Staff of life

It’s with great sadness that I report the WSJ’s wine columnists, Dorothy J. Gaiter Brecher and John Brecher, are hanging up their little tasting cups.

They don’t say why, but they do go out on a high: their list of delicious finds in 2009.

They also leave us with some wine resolutions for 2010. I especially like #3, take a wine trip. After spending two weeks in France—with wine not the focus, yet still playing a great part—I heartily recommend spending at least a day in pursuit of a wine adventure.

On the above-mentioned trip, I had lunch at a café across from the Tour Saint Jacques, what’s left of the church that was the official starting point for medieval pilgrims bound for Santiago de Compostela. On my original trip 30 years ago, I’d stumbled onto the tower accidentally, then made sure to tag it on my way out to Santiago on my bicycle.

On two subsequent trips I found it again without intending to, & each time had a coffee in this café, so I wanted to reconnect this time.

It was a grey, rainy, cold Sunday afternoon, a good day to be inside watching the world. A good day for onion soup. An excellent day for Champagne.

So that's what I had for lunch.

That’s one of the things I love about France. It’s always time for Champagne.

(I did have the soup, too, in case anyone’s concerned.)

So my idea of heaven would be a week in Champagne, trying all types of Champagne; possibly with some food to accompany it, too.

It'll help me weather the loss of Dorothy and John.

Christmas 2009

I decided I didn’t want to spend Christmas in Seattle—for too many reasons to count up, actually. So I joined family and friends in the Palm Springs area.

I flew yesterday, Christmas Day. I’m assuming that the reason both legs of the journey were jammed was that all airlines have cut back on numbers of flights, and of course are flying those crappy smaller craft. (I once flew DC to LA on Christmas day on a DC10; you could have held World War III there & no one would have got hurt. It was wonderful.)

And Alaska Air has achieved what I had thought to be impossible: they’re worse than United when it comes to passenger experience.

For one thing, that “passengers may take aboard one bag to fit in the overhead bin and one other to fit under the seat in front” thing is obviously pro forma. People were hauling on board steamer trunks, practically, and the staff didn’t do anything. When they start announcing that if you’re seated in the last eight rows of the plane, all the overhead bins are already full, so you should just cram your stuff in any place you find open, you know that things are bad.

(Basically, they’re admitting that people are ignoring that “regulation” wholesale with great success, so you’re a chump if you actually adhere to it. And that “carry-on bags must fit into this space” contraption at the gates is a complete waste of space.)

There was more, but you get the drift.

Still, I made it and got home, had a great Christmas dinner of lamb, sautéed squash and watercress and mint salad, and a good old catch-up conversation.

Today we went hiking in a riverbed, in scenery much different from the PNW. (As illustrated by these two pix.)

Soaking in Seattle

Whitewater foliage

Following the hike (my best friend and I were so involved in catching up that we overshot the visitors' center and ended up practically in Cabo San Lucas before we realized) there was a lovely picnic.

Tomorrow we're off to an old-time spa, served by actual hot springs, where the mob used to come in the 30s and 40s. I have a much-needed shiatsu massage lined up for me, and a thorough soak in the thermal waters.

So—flights aside—I hope your holiday was as good as mine.

You knew the job was dangerous when you took it

This comes to me courtesy of a connection of a connection with a DOT MIL email address, so make of it what you will.

I only hope it doesn’t delay the Merry One on his appointed rounds tonight.

As it is, I don’t know how he’s going to mange to get my prezzies to me, since—while I do have a fireplace—it doesn’t have a, you know, chimney. But then, I’m not sure how I rate on the naughty-nice scale this year. So maybe I don’t care.

(But who’ll eat the double-chocolate brownies I’m putting out, with 1% milk?)

Moscow Cat Theatre

I came upon this video, which cracked me up, even though I’m not wild about trained animal acts.

But since I passed on the dogs-decorating-the-Christmas-tree video last week, I might as well give cats equal time.

Enjoy.

Mit brennender Sorge

Troubling news that reinforces the notion that the Holy See grows more clueless with every passing pope: Benedict XVI is fast-tracking canonization for John Paul II & Pius XII.

Coming in the same week as the theft of the Arbeit Macht Frei sign over the main entrance to Auschwitz, it’s a heavy blow to people of good will everywhere, who’d like to think this is a Season of at least the Semblance of Light for the People of the Book.

Frankly, I’m not that wild about the idea of Saint John Paul II, even though he’s got about the best press of any pope since the Apostle Peter. Despite his well-cultivated global outreach and all those trips, John Paul’s papacy was pretty much dedicated to maintaining the status quo of the Church, including the policies of repressing women and covering up for pedophile priests.

Might as well canonize Alexander V.

But it’s Pius XII, the pope who swapped the moral high ground for a continued lease on Vatican City during World War II, who makes a travesty of sainthood.

His apologists claim he was cultivating a delicate neutrality with the Nazis and fascists that enabled him to…well, I’m not sure. Mostly keep despotic hands off Church property and maintain its position of emitting a beacon of light in a black world. And they point to him sheltering Jews in religious properties in Rome after the Germans occupied Italy and started deportations.

Can you say: too little, too late?

I knew you could.

Like John Paul, Pius XII was more concerned with holding on to whatever power and prestige the Roman Catholic Church possessed than in showing real moral leadership. (Given that moral courage was never in greater need than during the Nazi era, the failure of Pius was all the more despicable.)

If they’re handing out sainthoods for that, can Newt Gingrich be far behind?

Bleak midwinter

Lest you think evil is dead, Polish police report that someone has stolen the iron sign over the main gate to Auschwitz. That would be the Arbeit Macht Frei (work makes you free) sign.

Sadly, it’s not difficult for me to imagine why someone might want to take it. In fact, the possibilities of creeps, anti-Semites, ignorant thrill-seekers, opportunists and others are really too abundant.

I just hope to God that the Polish authorities—who have their own challenges with their welcoming of the Holocaust when the Germans came—at least recognize the potential loss of tourist and investment zlotys if they don’t get this sign back and prosecute the thieves.

This is so much more than a property crime.

Friend me? I don't think so

Social networking media have a lot to answer for. They’re like entering a lunatic asylum & being engulfed by the inmates.

I created a Twitter profile about a year ago, solely so I could follow a colleague’s tweets. I’ve never posted so much as a syllable. (For one thing—imagine me being limited to 140 characters to express my thoughts. Not going to happen.) I’m not even sure I know how to log back in to my account.

So why is it that a couple of times a week I receive notifications announcing that Tami Someone or Peggy Whosis (always females) is now following me on Twitter?

Following what, exactly?

(I know, they’re hoping I’ll reciprocate & jack up their numbers. But that’s not going to happen, either.)

& then there’s Facebook…

It’s bad enough when people you worked with for a short time try to “friend” you. You can just hit the ignore button there & forget about it.

But the other day I received one of those chirpy messages from Facebook saying I had a message from [Guy I Used To Go Out With Just Out Of College]. Now, that relationship was pretty fractious, back & forth, forth & back; together tight & break up. Finally I put enough distance between us that I didn’t have to think about him any more.

At one point, about 15 years ago, he tracked me down in Virginia (through a brother-in-law who was way too free with handing out my contact number) & called. Evidently just to chat, because there didn’t seem to be any purpose in that conversation. He did, however, mention he’d been in Adult Children of Alcoholics (as well as a couple of “men’s groups”, which—because he was in them—were not in any way ridiculous).

After we hung up I pieced together the idea that he must be in some sort of 12-step program, & one of them is to make amends to the people you’ve hurt or treated badly. So I bunged off a card saying if that’s what he was doing, his behavior was no longer an issue for me.

Then didn’t hear from him until 2002, when I found his phone number in some old calendars. I called, just for ducks, & we reconnected, long-distance.

Well, that lasted a few months, until he took issue with a comment one of my other friends made to an email I’d mass-sent. There was some verbal flipping off between them (both suffering from testosterone poisoning), & then GIUTGOWJOOC turned on me, for somehow having a connection to “this clown”.

At that point I’d had enough. My last, emailed, words to him were, “Grow the hell up.” He replied but I never opened it; just filed it in the appropriate place.

So imagine my surprise to get that Facebook message from GIUTGOWJOOC, slugged “reestablish contact”: “Are you open to that? If not, I understand, and it’s okay.”

Well, where to begin?

First, I was shocked, because in 2003 he not only didn’t have cable TV, he was using a PC with DOS only, & certainly had no internet connection. (He had email via his employer.) He just used the computer for “writing” (& the less said about that, the better).

So, evidently he’s now moved onto the Information Superhighway in his 1957 Chevy—unless he’s still accessing via work.

Second, that whole “I understand & it’s okay” is typical of his arrogant, condescending belief that he’s somehow superior instead of stunted emotionally. This is his persona: he has much stronger relationships with animals than with humans. (Doesn’t much like men; keeps women at a distance. But animals? He holds true to them to death.)

So, no, he doesn’t understand & it’s completely immaterial to me whether he thinks it’s okay or not.

I looked at his profile, which he has open to the public (which says pretty much everything right there—he’s always had an unlisted phone number, but splashes himself all over Facebook?). Sunday he had 12 friends (one being his dog); today he has 13. So he’s basically just trying to build up his “friends”, even if they’re just electrons on a monitor.

& remember what I said about animals? He lists eight of them as living with him. In an 1100 sq ft two-bedroom/one-bath 1950s rancher, which hasn’t ever been updated.

Will I “reestablish contact”? Uh, no. Will I reply? I can’t think of anything that would completely convey my indifference to ever hearing from him.

I’m going to go wash my fingers, now. Because this has been a foray into the underside of social media & they feel slimy.

Dental health

I have a question, which I’m hoping someone out there can help me with.

Why is it that my employer’s health insurance will cover 100% of just about any medical expense that isn’t blatantly frivolous (including 100% of prescriptions), but only half of dental costs?

I’ve noticed this with pretty much all my health insurance—previous plans certainly didn’t go the 100%-no-co-pay route, but there was still this disconnect between how much they’d pay for doctors and how much for dentists.

What is up with this? Do these insurance wallahs think we go to the dentist for any reason other than because we absolutely have to? Do they think we’re getting fillings for fun? If the billing statement says anything other than “vanity procedure”, do they really think we’re trying to game the system?

I ask as I’ve just had to shell out nearly $700 for a crown, allegedly half the total cost. It’s not like I said to myself, “Hmm, feeling like spending 90 minutes up close and personal with the dentist and his staff, and paying several hundreds for the privilege.” And when the bill goes to the insurance company, it’ll say, “piece of tooth broke off”, so it’s clear I’m not getting veneers.

I’m not sure whether the various healthcare reform bills swirling around the Congressional bowl include dental care; but they ought to.

Neighborscapes

Perhaps you’ll recall that Higher Powers tried to keep me from returning to Seattle from Europe.

And rightly so.

Imagine my sense of pleasure upon pulling up to the house to find that my neighbor, Abbi, has decided to leave all her trash and recycling bins out in front of our shared fence, right between our two gates.

I’ve noticed that people in this particular neighborhood just leave their bins out on the curb all the time. Which means they have to schlep their trash, yard waste and recycling out there several times between collection, rather than keeping them at home and wheeling out the bins once a week (or every two, in the case of recycling).

This has all the charm of living in the projects, but with a higher mortgage payment.

But, since we don’t get pick-up from our house fronts (we have to wheel the containers about 75 yards out to an actual, you know, curb), it’s not clear to me what the advantage of leaving the bins out in public, instead of inside her property line, is. I mean, it’s not as though she’s actually landscaped her 20 square feet of land and consequently has aesthetic objections to keeping them there (as she’s done for the past six months).

It seems I unwittingly moved into a trailer park. Lucky me.

Canine Christmas

I interrupt this string of posts about France to bring you this video. Just think of it as a holiday gift.

I wouldn’t hold out hopes that your own four-footed friends will do the same for you, though.