At Home On Piety Hill

From the Telegraph: http://www.telegraph.co.uk

Don’t you love Tina Fey’s portrayal of Sarah Palin? So do I. It was fun watching Palin on Saturday Night Live and it’s cool that she’s such a good sport about their spoofs on her and the family. Check out this response in her recent People Magazine interview:

Interviewer: Tina Fey plays you sort of bubble-headed. You obviously –

Sarah Palin: That’s funny, I play her bubble-headed, too, when I imitate her.

I’m still, um, looking, uh, forward to SNL’s political satire of, uuuuuh, the Obama Presidency and that whiney first-lady, Michelle Marie-Antoinette Obama.

Denise is collecting unique calendars… I get to use this one on my desk. It’s made of brass, it’s heavy-duty and it’s awesome. Every time you turn it over, the next day falls down into place. After the 31^st, it reminds to you to change month… then, instructs you to turn slowly and, finally, informs you that this cool calendar is covered by Patent # 241137, 1925. 

Denise may be an efficient office manager at LRR, but she’s also a stylish and sassy one! Just check out all the latest gizmos in her home workstation and you’ll know what I’m talkin’ ’bout. If it’s any indication of what she’s got going on at her pro gig… well, then it’s no wonder that she has proven indispensable to her employer.

Let’s see; we have a bill holder, an address/phone contraption, a stand for her eyeglasses, a pen/pencil holder, battery charger, field guides for bird watching, binoculars and, of course, her name plaque from her former employer, AAA. 

You may have noticed that I haven’t blogged about Maine for about a week. That’s not for lack of material, but time. I should be back on it this week and will continue until our next trip downeast in about a month. I would also like to get a couple posts out during the current election, but truth be told, I’m not that enthusiastic about it.

Hey, kids! Let’s have a sock hop at the Salisbury’s pad! I bought each one of these albums at the same yard sale for 25¢ apiece — much less than the original owners paid. They threw in the album stand for free! The entire display goes well with our entertainment center, don’t you think?

Bo had the Box Tops album, when he was in the sixth grade. The Fontaine Sisters and Herman’s Hermits were before our time.

I’d like to introduce a new feature to our tens of thousands of readers. Krazy Kitsch serves to provide you with a virtual tour of our Home on Piety Hill, which Denise is transforming into a varitable museum of off beat, kitcshy kollectibles and questionable art, furniture, kitchen utensils and, well, just about everything else. Now, mind you, some items will not actually be kitschy at all, but we’ll use that as a sort of catch-all label for just about anything we think is cool. Here’s a good definition of kitsch from Wikipedia:

A term of German or Yiddish origin that has been used to categorize art that is considered an inferior, tasteless copy of an existing style. The term is also used more loosely in referring to any art that is pretentious to the point of being in bad taste, and also commercially produced items that are considered trite or crass.

Because the word was brought into use as a response to a large amount of art in the 19th century where the aesthetic of art work was associated with a sense of exaggerated sentimentality or melodrama, kitsch is most closely associated with art that is sentimental; however, it can be used to refer to any type of art that is deficient for similar reasons—whether it tries to appear sentimental, glamorous, theatrical, or creative, kitsch is said to be a gesture imitative of the superficial appearances of art. It is often said that kitsch relies on merely repeating convention and formula, lacking the sense of creativity and originality displayed in genuine art.

Take it away, Denise…

This collection now on our bedroom wall was started with finding one of the ballerina prints at a garage sale. I found the two wall pocket ones on Ebay which were being sold by a lady who lived real close to my daughter so I was able to drive over and pick them up instead of paying shipping! The largest one is a paint-by-number that is so sweet.

JF has a blog and it’s totally boss! Comments are switched to “on” and the posts so far are fab.

The Prince of Wales is getting to be a royal pain, flitting around the world, wagging his self-important finger, lecturing the commoners on everything from nutrition to the environment. If you will remember, he consumed thousands of pounds of precious aviation fuel to fly into New York, in order to receive an award for his decades of work promoting environmental sustainability and to raise awareness of global warming. As I remember it, the ceremony was postponed due to a blizzard.

Now, according the Telegraph UK, Charles is doing what he can to deny people the right to eat what they want by targeting certain eeeeeeevil foods and the capitalist pigs, who set up shop on the street corners and in the malls to deal the stuff to kids:

As nutritionist Nadine Tayara told him they discourage children from eating fast food, he retorted: “Have you got anywhere with McDonald’s, have you tried getting it banned? That’s the key.”

This guy is truly a useless appendage. I used to have a different opinion of the monarchy and, though it weathered the Diana debacle, this incident cinches it for me… these people need to hit the streets and earn their own bread. As it turns out in the article, his kids love burgers.

I suppose the real insult came with the graphic shown above from the article. It seems that the readers of the Telegraph like Cornish pasties almost as much as we do here in Nevada City and Grass Valley. In order to put MacDonald’s and the Big Mac into perspective, the journalist compared it to Prince Charles’ favorite country fare, the humble pastie, and sullied the reputation of our esteemed meat and potato pastrie. As you can see, the pastie is deadlier than the Mac. Does this mean Prince Chuck is going to begin calling for a boycott of pasties? Well, if he does, he’ll start a second American Revolution right here in Nevada County. They can have my pastie when they pry it from my cold, dead hand.

You never know what you will see on your way to Camptonville. I found this fellow moving to a new turnout each day and stoking up the woodstove to warm up each morning… a mobile commune of sorts. Forget about the Highway Patrol and vagrancy laws — wait until the ecoNazis catch him smokin’ up the South Fork!

I had another living room epiphany last week. But, before I go on and you get all excited and ask me to come work my interior design magic on your place, remember that I only do this for pleasure… no silver will cross the table.

We looked into putting an insert into our fireplace, but new regulations made it prohibtive, both in cost and efficiency. So, I sat gazing at the center of our living room, the locus of fellowship in our home and thought, “now what?” Should we put a large flower arrangement in front of it? Or, pile up a bunch of

candles inside the fireplace, like the hipsters in Rocklin do? Then, it hit me like a ton of bricks (get it?). I ran in and logged onto eBay… r-e-t-r-o c-r-a-c-k-l-i-n-g l-o-g and enter!

I found a few promising auctions, but they sold for way too much. That sent me onto the web, where I found a number of companies that manufacture some very nice fake burning logs. These were also too pricey, but then I happened onto a pile of faux embers I’d seen advertised for around $100 over at Penney’s Home for $49. It came in a couple of days and I got it right into the fireplace. Denise even had to admit I’ve got a real eye for design. So, what do you think?

Tea-Bag mail Protest Worries Post Office

Illinois’ lieutenant governor is urging people to mail tea bags to two electric utilities to protest rate increases — an idea that leaves the post office cold. The Postal Service on Wednesday encouraged people to make their point instead with empty tea bags, saying lumpy bags could harm its equipment and create security scares by leaking brown residue.

Today, I received my copy of the new 77s DVD Collection, featuring seven official music videos by my favorite band, The Seventy Sevens, as well as another disk of “live bootleg” concert footage going back to 1982!

It was just like Christmas in July, as Sean and Emma watched me excitedly tearing the cellophane off the case. They were also very understanding and patient as I rushed to the DVD player and cued up the first video, Mercy Mercy, which I had seen years ago. It was just as I remembered it. I was at a number of the featured concerts and, though they were 20 years ago, it was as if I had seen them just yesterday.

But, the most exciting discovery was yet to come. As the videos were playing and I was checking out the insert and liner notes, a familiar image caught my eye. It was a photo I had taken of the 77s at a concert back about 1987. When we went to see Mike Roe perform a few months ago, I had given him copies of the photos from that concert — he and his daughter got a good laugh out of them. But, they were actually pretty good b&w photos and he used them as a background on one of the pages. Check out the insert and my copy of the original photo.The credits on the back list a few photographers and then I am honored for my contribution:

Additional photos provided by Chris Knight, Brian Heydn and many others.

Yup, that’s me… many others!

How a determined twosome turned a ravaged battlefield into a duffers’ oasis
By Tim McGirk/Kabul
Posted Sunday, Nov. 13, 2005

Like most obsessive golfers, Paul McNeill occasionally ponders the game’s standard frustrations–the blown putts, the sliced drives into the rough–and questions his devotion to such a maddening pursuit. But as a regular at Kabul’s only golf course, McNeill puts up with some extra hazards that would test the mettle of Tiger Woods. The grassless fairways of rock and stubble are cratered by rocket shells. The greens are in fact brown, a mix of oil and dirt with the consistency of quicksand. Approach shots are complicated by the possibility that insurgents have planted land mines on the course. And your swing may be off-kilter because you probably have a pistol strapped to your thigh, just in case kidnappers are lurking nearby. ‘Sometimes you look over,’ says McNeill, an aid worker from North Carolina, ‘and your partner is carrying a rifle in his golf bag.’

This amusing, heart-warming and inspirational story was reported here back in March, but evidently the editor at TIME.com just got around to reading PietyHill Press and found it newsworthy. Check it out. Our cub reporter remains committed to bringing you the best human interest stories from around the globe.

Start your day on a lighter note with this touching rendition of a popular romantic ballad: tow chinese boys:i want it that way*

*Yes, that’s their title.

I just got home and my head feels pressurized… like it’s about to explode. So, I don’t have anything too profound except that in my meanderings this morning when my head felt like it was imploding, I came across these funny jpegs. The first one was found at Nacional sos el Decano del Futbol Uruguayo, which appears to be some sort of soccer fansite. The Salisbury’s always felt a certain kinship with the Simpson’s… perhaps that was all in my head.
Next, I found this jpeg titled “We found Nemo!” at Middle Age Madness. It made me hungry… a Philadelphia Roll, perhaps?

Anyway, that’s all I’m capable of today… I’m listening to Humble Pie Performance — Rockin’ The Filmore full blast. This, I think, is Peter Frampton at his shreddin’ best and Steve Marriott is soulful and intense. Steve will go down in history with Terry Reid as two of the most underappreciated rock vocalists of all time… They got so close.

Good night.

We’re on the road in North Carolina, visiting Emma and sampling a little bit of Carolina barbecue.

bar·be·cue Pronunciation Key (bärb-ky) n.
1. A grill, pit, or outdoor fireplace for roasting meat.
2. A whole animal carcass or section thereof roasted or broiled over an open fire or on a spit.
3. A social gathering, usually held outdoors, at which food is cooked over an open flame.

The term itself comes from Haiti: “1657, from Amer.Sp. barbacoa, from Arawakan (Haiti) barbakoa “framework of sticks,” the raised wooden structure the Indians used to either sleep on or cure meat. Originally “meal of roasted meat or fish,” modern popular noun sense of “grill for cooking over an open fire” is 1931.”

Emma’s friend Jumon insisted that, if we want some Carolina barbecue, we should start with the best: Bullock’s in Durham NC.

I had the chopped barbecue, which is the traditional spicy sauce, heavy on the vinegar. The battle over red slaw vs. white slaw was settled long ago at Bullocks and I loved their mayonaise-based slaw: sweet and diced fine. The french fries were wonderful and the service was superb. I had sweettea (all one word), but I must admit… it’s too sweet for me and that’s saying something.

Let’s move away from the closeup and you can see Emma’s choice of Brunswick Stew. It was the best with all sorts of beans and distinctive flavors.

Denise had the sliced barbecue, which is pork in a sweet sauce. Every table is served as many hushpuppies as you like and they were by far the best we’ve ever had. They weren’t too dry or too moist, but just right. Onion was up front, but not overpowering.

Denise and Emma couldn’t put those hushpuppies down. Carolina barbecue is different than the barbecue we are used to. Here are a few examples…

In Sacramento, we like Sandra Dee’s the best. It’s hot/sweet with excellent side dishes and desserts. I like the corn with jalapenos and cornbread.
In August, we spent a week with Denise’s brother, sisters and nephews in South Lake Tahoe, where we found a Texas syle barbecue worth mentioning, Womack’s. The meat was expertly smoked and fell right off the bone. The sweet potato pie was killer.

Both the Short and Salisbury families grew up on Chris-n-Pitt’s barbecue, a chain of restaurants true enough — but, as the photo demonstrates, a force to be reckoned with in the universe of American cauterized cuisine.

Okay, so why does a hip, swingin’, fashion-conscious guy like me shop at Ross?

Obviously, there’s the value angle. Your clothing dollar will go much further at Ross than at some boardshop boutique or Harajuku mercantile where a sullen raggedy Ann or Andy, with black lipstick, scans your purchases while singing along with Green Day’s American Idiot. For me, it’s all about fashion. Where else could you hope to find a stylish RATT* t-shirt like the one I’m wearing in the photo? The moment I pulled it off the rack, my right arm involuntarily thrust it’s self heavenward and my butane lighter ignited. Awesome!!!

*Disclaimer: I do not now, nor have I ever enjoyed RATT or the music of RATT. I am an afficianado of late ’80s screen print t-shirts.

I have this new friend, Patrick, who I met outside the Mine Shaft in Nevada City. They have a hot spot there and we were both working up some blog entries. I’ve checked out his new creative outlet, Peanut Jelly and Butter, and I have to say I approve. His prose is subtle, yet he is able to awaken some deeply emotional currents within my soul. In the words of Derek Smalls, enjoying coffee with Pat on Tuesdays in Nevada City is like hanging out with “a Shelley or Byron.” Let’s raise a mug of French Roast and give a big bottoms up to my brother and wish him well in this new artistic endeavor! Oh, and perhaps a shave and a haircut will be in order, too!

I was almost late for work on Tuesday. It all began as I got onto Highway 49 traveling north towards Downieville. About a quarter mile out of Nevada City, I came upon a CalTrans tractor crawling down the road at about 5 mph. Normally, the tractor would be hauled on a trailer, but this guy seemed to be enjoying an early morning drive in the country. Ten minutes later and half a dozen cars in tow, he finally pulled over to let us pass.

“No problem,” I thought. “I’ll make it up on the other side of the south fork.” I was scooting right along and when I hit the long straight stretch between Peterson’s Corner and Sweetland Rd., I saw a truck approaching in the other lane, waving a wide load sign out the driver’s window. “That’s unusual,” I thought. I slowed down to about 50 mph, expecting to see a loader or mobile home following along. As I came around the curve I ran smack dab into the annual cattle drive from the high country above Graniteville down to Brown’s Valley! Bovines were spread out all over the road… everywhere! A few cowpokes and some greenhorns were leading the way (the cattle owners will let just about anyone “help” with the drive as long as they can stay on a horse).

At this point, I resigned myself to the fact that I would be late to work. But, it would be worth it and I couldn’t think of a better alibi! I was fortunate to come in right behind the Highway Patrol cruiser leading traffic in my direction. We moved through the herd like salmon heading upstream, weaving back and forth, crawling at about 3 mph.

The herd was so pressed together that we had to stop. I watched the CHP patrol car jiggle back and forth as cattle were bumping into the grill and the fenders. I pulled right up to his tail so they wouldn’t get between us. Occasionally one of the little doggies would bump into the CHP, then start sliding down the driver’s side and stick it’s nose in the trooper’s open window. He would pet it and sort of push it back out. I rolled down my window and invited the calves to stick their noses in my window but, by the time they reached me they were more concerned with catching up to mama.

A couple of cowboys were picking up stragglers and strays with their two Australian Shepherds traveling from shoulder to shoulder, tongues hanging out, eyes darting back and forth with that stressed out look that cattle dogs have when they’re on the job. I exchanged a “good morning” with “Highway Patrolman Dave” bringing up the rear, leading the vehicles in the opposite direction. I made good time from there and arrived at work about two minutes before eight.

Well, the big weekend of the annual Sierra Presbyterian Yard sale is here, but it was pretty duddy. I only found four paperback books this year. Last year I came home with a bunch of good books, as well as some electronic gear and toys for eBay. Oh, well. At least Denise found this beautiful gold tissue cozy at the Hospice Thrift Store on Thursday night. I think the bedroom is coming along nicely, don’t you? Camille probably even approves.

For my summer vacation, Denise and I are spending a long weekend with her brother, sisters and their families in South Lake Tahoe. Last night I scouted out a spot to “camp out” with all my gear and relax, doing what I like to do on a vacation — study The Apocalypse, write to our family in Uganda, people watch, read some news and blog. So, here I am at Alpen Sierra Mountain Roasted. It’s a very hospitable coffee hut with the following amenities:

• The coffee is good. I would rate it an 8 on a scale from 1-10 with Flour Garden being a 1 and Java John’s right up there around a 9. I don’t know if I could really give anything a “10″, because that would be perfect.
• The view is nice… there’s someone’s log home right across busy Hwy 50 (see photo)
• They have free high-speed WIFI access.
• The moment I walked in, I was greeted by the winsome face of a G4 iMac, which demonstrates the establishment has style (see photo)
• The place has a nice ambience and the baristas (hip lingo for sales associates) are friendly and helpful.
• A guy chased his son in the front door, calling him by name: “Sequoia!”
• A young, GAP accessorized woman walked through the door announcing to the person on the other end of her cell phone (21st century version of a string with two tin cans at either end), “I just got out of the car and I’m going in.”
• Some decent reggae… this could be a plus or a minus, depending upon the artist

Ah, yes… vacation in paradise South Lake Tahoe. So, what am I doing blogging on vacation in “God’s Country?” Well, this is what I like to do. Donna and Brian went off mountain biking and I really enjoyed that before my little misfortune. Now, the nerve damage to my right arm (and a little in the left, too) gets too painful with the jarring to the front fork and handlebars.

Well, then how about tennis? I literally loved tennis… it’s the closest thing to playing linebacker I’ve ever found. “Watch the eyes,” like you would watch a quarterback; nine times out of ten, where the eyes go, that’s where the ball will go. I also enjoyed sending the ball deep and then charging the net and set-up… just like looking for the running back to come through the line… all adrenaline and all raw reaction… no time for thinking. Anyway, I can barely hold the racket now and, with my shoulder muscle wasted, my backhand is non-existent.

Okay, so how about fishing? I actually got into fishing to be social with my buddies from work in Nevada City in the 1980s. I really enjoyed that. I like the strategy and skills… particularly using lures and feeling the spinners reach that perfect frequency, which tells a trout: “Hey, I’m a little fish and I’m running scared!” But, fishing requires patience and an expensive license. So, that’s one of about 100 hobbies I’ve tried and abandoned over a lifetime.

When you get to be my age it’s a good idea to narrow your focus and make the best of what you’ve got, especially when you’re on vacation. Right now, that’s studying The Apocalypse, writing to our families in Uganda, people watching, reading some news and blogging.