We're getting calls from all sorts of prominent people. The other day Laura Bush called, and before that I think we had Franklin D. Roosevelt or Gandhi or God or somebody at the door.

The Democratic peace candidate in this district makes sure she talks about how the real answer is that we should have had MORE firepower in Iraq at the start, and the Republican fiscal conservative is all about spending more money on bomb-sniffing bloodhounds in South Dakota. Both are sure to say the national security code words to the older audiences while stabilizing their base with their targeted code words 1 = pro-choice 2 = family values 3 = social security national illegalimmigranthealthcare 4 = you said you did no I didn't yes you did didn't did PROVE IT - nyah... (spits), and saying the future code words to the younger audience who mostly thinks they're a couple of twerps anyway. Three cheers for people just able to vote... who don't. They, at least, have it about right.

Through 35 years of being eligible to vote I can think of eight or nine politicians who were thoughtful people deserving of respect. Half were conservatives and half were liberals.

Every two years is like every other two years. And if you don't participate there are hacks quite willing to come out of the woodwork and berate you for not liking something. "If you don't vote, you have no right to complain," they like to say. Which is bullshit, because every two years the two major parties give me a choice between Yet Another Asshole and Yet Another Sock Puppet. And I'm supposed to take a scan on which one of two talking turd piles will do the least damage to me over the next term and be happy about the questionable quality of the choice I have, when everybody knows the most talented men and women in this country don't go anywhere near politics. So if I choose not to vote - even though I usually do anyhow - but if I choose not to, I'll complain about it anyway because the constitution does not have a provision to free speech predicated on voting participation. And if you think it does you are a natural Democrat or a born Republican. Meaning a pompous windbag of a jerk.

As long as the Democrats are run by the looney left and the Republicans are funded by the religious right they are both crossed off my short list of "People Who Are Credible, Part A".

And while it is true - and I have said repeatedly - that I would rather go hunting with Dick Chaney than driving with Ted Kennedy, the bitter truth is that if they both vanished into thin air I wouldn't really care because I know there'd be another legion of shit-for-brains already politically positioned to step up to the plate.

In short, as a result of all the bad news everyone is telling me about their opponents I have decided to take everyone at their word.

And this is the result. I haven't voted for someone in over a decade now. God Bless America.

I got a book in the mail over the weekend. What a STORY!

First these kids are in school studying about wild Indians...

Then it starts to rain. And it rains and rains and rains and rains and rains...

It rains and rains like a mutha! Until the whole town is flooded and all the kids have to be sent home from school and the next thing you know people are being rescued off their rooftops by priests in boats and stuff!

And the Red Cross evacuates everyone to the next town over and then this happens and that happens and a little girl gets lost but is found and all the kids in the new town are white and friendly but everybody misses their own home town and so they wait and wait and freakin WAIT and WAIT for the floodwaters to go down and then when they finally go down everybody comes back and rebuilds the town.

Whew!

Yeah that's right - I found my 3rd Grade Reader first published in 1949 and I got it sent to me off ebay! I'm on page 219 - the part where the men are coming back to tell the people it is safe to go home!

Yay!

I'll let you know how it turns out, but I think everybody gets Blessed by a guy in a pointy white hat at the end.

I don't think he's from the Klan...

That particular north shore diva caused a meme to occur as if by magic and charged all "the boys on her blog list" to go therefore and do likewise. Who am I to squawk?

1. Flip to page 18, paragraph 4 - in the book closest to you right now, what does it say?
"While you may tend to think of the federal government as monolithic, it's really more like a group of fiefdoms or anthills, each with its own mission and bureaucrats bent on perpetuating itself and expanding its empire. Some of these even have the power to issue bonds to raise money (gulp!). For example, in the first part of the last century, when Agriculture was at the heart of the American enterprise, the Federal Farm Credit Consolidated System began underwriting low-interest loans to farmers, and they're still at it today." ZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzz

Well... you asked! But hey - Ben Stein is a smart guy!

2. If you stretch out your left arm as far as possible, what are you touching?
The right hip of my imaginary friend who looks amazingly like Sophie Marceau.

3. What's the last program you watched on TV?
2 minutes of last night's first 5 minutes of SNL. Then I gave up.

4. Without looking, guess what time it is.
8?

5. Aside from the computer, what can you hear right now?
The Clutch Cargo theme. Over and over and over.

6. When was the last time you were outside and what did you do?
Last night. Pulled the car into the garage. This is the city. My name is Friday. I carry a badge.

7. What are you wearing?
Pajama bottoms and a really nice scent from Hugo Boss. Kiss me you fool.

8. Did you dream last night? If you did, what about?
Yes. Dancing parking meters competing for cash and prizes. The fat-ass mailbox from Hollywood disqualified the couple I liked. The bitch.

9. When was the last time you laughed?
1965.

10. What's on the walls, in the room you're in right now?
Photographs of the two ships our families came to Ellis Island on. Matching copies of each ship's passenger list showing their names. A picture of our daughters. Shelves containing ship models, books, and memorabilia from the Spanish American War, including a photo portrait of Teddy Roosevelt.

11. Have you seen anything strange lately?
Outside of my shrine to the Spanish-American War? Well... yesterday I saw a guy going full tilt on the shoulder of a road facing the wrong way, breaking hard in a cloud of dust and then politely putting on his turn signal to go across oncoming traffic. Yeah I have no idea either.

12. What do you think about this meme?
I lied about the laugh part. But the ship models I built are really there.

13. What's the last film you saw?
Flyboys.

14. If you became a multimillionaire, what would you do with the money?
Give 10% to my Meeting. Set up a foundation to provide books for inner city kids. Then go on a magnificent vacation for the rest of my natural life and make a habit of champagne for breakfast, good cigars, and staying pleasantly drunk most days, dying of a liver ailment and going straight to Question #21.

15. Tell us something about yourself that most people don't know.
I cannot watch the "girl in the little red coat" sequence in Schindler's List without totally losing it altogether. And when I stop the damn waterworks then I'’m pissed off. Every damn lousy stinking time. I hate that Steven Spielberg.

16. If you could change ONE THING in this world, without regarding politics or bad guilt, what would it be?
I would force everyone to quit swearing in public and also wash their fucking selves! And that's two things! So also people should learn how to damn COUNT!

17. Do you like dancing?
It'’s ok. I was better at it when I could actually move.

18. George Bush?
Lyndon Johnson.

19. What do you want your children's names to be, girl/boy?
They are already named and out there functioning. But if a son magically appeared I kind of like Mortimer Snerd. I like girls with boy names, but I don't think Mortimer would be a good idea. Maybe just Snerd. I dunno.

20. Would you ever consider living abroad?
Yes but I would miss the US generally and Chicago far too much particularly to actually do it. Especially around my favorite holidays: 4th of July and Thanksgiving.

21. What do you want God to tell you, when you come to heaven?
"Snap out of it for Christ's sake."

22. Who should do this meme?
I'’d like to see Steve Irwin's answers but he's dead.

Beryl Markham was the first person to fly nonstop across the Atlantic Ocean from London to North America - East to West. Charles Lindbergh did it in the 20's but went from West to East - with the prevailing wind. Beryl's flight in 1936 went from London to Nova Scotia in one hop against the wind, with no radio and considerably besting Jim Mollison - who did the same except starting closer to the finish - from Ireland - back in 1932.

It was a dramatic achievement for the history of aviation but it wasn't as dramatic as it may have sounded for Beryl. She had been a bush pilot in Africa for years and once flew from Nairobi to London jumping around for spare parts and fuel down the whole long way.

But one of her achievements, which in 1942 was even praised by the likes of Ernest Hemingway, turns out not to be completely her own doing. Her autobiography West With The Night turns out to be less "auto" than at first believed. It is pretty much an open-and-shut case by now that the book was pulled together from her observations by her third husband Raoul Schumacher. The smoking gun being large tracts of the original manuscript in his hand, and a second effort at a book - without him - being declared "unreadable" by the publisher who had engaged Beryl to write it. There are descriptions of planes that are wrong; mistakes Beryl Markham couldn't possibly make. Though it is her memories and her story, the book is Schumacher's work without question.

Yet it doesn't matter, because the story doesn't belong to anyone else. Schumacher simply made it a matter of art. Hemingway said "...she has written so well, and marvelously well, that I was completely ashamed of myself as a writer", without realizing he was talking about Raoul. Yet there are observations in the book that Schumacher could never have made. Viewpoints he could not have duplicated. So while he was ghost-writing, it couldn't have been that Beryl wasn't at his side for the important parts.

The book is written with a late 1930's sensibility. Africa "...is mystic; it is wild; it is a sweltering inferno; it is a photographer's paradise, a hunter's Valhalla, an escapist's Utopia. It is what you will..." This sensibility averts your eyes from the modern so completely it is as if the book was written yesterday with the specific intention of beguiling you away from the insanity of the current version of mankind.

"Watch the fence. Watch the flares. I watch both and take off into the night."

West With The Night is a book that reminds us that there was a time when the maps were still unfinished, and had to be penciled-in by live people, there at the site, in real time. It speaks of a time when it was considered amongst people of the world that there was dignity and beauty in humankind as a matter of course.

From another age. And possibly a better one. It hardly matters anymore who actually wrote it. Beryl's was a life worth remembering.

Yes I know it has been a while since we've put a new restaurant review up. The last one was actually done by a guest blogger and that's it, it seems. But rest assured, the truth is the culinary adventure, and the eternal quest for Vincenzo, never really ended.

This past summer I shared some noisy tapas with Dave at Emilio's when he was in town. And Mrs RW and I got back together with our monthly restaurant club to try out Le Titi de Paris a few weeks back. And I know - neither of these places showed up in the reviews. But, really, Le Titi de Paris has been so over-reviewed there is little left to say. It is a landmark, and didn't disappoint, and it would have been just more of the same kudos. How boring is that? As for Emilio's - I have to say that since Dave never did show up with a Davetoon dressed as a flemenco dancer I kind of drifted away from the project.

The other part of it is that a handful of places on the review list have rather become "repeat visits" - which is a great recommendation all by itself.

Since the initial reviews we've had return engagements at Cab's (where I had the kangaroo), and Isabella's which - if Mrs RW had her druthers - would be a once-a-week stop.

And my very first love, the place where I lost my cuisine virginity, the restaurant where I learned what this level of dining was all about and how that was theatre in and of itself, 302West had closed its doors this year. Sadly, for me.

So tonite the monthly foursome meets again - this time at Vie - yet another repeat - but simply because our friends were in California on family business for a few months when Mrs RW and I discovered it. So now we turn them loose on it and away we go!

Don't worry. We'll get after some new places soon enough. Right now we're just kinda busy moving that cart along some good old ruts. Time to stop talking about life for a change and go and have some.

Ta for now!

Stephen Funk doesn't own an iPod or a cell phone. He prefers the touchy-feely worlds of CD rummaging and LP dusting. I'm not sure what he prefers for phones but if he is like me it would be the two-handed models.

Most people seem to like the world of stuff that isn't really there. Who needs mass? Download it yourself. You can find me in the ska section...

Ok I've taken a quick tour around the Blogroll and now I know for a fact that my life is pretty dull and miserable.

Kapgar has a brand new job with a shirt and tie to match and 40,000 people have stopped by to tell him how good he looks, Dave is finding entire containers of porn all over his house, MochaMomma has tickets to the World Series (even though it was rained out tonite they're still good to go tomorrow), and to top it off Avitable has a cabana outside his office as well as a dog who gives High-Fives - and he took a goddamn video of it all!

I flailed all over the house looking for something, anything to show how interesting and cool I am and all I came up with were two bottles of soda left over from last year! And I can't even remember if I drank the other ones or not!



Yeah.

Turkey Gravy and Wild Herb Stuffing Soda.

What. about. it?

sigh

"The technique of infamy is to start two lies at once and set people arguing which one is true." Ezra Pound

"I believe that all government is evil, and that trying to improve it is largely a waste of time." H. L. Mencken

"When people say 'let's do something about it,' they mean 'let's get hold of the political machinery so that we can do something to somebody else.' And that somebody else is invariably you." Frank Chodorov

All my heroes are dead guys. I don't like anybody living, is all. Especially when talking about politicians in general and Democrats and Republicans in particular. This is why you really need to make me the Dictator of the World. Because everybody else just basically sucks right about here.

We've been afraid of ultimate destruction from an evil source outside of our control since the days I used to "duck and cover" under a wooden school bench at St. Mary's. Every moment in history is the "most important moment" ever faced. You can't elect the other guys because it will be the end of civilization and Christmas and pork chops and beer.

In the end it is all a bunch of crap. Politicians spouting code words to the faithful. Then we get to wring our hands and moan about how polarized everything is.

Well ok. Been this way for at least 6000 years. Obviously I am the only one who sees this?

Reason #4 why I should be Dictator. When will you learn?

October 23, 1953

I started working on this birthday post about a week ago. I guess in a way it has turned into a great big honkin' self-fulfilled meme, except it is just a list of answers and no real questions. I hope you really have a good time with it. And at least once in your life you ought to put something like this together and share it with the rest of us. But I also really think it would be a lot cooler if you held off until you're over 45. That's when this really starts to get scary. By the way... All the images will expand when you click them, just in case you'd like to browse.

In 1953, the year I was born...

A Buick looked like this...
The church I was baptized in was over here (and it's still there!)...
The baseball team in DC played in the American League and was known as the Washington Senators. But that's not all. The Oakland A's were the Philadelphia Athletics. The Baltimore Orioles were the St. Louis Browns. The Braves (newly arrived from Boston) played in Milwaukee - not Atlanta. The Giants played in New York - not San Francisco, and the Dodgers were still in Brooklyn.
They even lost to the Yankees in the World Series that year, 4 games to 2.

The original Honeymooners played on very tiny black-and-white TV sets set in big giant consoles.

"The Greatest Show On Earth" was given the Academy Award for best picture of the previous year, and the following year "From Here To Eternity" was named Best Picture of 1953. But that didn't stop them from making something called "Cat-Women of the Moon!"
"Love Starved Moon-Maidens on the Prowl." Hey give it up - Sonny Tufts and Victor Jory were in it!

In 1953 Eugene O'Neill, Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, Josef Stalin, Robert A. Taft, Dylan Thomas, Jim Thorpe, and Hank Williams Sr... died. And Sam Kinison, Tony Blair, Cyndi Lauper, David "Son of Sam" Berkowitz, Kathie Lee Gifford, Ron Jeremy, Dog Chapman, and Kim Basinger... were born.









As the year began President Truman announced the United States had developed the hydrogen bomb, and a few weeks later Dwight D. Eisenhower was sworn in as President and gave the first live, coast-to-coast Presidential inaugural address in history.

Jonas Salk announced the news of a vaccine for polio. The first west-to-east jet flew non-stop from coast to coast. The first 3D Movie "House of Wax" premiered. Scientists first identified something called DNA. Ernest Hemingway won a Pulitzer Prize for "Old Man & The Sea." Edmund Hillary & Tensing Norkay became the first people to reach the top of Mt. Everest. Queen Elizabeth was coronated. The first Corvette came off the production line. Swanson sold the first "TV-Dinner." General Electric announced that all employees who had affiliations of any kind with the Communist Party would be fired. And Richard Nixon visited Hanoi, Viet Nam.

Just for good measure I share birthdays with "Weird Al" Yankovic (1959), Michael Crichton (1942), Johnny Carson (1925) and the inimitable Ms. Sarah Bernhardt (1844).
Can you imagine - she was an actress from two centuries ago and the name is still recognizable. She must have been a sight to see.

And there you have it. So thanks to all you folks who read here, and who let me play around over at your blogs too. Now get outta here before I fetch you a sharp one!

(sniff)

A Man's Lot In Life... Deal With It is what I'm calling this set of bylaws for survival if you are one of those circles with the arrow coming out of it. This is based on the protocol surrounding the "call and response" of appearance and condition. Take a look at what I mean...

1. Her hair is more important than yours. You probably get a cut from the same barber you've been going to for twenty years and you spent maybe $12. She can't ever seem to find the right hairdresser and every stop on the journey costs her another $65 minimum. That's why nobody tells you "nice hair cut" - because it pales to insignificance beside hers, and besides (get over it) nobody gives a crap about your hair unless it is filthy - which is strike three. You pay her a compliment on how her hair looks and that's the end of it.
2. Christmas and Birthdays are for kids and women. Get over it. On Christmas your gift has to top out hers on the expense list. I wouldn't give a hoot in hell for a guy whose wife or girlfriend gave him a more expensive gift on Christmas than he gave her. Unless he is a "kept man", in which case nobody I know would want to have anything to do with him. Get used to ties and shaving cream and shirts and bottles of liquor. That's good enough for you. It's your job to find out what would blow her away - and then get it.
3. Men tell women how good they look right out there in the public view. Women not only spend an hour or two dolling-up because of their own self-respect, but also because they want you to notice them. If they dress up for a date with you, you should be complimented. And if you show up in the perfect nines yourself, that's good enough for you. Women talk about what you look like amongst themselves. They don't do it in public, right out there for the world to hear. So if you're sitting there waiting for someone to tell you how pretty you look - get lost! and get over it.

(As a side note: None of this is to preclude her surprising you with something you can't believe she could get a hold of for your present. But if you get a great meal cooked for you on your birthday - it is only in the realm of guyness to be happy enough about it).

My impression is that if you want people fawning over you, the chances are good that - as a guy - you will have ego problems that will surface eventually and sink the ship. Big time. You're a catastrophe waiting to happen. A ticking timer on the Incident Clock. So check your over-wrought self-love at the door.

And get over it.

I'm excusing people who had to quit for reasons of self abuse. I'm also excusing people who can't drink because of medical conditions. And I can even excuse some people who abstain on religious grounds. But what is the deal, otherwise, with people who don't drink?

I, myself, am not what you'd call a big drinker. Just wine before and during dinner. A glass of Madeira before bed. A nice kahlua and cream after dinner. Maybe a bracing shot of whiskey after shoveling snow. Beer with hotdogs. Beer with sandwiches and chips. Beer with pretzels. Scotch (half water & a drop of ice) when socializing at a bar. Guinness in the spring, outdoors with the first scent of greening. A hot toddy when you get the sniffles (whiskey, honey and lemon juice). Champagne on New Year's. Champagne for breakfast at Christmas. Bloody Marys in the kitchen before heading off for the Bears' game. Vodka lemonades after cutting the grass on a sweltering day. Celebratory liquors like Licor43. Irish Mist. Bailey's on ice. The cool nectar of chambord swirled with champagne. The simple elegance of a martini. Vodka and orange juice. Vodka and cranberry juice. Vodka and lime. Crown Royal, which is a lot like breathing itself. Jack Daniels, which is good for the spirit. Knockandoo. Glenlivet. The Macallen. Black Currant wine. Jello shots. Tequila poppers. Rare cognac. Mozart Chocolate.

No, I just don't get it. Next thing you know they'll be banning alcohol from restaurants. Then I'll have to save it all for my deck like I'm already doing for a cigar now and again.

I am suspicious of non-drinkers who don't have a good reason not to drink. They need to explain themselves, and quickly.

Like Bogart said, "the problem with the world is that everybody is a few drinks behind."

So last night I decided that I was a little overdue for one.

It was a little strange juggling the book and the wine (my wife's suggestion) but I managed to figure it out eventually and settle in just fine. I guess I was a little out of practice. But being alone in the tub was good for it not mattering if you looked a little silly trying to keep the book dry and all (so that's why I'm telling the whole freakin' world about it now).

About 2/3 of the way through (it was just a generic French table Red, btw) I began to get a little self-conscious. Then I remembered why it was I don't take baths.

Think about it.

You're sitting in a static pool of water. Nothing is running to get old water out and new water in like a shower. So you scrub-a scrub-a and squeeze out the hand towel and squeeze more soap out and back you go to scrub-a scrub-a. But just what do you think is happening here, really?

If you are doing a really good job with the scrub-a, you end up sitting in a stagnant pool of water tinged with soap slick, dead skin cells, microscopic creatures that live on all of us drowning and splashing all around you, whatever grime of the day you've gotten off, plus the dried sweat you've cleaned off newly remoisturized in the water. Even if it is all off you when you stand up to get out whatever is close to you - dead microscopic creature bodies included - will layer on you in a film. And when you dry yourself off you can't help but plaster some of it back on somewhere, even if you strenuously scrub yourself.

So... like... what's so great about a bath again?

I couldn't help it. When I finished (the wine) I pulled the plug, stood up and rinsed myself off with a quick shower before stepping out. I mean... thinking about it, how could you not?

I guess this means I was probably the cleanest guy running last night having had a bath and a shower in a sort of concentrated Howard Hughesness. But I tell you true - I may never take another bath again.

I've finished Benjamin Graham's The Intelligent Investor for the second time now. I have written about it here before for maybe two or three people who were interested, and I sometimes even bore people on planes with it from time to time...

(Scene: I've been talking to the person next to me on the plane about his mutual funds and the stock market and at some point say "yeah, I probably should have gone for the economics sheepskin eh?" Then they say something about investing and I pull out this 600-page book from my carry-on and they just chuckle and shake their heads. "I love how you just happen to have that book there.")

So just for those two or three who have been following this series on how much I wuv you and want you to be fabuwuswy rich (and to transplant W's for all your L's - a little known malady that happens to investors) - here's your next installment. Everybody else is hereby excused.

There are 4 things I know from this book for sure. From Graham (who wrote the book and taught them all), Buffet (who was a student of Graham's), and Zweig (whose annotations bring it all up to date staying true to the original principles in language anyone may understand). None of what follows is my own stuff - it comes directly from one of them.

Having done these things for a while now and seen the results for myself I am happy to provide some basic guidelines I use. They are right out of the lesson plan, and they work.

1. There is a difference between an investor and a speculator. The first is actual participation in the economy, the latter is simply gambling.


2. Invest only if you would be comfortable owning the stock even if you had no way of following the daily share price


3. "A great company is not a great investment if you pay too much for the stock."


4. "If a business is worth a dollar and I pay 40 cents for it, something good may happen to me."

The basis of value investing is in not being railroaded to participate up or down in the market based on the herd. When the financial press tells you about a great stock the run up is over for it and there is no sense at all in buying it now. Because of this I am currently on the sidelines in this up market - just happily watching stuff I own appreciate far beyond what it should be appreciating at, for now at least. The cattle want to play a game with all the wonderful records the Dow is setting, and that average is now moving based on that, and little to do with any underlying business activity. October is a great month for companies releasing their financial reports. They'll probably sum up to a mixed bag, then the Dow will take it's October tumble and by November it will settle and more accurately reflect the actual scene.

In other words if you are about to buy a stock simply based on the fact that the Dow is at new highs - Walk away from your account screen and get a beer instead. NOW.

Let them play with their Dow Average. You go call somebody you like and talk about something else. Just do it.

What would you rather talk about... Signs or Sex?

When I released the first 5 Rules for Guys I got a lot of marriage proposals (sorry, already married) and offers of money for the use of my body - which was not the plan.

What I'm really looking for is for someone to just send me money where I don't actually have to do anything for it. See?

So I'm going to put out 3 more rules for guys in the hopes it dawns on some rich females that I need to be rewarded for just being here because having to actually do physical work for money is just really a kooky, funny idea. Silly rabbits.

Today, in honor of the last episode of "Project Runway" we'll stick to some fashion tips.

1. My wife is always teasing me because I like the idea of white or off-white suits. She says I will look like an ice cream salesman. Maybe if I am in a white suit that would be what I look like, I don't know. But I think there is something very cool about it if done well. So today's first rule is, if you wear a white suit you have to look like this, or Sean Connery, or just forget it. I'm working on Sean Connery but I can't seem to lose my hair no matter what I try.


2. White is perfectly okay after Labor Day, by the way. And forget the idea that all the colors have to be toned down after the leaves change. Don't give up on color - or white - when the leaves fall. But look like a man - not like the guy who hands out the free gifts to the first ten thousand fans who arrive at the game.

3. Oversized short pants that allow the tops of your undershorts to show. Big gym shoes the size of Pittsburgh that make your ankles, sticking out from under the oversized shorts, look like pencils. Ball caps worn with the visor anywhere but over your forehead. No woman you want to know would want to be seen near this kind of stuff. It is a treasonable offense. Don't let me catch you.

But getting back to #2 a second - I'm hoping Michael gets back to his white stuff, because he can carry it off with style. All his best was done in white.

I know he's been sucking of late but I'm still on his team.

(you saw it here first)

GET YOUR MUG TODAY!(clicky!)

It isn't assholedness that is ever really the problem - in and of itself. Anyone and everyone can suffer from it from time to time. We have all had our moments of assholedness in our lives. Sometimes we learn from them. Sometimes we don't.

It is when we don't that there are problems. The problem is when assholedness considers itself normal. And even worse than that is the kind of assholedness that considers itself superior to any other process. That breeds a kind of self-righteous assholedness.

Self-righteous assholedness manifests itself in ways that seem incommunicable to most of us. We're speechless in the face of it. We can't really explain it, or rationalize it, or justify it. What does one say to it? By its own justification assholedness allows people to cut in lines. It allows them to ride three inches off your bumper even when everyone is going twenty miles an hour over the limit... in the Right Lane.

And if you give in to assholedness... if you join in the assholedness... it doesn't demonstrate to the originators that their behavior may be questionable. Oh no! It merely feeds those who occupy the assholy pedestal. It just encourages more assholedness.

Until the whole world is covered in assholedness, and the idea of poor behavior is perfectly fine as a cultural marker. Obey your fit, your tantrum, your inner prima donna. This is the tao of the champion circa 2006.

God how I hate the 21st century.

It hasn't gotten to full force yet.


But I thought people might like to see


some pictures of a great car day in Northern Illinois.


In the first hint of fall.
(Pictures get bigger if you click them.)

And yes those are custom made blue seat covers the same color as the exterior.

I have a spot on MySpace.

It is over here.

I have two questions. Now what? and Why?

Actually I have more than 2 questions. Am I supposed to catch sexual predators and throw them in jail from here now? What am I supposed to do with 14 year olds who want to be my "friend"? And why is this giving me the creeps? I put a link from there to here in hopes of getting a new reader or two. Is that what it is for? I erased somebody who seemed to have automatically signed on as a "Friend" - who is that guy and will MySpace be mad at me because I don't want his goofy face on my list?

In my info I made links to define a couple of terms. Since nobody ever clicks that stuff why did I do that? Am I nuts?

Outside of yet another ego thing, what's the point of this?

Are good and evil absolutes?

Will Bullwinkle get to the meeting on time?

Who is Clutch Cargo?

WTF?

Note to the Holiday Inn/Riverview in Charleston, South Carolina: You never know who is staying at your hotel on any given day. So when someone comes back down to the front desk twice to ask what can be done about a room that smells like old human sweat and urine, and you tell him someone will be up to spray the carpets in a few minutes, and nobody arrives either time, be prepared to have that person return home and publish the incident on his blog so that other business travelers - like himself - will be sure and not use your facility.

The Holiday Inn/Riverview in Charleston SC (there - ought to come up in search engines more easily now) is one of these places that tout their southern "charm" but are really empty behind the facade of a couple of palm trees and a building that looks impressive only because it really isn't close to anything else that is cool. Once you leave the pleasant-enough-looking lobby it's over.

All I can say is the guy who was supposed to come up and spray that God-awful, foul stink in that room "when he gets back with the shuttle" must have been on a long trip because he never the hell got where I needed him.

And speaking of useless things - while I was on a plane coming out of Greenville SC to get to Atlanta to get a plane back to Chicago (all of which were late, late, late - thank you Delta Airlines) Atul's Roundtable entry makes a list of things we don't need in the kitchen. My first reaction is to say I don't need Delta Airlines or the Holiday Inn Riverview in Charleston South Carolina (hi googlers!) in my kitchen. But I'll settle on electric can-openers.

How silly are those?

I've stopped mid-packing just now. Shirts and socks and make sure the Soul is in the case. Another early cab and a flight to catch a flight to another place and then the rental and then the customers. And I won't be back until Thursday late.

How can we do this better... how can we do that better... we can do those for you, you know...

And I'll be missing my wife and missing my office and missing my shower. MY shower. MY sink. MY mirror.

Today I stood in the middle of our new facility, looking at the ceiling, listening to the molders and the lathes, beside the bins of parts and rails and treads of 20 different species of well-milled lumber and wondered what it would be like to be running a printing press on the clock again - like I did when we were first married.

Punch in and punch out and run your jobs and go home. Then stay home and sleep at home. And wake up at home. And let somebody else worry about the margin and what's out there to get and where the new orders will be coming from.

I can get by making less than I am right now. It wouldn't be an economic stretch. I've put a lot aside, and the bills would still be manageable. Ten years, twelve years and out. Then coffee on the deck and books and ship models and out to dinner with friends and no required attendance in the midst of some factory and office.

What if I just said "screw it"? And scaled back, and hunkered down, and simplified, and took the load off. What would happen then, I wonder?

I found this meme at Man About Mayfair who got it from The Hatemonger's Quarterly who was sent it by Postmodern Conservative after being tagged by John Tabin who was tagged by Dave Weigel who was sent it through the Dredge Report who got it from Todd A who saw it at John Baker who first read it at It's A Crime where... strangely enough... the trail goes cold.

I've seen it before so I don't think it originated at Crime but... then again who knows? A little investigation would inform me - but I've done more work on tracking this meme down than any blogger I know of, recently, so I guess you'll have to live with the results just as they are, won't you?

Anyway I've seen it so many times now I just figure it is fate's way of saying DO IT ALREADY! So why not? I won't tag anyone but if you grab it why not note it's genesis as you go? Maybe by 2013 it will finally die.

1. One book that changed your life
Most people are going with some heavy political tome or the Bible or Ayn Rand. I'll pick a book I read in the 3rd grade called "We Were There At The Battle of the Alamo". It was written at a pre-junior high level but I remember it being the first "real" book I ever read cover to cover. It changed my life because it gave me reading as a thing I could do no matter what.

2. One book you have read more than once
Carl Sandburg wrote a biography of Abraham Lincoln years ago and it is the first book of the trilogy "The Prairie Years" that I have read at least four times.

3. One book you would want on a desert island
I think "The Art of French Cooking" would be good.

4. One book that made you cry
I have not had this reaction to a book... yet. I imagine I will, but if we were talking movies I have a couple.

5. One book that made you laugh
Nowadays a little known and largely unheralded writer by the name of Joyce Cary wrote a series about an eccentric artist and the concluding work, "The Horse's Mouth", just caught me at the right angle. I have gone back and not laughed as much. I don't know why. Must have been a full moon.

6. One book you wish had been written
Well for God's sake I am waiting forever for Edmund Morris to finish the third book in his biography of Teddy Roosevelt. The first two "The Rise of Theodore Roosevelt" and "Theodore Rex" are probably two of the best biographical works ever done, but TR's life had a third stage just as colorful as the first two and I have been waiting for Morris to put it out - if he ever will - since 2001. He published the first book in 1979 so I guess I may have to wait until 2023 but I may be dead by then so for Christ's sake hurry Edmund!

7. One book you wish had never been written
The Communist Manifesto. Prosaic blithering garbage that caused two generations of trouble before people finally discovered it SUCKED.

8. One book you are currently reading
"North To The Orient" by Anne Morrow Lindbergh. I should have been finished by now but I haven't been doing a lot of reading outside of financial stuff for a while now. It is a singular and great book written in the 30's and reissued.
Plus she was kind of a doll back in that 1930 airplane gear, don't you think?

9. One book you have been meaning to read
I bought a collection of Edgar Allen Poe's works put out by Penguin and have been intending to read it. I think we need to remember our native classics more because the modern world is shit, you know.

Anyway take what you want & note the genealogy, if you would.

(click to enlarge)

When I left work Friday afternoon I didn't go home. In fact I went in the opposite direction and didn't stop going until I was a hundred miles farther. I had a rendezvous to make and I didn't bring my wife.

But I did have a team of mice keeping me company overnight. They needed their toenails clipped and were working on some wood project or other - I couldn't tell. But I recognized that I was the interloper in their little cabin and all I could do was to hope the project turns out okay. Whatever it was.

The group I was with broke "camp" late this afternoon and we all headed back home. And here I sit with a touch of the sniffles.

But during the adventure there were a great many revelations to be had. And the most important, for me, was found in observation and a quiet, purposeful watching. Just so that all this Kumbaya didn't go to waste, you understand.

I found a great little diner in Princeton with that good old-time, hometown diner cooking that really makes meals in a place like that special. Good canned vegetables and a slice of nondescript meat. The kind of place that puts the A1 sauce on the table without you having to ask for it. And also the kind of place where you have to loosen your belt before you get up. In fact if you aren't wearing your eatin' pants you've made a major miscalculation.

But it dawned on me during this trip that there are certain markers, sure signs, of civilization in the world. Evidence that the modern world has preceded you with all its new understandings and effects. Chief of which is honey mustard salad dressing.

Honey Mustard salad dressing must be the vanguard of civilization. If where you are eating doesn't have it, you have outrun your guide (so to speak) and are breaking into new territory.

I have been to the mountaintop.....

You probably weren't born in Acalayong, and you probably weren't born in Mangan, Sikkim either. Even if you were, you didn't stay there. You're here now and where you are has an influence on you. You're not the person you'd be if you'd spent your whole life skimming your pirogue on Lake Chad. And no matter what else - you're still you anyhow.

But what if you weren't you?

Sereena expresses her own mind at all times. If she was born in North Korea would she still be iconoclastic?

If Stephen or one of his doggie buddies were born and raised on the streets of Khan Yunis, would any one of them be a terrorist by now and, being a fundamentalist, denounce music?

Likewise if he were born in Arabia would prego be a mullah, or would he be an furtive nonbeliever, atheisting in hidden corners of the mosque?

Would Steph Waller still be an artist after having grown up Amish?

How much of you is here now and what would you leave behind if you were somewhere else? What version of you would you have if you started in another worldview where some of the stuff you do now isn't done - or even more - where stuff you don't know about isn't being done now because you simply don't know about it? Would you be an expert at that? Would you love your shaman's cigar as much as your paycheck?

Who is in there, anyway? And just who do we think we are? Krali Marko?

Some odd things on an odd day. Didn't the whole day seem just weird? Or am I just stealing some of agent bedhead's thunder today?

Until about twenty minutes ago I never heard of Shanna Moakler. After reading the news I wanted to see if I recognized her from anything. Nope. But doing a search on Google netted me some... er... unexpected pictures. Here's a nice(r) one. Point being I have just decided that I am a big fan of hers. But not because of the... um... other pictures. Three cheers for her! Whoever she is.

I'm sure if Paris takes her to court Shanna won't punch the judge as if she had been arrested in Arkansas for drunk driving and showed up drunk. She couldn't be this stupid.

And am I the only one who thinks it is kind of strange that men can be sexually assaulted? The recent cases of pretty, young, female teachers having sex with their younger male students is bad... I guess... but I suppose I had a twisted fantasy life when I was 14. God, how I hate the 21st century...

There was somebody else wishing for another century in Austria, I see. Guess this is what happens in a country where people don't use deodorant, you just don't notice and end up walking by this kind of thing. But my question is - since he'd been paying his rent all along automatically, should the landlord give it back? Interesting ethical question.

In the meantime we always knew the libbie loonies on Malibu were full of....... themselves. How funny is this?

Ah me. I need a drink. Life is a state of mind.

This all started back in February when bobgirrl was observing that all of the men she knew fell into 4 buckets and, from her ruminations (as there is no musing in Blogball), none of them were of much use to her - or to anybody else by the look of things.

Recently she has exchanged some communications with a character she calls Hans who seems to be a member of a bucket here and a bucket there. In coming to the lady's aid, fellow member of the Legion of Well-Dressed Men, our own Basil, uncovered the revelation (as there is also no meandering in Blogball) that women also come in a few bucket flavors.

This is a vein I cannot be anything but a clot in. For I, being so far gone from the single-professional-dating scene that I would be more likely to recognize a shoe brush than an available female, and wouldn't know what to do with one if presented therewith, am left with no where to go in this exchange except to say that a few Robert's Rules are probably in order. And reading what passes for conversation in Hans' universe (that's bucket here / bucket there link above) gives me a strong desire to fill an orifice with the tip of a shoe share a few pointers.

I don't know if the modern guy knows these things, but there are a few items that used to endear a fellow to the side of the aisle where the circles with the crosses sit. If this is unrecognizable to anyone, accept my apologies in advance.

I don't know what Bucket it would put you in, but rather than engaging in smiley faces and Instant Messenger code...

1. Don't talk about yourself all night. She may care at the start but by the time you get to your mother's Christmas cards and the kid who blew snot out his ear in the fourth grade you have already shut down the original landing probes.

2. Grudges and ill will are things a man should never harbor. No matter how much you may have been jerked or insulted or even (don't say it) hurt by someone or some group in your life - let it go. Don't think on it further. Move on. The reasoning behind this is that if you've ever heard a guy express his grudges to a young woman at table he eventually begins to sound like a nefarious villain in a Marvel Comic explaining why he is going to take over the world to the hero who he has tied up above the bubbling oil. Just. don't.

3. I don't care what the social structure is or what the woman may want - you open the door, you pay the tab, and you tell her she looks good. If any of those things offend her A. she probably is too serious for you and/or B. shrug and smile and defer to "just being that way", and look her straight in the eye with humor. But no apology.

4. Smell good. In fact you should labor mightily to never smell bad in her presence.

5. When the mugger appears from the alley don't position yourself so that she is between him and you. That is a sure way to end the relationship.

After all, how do you think I fooled won Mrs RW?

Ah. Seduction.

When stocks are up everybody and their brother is running to the market. The next big thing is everywhere you look. If you don't get in on this run up you'll miss the boat. The bulls are out and we must RUN with them!

And when the market is going down, people run away as fast as they can. They see everything going down and all the talk shows and all the financial analysts and all the big trade publications are moaning and wailing and wringing their hands. Suddenly the last thing anyone wants to do is have their money in the market! My God - better to have it under the bed!

That's how the herd thinks, and that's how it really goes out there. Even if you are not an investor, just paying cursory attention to people talking about this activity at a party or any kind of get-together, will lead you to understand that this is in fact an accurate picture of the way things are. And that is how our brains are wired after centuries of survival tactics in the social group. Fight or flight. Hit or run. Knee or jerk. It is a natural reflex.

And it couldn't be more wrong. The world is full of do-it-yourself investors who run in fairly when the market is on the rise and who likewise make for the nearest exit when the numbers start to bleed red. They are all busy buying on the upswing, and when the numbers start to drop - presto! Sell sell sell.

Then, like the typical loser of the universe, they will tell you the market is a scam and nobody but insiders can make money at it.

One could ask whatever happened to "buy LOW and sell HIGH?" And that would be a halfway intelligent question. Well, sorry to say, once the stampede begins in one direction or another that old parable just gets tossed out the window with the bank statements and savings plans.

But I put to you that the time to buy is when people are running away, and the time to sell is when everyone wants what you have. The entire key is being willing to hold your cards long enough for the herd to come back to you.

This is not to say that just having any old beaten-up stock will make you rich once people get excited about stocks again. Not in the least. The basis of value investing is looking for stocks of good companies that are selling at less than what the company is worth.

Warren Buffet distilled the motivation behind this idea by explaining the investment rationale behind his compatriot Walter Schloss' approach...

"If a business is worth a dollar and I can buy it for 40 cents, something good may happen to me."

The trick - in this scatterlogical and manic age - is patience.

The first place to start is at a thing called book value, and you can find the book value of any stock at any MSN or Google or CNN site that gives you stock quotes. If the book value of a stock is MORE than the price per share of the stock you could buy it for on the open market, that means the stock itself is actually selling for less than it is really worth, and you have a candidate for a "Value Investment."

Making a list of those kinds of stocks on any given day does not create a BUY list. But it does create a list of potential buys once you do the next step of the homework. We'll cover that once this sinks in.

You come in here with a skull full of mush and if you survive, you'll end up thinking like an INVESTOR.



Hmmmm. You know... I'm beginning to think that meme was right about me after all...

The following is a guest review by Poppy Buxom who is well trusted in these kinds of things. I have been quite a fan of her blog for a while now and need to get to know her rich friends better am constantly enriched by her observations. You should be a regular over there--especially if you like Felix the Cat. Please extend a warm welcome ...
----------------------------
Here are three things you need to know right away:

1. As far as I'm concerned, if a restaurant has a liquor license, it's good. If the waiters manage to bring me my food without messing up the order or blathering my head off, it's very good. If someone else is picking up the check, it's excellent.

2. Before Friday night, I hadn't eaten at Charlie Trotter's since 1989.

3. In 1989 I hated it.

Now that I've established the parameters of my so-called "review," I'll get on with it.

As I cast my mind back to the dawn of time, i.e., to the first time I went to Charlie Trotter's, what stands out for me is the unbelievable amount of blathering that went on. It was a business meal, and I guess one of the people at the table (sensing that we had nothing in common with each other except the food we were eating) decided to ask the waiter questions about every course that he brought to the table. We were then treated to long, rhapsodic descriptions of every ingredient in every course, and every technique being used to prepare it. This being a restaurant that serves its meals in lots of little courses, before long the stream of foodie drivel about the way our dishes were napped with a veal demi-glace and a puree of some arugula, finished with a garnish of truffle oil and fresh-ground pink peppercorns had my eyes rolling like a slot machine.

Flash forward to 2006. Instead of it being a work evening, with all the ass-kissing that entails, this was purely social; a pair of friends decided to take us out because we are such nice people.

And the good news is that Charlie Trotters has calmed down.

I'm not saying the people who worked there weren't highly aware that they worked in a temple of gastronomy, because they were. But there was a minimum of attitude, and even more important, the waitstaff didn't feel the need to fill us in on the precise shade of peppercorn that was ground on top of the third course of our eight-course meal.

In fact, I would say that the service was the best I have ever had. Our wine glasses were refilled and our plates removed with a minimum of fuss. I didn't even notice when new cutlery was set down for each course. This allowed us to actually converse with each other. So that was nice.

In addition, the communication between the sommelier and the rest of the staff was extraordinary. My host told the sommelier that he (the sommelier) had made such stellar recommendations when he (my host) was there a couple of weeks ago that he'd like him to pick our wine again.

Naturally, this meant that we drank some wonderful wines, because Charlie Trotter has an impressive wine cellar. Unfortunately, I also means that I have no idea what we were drinking. We started with a bottle of vintage champagne, then had a LeTrobe Chablis, then a Spanish red, then a bottle of Sauterne. They were all delicious. The champagne, in particular, was extraordinary. Too bad I don't know what it was. At any rate, that's four bottles. Which is a lot for four people. So it's no wonder I don't remember what we had.

The food also escapes my memory, and not because of the wine. It was excellent, but nothing really stands out for me. Three of us had the Grande Degustation menu, and I had the vegetable one. Not because I'm a vegetarian, (they use veal stock and such, but will make changes to accommodate you if you are a vegetarian) I just like vegetables, and I figured I'd see what the chefs at Trotter's could do with these undervalued foodstuffs.

So I don't really remember that much about my dinner. Here's what I had, courtesy of the on-line menu, along with my reaction:

1. Amuse Gueule: Some sort of pickle-y combination of Japanese preserved vegetables and seaweed. Not exciting, but not filling. An appetite-whetter.

2. Illinois Heirloom Tomato with Leek Confit, Mache & Basil-Infused Tomato Consomme. OK, this was a few of slices of tomato, with the seeds and juice removed and then the equivalent amount of liquid restored by way of this consomme stuff. And garnished nicely. And it tasted like a very intense tomato. Which is fine with me, because I love tomatoes.

3. Dusted Globe Artichoke with Water Mint, Pine Nut Butter & White Anchovy. This was tasty. I think the "dusted" globe artichoke was also fried. I didn't notice the other ingredients.

4. Washington Matsutake Mushrooms with Elephant Garlic, Roasted Shallots & Black Mission Fig Sauce. Some kind of mushroom dish. Meh. Mushrooms. I did notice a bit of fig in one bite, and that was so awesome I wished I'd gotten more.

5. Parslied Steel Cut Oats with Chanterelles, Baby Turnips, Braised Parsnip & Sage Infused Red Wine Essence. This was kind of like risotto, except with oats instead of rice. It was very tasty.

6. Farmers' Cheese Semifreddo with Concord Grapes. This was a small serving of creamy white cheese sitting on a pool of grape water. (I'm not kidding, that's what they called it.) Sort of the Platonic Ideal version of crackers, cream cheese and grape jelly they used to give us for dessert back in grade school. Except without the crackers.

7. Organic Peaches with Sesame Creme & Szechwan Peppercorns. I was really looking forward to the organic peaches, but it turns out the menu lied: I didn't get any. I did get the raspberries that were on the Grande menu. The menu omitted to mention a weird crispy thing on the top of the raspberries with, I believe, some kind of salt sprinkled on top. I suppose it was fleur de sel or some such. That was the only course that really went over the top into the area of foodie nonsense.

8. Mignardises. This was the trays of pate de fruits, macaroons, chocolate thingies, plus some blobs of vanilla ice cream. They thought they'd get me tingling with voluptuous glee over the fact that the ice cream was made with duck eggs, but no. There was also a small slice of some heavenly espresso/dark chocolate mousse/cake, so soft and cloud-like that I wondered how they got it onto the plate.

The coffee was good but kept me up half the night, and what's with having Demarara sugar lumps and the pink packets and the blue packets but not having Splenda? Tsk, tsk!

So much for the food.

A final paean of praise for the service. Because he had eaten there three weeks ago, when the menu had been the same, they decided to serve my host a completely different meal from what was on the menu. I guess for Trotter's, it is simply unacceptable to repeat themselves so soon. My host also requested a cheese course with a bottle of Sauternes, so they happily added that to the eight we were getting. They also gave us a tour of the wine cellar (where we could goggle shamelessly at the $19,000 bottle of 1870 Chateau Lafite Rothschild) and the kitchen (where we could goggle at the 14-foot custom range and the vast army of line chefs, sous chefs, garnish chefs, and pastry chefs in evidence. And oh my God, the cleanliness.)

And then, when the valet brought us our car, they handed me a little wrapped package, which turned out to be some sort of coffee cake from Trotter To Go. So not only did I get a lovely meal, but they also gave me breakfast.

So, in sum: service ***** Wine ***** Food *** and a half, maybe ****. If you ever make friends with a generous big shot with deep pockets, I highly recommend it. It's excellent. Would I pay for it myself? Probably not. I'm afraid I have other--far more mundane--uses for my money.

Labels: Guest Blogger, restaurant reviews