Once upon a time (and, yes, it did only happen once) I was visiting Disneyland with my wife and two (quite) small children. This was on the order of 20 years ago. (It couldn't have been much more than that, as I wouldn't have even recognized the ingredients involved.)
Shortly after arriving in the park (but long enough to have been, once again reluctantly, dragged away from the guy doing glass torchwork on Main Street) I found it necessary to briefly visit the closest Men's restroom.
Aside from finding it in its usual pristine and accomodating state, I encountered an object affixed to the wall that I would never have anticipated in such a location*. I realized that I had been staring blankly at it for almost a minute when a sudden flash of recognition washed over me: it was a diaper changing table.

That's how I was certain that I was in Fantasyland.**

* hey, let's face it: context is one of the most important ingredients in perception.....

** ok, so they're in a lot of Men's restrooms now, even in such predominantly male bastions such as hardware and home improvement stores. Remember, this was essentially a generation ago, during the Reagan/Bush I Years (aka the NeoDark Ages.)

The American Dream.....(?)
Another Absolutely True Story

* which featured quite affordable Mexican food, cold beer, Chinese cooks, wandering souvenir photographers, local waiters and a pinball machine that refused to take American money

** literally, in some cases. I fondly recall seeing such wholesome items as packs of "Horseshit Cigarettes - Not A Fart In A Carload", switchblades, peep show viewers and other junk that ran the gamut from titillating to downright obscene. And my darned grandparents wouldn't let me buy any darned one of them. Not even the decks of naked lady playing cards. I would've been the envy of all the other guys at Adams Junior High School, as I would've been the only guy to have ever really seen the legendary Queen of Hearts.

*** "ladito", maybe...? I never could get the hang of languages....

(Hey, a girl can dream, can’t she?)

1 pound package bowtie pasta
1 jar (8ounces, approx.) sun-dried tomatoes in olive oil
1 jar (8 ounces, approx.) marinated artichoke hearts
1 small jar capers, drained
4-6 ounces feta cheese, crumbled
1 teaspon dried oregano (or 1-2 tablespoons fresh, chopped)

Vinaigrette:
6 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
Salt (or Mrs. Dash) and pepper

Cook bowtie pasta according to package directions, using the least amount of time given, to be sure the pasta isn't overcooked and mushy.
Drain immediately; do not rinse. Place in a large bowl and toss with a splash of olive oil (this is not listed in the ingredients list). Add a few shakes of salt
(unless you've salted the pasta water, then you may not need to). Allow to cool slightly (I do this because I toss it with very clean hands). Vigorously call the dog in to pick up anything that went flying onto the floor, if he hasn't already taken up his station there.

Add sundried tomatoes, artichoke hearts and capers. Don't worry too much about the marinating liquid getting into the salad, but don't dump the whole container in unless you'd rather not make your own vinaigrette (some recipes suggest you do it that way, and that's fine - I just like a homemade vinaigrette).

Combine vinaigrette ingredients, whisking well, and pour over salad. Toss. Add crumbled feta cheese and toss again.

Optional additions:
Pine nuts, toasted (really good in this!)
Fresh chopped Italian parsley
Fresh green peas, lightly cooked
Fresh tomatoes, chopped
Chopped Kalamata olives
Marinated mushrooms
Chopped salami
Cooked chicken (chopped) or shrimp.

Opa!

The above photo is no coincidence, and with the big day bearing down on us like a freight train filled with acoustical tile (boy, they sure are quiet!), time is scarce and available brain cells even scarcer.
Only one treatment for that (this one is the M.O.B.'s preference):

NEGRONI

This is a grownup’s cocktail: a little bitter a little sweet. Combine equal parts gin, sweet vermouth and Campari in your favorite kind of cocktail glass. Add ice, stir until it’s cold enough to suit your palate and strain into a glass that expresses your style (even if your style is just “thirsty.”) Add a lemon twist. Really, that’s all there is to it. The Campari makes it bitter enough that you’re encouraged to sip, not swill. And that’s always more sophisticated. (Especially after your third......)

Best wishes to all, and we'll let you know if there are many (or any) survivors!

P.S.: F.O.B.'s effective treatment is an even simpler recipe:

Rye, neat. Back of the hand for a chaser.........

In a swampy area, wattle (woven willow) and daub (mud) construction was favored. The more arid areas, such as Mexico and Alta California (still Mexico, from a geologic viewpoint, anyway) made terrific use of the hay and thick clay mud to make adobe, which was well-suited to the purpose of keeping a cool, well-insulated household. (I understand that they got rid of a lot of horse manure in the process, too.)
Got grass? Lots of it? Then I see a thatched roof in your future.
I had a good friend who, back in the old 35mm film days of photography, swore he was going to make a house out of all of the film cans that he had never thrown away (and he was an avid clicker.) Of course, the digital age came along, and, foop! There went that idea. I think that he did manage to get a pretty decent utility shed out of those cans, tho......

During the era of the mining boom towns, communities would often spring up consisting almost exclusively of men and, by logical extension, saloons. Pretty quickly, this being before the age of deposit bottles and formal recycling programs, one helluva lot of empty bottles would accumulate. Before you could say "drunken street fight," somebody would slap all those bottles together with adobe clay, toss a corrugated tin roof on it and, muchoprestobingo, he had a suitable shelter, which almost looked like it had stained glass windows!
These type of abodes aren't restricted to the Old West's Mother Lodes, Klondikes and Comstocks - they can be found anywhere that people are thirsty.

when one can no longer put off certain responsibilities. It's maintenance time. Again. Dang it. (How does this seem to come around so often?)
It looks like this year's unavoidable is the courtyard wall that keeps our front door and porch from leaking out onto the street. It was (re)built about ten years ago, using the finest available exterior plywood and pressure-treated timbers and kept painted fairly neurotically all this time, but for naught. Rot eventually set in on the plywood, leaving the fairly reliable framing timbers.
"Well, drat!" I said, using words that definitely weren't those.

Thinking about the possiblities for using materials that could withstand the elements (and would not force me to do the whole mess over again again in a few years) I realized I was staring at a pile of what is almost an inexhaustible resource around here: wine bottles.* This coincided with a blast of memories from my childhood: seeing the Bottle House at Knott's Berry Farm amusement park (a replica of one in Calico, CA), and being fascinated by it, and the Rhyolite Bottle House in Nevada (the real deal), some years later.

So, today, with the able assistance of the staff and management of Trader Joe's and the generous and thirsty residents of Pinole, Ca (site of the nearest TJ's) we have begun to erect our own (somewhat blurry) vision of what a weather-proof wall looks like. The bottles are exclusively from the Charles Shaw brand of wine, commonly and affectionately known as "Two Buck Chuck," as it still blessedly sells for $1.98, and can actually be swallowed with out gagging! (Three Cheers for Fred Franzia, who we credit with reviving the cheap-but-drinkable-everyday-table-wine market.**)

Nightside Studios' idea of 'Green' doesn't stop with the color of our monsters, no sirree! This project will eventually find its way onto a web page of its own, but, in the meantime, you can keep tabs on it right here on these virtual pages.

More updates to follow!

* For the record: we did not, by ourselves, drink all of the wine represented by the hundreds of bottles that we are using . We had a Mormon friend over that weekend.......

**some may disagree with this assessment, but they are free to remain thirsty. Gustibus non disputandum est!

We're still recovering from the Maker Faire, the fifth annual, which happened the weekend of May 22-23, where we lit up our torch and demonstrated how to make glass beads.

A sort of suburban proving ground for Burning Man, the Maker Faire is the place to go to find out more about any DIY ideas you may be interested in. Giant metal sculptures, remote-control robots, solar- and person-powered vehicles, one-of-a-kind musical instruments, altered couture, knitting, spinning, crocheting... it's all here.

For the fourth year in a row, we took up our station outside the Maker shed, set up our tent, arranged the monsters in neat rows and told them to behave themselves, and settled in for some great fun.

No other appearance we do provides the sights we can see from behind the flames like the Maker Faire. At any time, a begoggled Steampunk gentleman might stroll by, accompanied by a lady in a black riding habit. These might be followed by a giant, motorized cupcake with the driver sticking out of the top, cherry-bedecked hat on his head.

As at many bead shows, the visitors are just as interesting as the official performers/demonstrators. One lady in particular stands out. Not sure of her age, but she had dyed her curly, snow-white hair a lovely shade of lavender. Correction: Purple.She actually dyes it a dark purple. It was about time for a redo, she said. "When people start complimenting the color, that's when I know it's time to dye it again!"

And we didn't have time to thank the two visitors who grabbed all of our postcards and flyers as a brisk wind came up and threated to blow them all away. They carefully placed the papers under heavier objects and strolled off -- at which point I realized they were in costume as a couple of Maurice Sendak's Wild Things.

We love the Maker Faire, and hope to see you there next year. (PS: if you're in the vicinity of Detroit, you'll have a Faire of your very own at the Henry Ford Museum starting July 31! )

The Bead Bazaar rocks!

Sponsored by the Bead Society of Northern California and organized by the indefatigable Trairie Kottkamp, It's a fun event from beginning to end. There's something to like about every stage, from the night before when vendors arrive and start setting up their tables; to the countdown in the morning, when the announcement comes that the doors will open in 20, 10, 5 minutes; to the show itself when we get to meet customers old and new.

It's really rewarding when someone comes by our table and mentions that they've bought from us before -- especially, of course, if they buy something again! But even if the people dropping by don't buy anything, but just want to chat, it's loads of fun.
We ask everyone who buys beads to use in designs to share photos with us so that we can post them on this site -- and, of course, link back to theirs, if they have one! (So let's hear from you guys!)

There's so much creativity out there. Many visitors bead shows are wearing their own creations, and it's endlessly fascinating to see the fine beadwork and use of glass beads, stones and silver. The pieces we see going by may be as simple as a well-thought-out single-strand necklace with an inspired combination of colors, or a massive, Helen Dietz-inspired "ambassador necklace," so bead-heavy in front that it requires counterweights -- long, heavy strands of beads - on the back to be worn comfortably.

And an essential joy of the shows is reconnecting with other bead artisans, seeing their new work and how they display it, the intent discussions on the engineering of jewelry pieces, and the just plain how-are-the-kids visiting.

I was struck this time about comments from a customer and from fellow bead artist Mary Tarara, about building jewelry pieces. Each individual design is the result of hundreds (at least) of decisions, from the creation of the glass beads themselves to the decisions of what to team them with, what stringing material or techniques will be used to create them, size, proportion ... all of that.

Mary is one of those smart designers who puts extender chains on her bracelets, so that not only can the customer find a fit with any of the bracelets, but can adjust the length day to day, depending on how snug or loose she wants it. And the free end of the extender, Mary points out, makes a fun dangle!

All those decisions. Most likely, the customer won't think about them, and that's the way it should be. I want someone to put one of my designs on and have two main thoughts: "This looks terrific on me!" and "This is so comfortable." And if there's a third thought along the lines of "I'll take it!", well that's even nicer!

Hope to see you all at the Maker Faire next weekend!

To some, the term 'rassling' has a special meaning, and it is entirely distinct from 'wrestling.' You see, 'wrestling' is a legitimate sport, with actual rules, actual competiton and largely unpredictable outcomes. 'Rassling' is entertainment; show business wrapped in a thin veneer of sportishness - think Roller Derby without the wheels. Actual sports exist without the necessity of one fan's elbow nudging the ribs of another and the hollering of "See? It's real! Look at that blood! What, you don't believe it? Sure it's real! And look at her pull that hair! Ow!"

And rassling has had at least three major eras, mostly relating to television broadcasting. The First Era (aka 'the Golden Age') was mostly the late 1940s and '50s, an era of characters such as Wild Red Berry and Gorgeous George (aka 'The Human Orchid' who appeared on the Groucho Marx vehicle You Bet Your Life, and has been cited as an influence by both Muhammad Ali and James Brown.)
The Second Era saw a revival of television rassling in the late '50s and '60s, ushered in by the likes of '601 pounder' Haystacks Calhoun (who would enter the ring wearing a real horseshoe around his neck), Andre the Giant and "Classy" Freddie Blassie (who coined the term "pencil neck geek") and a new legion of "heels" (think: villians - often the dues that a newcomer must pay before moving across to the hero role) including, at times, Pat Patterson, Ray Stevens (not the musician) and the Masked Avenger.
The Third Era, which we are evidently at the tapering end of, consists of cable broadcasts of WWE, which, as far as this reporter can tell, consists entirely of "heels."

It is the Second Era that is the closest to my heart (or whatever organ rassling appeals to - the spleen, most likely) and one of its greats passed away earlier this month in his home in Hayward, CA: Kenji Shibuya.
Shibuya, who was born in Utah, (and whose actual first name was "Robert") would typically be seen by the audience (often consisting of a high percentage of WWII era veterans - think about that) as a sort of Asian super-villain. (Ironically, the only time that Shibuya was in Japan was to change planes in Tokyo, he claimed.) Shibuya was often paired with equally treacherous tag team partners such as Mitsu Arakawa (famous for his deadly 'Stomach Claw' hold), Haru Sasaki or Mr. Saito (who appeared to know only two english words: "Amellican Dollah.")
Shibuya, my personal favorite of the Second Era villains, was a 4 year Hula Bowl football star during his University of Hawaii days and played semi-pro football and was a champion sumo wrestler* before entering professional wrestling, er, I mean, show business - um, make that rassling.....
Shibuya was an avid collector of koi (those huge, colorful carp much prized by the Japanese), and appeared in two episodes of the David Carradine Old West Martial Arts-themed televison show of the 1970's "Kung Fu." Shibuya was described as having a "great sense of humor," which was no doubt essential to his chosen career.
Despite what a brutal combination of professions such as violent athletics and show business can do to a body, Shibuya died of natural causes at the age of 89.
He will be missed by his family, his friends and legions of rassling fans.

*Sumo is a legitimate, highly respected sport, especially in Japan (although there it is often under investigation after every suspicious series of wins by unlikely participants). I, for one, am not going to argue with a 500+ pounder who can pick up and throw someone who weighs as much as he does.......

Each of us has our own set of culinary taboos, instilled in us in childhood, via our respective cultures. Oh, yeah, and there are those experiences that we have along the way to grownuphood, too. (These are particularly valuable, as we're in a better position to remember them in order to never, ever repeat them, oh yeah....)
It might be your first (and last) mouthful of boiled liver (which still triggers my gag reflex), or that childhood plate of spaghetti bolognese that your treacherous older brother told you was actually buzzard guts (after Mom told you that you'd better eat every single bite on your plate.)
But, somewhere on this earth, you can bet that there is somebody whose mouth would water over their national dish of Buzzard Guts, while they thought that eating a hot dog (the sausage kind) was waaaaay beyond the pale (or pail). Did Mom ever chastise you with the admonition "Eat that! There are starving children in China, you know"...? (and did she think that it was as funny as you did when you asked her for an envelope and some stamps.......? Probably not your mom, either, I'll bet.)
But there is a book that can help put things such as these in perspective, Unmentionable Cuisine, by Calvin W. Schwabe. If there is something that you find completely disgusting, there will probably be a recipe for it there, offered up with pride and nostalgia by someone, somewhere.
We had occasion, once upon a time (when The Deborah had been asked to be a recipe contest judge for the Gilroy Garlic Festival) to give Martin Yan (yup, that one) and his wife a ride to dinner, as he was the Celebrity Guest Chef at the fest.
A passing mention of Schwabe's book elicited an excited "hey, I'm in that book!" from Yan. He went on to tell us about growing up in rural China, and chasing (and catching!) field mice, before growing up to eventually attend UC Davis. There he met Schwabe, who was working on the book at the time. One thing led to another, and Schwabe eventually paid for the long-distance telephone call to home for Martin (whose real name is Man Tat Yan) to catch up and get some of his mother's recipes.
Page 175 of Schwabe's book has a recipe for Stir Fried Dog credited to Yan.
"But, he sort of changed it around a little bit," remarked Yan. "It's a pretty good dog recipe, but," he said, shaking his head, "it's not like the dog that Mother used to make."

(Hold it! If you didn't read the previous entry, stop right now and skip down to it. Right now. Yeah, now.
C'mon, now, no cheating.....)

Small, Medium, Large, Extra Large, Jumbo, Colossal
and Super Colossal
(except in Europe, where they use:
Bullets, Fine, Brilliant, Superior, Large, Extra Large, Jumbo, Extra Jumbo, Giants, Colossal, Super Colossal, Mammoth and Super Mammoth) - Official sizes for Olives

Select and Small (also known as "Midgets") - Official U.S. sizes for Raisins; some of us prefer the term "Little Raisins," however.....

Jumbo, Extra Large, Large, Medium, Small and Peewee - Official U.S. sizes for Chicken Eggs (Ok, how many of you out there thought these were sizes of marbles.....?)

Waits and Measures Dept:

It was none other than Tom Waits who said “Champagne for my real friends and real pain for my sham friends.”

Split, Pint, Quart, Magnum, Jéroboam, Rehoboam, Methuselah, Salamanzar, Balthazar and Nebuchadnezzar - Official sizes for bottles of Champagne (in ascending order). BTW, a Jéroboam holds 4 regular ("Fifth") size bottles worth, a Rehobam 6 bottles, Methuselah 8 bottles, Salamanzar 10, but sometimes 12 bottles, and a Balthazar holds 16 bottles worth of the sparkling stuff. Nobody seems to remember how much a Nebuchadnezzar holds - small wonder!)

Quart, Magnum, Tappet hen and Jéroboam - Official sizes for bottles of Port. I just had to include this for the "Tappet hen" designation.

Waits also said “I'd rather have a free bottle in front of me than a prefrontal lobotomy.

asking her if she knew what came in the following sizes:

Medium, Jumbo and Colossal - yes, that's right, the smallest one is referred to as "Medium," go figure
(and no, it wasn't olives, like one might suspect) the answer is a couple of paragraphs below.

This came up as I was recalling a day some time back (also known around here as a "bitago," which is a metric tad longer than a "little bitago") when I attempted to rent a video and buy a pizza with my fragile-enough sanity intact (yeah, good luck there!)

Well, the first blow was landed at the local Blockbuster store, where their long-standing "3 Day Rental" was now pitched as lasting 7 days (while retaining the catchy '3-Day' name.) Reeling out of there with my psyche already bruised, I careened into Papa Murphy's to find that they had evidently undergone some sort of cruel restructuring of the fabric of time and space. Their smallest pizza was now a "Medium," their former "Medium" was now officially a "Large," and the largest was now referred to as a "Family Size." I'm not certain what family they were thinking of when named this tent-sized wheel of food, but it must travel by a really, really large bus or moving van......

So, did you figure it out? Ok,those three sizes are the official United States designations for onions - Medium = 2" and larger, Jumbo = 3" and larger and you can legally call an onion "Colossal" if it is 3-3/4" in diameter. Except (as you might have expected) for Walla Walla onions (2-1/2", 3-1/4" and >4" respectively) owing to a marketing agreement among the Walla Walla Gardeners Association (you knew that there had to be one, right?)

If you're not completely emotionally exhausted by this, maybe you can guess which products have these official size designations:

Small, Medium, Large, Extra Large, Jumbo, Colossal and Super Colossal
(except in Europe, where they use Bullets, Fine, Brilliant, Superior, Large, Extra Large, Jumbo, Extra Jumbo, Giants, Colossal, Super Colossal, Mammoth and Super Mammoth. BTW: there are about 172 Bullets/lb., if that helps any)

Select and Small (also known as "Midgets")

Jumbo, Extra Large, Large, Medium, Small and Peewee

(Hint Dept.: these last two are definitely official measures of two different liquids, both on my favorites list)

Split, Pint, Quart, Magnum, Jéroboam, Rehoboam, Methuselah, Salamanzar, Balthazar and Nebuchadnezzar

Quart, Magnum, Tappet hen and Jéroboam

The answers will follow in our next blahblahBlog installment. Meanwhile, what units of measure would you use, if you got to pick their names?

"No Barking Laying Down"

Everything that I know about political activism I learned from my dog.