
Sheep!
Plenty of brisk walks o'er the rolling hills...
There is quite a cast of eccentrics in this town of 100 inhabitants: M. Johnson, the British spy; Francios and Pierre, who have made their house into the 17th century; Ana, the New Zealand seductress with an appetite for farm boys, the lesbian chanteuse couple, the stoner mayor, and of course our friends R and T.They were over-the-top hosts: fresh flowers in every room, ridiculous thread-counts, only the most decadent foodstuffs. Felt rather pampered.
But then the dark side of this life began to reveal itself. With R and T, fascinating conversation on many topics is possible. With their several house guests (Parisian professors), the areas of overlapping interest are precisely three: renovating quaint homes in the French countryside, antiquing, and literary theory. Since my enthusiasm for any of these topics is exhausted after about two minutes--and my ability to discuss them intelligently in French is exhausted after one--there was a lot of smiling and nodding. And wishing they would stop discussing the wine long enough to pour it.
Also, it was rainy and cold, a fact that did not deter our intrepid hosts from insisting on dining in the garden.
In sum, a pleasant two days that ended none too soon. Which is why I'm smiling/grimacing as we zip back to civilization.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Trial, error, success
One of the downsides about trial-and-error cooking is the error bit. Tonight I decided to do some lovely squid from the market a la plancha...but it was not to be.
For whatever reason (perhaps the lack of an actual plancha) my squid refused to cooperate, ending up in a sticky mess. And this after I had spent a good while cutting out their guts and popping off their beaks.
Fortunately, I found myself in possession of a mostly-drank bottle of white wine. Into the pot it went, along with onions, garlic, capers, lemon rind, and bay leaves.
After stewing to perfection, the squid was tossed into a salad of fennel, tomato, and beets. 
The result--delicious! Diner was saved. The people rejoiced.
For whatever reason (perhaps the lack of an actual plancha) my squid refused to cooperate, ending up in a sticky mess. And this after I had spent a good while cutting out their guts and popping off their beaks.
Fortunately, I found myself in possession of a mostly-drank bottle of white wine. Into the pot it went, along with onions, garlic, capers, lemon rind, and bay leaves.
After stewing to perfection, the squid was tossed into a salad of fennel, tomato, and beets. 
The result--delicious! Diner was saved. The people rejoiced.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Famous last words
Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself.
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)
Very well then I contradict myself.
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)
Friday, July 4, 2008
Cinematic Orchestra
Went to see them tonight, in part because I was extremely curious how they could possibly do what they do outside of a high tech studio. The somewhat disappointing answer is that they play instruments over tracks from the ipod. And not particularly well, at that. BUT the concert was great fun, an adventure in your ear.
A major highlight was the MASSIVE vocalist they had with them. She was probably generating sounds at frequencies unavailable to the human ear. Also, gravitational force.
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