Category Archives: idiots among us


Knock me over

Pope does something profoundly good.

Will there at last be something good to say about the Roman Catholic Church?


damage done

I guess it will be quite a long time before John Boehner show up on Saturday Night Live to make fun of himself.  He may not even show his face at Tortilla Coast anytime soon.

One, two, three. . . and so on


Single-village mezcal.

I understand the analogy to single-malt scotch, but most of you cannot tell the difference. (If you can, I toast you right now. Salud.) And do you think or care that the mescal industry is that complicated?

But here’s the thing: When did we start quantifying things beyond our ability to perceive what value that may have?

1000-thread count sheets. Is the skin of your rear end that sensitive? You have a neurological disorder.

Degrees of temperature in the refrigerator. You used to care only that it was “cold” in there.

6.5-inch touchscreen with 40-gb hard drive on the inside of a car.  Are you driving it from Point A to Point B or living in it?

I give you 30 seconds, more or less, to stop it.

please remain silent

Scene:  Chamber orchestra concert last night, again in a public space as glorious as the music, Biblioteca Henestrosa, Oaxaca.  Click on Edvard Grieg above to get a sense.

How, oh how, do you tell audience members to sit on their hands until the piece is over?  That would suppress the infernal texting too, though would not stop the free-range one-year-old from circling the venue.

Conductor Socrates Juarez: May I come watch you brush your teeth, slice an onion, or handwrite a note, with those beautiful hands?


Drink up!

Drink up!

I bought this bottle of mescal a couple weeks ago. I saw that it has a little sticker that says, “pechuga.” I asked in substandard Spanish, pointing a finger to my own chest, “Isn’t that ‘breast’?” I thought the answer was, no, it means that a slice of the ‘core’ of the cactus is in there. And, why yes, there is a little piece of cactus in there. Done. Adios.

But now, rereading the fabulous Oaxaca Journal by Oliver Sacks (I can’t shut up about him), I just found out that it is in fact, “mescal flavored by raw chicken breasts.”

I think I see the problem here. End the military.

Are you, as I am, seeing another military, mental health-failing, gun-toting connection? Is there something about going to war that teaches one that killing is ok? Just wondering.

And when I read the stories of the heroic efforts of surgeons and the advances in prosthetic limb engineering, I want to ask whether no one is screaming about the known cause of the head traumas and limbless young adults.

Right-wing fabulists try to suppress women’s equality, various styles of sex, and inexplicably, the availability of abortion as the sources of all of society’s evil.  But they have not considered zeroing out the military — and its rigorous on-site training programs in foreign countries — to eliminate mass shootings and the quieter, though more frequent, singletons and suicides, and the devastating, expensive life-long mental and physical injury of war.

End the military.

Cooking with altitude

I’m searching, I’m searching.

I forgot that Oaxaca is at altitude, coincidentally, about the same altitude as Boulder, where I should have learned to cook. But alas I did not, so am kind of guessing at the cook time of the two food items we happen to have here — rice and eggs — because we also didn’t know the market closes early on domingos, Sundays.

I just don’t know whether I was supposed to add the fried grasshoppers to the rice before or after cooking. Anyone?