I definitely struck the mother lode at the FCPL's used bookstore this morning. I parted with a couple hours' pay and departed with:
Creating a New Civilization -- Alvin Toffler
Unexplained Facts: Enigmas and Curiosities -- Rupert T. Gould
Prisoners of Hate: The Cognitive Basis of Anger, Hostility and Violence -- Aaron T. Beck
Kinsmen & Clansmen -- R.W. Munro
Trails West -- National Geographic Society
Choosing, Planting, and Cultivating Herbs -- Philippa Back
Spirits of the Earth -- Bobby Lake-Thom
Stories from a Ming Collection -- trans. Cyril Birch
Cosmos and History: The Myth of the Eternal Return -- Mircea Eliade
The World We Have Lost: England Before the Industrial Age -- Peter Laslett
Simple Heuristics that Make Us Smart -- Gerd Gigerenzer, Peter M. Todd, &al.
A Background to Chinese Painting -- Soame Jenyns
Chuang Tzu: Genius of the Absurd -- Ed. Clae Waltham
Against the Stream: Critical Essays on Economics -- Gunnar Myrdal
What Kind of Nation: Thomas Jefferson, John Marshall, and the Epic Struggle to Create a United States -- James F. Simon
Museums and Women and Other Stories -- John Updike
These should be enough to keep me out of trouble for a while. Hopefully I can say the same of the garden. Owing to an unprecedented drought and extremely high temperatures, the summer garden underperformed. As I was counting on it, the impact was less severe than on other growers in the area.
Of the fall crop: So far, so good. I put in quite a variety this year: spinach, chard, beets, carrots, various lettuces and cabbages, turnips, Western and Asian radishes, tatsoi, bok choy, mizuna, horenso, gai lan, saltwort, misume, kale, collards, mustard, peas and fava beans. We also managed to reseed our ravaged lawn just before the rain hit on Tuesday, and we're keeping our fingers crossed.
The rain, needless to say, was a welcome relief. The summer was bone-dry. I don't think we had more than two or three days of good, soaking precipitation all season. Frankly, it was one of the worst droughts I can remember. Proving that the term "military intelligence" is an oxymoron, the COE waited until this week to announce that Lake Lanier is 10' below normal, and that we are, in fact, experiencing a drought. Thanks, guys. I never would have guessed…
The complete absence of rainfall, however, did nothing to deter the brain trust known as the Roswell City Council from passing (drumroll…) a package of storm water initiatives. Example: generously offering to lower our rack-rent property taxes if we install barrels beneath our downspouts -- presumably to catch dust, bird shit and dead foliage. God knows, nothing else is flowing through 'em...
And speaking of the council, the wife and I will be voting for Mike Nyden. We met Mike during our hitch with the Beacon, and he's one of the few local players who's favorably impressed us. Admittedly, I'm a far meaner, more suspicious, and more hostile individual than my wife.
She's willing to give everyone a chance, while I tend to go with my gut -- if I don’t like the vibe, I keep the source thereof at arm's length. When it comes to political figures, I never take them at their word, and I automatically assume they're lying, no matter what they say. I'm also inherently biased against government in general, and local governments in particular. This is because in my experience, 90% of politicians are not merely liars, but evince every symptom associated with full-blown sociopaths.
Moreover, like Jefferson, I believe that the government that governs best governs least. This is to say that dictating "acceptable" colors for my fucking shutters and doors is not the government's proper role. This being the case, I'm sick of the arrogance, heavy-handedness, and utter lack of accountability the City Council has thus far demonstrated. Whenever I feel the slightest inclination to cut 'em a bit of slack, I simply replay my recordings of previous council meetings. Their voices fairly ooze contempt for any peon with the temerity to question their policies. Were I not wearily familiar with disordered personalities, I'd have been shocked; and I'd imagine that anyone attending such a meeting for the first time left the building crossing himself and vowing never to return.
Hopefully, you've gathered that favorably impressing me is a Herculean feat for any politico. If so, you're absolutely right.
To date, I've only met five local politicians I like, and even fewer whom I trust. At the top of both lists is Milton City Councilman Bill Lusk. In all the times we've spoken with him -- whether on the record or off -- he's never lied to us, fed us a bullshit lead, or sent us on a wild goose chase. Everything he's ever told has checked out -- but unless you've worked for a newspaper, you probably have no idea how rare such individuals are. Real leadership (as opposed to mere opportunism and self-aggrandizement) necessitates telling the truth -- however unpopular -- and acting accordingly.
Mike seems to have been cast from the same mold. Although he's not yet an elected official, he's already taken active roles in issues that affect the entire city -- rather than just his subdivision. He was in the vanguard opposing the Fulton County School Board's latest redistricting scheme, and he's one of the few North Fultonites who understands fiscal conservatism rather than just paying it lip-service. I had several informal conversations with him long before he tossed his hat into the political ring, found myself agreeing with him to a degree that actually surprised me, and was overjoyed when he announced his candidacy. For these reasons, among others, I'm more than willing to give him a chance.
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In other news, I've heard a curious (but unsubstantiated) rumor that buying or borrowing William Cooper's classic Behold a Pale Horse is a quick ticket onto to the Gestapo's "terror watch" list. Hopefully, it's just a paranoid rumor. If true, though, the gubmint's hysterical overreaction suggests that Cooper was onto something.
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Were it not so tragic; it would be hilarious. I am, of course, referring to the stage-managed "conflict" between the Teabaggers and the Occupy the County Landfill crowd. Mouth-breathing simpletons on one side; and chanting, unbathed Lollapalooza rejects on the other. Aren't uninformed ideologues jes' a bundle o' joy? As my great-grandmother often said: "The things you see when you don't have your gun..."
Once again, it's easy to laugh at their antics -- but only as one does at a tragicomedy. Do you suppose, for one second, that any of these would-be crusaders has actually checked his candidate of choice's voting record? Read the social pages to determine who he/she pals around with? Filled out an Open Records Request for his messiah's campaign disclosure records? Of course not.
Who wants to discover that his two-fisted, ruggedly individualistic "conservative" myrmidon receives funds from the Save the Naugas Foundation; or that his touchy-feely, I-love-the-downtrodden "liberal" paladin has a reserved space in every parking garage on Wall Street? However loath I am to quote Anton LaVey, he hit the nail on the head when he opined that "Give us myth!" was humanity's collective battle cry.
This, incidentally, is why we'll never see the end of the "pincer move," or of "good cop, bad cop." Both variations on the theme work consistently, as anyone from Hegel to your friendly, neighborhood hugger-mugger can attest.
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The problem: The wife and I wanted bean burritos, but afternoon traffic was so heavy; a trip to the supermarket would have run fifteen minutes each way. Now when it comes to bean burritos, Maggie and I are like junkies -- we'll slit your throat from ear to ear to get a fix. We will not, however, sit in traffic for half an hour. Unfortunately, we only had two serranos, both of which were destined for the salsa. The solution: I substituted one Indian "elephant's trunk" chile when making the refried beans, and was delighted with the results. Here's the recipe:
3 or 4 cups cooked pinto beans (reserve cooking liquid)
1t salt (or to taste)
1+ cup cooking liquid
2T lard or olive oil
2 small onions, chopped and separated
2 cloves garlic, minced and separated
1 elephant's trunk chile, peeled but not seeded or deveined, minced
¾ t ground cumin
¾ t ground chipotle
pinch sugar
1 tomato, peeled, seeded and chopped (optional)
Heat oil or lard in large skillet. Add one onion, one clove garlic and minced chile. Cook until onion is tender and translucent. Add 1 cup cooking liquid, salt, sugar, cumin, ground chipotle, second clove of garlic and second onion. Heat to boiling. Add beans one cup at a time and mash, moistening with cooking liquid as necessary.
The recipe may seem a little spicy (in my opinion it isn't -- but that's just me), but with good reason. The beans are mealy to begin with, and when combined with sour cream, cheese, etc. and rolled up in a tortilla, their spiciness is less evident. Although my wife and mother aren't chile heads by any stretch of the imagination, they both enjoyed them. We served them with a fresh salsa made of two tomatoes (peeled, seeded and chopped), two serranos (similarly prepared), two small onions, two cloves of garlic, two tablespoons of minced cilantro, and the juice of one and a half limes, salted to our taste.
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If you're anything like me, you spent your formative years hurling one guitar instruction manual after another at the wall in rage and frustration, cursing the author for a numbnuts. Let's face it: most beginning guitar books suck, and during the '70s and '80s, they were especially dreadful. Having learned to play years ago, I no longer need these wastes of money, saints be praised. My wife's grandson, on the other hand, has recently taken up the instrument. Unsurprisingly, though, his mother can't find anyone willing to teach a three-year-old.
As with any skill, the earlier one begins training, the more proficient one becomes. I don't expect Miller to become the next Eric Johnson overnight, but if he starts now, he'll have an edge when he's old enough to realize that the babes dig good guitarists. Providing him with this unfair advantage necessitated finding an instruction book that was both thorough and easily understood. As it happened, Dame Fortuna favored me with one of her bucktoothed, walleyed smiles a few weeks ago.
Whilst hunting for a suitable text, I stumbled across an Australian offering entitled Progressive Rhythm Guitar, by Gary Turner and Brenton White (ISBN 0 959540 47 4). Although the title is self-explanatory, the book covers more than just rhythm playing. The chapters on scales, modes, and fingering patterns are admirably complete, especially for a beginner-level text. The exercises, while simple, are productive, well thought-out, and presented in both tablature and standard notation. Best of all, the book contains an instructional CD, allowing the prospective axeman to play along rather than rely upon a metronome.
I hope the boy enjoys it, and I wish we'd had books of this caliber when I was younger. I'd have spent much less time noodling around in front of the stereo, learning to play by ear.
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