Eat well and drink plenty well

The longest day of the year carries special significance for an avid outdoorsman. As the culmination of the protracted uphill struggle against long nights, the day celebrates all the promises of extended explorations.
The days never get too stretched out in Santa Barbara. I fondly recall younger days in Paris where I would hang out in the Champs-de-Mars gardens below the Eiffel Tower until nearly 11 p.m. in daylight. A primary motivation to return to Alaska and visit the Yukon, Northwest Territories and Nunavut centers around the daylong summer daylight. I saw a picture of a baseball game played out in Barrows on the Northern Slope above the Arctic Circle. At 3 a.m. the sun shines brightly – it is wild!
Sadly, this day of seasonal cosmic alignment also signifies the beginning of the gradual decline until a day, six months hence, when our deprived senses will bottom out before the cycle starts again. But for now, time is for celebration and Santa Barbara ushers in the summer with an organic parade.
Modestly, I marked the occasion with my most elaborate meal to date. I prepared a Pan-Seared Mahi Mahi with Olive Oil Potatoes and Bell Pepper-Saffron Emulsion, adapting a recipe that called for halibut (flétan en français) out of economic necessity. One would imagine that living by the ocean would result in cheap fish and seafood, but fresh halibut goes for $20 a pound/37 € a kilo!
This adjustment aside, I am proud of my tasty dish. It was not too long ago that even rudimentary cooking and culinary concepts overwhelmed me. It was Patricia who responded kindly to my naïve and elementary questions during last summer’s hikes. Her basic but essential recipes built a foundation from which to go forward.
For Christmas, she bought me a copy of Andrew Weil and Rosie Daley’s “The Healthy Kitchen.” It is vital to eat with eye toward the least amount of processing and additives, and a reliance on locally grown, if not organic, produce and meat. (I have noticed that the amount I spend at traditional chain supermarkets has nose-dived, while my expenditures at farmers markets, produce and grocery stores has soared.) Both objectives tend to increase the cost of the food basket, but by being careful I have been able to purchase quality ingredients without bankrupting myself. There is, however, too great a correlation between decent food and price.
In addition to the markets, I have enrolled two stores to help me along. The butchering staff at Lazy Acres has made my life much simpler by cutting meat and poultry to my requests. Trader Joes stocks economical but tasty and healthy foodstuffs. Where would I be without Charles Shaw’s $1.99 cabernet?
When I visited my sister Anic, who spent fall 2005 in Montreal with her husband Alain, we checked out the local markets like the Marché Jean Talon, establishing that there is a tradition of fine eating in North America. I watched her cajole meals out of zucchini, rabbit and polenta – and took notes.
By the bias of long distance phone calls, my friend Nan was also encouraging in my baby steps toward a better tomorrow through good eating!
I have relied on the Wednesday Food Section of the New York Times for inspiration and direction, as I have from the magazine Saveur and countless Web sites and an occasional television program.
I passed a landmark when I pulled off a complete Thanksgiving dinner from scratch. While Elisabeth was in France pestering my mother for more recipes still, I indulged in a full week of Asian meals to mark the passing of the (Chinese) New Year.
Knowing how to prepare food – an absolute basic survival skill – empowers me and grounds me in my environment. I love going to the markets and chat with the vendors. I also enjoy the food preparation, but I am not all that fond of washing the pile of dishes afterward.
Over the course of this year I have, without dedication, lost 10 lbs/4 ½ kilos, something I attribute to understanding what I eat and the variety of dishes I prepare. (Notwithstanding, and as previously noted, my doctor expressed concern after a recent physical examination that, at 188 lbs/85 kg clothed, I was “well within the overweight range,” and furthermore, “getting close to obesity.”)
Our body is our self. As much as the learning curve is great, I encourage any one who reads this to become more conscious of what they eat and how it gets to their plate.
Take time. Savor the flavors. You will not save any time by cooking meals from scratch. But you will save your sanity.

Eat well and drink plenty well!

14 June 2006 T'éé'jí at Treebones

In Tse'gihi
In the house made of the dawn,
In the house made of the evening twilight,
In the house made of the dark cloud,
In the house made of the he-rain,
In the house made of the dark mist,
In the house made of the she-rain,
In the house made of pollen,
In the house made of grasshoppers,
Where the dark mist curtains the doorway,
The path to which is on the rainbow,
Where the zigzag lightning stands high on top,
Where the he-rain stands high on top,
Oh, male divinity!


With your moccasins of dark cloud, come to us.
With your leggings of dark cloud, come to us.
With your shirt of dark cloud, come to us.
With your headdress of dark cloud, come to us.
With your mind enveloped in dark cloud, come to us.
With the dark thunder above you, come to us soaring.
With the shaped cloud at your feet, come to us soaring.
With the far darkness made of the dark cloud over your head, come to us soaring.
With the far darkness made of the he-rain over your head, come to us soaring..
With the far darkness made of the dark mist over your head, come to us soaring.
With the far darkness made of the she-rain over your head, come to us soaring.
With the zigzag lightning flung out on high over your head, come to us soaring.
With the rainbow hanging high over your head, come to us soaring.
With the far darkness made of the he-rain on the ends of your wings, come to us soaring.
With the far darkness made of the dark mist on the ends of your wings, come to us soaring.
With the far darkness made of the she-rain on the ends of your wings, come to us soaring.
With the zigzag lightning flung out on high on the ends of your wings, come to us soaring.
With the rainbow hanging high on the ends of your wings, come to us soaring.
With the near darkness made of the dark cloud, of the he-rain, of the dark mist and of the she-rain, come to us.
With the darkness of the earth, come to us. With these I wish the foam floating on the flowing water over the roots of the great corn.


I have made your sacrifice.
I have prepared a smoke for you.
My feet restore for me.
My limbs restore for me.
My body restore for me.
Mt mind restore for me.
My voice restore for me.
Today, take out your spell for me.
Today, take away your spell for me.
Away from me you have taken it.
Far off from me, it is taken. Far off you have done it.

Happily I recover.
Happily my interior becomes cool.
Happily my eyes regain their power.
Happily my head becomes cool.
Happily my limbs regain their power.
Happily I hear again.
Happily for me is taken off.
Happily I walk.
Impervious to pain, I walk.
Feeling light within, I walk.
With lively feelings, I walk.
Happily abundant dark clouds I desire.
Happily abundant dark mists I desire.
Happily abundant passing showers I desire.
Happily an abundance of vegetation I desire.
Happily an abundance of pollen I desire.
Happily abundant dew I desire.
Happily may fair white corn, to the ends of the earth, come with you.
Happily may fair yellow corn, to the ends of the earth, come with you.
Happily may fair blue corn, to the ends of the earth, come with you.
Happily may fair plants of all kinds, to the ends of the earth, come with you.
Happily may fair goods of all kinds, to the ends of the earth, come with you.
Happily may fair jewels of all kinds, to the ends of the earth, come with you.


With these before you, happily may they come with you.
With these behind you, happily may they come with you.
With these below you, happily may they come with you.
With these above you, happily may they come with you.
With these all around you, happily may they come with you. Thus happily you accomplish your tasks.

Happily the old men will regard you.
Happily the old women will regard you.
Happily the young men will regard you.
Happily the young women will regard you.
Happily the boys will regard you.
Happily the girls will regard you.
Happily the children will regard you.
Happily the chiefs will regard you.
Happily, as they scatter in different directions, they will regard you.
Happily, as they approach their homes, they will regard you.
Happily may their roads back home be on the trail of pollen.
Happily may they all get back.


In beauty I walk.
With beauty before me, I walk.
With beauty behind me, I walk.
With beauty below me, I walk.
With beauty above me, I walk.
With beauty all around me, I walk.
It is finished in beauty,
It is finished in beauty,
It is finished in beauty,
It is finished in beauty.

The California Six

Visitors to the Sansum Santa Barbara Medical Clinic need an escort to walk down the stairs to the laboratory. Deemed unsafe for solitary passage, the ailing and nearly ailing must journey to the basement in the typically slow hospital elevators.

This amusing circumstance was on my mind as I drove off after having my blood dutifully drawn and my urine gently left behind. This concluded my annual physical, punctuated this year by my doctor commenting I was quite overweight and nearing obesity. (I weigh 188lbs/85kg clothed!)

I punched in my National Public Radio affiliate and caught a segment of the 9 a.m. news on the California primary election. Reliably professional and authoritative, I frowned when I heard a journalist introduce a story on Phil Angelides and Steve Westly, “the two Democratic candidates for governor.” Later, I checked other news organizations and Mr. Angelides and Mr. Westly received the same presentation.

One could poll California residents and never come away with a sense the race for the Democratic nomination included other candidates. Because election rules do not mandate public debates between candidates, campaigning occurs on the nation television channels by the bias of commercials instead. Both contenders filled the airwaves with countless comparative ads where each in turn attacks the other’s supposed stand on issues. In spite of a professed pledge to steer clear of mudslinging, the tone inevitably and invariably reaches a feverish pitch where little information is conveyed.

Spending about U.S. $70 million between them, their coffers easily dwarfed the resources of six other candidates vying for the nomination to battle it out in the November general election. I cannot recall a single commercial for anyone else. Parties do not face the standard campaigning limitations imposed in other democracies. The race starts whenever and runs until election day. Candidates may purchase an unlimited amount of advertisements - whether on television, radio, print, Internet or direct mail – with but the bare control over content. As noted, debates are not mandatory, and television stations do not have to devote equal time, or any time, to the various candidates or referendum propositions.
An Official Voter Information Guide is mailed to registered voters in California. It contains ballot measure information in an argument for/rebuttal to argument in favor/argument against/rebuttal to argument against format that will not keep anyone awake late into the night but is instructive. Candidates for statewide office who accept the voluntary expenditure limit may purchase a statement to be included in the guide. It appears counterproductive to ask for a voluntary restraint and insist on payment in order to publish campaign material.
The state expects gubernatorial aspirants to spend no more than $6,690,000: Individually, Mr. Angelides and Mr. Westly each quintupled it.

Ideally, the news media would seize the opportunity to balance the oft-maligned impact of these staggering sums in the political process. (Many object to the purchasing of power, but the indignation does not translate in any meaningful reform.) At a minimum, any candidacy qualifies as news and ought to receive coverage, thus fulfilling the essential mission of a news organization.

I ran a news search on Google to learn how often all eight candidates for the Democratic governorship nomination had received a mention in an article or program. Mr. Angelides was cited 2,490 times and Mr. Westly 2,370 times. The news media were far less generous in their coverage of the other six office seekers. Barbara Becnel got the third most mentions at 17; Joseph Brouillette picked up 8; Jerald Gerst managed 5; Vibert Greene bottomed with 3; Frank Macaluso Jr. did only marginally better with 4; and Michael Strimling topped at 9 citations.

The size of the campaign coffers of Ms. Becnel, Mr. Brouillette, Mr. Gerst, Mr. Greene, Mr. Macaluso and Mr. Strimling escapes me, but I surmise it does not rise, even cumulatively, to the state maximum spending guidelines. The extent of media coverage is in direct proportion to the amount spent on advertising. No cash translates to no interest. In that context, NPR et al will see no editorial letdown in the failure to cover these six campaigns. Candidates cannot buy journalistic coverage, but it is not necessary when the journalists themselves only rise to attention when money is flashed.

When the ballots were counted, Mr. Angelides, most often mentioned, garnered 980,065 votes. Media runner-up Mr. Westly scored second place with 888,948 votes. The pair nabbed 91 percent of the votes, slightly less than the 99 percent of the news mentions they controlled, but remarkably on par.

On the Republican side, Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger easily cruised to the nomination with 90 percent. Improbable as it sounds, such lopsided victories are the norm for incumbents. Often they face no opposition at all. Curiously, while voters forever complain they have no faith in existing politicians, they return them en masse. It is an extremely rare day when an incumbent, or a hand-picked successor, fails in his or her bid, be it at the primaries or general election.

The impotent - and self-important - news media are only too happy to oblige.

Elsewhere in the country, anti-gay marriage initiatives fared well, feeding on our pervasive insanity. The White House, with Congress in tow, pushed the Constitutional amendment matter back onto the limelight, where it was certain to fail. We have now proceeded to another hot issue, that of flag burning. Nothing else could possibly preoccupy us.

Meanwhile, for two weeks on Santa Barbara’s State Street, dozens of rainbow flags peeked from under blooming purple jacaranda trees into the June fog.

Brave new world

This guy gets a phone call, and guess what?
A local paper is looking for a reporter, someone able to work independently and get on the ball. Someone with balls, perhaps.
This local paper doesn’t amount to much. It’s a shitty rag, but with high hopes of cleaning up its unremarkable antecedants.

An exclusively uphill task, considering not a single reporter trained to be a reporter.

We get all worked up. We hear magnificent stories of new ownership and (re)new(ed) drive to pour resources, staff and money, to fashion a worthy newspaper.
There is a commitment, you understand, a commitment to greatness after years of abysmal crap.

The game begins.

Phone calls are exchanged.
E-mails carry resumé and clips.
An interview is set up, and oh well, you will pardon if the boss is disorganized. He has a lot on his plate: You would be a little dazed, too.

The news hole is one big hole, but that means more chance for your stories to stand out. Remember they are serious about turning things around. These people are journalist professionals. They have experience. They bring the backing of a respected news organization.
This way, the guy doesn’t have to leave town to go beg in god forsaken shit holes where mediocre editors, intoxicated on their own stench, want the world delivered for free.
Even then, word on the potholed street is that any job, even a crappy one for a crappy wage and no benefits in a crappy town with crap to do should be construed as a gift. As advancement toward the noble goal of a paid writing career.

The conditioning works overtime. If they are hungry, let them eat cake.

This job looks positively glorious contrasted to this grotesque mind set.

But, uh. I forgot to say. Someone – I can’t quite say who, but not a former boss – kinda said, you know, that you were, uh, hard to work with, what is the word he used, that you were high maintenance. This makes me uncomfortable because I need to hire someone who’s not going to be a pain in the behind, basically. Someone who can enterprise stories. (Don’t you love that word, “enterprise”? We are barely disguising our ultimate commercial goal.) Someone who will not cause trouble.

So, umm, I was thinking about a probation period. You know, like I see if I like you, if you are not too high maintenance. And you see if you like us. A win-win situation.

(gasp)

How sweet.

But, but, the man is offering you a job. Focus on the positive. He presents you with an exciting, unrivaled opportunity.

Kiss his goddammed ring!

A long weekend and passions abate. No more probation period. You are a good guy. Of course you are. I always knew it.
So when can you start?
Great! One last thing, though. I haven’t quite gotten the go ahead on the position yet. Just a few phone calls and it will all be squared away, no worries.

(another 24 hours)

Hey, it’s me. I swear I didn’t know, but there’s a hiring freeze. But, tell you what, until I am told not to do something, I’ll do it. So you go ahead and come over. Your first day will be ….

The chum drives to the newsroom, not nearly as motivated as two weeks ago, but he can read the writing on the wall as well as the next guy. He needs a job, and if this shit passes for respectable behavior, so be it.

A few informal introductions and he is given a couple of stories to work on. He doesn’t want to appear high maintenance, but still it would be nice to know how much he will get paid, benefits and all. I know, trivial stuff. The more comfy people are in their own financial well-being, the quicker they are to look at those things as inconsequential. But for the working stiff, knowing how and when a paycheck will arrive ranks very high on the list of essential requirements.

Lunchtime with a friendly lady, drafted to work for free as an intern and still nursing gracious illusions and the call comes.

How would you like to work freelance?

Hwy 101 revisited

An improvised trip, at the last minute like many of my adventures, and I was off with my friend Patricia who took a few days away from the home nest to celebrate her XXth birthday. By "XX" I don't mean 20, either, but the tentacles of censorship reach wide...

After a short detour to explore caves and implore cows at Pinnacles National Monument, a pleasant if oft-overlooked park in the range separating the rather plain Salinas Valley from the even more drab Central Valley, we stopped for a bite to eat at a taqueria in Soledad. While Patricia checked on her ill mom's health, I munched on tongue.
NOT cat tongue!

She checked in the Hotel Bohème in San Francisco's North Beach, a district once replete with Beat poets and wannabe poets, before the 1960s would bring another lively crowd to town. Sandwiched between a populous and tumultuous Chinatown and a touristy Fisherman's Wharf, it is home to lots of European-inspired delis, cafes and restaurants. Not that bugs present too much of a problem in the City, but the hotel saw fit to equip each bed with a net, from behind which Patricia could find refuge from indiscrete stares.

The trip north provided an excellent opportunity to nab my other friend and hiking partner Peter. After successive relocations to Eureka, Calif., then Eugene, Ore., and finally Bellingham, Wash., within sight of the Canadian border, he decided to shorten the space between his Santa Barbara origins and a new hometown when he picked Windsor on the outskirts of Santa Rosa in the North Bay. The man may relish tall trees and year-round greenery, but he also admitted that 364 days of rain gets old and moldy quick. When he pulled in from of the Sequoia Theater in Mill Valley, he was wearing shorts for the first time this year. It was 27 May!
Check out the pale legs climbing up the Hogback on the way to Mount Tamalpais, a southern Marin landmark overlooking pretty much the entire known world.

We paused on the east side of the summit, sheltered from the blustery howls coming in from the Pacific. I met a group of people from France - including some from the Reunion Island in the Indian Ocean - who questioned the concept of our mythical California weather. I confirmed it is indeed a myth..

We finished the day on another French note by attending a hilarious modern adaptation (screw the rich then, screw the rich now) of Molière's "The Miser" ("L'Avare" in the original) at the Berkeley Repertory Theater. I blame you, Monsieur Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, for indoctrinating my young impressionable teen mind with distaste for greed and ridicule of financial idolatry. Imagine what I could have achieved, what my generations and those that preceded me down this infantile respect for core human values could have achieved, if instead you would have written a play venerating money? It is not too late. For the sake of future generations, our children, I beg the French (and European, for that matter) educational authorities to reject Molière and his ilk, these leftists miscreants, and shower us with prose and rhyme that venerates our true God.
(And because we had a puttanesca that forgot to include spicy peppers, olives and anchovies at a restaurant before the show, I have volunteered to perform my interpretation of the classic Italian sauce for Patricia tomorrow..)

While I had to fly back home to attend to my official city duties (!), Patricia eventually went on to Point Reyes National Seashore, where I was introduced to the concept of wilderness when I was 16. This picture of Limantour Beach was taken in December 2005. A magnificent place, possibly because it sits on the Pacific Plate and not on the American one...

In that spirit, also check out the awnings of City Lights Bookstore, coincidentally half a block from the Bohème Hotel.


The Hinduism concept of dukkha explains the pitfalls of being ignorant of ignorance. Sometimes I wonder if we, smug in our earthly paradise and oblivious to all but the first inches of our immediate vicinity, could not use a refresher course.