Mxyztplk
Gentle Readers,
Before we get started, the wonderful author Val Ormand is reprising some old Socotra bits from the mini-series “Boondoggle” on her web site: http://believinginhorses.com/blog/2014/01/09/boondoggle
Check that for diversion, and check her books and activities. She is someone special!
Vic
I confess that as jaded as I have been about the current state of politics, I am left stunned this morning.
The topics at hand include the jobs numbers, and the pleasant fiction that the worst numbers in years are reflected by a lowering of the unemployment rate initially convinced me I had wandered into Wonderland, or perhaps a better, though less classical, reference might be one from DC Comics, where the Man of Steel’s nemesis was an imp from the 5th Dimension named Mister Mxyztplk.
I recall the imp from the Golden Age of comix. Not being bound by our physical laws, Mxyztplk can do things that seem to be magical in the world, just like Governor Christie or Attorney General Holder.
Honestly, the cavalcade of impossible things we are supposed to believe before breakfast is enough to make me choke on my eggs.
We just did the “it’s colder because it is warmer” thing with the Arctic Vortex. How much longer are we supposed to nod, and say “Well, of course. That makes perfect sense?”
Then the idea that super-sized Governor of the Garden State (and current GOP front runner) had absolutely no knowledge of a prank that tied up the busiest traveled bridge in America, condemning thousands to wasted time, endless irritation and expended gasoline. This is oppression of the highest order- the Government run amok as it appears to be everywhere.
Someone at HHS had got to be relieved that no one has talked about the Department’s train wreck of malaprops in a few days. It must be nice to be off the front page for a change. You know, the “cheaper, keep your plan and Doctor” sort of nonsense. It has caused me to evaluate my thesis that the only way to explain current events is to harness the power of Magical Thinking.
It is more serious than this. We may have entire components of our government being run by malicious imps from the 5th Dimension.
The AG is reported to have scoured the Department of Justice, apparently exhausted after investigating himself for tapping the phones of the Associated Press and indicting journalist Steve Rosen, to identify a Federal Attorney to conduct the investigation of the IRS for targeting citizen groups. Apparently only trial attorney Barbara Bosserman was available. And since she gave less than $10,000 to the Obama Campaigns, she can be certain to be impartial.
Then, on the same day, former NAACP Legal Defense Official Debo P. Adegbile was nominated to head the DOJ Civil Rights Division to replace Tom Perez, who moved on to become Secretary of Labor. Mr. Adegbile has an impressive resume which includes worked tireless efforts to free a man named Mumia Abu-Jamal from prison. As part of the celebrity campaign, Mr. Abu-Jamal’s 1981 death sentence for putting five rounds into Philadelphia cop Daniel Faulkner was set aside, though his life-without-parole was sustained by the courts up to the Supremes and back down again.
The only explanation I can come up that links the myriad of events goes far beyond Magical Thinking. I am convinced now that the Fifth Dimension- not the famed pop band- is responsible.
For example, in his first appearance in DC Comcs, Mr. Mxyztplk wreaked havoc across Metropolis just as profound as the lane closures on the George Washington Bridge. He pulled all sorts of pranks, first pretending to be a traffic victim- near a major bridge. Coincidence?
I think not.
When Superman arrives on the scene, he finds his worldview under direct assault. Thinking Mxyztplk had hurled himself to his death, he is flummoxed by the fact that the imp can fly. When Mxyztplk appears unharmed, an astonished Superman sputters “I-I thought I was the only man who could fly!!”
Not so. All sorts of magical things are possible. The imp’s only weakness is that he cannot stand being ridiculed- he a particularly thin-skinned variety, sort of like Press Secretary Jay Carney. The key- and this is what convinces me that my thesis is correct- is that he can only be banished if he says or spells his name backwards. The consequences of doing so are involuntary transition back to his home world for a minimum stay of ninety days in the dimensional hole.
It is clear that the Imp has learned a lot since the Golden Age. Has it occurred to us that everything is named backwards these days? Affordable Care? Department of Justice? Garden State?
Anyway,, I was wondering if it might work the other way. If our universe is becoming increasingly like the Fifth Dimension, maybe that one is actually getting normal. The only way to test it would be to slowly spell my name backwards. If it works, I will see you again in 90 days when all this will be cleared up, I am sure. Let’s see: A-R-T-O-C-O-S-C-I-…….
Poof.
Copyright 2014 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303
Leo the Hero
I bundled up for the trip down to the lobby at Big Pink, hoping to see Rhonda, the generous den mother to the 700 of us who live in this large dusty mauve building.
Leo the Engineer was at the desk, and periodically speaking in Spanglish on the walky-talky mode on his phone. I greeted him enthusiastically, first encounter of the New Year and all that, and I value the fact that Leo is a professional who stays on top of the physical plant and has- for the most part- kept the lights on, which his predecessor did not.
Kelly had inherited the job from his old man, who had been here since Christ was a Corporal and Frances Freed, the owner of all of Buckingham she could survey, was alive and in her second floor office over in the strip mall on North Glebe Road. Kelly’s approach to pro-active maintenance was mostly to sit around and wait for things to break.
If he had been a ship-driver in the Navy the building would have sunk at the pier.
Anyway, we high-fived in between squawks from the device in his hand. “What’s happenin’, Leo?” I asked, doing a chest bump with the stocky engineer.
“Life is good, Bubbie. Found a busted pipe this morning. That cold snap is the most amazing thing I have seen in years.”
“What? Damn, what happened?”
“Extremely cold Polar Vortex swept down out of the Arctic….”
“No, not that. What happened here?”
“Hah- got you, Vic! Exposed section froze in the uptakes for the convectors and then burst. I found it about one in the morning. I was able to identify the blockage and route around it and kept the heat on. There was water and ice everywhere.”
“Jesus, we could have been flooded out!”
“Yeah, it could have flooded all the way down from the 8th floor in a frozen messy cascade. And no heat.”
“Holy smokes,” I said. “I am glad you were on top of that.”
“I have 700 people to take care of here. That is why I live here too. I only had eight calls on the heat being out, so we got it covered over night and I have a repair crew here this morning.”
“It would have been colder than crap,” I said, making an imaginary exaggerated shiver. “Some of the older folks could have frozen.”
“That is why I live here, Bubbie. Johnnie on the spot, Man.”
“Leo, people don’t understand what you do for us. There were people all over the region that had busted pipes and frozen pipes and couldn’t cook or even flush the toilets. And some were trying to unfreeze them with blow-torches and burning down their houses.”
“A stitch in time…” said Leo, and then raised the walkie-talky to his mouth. “Pepe, decir aquellos contratistas que tener cuidado con las tuberías.”
Pepe said something back I didn’t catch, and I gave Leo a bear-hug. “Thanks for keeping us safe and warm, Leo. You da Man.”
“Just one of them,” he said. “And wait. The cold is going to be back. Anything new with you?”
“Brrr.” I replied. “New Beverage Manager at Willow, and she is cute.”
“Then life is good, right, Amigo?”
“Bueno, Leo. La vida es muy buena. Usted es mi héroe!”
Copyright 2014 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303
High Latitudes
(The complete USCG Ice Breaker inventory- both of them together at McMurdo Sound in Antartica).
Goodness, there is a lot to consider this morning. It is exactly fifty years since Lyndon Johnson declared war on poverty, and I was amazed to hear his declaration on NPR this morning. I forget how creepie that guy was.
I am gratified that the ice-strengthened ships Akademik Shokalskiy and Xue Long, have broken free from the ice in Antarctica and are no longer in need of assistance. If you recall, the United States had dispatched the USCG ice-breaker Polar Star to go help out, but that will apparently not be necessary now.
The Denialist camp in the great Climate War had a field day with the story, of course, clucking about the irony of the Warmist Scientists getting trapped in the ice they predicted was going away. Actually, the ice at the South Pole is approaching record levels, and has been increasing the last two years at the North Pole as well.
But that gets us way off track. Remember, the total ice extent has only been subject to comprehensive measurement since the start of the satellite age in 1979, so “records” are established (high or low) only in the context of the last thirty-five years. This last bit of frigid air that paralyzed the midsection of the country has not been seen since before that, so the precise extent of the periodic waxing and waning of the polar ice is not known for longer than any of us have been alive.
But weather is not climate, remember?
I got kicked in the shins about the whole “denial” thing. You know how loaded the term is, and words actually do have meanings outside the context in which they are used. “Climate Deniers” invokes the nasty neo-whatevers who claim the mechanized slaughter of six million Jews in Germany and its occupied territories didn’t happen.
The very idea is horrific. But the talking points usually go that “deniers” are in the pockets of “big oil” and are running a public scam akin to that of “Big Tobacco” in denying that smoking causes lung cancer, and most deniers believe that the lunar landings were simulations conducted on a sound stage somewhere.
Seriously.
For the record, the amount of money spent on climate issues by the government dwarfs that contributed by the private sector (those darn Koch Brothers!) by so many billions that any meaningful comparison is absurd. The research grant process tends to reward the most urgent crisis-driven papers for publication- and the peer review process ensures that everyone stays on the same page.
The Daily Socotra is four-square for the notion that the climate changes, and joins the 97% of climate scientists who believe in global warming. It has, modestly, and is part of the “settled science” thing. Also for the record, the direct linkage between global temperature and levels of the trace gas CO2 is getting increasingly tenuous.
The number of parts per million of Carbon Dioxide in the air has risen significantly over the last twenty years, and I am fully prepared to accept that it may indeed have contributed in part to the increase in surface temperatures that seems to have paused sixteen years ago. Clearly, the science is not as settled as the computer models would suggest. But don’t trust me on that- trust the climate scientists themselves. Here is the graph used by the United Nations Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC):
(IPCC Chart with IPCC chart comparing computer model projections- first, second third and fourth surveys- compared with actual observed temperatures (black, with margin of error bars). The disparity reflects the modeler’s basic assumption that CO2 levels drive temperature increase. The unsettled science suggests that there are more factors at play than an increase in the trace gas that makes up .04% of the atmosphere. Graph courtesy of the draft Fifth IPCC report).
I am prepared to believe that this is actually more complex than the conventional wisdom suggests, and am a little anxious that it might be getting cooler due to the grand solar minimum. If the ice is going to be with us for a while, I think the story actually is about ice breakers.
While the Russian and Chinese ships were trapped in the ice, USCGC POLAR STAR was directed to speed to their assistance. My pal Boats writes for American Admiralty Books (http://americanadmiraltybooks.blogspot.com/) and maintains an active interest in navigation in the high latitudes. He wants to know “how many people know that Polar Star is ten years past her planned retirement date, and that the Coast Guard is cannibalizing parts from its sister ship, which is still shown as an active cutter?”
Here is the deal about operating in the high latitudes: The United States has exactly two research ice-breakers, with one held together with “paper clips and bailing wire,” though we have Antarctic stations to supply and over a 1,000 miles of Arctic ocean coast.
The USCG Commandant can’t see us providing any more presence in the Arctic than one ice capable (vice ice breaking) cutter for about three months of the year. As for the permanent presence such as a sector command in Barrow that the Congress has requested, he says he doubts we could do that before 2020 (if at all) given the present budget.
By way of contrast, China has a one-ocean coast, and has formed a brand new 930 ship Coast Guard. The US can barely muster eight High Endurance Cutters and there is talk about capping that number at six.
Add the two ice breakers, one of which is being used as a parts locker, a dozen or so medium endurance cutters, a couple of Navy conversions that would be classified somewhere between medium and high endurance cutters, perhaps a dozen buoy tenders, a couple of tugs , and hundreds of small craft under 65 feet.
With this motley armada, we are supposed to provide services to Atlantic, Gulf, Pacific , and Arctic coast lines each more than a thousand miles in length, plus provide services to the Great Lakes and 33,000 miles of inland water ways?
The Total personnel number for the USCG is roughly equivalent to that of the New York City police department.
If the ice is going to be with us for a while, and if there are a lot of minerals and hydrocarbons under it as they say there is, it would seem like we ought to take it seriously, you know?
(PRC ice breaker Snow Dragon conducts operations in the high latitudes).
Copyright 2014 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303
Adrift
(Vic meets the Colonel in Yokosuka, 1980, Larry Jensen, RIP, and lovely Paula Brown, and a pensive Paula in watchcap.)
So, Florida State apparently beat Auburn in the last seconds. That would have been news to me last night, but my head was lolling in its customary place and when my eyes drifted shut, the War Eagles of Auburn were still up.
Oh well, put away the pads and the helmet for the winter. We are going to have to get used to basketball again, and that is not going to be interesting until March. That would be on the other side of the Big Chill, which is paralyzing the capital.
News-and-weather on the Eights is moaning about the wind chill- and I am here to tell you that it is colder than crap out on the patio at Big Pink. They say the sub-zero temps will shackle us for another day or so- and then back to the fifties.
No weather trolling here this morning, or snide shots at the First Lady and Ms Jarrett, who are extending their vacation in the Islands with a jaunt to Maui, while the President returned to the City with the girls to get back to work or school. Time to get focused again. I feel curiously adrift with it all.
In my case, I wound up focused on a place far away where it was warm all the time, a place we called “GONZO Station,” just north of the Equator, when the Iranians started their long war with us with the seizure of the US Embassy in Tehran. It seems like so many conflicts have come and gone since those days, and yet that one continues as vibrant and nasty as ever, though the NY Times announced the startling news from the Islamic Republic that there may be some common ground with the Great Satan.
I don’t know about that. I do know we were getting ready to do something rash, and the President sent the mighty nuclear aircraft carrier USS Nimitz (CVN-68) and her escorts to join our merry bunch of Japanese Gypsies on Midway (CV-41).
(L-R, clockwise: Nimitz and Jouett (CG-29) approach Midway- underway replenishment Old School, Phantoms Phorever).
(Nimitz and Jouett, helos dance and an E-2 Hawkeye goes flying.)
(Aircraft carriers! And Go-Fast jets!)
(Fun in the Fleet. We are planning what became the mess at DESERT ONE, operation EAGLE CLAW down in Mission Planning- at least the carrier part. We had the big helos on board that would ferry the rescued hostages to us at sea).
(Home in Yokosuka. We left the Nimitz to do the rescue attempt herself. We have been at war with Iran ever since).
Copyright 2014 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303Adrift
Deep Freeze
(Mars, the planet an average 140 million miles further from the sun than Earth, had the same temperature as Canada this week. Photo: Google Images).
I fell asleep in the brown chair after watching Pacific Rim, a blockbuster special effects extravaganza re-imagining the Godzilla monster flicks of our childhood into something edgy and unsettling. I had been watching the Chiefs demolishing the Colts, and with the boys from Kansas City up by three TDs at the half, decided to try science fiction rather than reality.
Of course, the Colts came back and it was an exciting game after all, but who could know? Perhaps I need more screens to stay on top of everything. Anyway, the images of the Giant Robots fighting monster beasts from the depths of the Pacific stayed with me as I dozed in the chair.
(The Good Guy Robots from the action film Pacific Rim. I realized about halfway through that these are the creatures from the Running Dream I have periodically. Spoiler Alert: In the film, the Good Guys win through the peaceful use of really big nuclear weapons. Image courtesy nuestroscomics).
Awake at two, I downed three melatonin tablets and a shot of Baileys and read for a while before the natural hormone supplement and sweet alcoholic cream had the desired application. When eventually I was released from the arms of Morpheus, it was nearly seven.
This getting old crap is not for sissies, you know?
Anyway, the question at hand is whether to venture out into the freezing rain. A cold front the likes of which has not been seen in 40 years is gripping the midsection of the nation. I would be tempted to play the weather troll this morning, but I am not going to worry about what the Polar Vortex means for the rest of this winter, and besides, weather is not climate.
Still, it is going down to three degrees before we stagger into the new week, and that, along with the moisture on the asphalt, is going to be a challenge for the residents of the National Capitol Region. I thought it was sort of amazing that it is going to be colder here outside than it is in the interior of my freezer, but that is nothing compared to
I am thinking of devoting the day to some organizing- and preparation. I will accordingly issue a call to the readership to supply your favorite “can’t miss” recipes for inclusion in the C&D Cookbook.
The extensive staff here at Socotra Publications LLC has been in touch with former Spooks, Agents (special and other) and the host of trench-coat wearing, HUMINT, IMINT, ELINT and MASINT officials of the National Security State soliciting go-to recipes in case the FSB or one of the other Services in town announce that they are going to Green Light you, and you want to have something simmering besides international relations.
I envision sections for adult beverages, hors d’oeuvres, entrees, and desserts. So far there are dozens of culinary adventures in the ready locker, and they span DIA, CIA and ONI favorites for any circumstance from Cold War deceit to GWOT pre-and-post deployment feasts, indoors and out in The Field.
Have a favorite? Drop me a line and let’s talk!
(Ah, to be back in Hong Kong in 2014, the Year of the Horse).
Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303
The Cloak and Dagger Cookbook
The ice and biting wind kept me pinned down in the apartment all day- it is a pleasant place. I can simulate work by toggling periodically over to the company email, and on the whole, it is a pleasant way to pass a day that would otherwise feature slipping around, perhaps a fall or two, that sort of thing.
I am convinced that is why Old Jim did not make it to Willow last night, though both Johns- with and without- managed appearances despite the treacherous footing. I managed to not fall on my face going in either direction, so I consider the night a success.
At the moment I am listening to National Public Radio, streaming out of Central Michigan University, to take my mind off the ice here. They are having snow, which is supposed to arrive in these parts as freezing rain tomorrow. I don’t know if that will affect the vague plan to drive south this afternoon, but I will let that sort itself out, once the Saturday stuff is done.
I checked the numbers- we are 1% of the way through 2014 already, and I don’t even feel like I have really woken up yet.
I have a bit of a dilemma this morning. I rise early due to long habit, and so do many of my pals, including those in the Far East who stay awake late. So there it is a lively back-and-forth in a much smaller group, including a long-time Trotskyite cell and some assorted Luddites.
Both sides of the spectrum are endlessly entertaining, and there is certainly plenty of really important things on which to comment. It takes time to respond, and often- like this morning- I have the equivalent of a couple essays on the events still unfolding in Antarctica, the roll-out of the Affordable Care Act, and two interesting Executive Orders regarding mental health and the Second Amendment.
As you know, I have views on all three, but the ones I have this morning are not particularly objective. Nor is there any attempt to be so, which is why they are so much fun to write. Regrettably, they do not meet the playful and whimsical style that I would prefer for you to have with the morning scone.
So we will let that lie for the moment. I never had the intention for The Daily to be a food column, but there we are. Aside from a general inclination to support local food, and avoiding processed crap in general, I am not a “Foodie,” though I imagine it could seem that way sometimes.
I actually am compiling the recipes into a thing I call the “Cloak and Dagger Cookbook,” which is intended to harvest the culinary predilections of America’s shadow warriors and their spouses. It has been a wild assortment. Someone reminded me of that sausage-bacon-bomb recipe we published a few years ago- literally a heart attack on paper- I am eager to collect the things in a manner that will both entertain and appall.
I am going to get to that this year, as one of the Resolutions, the other two being the compilation of the complete book on our pal Mac Showers (“Spooks and Spirits with Mac”) and the one about the decline and fall of my folks, Raven and Big Mama.
There is nothing particularly political about any of them, which given the nature of Homeland Security surveillance these days, is probably a good thing.
Accordingly, the latest entry in the Cook Book comes from an associate in Huntsville, Alabama, that would be worthy of inclusion on the Willow’s ever evolving and seasonal menu. It is really good, and would be perfect served in those pumpkin bowls that were ridiculed in one the savage parody of the Williams and Sonoma Holiday Catalog:
Williams-Sonoma says: “Ceramicist Barbara Eigen has been designing unique pieces, often inspired by nature, since 1997. Our Harvest Pumpkin Collection is a perfect example of her lifelike work. The tureen and accessories add organic whimsy to your Thanksgiving table.”
Price: $40 for a set of four individual tureens
Notes from Drew: This is actually one of the more reasonably priced items in the W-S catalog, as long as you don’t consider it a waste to spend $40 on four pumpkin bowls that you will use three times per decade. I used to buy terrible gifts like this for people all the time. HERE ARE YOUR PUMPKIN BOWLS! NOT BAD, EH? Because, honestly, what can you do with a pumpkin soup bowl besides put pumpkin soup in it? If you put tomato soup in it, God will murder you.
The full and savage ravaging of W&S is at: http://deadspin.com/5959212/the-haters-guide-to-the-williams+sonoma-catalog
But getting back to avoiding politics, here is something tasty that would fit in those bowls delightfully. Bon appetite!
“Vic, That picture of the Willow Burger yesterday got me hungry, which reminded me of the soup I had the other day, which then spurred the thought that you might enjoy something to take the chill of at the Refuge Farm and impress the Russians. You’ve provided so many wonderful recipes, I wanted to reciprocate.
Enjoy!
Agent Huntsville”
Butternut Squash and Coconut Soup
Ingredients:
2-3 tsp coconut oil
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
3 garlic cloves, finely chopped
2 tsp finely chopped or shredded ginger
1-2 tsp red curry powder (to taste)
1/2 tsp sea salt
1 medium butternut squash, peeled and chopped into 1-in. pieces (about 4 cups)
2 cups homemade broth (chicken or veggie)
1 (14oz) can coconut milk
1lb medium shrimp, peeled and de-veined (optional)
1/4 cup shredded coconut (optional)
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
lime wedges
toasted pumpkin seeds
Directions: Heat oil in a large soup pot over medium-high heat. Add onion, garlic and ginger. Cook, stirring frequently, until fragrant and onion is translucent, about 5 minutes.
Stir in curry and salt and cook for 1 minute longer.
Stir in squash, broth and coconut milk and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer until squash is tender, 20 to 25 minutes.
Stir in shrimp and simmer just until cooked through, about 2 minutes. Stir in or top with cilantro, shredded coconut or toasted pumpkin seeds. Serve with lime wedges on the side.
Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303
Decoration Day
It is bitterly cold and blowing here. It started late in the afternoon, the front whipping its way toward Boston, but cuffing us with an icy sleeve as it went by.
Rain at first, rain with an edge, and then it turned to fluffy flakes and then to crunchy heavy snow. I tramped over toward Willow, the slightly lengthening light of day extinguished by the low dark clouds and mist.
Old Jim was at his usual stool at the apex of the Amen Corner, and I slid in next to him, looking down the bar. The crowd was light. “Hello, Jim. Post holiday fatigue affecting the trade?”
He glanced up and growled: “Probably. Rafael said there were only 15 reservations and they were sending him home. Some people have no stamina.” He was holding a glittering ball of wire string garlands, festooned with sparkles and crystals affixed in a manner that reminded me of festive barbed wire.
“What the hell is that?” I asked. “Is this Decoration Day? I was putting mine away this morning.” Brett the bartender climbed down from the step ladder with a clip board in his hand. It looked like he was taking inventory for start of business in 2014, and despite the risk of losing count, delivered a crisp Happy Hour White to the mahogany run-way in front of me.
“Deborah gave it to me. They took it down and just rolled it up in a ball. She asked me to untangle it for her. I do it every year, but this is the last time.”
I could see that plucking the snags was a two-handed business, punctuated by a periodic shaking to loosen the snarl.
Tracy O’Grady is in transition mode, bringing Willow from Holiday theme to Restaurant Week, which starts on the 11th. She bustled past, us at the bar, brow furrowed in concern about the next challenge, and the particular madness that is Valentine’s Day in the fine-dining industry.
Jim stopped to take a pull on his long-neck Bud and pushed over a strand of decoration to show me what it was supposed to look like, un-entangled:
“It’s pretty festive, for barbed wire. I took down all the decorations in the apartment this morning. It was sort of liberating. I am leaving the outside lights up until this weekend, but I have to get the Farm ready for the Big Chill still.”
I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked over to see the Mystery Guest: Bronco, ace fighter pilot and one of the original Top Guns from the Navy’s Overseas Family Residence Program, a minimum security program of the United States SEVENTH Fleet. He lovely bride is visiting the kids on the Left Coast, and he took the opportunity of temporary bachelorhood to step out for a beer.
I made the introductions, all around: Jasper and Brett counting bottles of wine in between and Kate Jansen, co-owner and pastry chef extraordinaire. As it turns out, she knows Bronco’s daughter, who is a journeyman in a trade much harder than flying F-4 Phantom II jets off an ancient aircraft carrier.
“My daughter makes dresses out of chocolate, works every night until nearly midnight, and as a reward, has her single day off a week cancelled at the whim of management. Sucks.”
Kate nodded sympathetically. “It is a demanding trade,” she said. “People don’t think of that. But making a great cake or a flamboyant dessert carries its own rewards.”
Bronco and I agreed, and Jim grunted as a particularly thorny knot came loose.
“I think I will never do this again.”
“I would be tempted to just rip it apart,” I said.
“The impatience of youth,” growled Jim.
“Old age and treachery win every time,” said Bronco, looking favorably at the award winning Willowburger on the menu. He asked Brett for one, alternating tonic and craft beer in deference to the worsening road conditions outside.
We talked about all the sorts of things old shipmates talk about, places and long-ago conflicts, and where the kids all fetched up. And whether we had reached that point in life that the Bright Lights of the Big City were starting to pale. “Might be time to get out of town,” said Bronco a bit pensively. “Get nearer the kids.”
Jim completed the untangling of the decorations and grunted in triumph. He fetched his bulldog-headed cane off the hooks under the bar to deliver the uncomplicated strands to Deborah.
“Last time I do that,” he declared. “It really interferes with my drinking. He stumped off toward the maître d’s station to deliver the fruits of his labor as Bronco demolished the burger. I looked at it with envy, but it is time to impose a little discipline and get ready for the Spring that is out there, only a couple months away.
When Bronco was done, we signaled for the check. The snow was dancing past the window and the dark night was turning stark white as the snow began to accumulate. Jim got one last beer to catch up.
He smiled in satisfaction as Brett placed it in front of him, since he only had to navigate back up the street to his place, and Bronco and I were on four wheels to get home. It is not that we couldn’t do donuts all the way home if we chose. The question is more about what the Virginians would be doing on the icy roads.
Discretion is the better part, we figured, at least on a snowy decoration day.
Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303
Bloody Mary
(The Army-Navy Club on Farragut Square in downtown DC. An easy walk from the former Department of War, State and the Navy, it is a class act. The photo shows the place in the 1930s.)
I was getting used to the idea of “2014,” rolling it around on my tongue, and decided I liked it as much as the dollop of Hoppin’ John I whipped up to commemorate the start of a New Year that hasn’t had much stupidity in it (yet). I really did not need to eat the Hoppin’ John for calories- it was purely for luck. The food end of things was covered pretty well in the last Official Food Event of the 2013 Holiday cycle.
I have been a member of the Army-Navy Club on Farragut Square for years- I forget why- and transferred my membership to “absent” with my primary residence at Refuge Farm.
As part of the holiday blizzard, I got an invite to attend the annual New Year’s open house at the Club yesterday, and Uber-ed down in a Black Car to join my companions.
It was pretty impressive, and I kicked myself. I should have been attending this event all along- the stately halls of the club were filled with tables of food kept stocked by bustling employees on three levels, including the spectacular dining room with the Army and Navy-themed murals at either end.
It must have been something, back in the day, to walk from the Department of War, State and the Navy, the former name of the Old Executive Office Building two blocks away for breakfast or lunch, or a stuff drink in the Daiquiri Lounge when the affairs of the Military Departments were put to bed for the day.
Anyway, I got there a little before the rest of the party, and availed myself of a bloody Mary from a tray proffered by a smiling employee. I enjoyed a few of them: the price was right, and Uber was doing the driving.
Today is time to end the bacchanal. It is time to get back on the fitness regimen, and past time for the Festival of Food that the holidays bring. But not yesterday.
A pal sent a reinforcement recommendation for the Best Damn Egg Nog Ever. I will provide the recipe for any who have a need for the ultimate Bourbon Shake, but really, it is time to leave the cloying sweetness of eggnog behind and get with the tart taste of the New Year, The Army-Navy Bloody Mary:
Ingredients:
1 quart tomato puree (try San Marzano puree per the recommendation of the famed publication Garden and Guns):
1 cup dill pickle juice
1 cup caper juice
3 tbsp. prepared horseradish
1.5 oz. high-quality soy sauce (Try Den Chan Shoyu rather than that ancient bottle of Kikoman’s in the pantry for a change?)
2 oz. Tabasco pepper sauce
2 tsp. celery seed
1 tsp. fresh-ground black pepper
1 tsp. fresh-ground white pepper
1.5 oz. Worcestershire sauce
30 dashes Angostura bitters
Combine all ingredients and refrigerate for 24 hours before serving.
Pouring a perfect Bloody Mary:
Pour 2 oz. of your favorite vodka into a glass full of ice. Fill remainder with Bloody Mary mix. Add three dashes of Smoky Barbeque Bitters, perfected by Atlanta bartender Nate Shuman, who holds forth at the Georgian Terrace Hotel. Mix. Dip the rim of another glass in limejuice, then into a blend of equal parts salt, celery seed, and Old Bay. Pour the mixed drink into the rimmed glass and garnish. Enjoy.
I will get you the recipe for the barbeque bitters- I am going to try making a batch this week. When things were winding down at the Club, I mashed the icon on my smart phone and summoned a cab to pick me up in the turn-around in front.
I Uber-ed back across the river in time to make the kick-off of the Grand-Daddy of the bowl games, the 100th iteration of the rivalry between the Pac-10 and Big-10, though I think the latter is 14 or something these days.
The Spartans of the JG’s Michigan State brought the last one home, defeating the Cardinals of Standford. Making bloody Marys helped pass the time waiting to find out what the answer was going to be.
Really a splendid first day of the year. And Vodka? it is not just for breakfast any more.
Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303
Terra Incognita
(Stranded: The MV Akademik Shokalskiy stuck in the ice off East Antarctica. Photo The Guardian of the UK).
OK- that is out of the way. I typed the date without falter or miscue, and now realize fully that we have leapt the annual shark and arrived here in the familiar terra incognita of the un-knowable familiar future.
I mean, this is something over sixty times around the sun the hard way, and there shouldn’t really be that much new in our spinning world under it.
I mentioned something like that to Old Jim at Willow last night as we grappled with the impending end of the Old Year. The bar was empty when I got there via the Uber Cab- I was taking no chances on enhanced enforcement, though I had no intention of staying out until the magic hour.
Accordingly, I did not restrict myself to Happy Hour White and abandoned any pretext of objectivity. Jim was a little cross, as he had lost track of his bride, who may (or may not) have risen from a nap to collect the dog from his canine day camp. The uncertainty did not slow us down appreciably, and he was eventually reunited with Mary at the bar.
She elected champagne, which is an appropriate way to end one year and begin another. I clicked the Uber icon on the phone to go home when it seemed like it was the appropriate time. No driving, life is good.
I fell asleep in my chair well before midnight and woke naturally with the countdown to the Brave New Year still comfortably far away.
(Doug Mawsom at the magnetic South Pole with companions Mackay and David, 16 January 1909).
It came and went, that surreal moment when one year dies and another is born. I managed to get back to sleep and roused not too much after the normal time. It was a little surreal, to have traveled so far in so little time.
I enjoy a delightful banter in the morning with an old comrade perched on the shoulder of a mountain some place, and he was on a tear about the ship trapped in the ice off Antarctica. You probably have seen the accounts of the attempts to rescue the occupants of the Motor Vessel Akademik Shokalskiy, which have, for the most part, ignored the reason for the predicament in which they crew and passengers have found themselves locked in the ice.
A couple key points: It may be winter here, but down below it is coming on high summer. My pal Dave just got back from a cruise to look at the penguins and Patagonia, so I did not think about the motivation for the expedition.
According to the publicity, the voyage was intended to follow the steps of the 1913 exploration of the famed Australian explorer Douglas Mawson, and demonstrate the damage of climate change, and how much warmer things are these days. You know, the usual.
The problem, of course, is that there is a lot more ice around in the Antarctic than there was then, so the story isn’t playing out quite that well from the climate change perspective. Accordingly, that element of the saga has been edited out.
Anyway, I wish the crew and passengers the best, and hope that they are rescued without further travail.
But of course, that led from one thing to another and I got lost in the account of Professor Mawson, and his adventures on the ice a century ago.
The Daily Mail of the UK has no lack of irony, and they started with: “Perhaps, with hindsight, it was a mistake to christen the expedition the Spirit of Mawson in memory of Sir Douglas Mawson, the great Edwardian-age Australian explorer in whose icy footsteps the mission hoped to follow.”
Mawson was a piece of work, and the saga of his survival on the ice captures a certain amount of hubris on his part as well.
(Mawson in his later years. According to the caption, the great explorer had a bit of an ego. Photo Wikipedia.)
“His 1911-1913 expedition came badly unstuck. On a trek into the interior, Mawson and his crew lost most of their food supplies when their sledge disappeared into a crevasse” (along with one of his friends).
.
Stuck 350 miles from the coast with only one and a half weeks’ worth of food, Mawson nearly came to an end as sticky as legendary British explorer Captain Robert Falcon Scott’s earlier that same year.
Mawson and his surviving companion, Mertz, were driven to eating their dogs, unaware that the concentration of vitamin A in their livers was poisonous. The men’s hair fell out; the soles of Mawson’s feet fell off; Mertz ultimately went mad, and not knowing he was suffering from frostbite, bit off the top of his finger before he died.
By the time Mawson staggered back to his main base in February, 1913, (the supply ship Aurora had departed hours before, and when it was recalled it was too late to depart and Mawson had to winter over). His exploring days were not done, but he dined out of the horrific experience for years, and there is currently an effort underway to restore his historic huts on the Antarctic mainland.
Mawson lived until 1958, and was held in high regard by his countrymen, being honored with his portrait on the one hundred dollar note and the one-dollar coin.
I seriously doubt that anyone on the MV Akademik Shokalskiy will be so honored, but you never can tell. We have abandoned any pretense of science as objective truth, you know? This is a bold new year with all sorts of amazing things to discover, and re-imagine.
And besides, it is really only terra incognita if you haven’t really been there before, you know?
Copyright 2014 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303