Tokyo Watermelon Relief

I spoke to someone in Tokyo yesterday during the hottest day of the year there. I promised to post this Watermelon Gazpacho recipe for them. My thanks go to Kathryn, an old, reclaimed friend, who passed it on to me. I have since doctored it a bit so you might want to play with it yourself to make it taste right for you.

WATERMELON GAZPACHO

6 cups cubed watermelon
1 cup chopped, peeled cucumber
1/2 cup chopped yellow bell pepper
1/3 cup chopped green onions
3 Tbl chopped fresh mint
3 Tbl fresh lime juice
1 Tbl olive oil
3/4 tsp kosher salt
1/2 tsp hot sauce (I use Chilula for this recipe)
1 garlic clove, minced
2 tbl. balsamic vinegar (use can use the cheap Sherry vinegar they pass off as balsamic) what you're looking for is the tang.

If you haven't already, get one of those wand hand blenders and go at this mixture until it's chunky. If you don't have that, a blender will do. Don't over-process it -- this ain't cream of gazpacho.

finally, add 1 cup cran-raspberry juice
chill in fridge. Best served next day with some fresh mint in the bowl and some thin sliced roasted garlic or olive bread

Snooze Catching

For those of you who don't know, there's been a lot of talk lately about the democratization of media and how the internet plus cheap production is going to blow apart the conventional media machines that we've all built up by paying $18.99 for CDs and $15.00 for a movie ticket.

One of the technologies they're really pushing is something called Podcasting, which is fancy-speak for a recording that you download from the internet and listen to on your computer, stereo or iPOD at your leisure. I've followed this technology since its early days but really didn't have the time to get deep into it -- until today.

Apple announced podcasting support in their new version of iTunes so I decided to take a closer look. Boy, was I disappointed. One of the things I've learned from my years of playing with and working on gadgets and such is that they have to have a purpose -- you can't just use some tool because someone invented it -- it's gotta fit or else it loses all of it's elegance. That's why we look back on some things in history and say, "what the f*!ck were they thinking? (remember Spray on Hair or the Atomic Bomb)


-- while other things we think of as classics (the Radio Flyer Wagon, or a Good typewriter.)



Such it is with podcasting. During my fifteen minutes trying it out, I made sure to listen to a bunch of different stuff. One was a replay of a morning radio program from WGBH in Boston. That one was pretty good. Next, I casted up a piece from Disney Online. I was pretty impressed that they were jumping in, feet first, to the future. Unfortunately, the show was only the soundtrack to a show available through their pay site. Another advertising gimmick. Finally, I went deep, deep down the tail to the blogs and commentaries. I listened to 5 different guys talk about how the airport was crowded or how they loved such and such movie and so on and so on.


One other thing you got to know about me -- I hate Regis Philbin and that Katie, Kathy, whatever the hell her name is. When I hear them, or any other chatty time-filling morphs of human beings filling up time and a TV screen, I actually start wondering when that whole end-of-days thing everyone talks about is supposed to happen.

Unfortunately, it's not soon enough for you, since you're still reading this article, but, my point is that podcasting has its merits, but it also gives people another reason to fill up space with unecessary chatter. It reminds me of the whole CB Radio craze in the 80s, when everyone had their little handles and code names and they (myself included) would spend hours talking to strange people you didn't know about absolutely nothing -- all just because you could.

Perhaps someone will come along and come up with a good way to filter this stuff; cause in the meantime, I'm going back to my regularly scheduled life.

This is a big old test

Brand Disloyalty

More on this later.

I've written a bunch of times in the past year about how ridiculous our American society has become. Along with most other advanced, industrial countries, when it comes to consuming, we've become a lot like a bunch of bees at a Sunday picnic -- all spinning around crazily as we fly toward the person with the jar of honey.

You can hardly go anywhere without seeing a logo or a mark or an ad. People walk around wearing clothes with other peoples' names on them: "Donna", "Tommy", and "Paris". So much for the days when your mom stitched your name into the collar.

We watch commercials with real actors pretending to be real people feeling common feelings dreamt up in a room by a bunch of ad execs and tested against folks like you and me who sit behind one-way mirrors while market researchers quantify and qualify their answers.

Billboards on the road, 30 pages of ads in a 40 page magazine, commercials above the urinals in the men's room. Sometimes it all seems like a bit much doesn't it?

I used to belong to a gym that perpetuated this way of life. The women all wore the same type of workout clothes (which wasn't entirely a bad thing), the TVs were all set to CNBC or the Fox News Channel, the bathrooms all had ads for some hair care product. Believe it or not, I grew a bit tired of this show -- decided that I needed to strike out a little and exercise in peace; because that's what exercise is supposed to be: a break -- not another place to be sold -- and if, like me, you don't have the time to get out and surf or ride a bike of hill, you take the best you can get.

So I joined a small gym in West L.A. Kinda short hours, showers out of a Danish motel, hand-written sign in sheet and hardly any people. Just good machines and plenty of room. I'll tell you how much I like it. Last weekend I go in to get my heart going above it's normal stagnant rate and work my biceps into rock-hard chicken wings. I'm sitting at one of the machines between sets, listening to "Mr. Jones" by the Talking Heads, when "E", the owner walks in.

E is a funny guy. I'm not exactly sure what country he's from but he's got a kind of Fabio thing going -- long hair, baggy linen shirts, confident stride -- only problem is he's not as tall and he's not blonde (is Fabio really or is the rug a different color?) E likes to come into the office and turn bad disco or easy listening on the gym's stereo system. Today E's wearing a brown suede jacket with those little tassle thingies on it. He walks in, unlocks his office and comes out a few seconds later wearing a red tank-top and white shorts ala Richard Simmons, walks past me (I give him the standard guy head-nod of acknowledgement) and disappears into the back of the gym as I start my next set.

I'm resting after the set and I see E out of the corner of my eye, pulling one of those huge Life Cycle exercise machines across the carpet. I'm thinking he's re-decorating. He pulls the thing for 130 feet, right past me. I'm thinking this is some strange form of Fabionic exercise. He parks the thing right in front of the TV suspended from the ceiling, puts his hair in a ponytail and changes the channel to VH1, which is, at that moment, playing "Separate Ways" by Journey. (See, I told you I would get to it). He gets on the bike, oblivious to the rest of the people around him and starts pedaling his way back to the 70's.

It makes me smile. Thank God for people like E. They remind me that what's most important is not what all the other bees like, it's what I like. I define what I want and what I need. It's my picnic.

Sports Jacket

I never understood why they call it a "sports jacket." It's almost as bad as a "blazer." In my mind, there's absolutely nothing fun or exciting about wearing a coat.

Sesame Crusted Tuna with Brandy Soy Wasabi Sauce

Made this one up the other day. It's really not as complicated as it seems. If you can make pancakes, you can make this.

1 big old Ahi Tuna Steak
1/4 cup Roasted Black Sesame Seeds
2 tbl. Canola Oil

Sauce
1/2 tsp. Canola Oil
1/2 cup chopped Cilantro
1/2 tsp. Wasabi (paste or powder)
1/4 cup Brandy (you can use the cheap stuff or Whiskey)
4 tbl. Soy Sauce
2 tbl. Shredded Ginger (can buy bottled)
1 tsp. chopped Garlic
1/2 lemon, squeezed
Red Pepper flakes

Make the sauce first: Pour the canola oil into a small pan over medium heat and when it's hot, add the garlic. Fry for a few minutes until the garlic softens and the room smells great. Add all except a couple of tablespoons full of the cilantro. Try to stir it without spilling it over the sides until it's wilted, about 3 minutes. Add the ginger, wasabi, soy sauce and then move the pan off of the fire and add the brandy. Move it back to the fire and while standing back a little, tip the edge toward the flame until the brandy catches fire and you've got that fancy flambe thing going; then move it away from the flame again. You'll hear the cilantro crackle. This is good.

When the fire goes out (or your place is burned down, turn the heat to low and put the pan back on the burner. Add some red pepper flakes (be careful unless you like it spicy) and simmer for 5 minutes or until the sauce thickens. Taste it. If it's bitter, add a little sugar.

Now for the Tuna: Pour the sesame seeds onto a plate and shake it a little to distribute them evenly. Dredge the tuna in the seeds and then do the same on the other side. Put 1 tbl. of oil into a frying pan on high hear and fry the Tuna for 3 minutes, turn it over and repeat.

Serve on some angel hair pasta or rice. Pour the sauce over the Tuna, so it dribbles down to the rice or pasta. Add some fresh cilantro and squeeze the lemon over the whole thing.

Page 9

I'm reading the paper this morning with a cup a coffee. Ben is enjoying a banana and a cat is meowing outside the window. Strange -- cats don't eat bananas.

Page one of the paper has a color photo of Michael Jackson, flanked by his numerous bodyguards and adorned with his numerous Sergeant Pepper medals.

I flip through the front section, reading about corruption and elections and embryo research, and then, there it is. On the top of Page 9 is a story about 4 soldiers and 26 civilians being killed in Iraq. There's a black and white photo of a disabled Bradley fighting machine and some soldiers covering a dead G.I.

When did Iraq move to the middle of the paper? As I think about it, it's been a long time since I've heard anything significant about it anywhere near the front page.

I read the story. It's the same as the ones I've been reading for the past year. I fold the page and hold it up next to Jackson's photo. It looks dull and foggy. Maybe that's why they throw it on page 9 and everything else on the front page. But maybe that's not right. Maybe our troops and the people we're supposedly liberating deserve more attention than that.

Bon Voyage

I spent the better part of the day dealing with people about to leave on trips. Now when I think of going on a trip, I am overtaken by a sense of adventure and discovery; unfortunately, preparing for travel does not bring out the best in everyone.

Perhaps it is the tremendous baggage that most people now take with them that adds a feeling of responsibility and, dare I say, danger to the journey. What if my notebook computer won't work in Turkey? What if I can't get my email from Australia? What if I don't read that report binder on the plane? It all adds up to a feeling of anxiety -- a fear of loss -- and God help you if, like me, you are around someone in this state.

I must admit, I do the same thing myself. I can't tell you how many times I've pulled the car over or stopped the cab 10 minutes from my house because I was sure that I left my passport somewhere. Of course, I hadn't, but it was the threat that scared me more than anything.

Maybe it's a hard-wired sense that takes over -- something left over from childhood when we went to sleep without our blankie or when our parents went away for a couple of days and left us with cousin Edna. Uncertainty.

Whatever it is, it's B.S.

Tonight, M and I went to Musso & Frank's with our friends Brian and Carol. B & C WERE from Bermuda. They retired early and set off on a round the world trip of travel and adventure, including a flying safari in Australia where they rode in small planes around Down Under. They stopped off here, in our town, just to spend time with us and Ben.

Even though they have big suitcases, they really only need each other. They don't plan on returning to Bermuda, at least not to live, and sort of have a "well, we'll see what's what" attitude about each day. They don't worry if they don't have a report or if their computer will work in a certain place. If it doesn't, they deal with it when they can.

This got me thinking about John Adams, one of America's Founding Fathers who spent most of his adult life living overseas and away from his wife, family and country. During one of his Atlantic crossings, he had to take control of the ship when the Captain so mismanaged the boat that everyone onboard, including Adams and his young son John Quincy, were almost killed. Could he have prepared for that? I don't think so.

Try this the next time you have to go somewhere -- on a long trip or a short drive to work or a walk to the bathroom. Don't think. Just go. Don't worry, don't try to control. Just open your eyes, point yourself in a direction and take a step. Pay attention to what you see. Pay attention to what comes along. I think you'll find that it makes the trip a lot more enjoyable for you and everyone around you.

The Best Laugh I've Had in a Long Time

I'm not a big cat person, but THIS had me rolling.

THIS shows why dogs rule.

Falling From Grace

I took this shot last weekend at the Santa Barbara Zoo and it has haunted me ever since.

There are many different animals in the S.B. Zoo and it's pretty amazing to walk from section to section. Each group has their own energy: The tortoises remind me of older people trying to walk from one place to another, the sea lions appear to just want to play with you, and the eagles look like they want to kick your ass -- and they could.

So a group of us visitors stood there staring at the gorilla locked up in his spacious cell (as if any cell can be spacious enough) and it got me thinking. Even with his unfortunate circumstances, even with strangers coming to gawk and scream and taunt him, he still maintained a state of grace (and happiness?) that is virtually non-existent in our world.

Some people have become so consumed by WINNING and GAINING and getting ahead that they have lost a lot of the elegance and wonder that comes with just being human. They value work over family and money over happiness. They wander from situation to situation, from opportunity to opportunity, all with the hope of getting to the next level. The problem is that there is never a top level, just one after another, like a never-ending stairway. And they take us along on these rides, through advertising and branding, materialism and social pressure.

Every once in a while, when I'm feeling pushed in by these forces, I pedal way up a steep hill and look out on the city I live in. There's a spot at the top of Westridge Road -- a lone pole at the top of a peak -- where I can stop and see everything: the buildings in downtown, the San Fernando valley, the ocean and Catalina. I reach down, touch the rocks and dirt, and suddenly, I'm no different than that gorilla, sitting in the middle of my beautiful cell. Grace.