Quid? what are you , saying''
4 years ago
March 8, 2010
March 1, 2010
Driving and misanthropy
It is difficult for me to resist indulging my own neuroses at the expense of others. This disagreeable trait typically manifests in complaining. It's insensitive and almost always counterproductive. I can't help myself - like Larry David minus the funny.
Highway driving gets to me. When I'm alone in the car I consider my campy over-reactions to incidence of idiocy as schtick, but this is not exactly the case. My compulsive criticism can border on paranoid delusion, especially when it pertains to other drivers not doing what I wish they would, irrespective of reasonable expectations. What is at best a quirk when solo becomes a full-blown flaw when there's other people in the car. How can I not share my feelings when there's an oblivious slow-going dunce causing trouble in the left lane?
I missed a turnpike exit recently, and facing an 18-mile exitless stretch pretty much capsized me. The situation was no one's fault but my own, and though it's not unreasonable to expect more from myself, I just can't easily let that stuff go. But I should, especially when there's someone else present - sensitive to irascible moodiness.
What could be more conducive to misanthropy than self-criticism? The tendency to some degree of dislike or mistrust of humankind may occur from failures in two areas from above: reasonable expectations and letting go. My selectively high standards are bruised every time someone changes lanes without signaling, and I have the habit of stockpiling negativity from these moments, disproportionately weighting it when passing large-scale judgement. And ventilating angst to the effect of alienating other folks? Forget about it.
I might print out a little reminder to post on my steering wheel, and try to be more loving of all the jackasses on the road.
Highway driving gets to me. When I'm alone in the car I consider my campy over-reactions to incidence of idiocy as schtick, but this is not exactly the case. My compulsive criticism can border on paranoid delusion, especially when it pertains to other drivers not doing what I wish they would, irrespective of reasonable expectations. What is at best a quirk when solo becomes a full-blown flaw when there's other people in the car. How can I not share my feelings when there's an oblivious slow-going dunce causing trouble in the left lane?
I missed a turnpike exit recently, and facing an 18-mile exitless stretch pretty much capsized me. The situation was no one's fault but my own, and though it's not unreasonable to expect more from myself, I just can't easily let that stuff go. But I should, especially when there's someone else present - sensitive to irascible moodiness.
What could be more conducive to misanthropy than self-criticism? The tendency to some degree of dislike or mistrust of humankind may occur from failures in two areas from above: reasonable expectations and letting go. My selectively high standards are bruised every time someone changes lanes without signaling, and I have the habit of stockpiling negativity from these moments, disproportionately weighting it when passing large-scale judgement. And ventilating angst to the effect of alienating other folks? Forget about it.
I might print out a little reminder to post on my steering wheel, and try to be more loving of all the jackasses on the road.
February 24, 2010
Almond-Panko Crusted Ruffy
With Lemon Ginger Vegetable Medley
1 lb Orange Ruffy fillets
1 lb Asparagus
1 lb Yellow Zucchini
4 cloves Garlic
1 Lemon
1 Egg
Fresh Ginger
All-Purpose Flour
Panko Bread Crumbs
Almonds
Olive Oil
Salt/Pepper
Prepare vegetables: Preheat oven (450°). Snap off bottoms of asparagus, rinse, cut into 1/4" slivers at angle. Cut zucchini into quarters lengthwise, remove seeds and cut into 1/4" slices. Rough-chop garlic. Set all aside until fish is nearly finished cooking.
Prepare fish: Process almonds into a course grind, combine with bread crumbs for crust. Rinse fillets, pat dry, cut each in half to create approximately equal portions. Beat an egg with 1 tbsp water. Season flour with salt and pepper, dredge all sides of the fish. Brush eggwash on tops, apply almond-panko mix. Place in medium-hot oiled skillet (crust up) for one minute or less to sear. Loosen fish pieces before placing skillet in 450° oven for about ten minutes (flaky fish/golden crust).
Prepare sauce: Zest one lemon, avoid white pith. Grate fresh ginger to taste (at least a couple teaspoons). Juice lemon into a few tbsps of olive oil, whisk with ginger and zest. Cook vegetables briefly without stirring in lightly oiled hot skillet. Pause before adding garlic so it won't burn, add a bit of salt. Remove from heat, add sauce and toss. Plate fish atop medley.
1 lb Orange Ruffy fillets
1 lb Asparagus
1 lb Yellow Zucchini
4 cloves Garlic
1 Lemon
1 Egg
Fresh Ginger
All-Purpose Flour
Panko Bread Crumbs
Almonds
Olive Oil
Salt/Pepper
Prepare vegetables: Preheat oven (450°). Snap off bottoms of asparagus, rinse, cut into 1/4" slivers at angle. Cut zucchini into quarters lengthwise, remove seeds and cut into 1/4" slices. Rough-chop garlic. Set all aside until fish is nearly finished cooking.
Prepare fish: Process almonds into a course grind, combine with bread crumbs for crust. Rinse fillets, pat dry, cut each in half to create approximately equal portions. Beat an egg with 1 tbsp water. Season flour with salt and pepper, dredge all sides of the fish. Brush eggwash on tops, apply almond-panko mix. Place in medium-hot oiled skillet (crust up) for one minute or less to sear. Loosen fish pieces before placing skillet in 450° oven for about ten minutes (flaky fish/golden crust).
Prepare sauce: Zest one lemon, avoid white pith. Grate fresh ginger to taste (at least a couple teaspoons). Juice lemon into a few tbsps of olive oil, whisk with ginger and zest. Cook vegetables briefly without stirring in lightly oiled hot skillet. Pause before adding garlic so it won't burn, add a bit of salt. Remove from heat, add sauce and toss. Plate fish atop medley.
February 17, 2010
February 9, 2010
February 3, 2010
Remember to forget
One of the paramount characteristics common to great poker players is an acute faculty for recollection. Poker is a game played with incomplete information, and the ability to retain data (i.e. e.g. - what types of hands an opponent has played in a particular way) is an unquantifiable asset to any player. Inconspicuously, however, the sharp ability to forget is a crucial component to a well-functioning memory.
AN ILLUSTRATION FROM LAST WEEK'S PGA TOURNAMENT
Playing at Torrey Pines near San Diego, local Rickie Fowler was a crowd favorite. He is 21 years old, and facing a short putt the commentators raised this question:
"What is it about youth that makes those short ones so easy to knock into the back of the cup?"
The answer is simple. Young golfers lack a memory bank of missed putts, manifesting in their apparent fearlessness. At a farther end of the golf psyche, longtime pros are known to develop "the yips" when attempting easy putts. This condition can virtually paralyze a golfer, unwilling to initiate a backswing from the set position behind the ball.
Is poker, or life, so different? Recollection of tough beats can reduce a robust winning strategy to an anemic frailty. Dwelling on times when it all went wrong is certain to perpetuate such fate. Try to remember to forget.
AN ILLUSTRATION FROM LAST WEEK'S PGA TOURNAMENT
Playing at Torrey Pines near San Diego, local Rickie Fowler was a crowd favorite. He is 21 years old, and facing a short putt the commentators raised this question:
"What is it about youth that makes those short ones so easy to knock into the back of the cup?"
The answer is simple. Young golfers lack a memory bank of missed putts, manifesting in their apparent fearlessness. At a farther end of the golf psyche, longtime pros are known to develop "the yips" when attempting easy putts. This condition can virtually paralyze a golfer, unwilling to initiate a backswing from the set position behind the ball.
Is poker, or life, so different? Recollection of tough beats can reduce a robust winning strategy to an anemic frailty. Dwelling on times when it all went wrong is certain to perpetuate such fate. Try to remember to forget.
January 31, 2010
San Francisco
Following my stay in Escondido I flew up to San Francisco for a couple days, nearly getting stuck in the San Diego airport because of bad weather. California was experiencing its storm of the decade precisely as I was experiencing California for the first time (poop). Fortunately, the weather provided a window for getting to San Francisco, which provided plenty of cool stuff to do that wasn't dampened by the constant rain.
Coincidentally, my dad was in the city the same dates as myself traveling on business, and I was able to crash in his hotel room for three nights. This was a huge coup for my budget and level of comfort (Hilton). The first night in town we took the courtesy shuttle back to the airport in order to access the Bay Area Rapid Transit system (BART). The train took us into the city, where we met my dad's old friend, Berkeley resident and rock aficionado Andy. He had a bead on a rare show by local favorite Steve Morse at a venue called Slim's.
The gig was sponsored by Guitar Player Magazine, a publication that has repeatedly named Mr. Morse best overall guitarist. We bought tickets and grabbed some food and beers at a nearby, nearly empty, establishment. Arrived at Slim's a little late, as the opener was finishing, but were remarkably able to get seats near the front to the left side of the stage. It was a brilliant spot to see the show, as the guitar pedals were located right in front of us. The performance was amazing, I had for some reason expected a strummy acoustic set - quite the rocking opposite. Certainly one of the highlights of the entire trip.
The BART brought me back into the heart of San Francisco the next day, my destination the Museum of Modern Art. I enjoyed a streetside falafel wrap for breakfast en route. SFMoMA was hosting a seventy-five year anniversary exhibit, essentially a greatest hits narrative of the museum's history. It was a great tour, and I spent plenty of time viewing the offerings on other floors - not eager to return to the rain. After dawdling in the giftshop it was time for lunch. I hooded up and explored some side streets, stumbling upon Thirsty Bear Brewing. They served Spanish tapas alongside organic beers brewed onsite. The atmosphere and lunch menu were impressive, but I found most of the sampler beers to be yeasty (think Blue Moon, which I can't stand). I settled on the nitrogen stout, which came out drafted poorly with about two inches of head. Meh. I was pretty soaked after walking around a bit more after lunch, and hopped the train back to the hotel in the late afternoon.
The next day we switched hotels in the morning, moving from the airport Hilton to one located near Union Square in the city. My dad brought me to a fine Italian restaurant around the corner from the hotel called Kuleto's. They featured house-cured meats, and a scrumptious lunch menu including a fixed-price three course option. I chose linguine with clams and a bowl of dynamite minestrone, my dad had the taster lunch centered around a braised shortrib cannelloni and mushroom dish. We split a half-bottle of Napa Valley Syrah that had aged to an inky density. The whole meal was superb.
The final highlight of the trip took place that evening. I was able to meet up with Rob, an old friend from college who has lived in San Francisco for years, and who I hadn't seen in as long. He knew the good local spots, and we enjoyed catching up over some sinus-clearing Indian food. I had a very early flight the next morning, but we were able to get in a round of brews at an awesome little bar called The Black Horse London Pub. This was as literally a hole-in-the-wall as I have ever seen, seating/standing maybe ten people maximum. Bottled beers were served out of an ice-filled porcelain bathtub which also toted a keg of cask-conditioned IPA from a local brewer. Top notch, thanks Rob.
Coincidentally, my dad was in the city the same dates as myself traveling on business, and I was able to crash in his hotel room for three nights. This was a huge coup for my budget and level of comfort (Hilton). The first night in town we took the courtesy shuttle back to the airport in order to access the Bay Area Rapid Transit system (BART). The train took us into the city, where we met my dad's old friend, Berkeley resident and rock aficionado Andy. He had a bead on a rare show by local favorite Steve Morse at a venue called Slim's.
The gig was sponsored by Guitar Player Magazine, a publication that has repeatedly named Mr. Morse best overall guitarist. We bought tickets and grabbed some food and beers at a nearby, nearly empty, establishment. Arrived at Slim's a little late, as the opener was finishing, but were remarkably able to get seats near the front to the left side of the stage. It was a brilliant spot to see the show, as the guitar pedals were located right in front of us. The performance was amazing, I had for some reason expected a strummy acoustic set - quite the rocking opposite. Certainly one of the highlights of the entire trip.
The BART brought me back into the heart of San Francisco the next day, my destination the Museum of Modern Art. I enjoyed a streetside falafel wrap for breakfast en route. SFMoMA was hosting a seventy-five year anniversary exhibit, essentially a greatest hits narrative of the museum's history. It was a great tour, and I spent plenty of time viewing the offerings on other floors - not eager to return to the rain. After dawdling in the giftshop it was time for lunch. I hooded up and explored some side streets, stumbling upon Thirsty Bear Brewing. They served Spanish tapas alongside organic beers brewed onsite. The atmosphere and lunch menu were impressive, but I found most of the sampler beers to be yeasty (think Blue Moon, which I can't stand). I settled on the nitrogen stout, which came out drafted poorly with about two inches of head. Meh. I was pretty soaked after walking around a bit more after lunch, and hopped the train back to the hotel in the late afternoon.
The next day we switched hotels in the morning, moving from the airport Hilton to one located near Union Square in the city. My dad brought me to a fine Italian restaurant around the corner from the hotel called Kuleto's. They featured house-cured meats, and a scrumptious lunch menu including a fixed-price three course option. I chose linguine with clams and a bowl of dynamite minestrone, my dad had the taster lunch centered around a braised shortrib cannelloni and mushroom dish. We split a half-bottle of Napa Valley Syrah that had aged to an inky density. The whole meal was superb.
The final highlight of the trip took place that evening. I was able to meet up with Rob, an old friend from college who has lived in San Francisco for years, and who I hadn't seen in as long. He knew the good local spots, and we enjoyed catching up over some sinus-clearing Indian food. I had a very early flight the next morning, but we were able to get in a round of brews at an awesome little bar called The Black Horse London Pub. This was as literally a hole-in-the-wall as I have ever seen, seating/standing maybe ten people maximum. Bottled beers were served out of an ice-filled porcelain bathtub which also toted a keg of cask-conditioned IPA from a local brewer. Top notch, thanks Rob.
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