Autumn in New Hampshire

Wed, 13 Oct 2010 02:04:07 +0200

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Uptat prat lut lut iriliquat, quis alisl irilit am irillum at niam zzrit, verosto consequ ismodit iriuscin el dolorero prat lut lut iriliquat, quis alisl irilit am irillum at niam zzrit, verosto dionsequi veliqui exerit inis ea feugue feum.Eliquatuero dip numsan vent lam, conum facillum init lut veliqua modit dolorer commod niam onul laore. Uptat prat lut lut iriliquat, quis alisl irilit am irillum at niam zzrit, verosto consequ ismodit iriuscin el dolorero prat lut lut iriliquat, quis alisl irilit am irillum at niam zzrit, verosto dionsequi veliqui exerit inis ea feugue feum. Uptat prat dolorero prat lut lut iriliquat, quis alisl irilit am irillum at niam zzrit, verosto.

The Mother of all Poorams

Sun, 28 Jun 2009 23:56:26 +0200

The Indian Province of Kerala is home to the annual Thrissur Pooram. According to local publicists this is the “mother of all Poorams”. I had no idea what a Pooram was, but I sure wasn’t going to risk missing the Pooram of all Poorams.

I was in the city of Cochin when I first heard about the Pooram and decided to shell out the 4 dollars for the 82 Kilometer cab ride to the festival. During this terrifying ride I was told that a Pooram was a temple festival, and that many of these featured elephants. I was again reminded that this was the mother of all Poorams

When I arrived I found a scene of thousands and thousands of people outside of the Vadakumnathan temple and saw a great sign welcoming all foreigners.
 Wading through seas of people I finally made it to the elephants. With no background or knowledge of what I was seeing I was able only to enjoy the sights, energy and pulse of the Pooram. I had never, in my life, been so close to so many large elephants and had never seen so many people cheering these magnificent beasts.
 As I left the festival I was urged to stay longer. That evening one of India’s largest fireworks displays would light up the sky and it seemed like an amazing way to finish off the day. Alas, I had to move on, so I added it to my list of places to return to at a later date and continued on my way.

Signs Of The City: Episode 1

Tue, 23 Jun 2009 09:46:26 +0200

Since I’ve moved to San Francisco I’ve noticed differences between life here and anywhere else on Earth. Many of these nuances are cultural while others are more socially specific. (yes there is a difference) One common thread is that whenever I notice one of these SF phenomenon I feel a blast of energy that excites and refreshes my love for the city. As a result I’ve begun recording “Signs Of The City” as I notice them and will post here from time to time.

One thing I’ve noticed in my neighborhood is the ability to find great “ground scores”. The ground score, of course, is when you find something on the ground, street, trash or recycling pile that is exciting and (for you) valuable enough to take and high five yourself while mouthing “score!”. There is a whole process and ritual when obtaining the ground score. First there is the sighting. This is when you notice the score. Second is the decision if it is an item that you want/need/are willing to take. Thirdly the possibility that this item may have been peed on or worse since it has ended up on the ground. Fourthly, becoming comfortable with the idea that your neighbor or girl you are trying to sleep with might be watching, judging you and fifthly, how the hell are you going to get this home.

It’s the fifth component that often presents the most challenges. A few days ago I noticed some beautiful pots and pans that would have been perfect for spag-sauce. These pots were so beautiful and I was so far out of my way that I nearly picked them up, turned around and went home rather than continue on to meet a group of friends for dinner.

Like most ground scores, I vowed to check back on my way home and like most ground scores I forgot about the pots and took a different route home.

The ground score that has inspired me to write this however remained on my street for the last four days. I photographed it on two occasions, inspected it from numerous angles and tried, unsuccessfully, to scavenge it for parts. To my semi-trained eye it seemed to be in perfect working order (minus a small part) and I concluded that only in San Francisco could this be thrown out and not picked up immediately.

The ground score in question is the HP Photosmart C3150 All-In-One Printer-Scanner-Copier. Reviews online are favorable, I’ve seen it posted on craigslist for $45 and available new for $90. Recently I was looking for a new printer and considered the model that now was outside of my apartment. Unfortunately for me, I had purchased a new printer and was not in need of the C3150, but it made me think.

Where else in the world would someone discard a perfectly good printer/scanner/copier without a neighbor picking it up? My neighborhood is a mixture of gang members, yuppies, hipsters and vagrants. It’s the type of neighborhood that surely someone would want this copier. Weather for office use or target practice there just had to be a use.

The first day I just walked by the printer and thought about how interesting it was that ten years ago this would have been the most amazing piece of technology and now it was on the street abandoned.

The second day I walked by and took a photo, thinking about writing this piece.
 The third day I thought, well damn, I wonder if there are any cartridges inside, after all it takes the same ink that I use. I looked over my shoulder thinking of the third and fourth tenants of ground scores. Was this peed on? Will anyone judge me for scoping it out? Bending down and examining the printer I found that the cartridges had already been removed (or perchance as it is San Francisco the ink had been deposed of in the preferred way) I also opened the inside and from what I could tell, it looked great. I did notice however that it did not include a power cord, and I walked up to my apartment.

The fourth day I passed it on my way to the train and vowed that on the way home I would collect this lonely printer. Take it inside, test it out and if it worked I would return it outside with a sign attached praising its abilities.

Unfortunately as I walked home that evening the printer was gone. For a moment I found myself lost in a fantasy of wondering where it had ended up. Perhaps Kelly, the homeless transsexual on the block had picked it up and sold it. Maybe a hipster had taken it to use as a housewarming gift or the most likely was that a neighbor, tired of walking past it picked it up and put it in the trash. Whatever had happened and whatever the fate of the C3150 was I knew it’s role in my life was over and that something like this could only happen in San Francisco.

Sometimes She Cries

Fri, 19 Jun 2009 05:34:19 +0200

The Real American Poets

About a week ago I received the following email.

“DeVito I ripped us off! Remember when we'd sit around and read lyrics to awful, I mean awesome, metal tunes? Well, I'm doing it again, only this time on the World Wide Web! Check out the latest post on www.tendollarradioshow.com.”

Well, I sure did remember this and after visiting www.tendollarradioshow.com. I felt it was time to take a trip down memory lane.

Way back in the early 90’s, my good friend Ned Rauch and I discovered the power of poetry. While our high school teachers prodded us towards Langston Hughes, E.E. Cummings and T.S. Elliot our heroes of verse were Bret Michaels, Kip Winger and Sebastian Bach. It was reading the lyrics of Def Leppard, Trixter and LA Guns that showed us the energy and defiant sexual power that well crafted words could evoke. At 15 and 16, this was pretty heavy shit.

In nostalgic reality we would read these words time and time again, but in truth I believe our little experiment ran its course in 3 sessions. One of my favorite of such readings occurred in Ned’s dorm room on the second floor of Ford House at our New Hampshire boarding school. Fellow friends Mason Astley and Malcolm Hart stumbled upon us mid-verse and, in what was nearly a horrifyingly embarrassing adolescent moment, they laughed and joined in the fun. For hours we passed around lyrics from a highly comprehensive anthology of hair bands, each one of us trying to inflect a more absurd interpretation. Malcolm layered an upper class English accent on top of Every Rose Has It’s Thorn while Ned breathed a southern twang into Nazareth’s Love Hurts. I tried desperately to infuse a harsh New England brogue into Skid Row’s 18 and Life and Mason brought us comfort in Glen Danzig.

Since those winter days in high school, Pat Boone has recorded an album of Heavy Metal cover songs, Richard Cheese sang lounge style to classic rock and many other fine examples of cross genre salute have made the rounds on You Tube and other social networks. It is possible that in every high school across the world, kids were doing what we were, but for us it was special, it was important and most of all it was a great time.

Ned Rauch has a blog/podcast now at www.tendollarradioshow.com and, as noted above, he brought back this classic poetry. Check out his readings of “One Inch Rock”, “She’s So Cold” and “Big Jack”

I recorded “Sometimes She Cries”, a classic Warrant ballad and you can listen to it here, but make sure to add ten dollar radio to your list of sites and check out the show each week. Ten Dollar Radio, it sounds like coughing into a hit pillow after pulling a three foot tube in the closet, and it plays for free..

As Seen On TV

Fri, 19 Jun 2009 02:32:49 +0200

Since I’ve lived in San Francisco I’ve had a tough time finding work. Maybe it’s my years in hospitality, perhaps it’s the economy or maybe, as my Dad suggests, I’m not being open to all the opportunities that might be out there. Well, as employment becomes more and more of a necessity I’ve tried to think outside the box. I’ve applied to jobs ranging from dog walker to deli meat supervisor and everything in between.

Perhaps the most interesting job I’ve looked at was an “actor” for infomercial style presentations at malls around the Bay. While searching craigslist.com I came across a posting for an actor for “retail-tainment”. Intrigued, I responded with a resume with links to my video work and was granted an audition. I was advised to bring a head-shot (if I had one) and to prepare a monologue (humor or drama) to present.

Now, I’ve always wanted to be on infomercials. In fact since I was about ten I’ve been obsessed with the style, absurdity and instant kitsch that the products and their promoters exude. The night before the audition I looked all over the company’s website trying to familiarize myself with the products. They seemed to have the standard collection of cleaning miracle agent, time saving choppers and tomato/tin can destroying knives. In addition the site shows testimonials from customers that had purchased these revolutionary products. Most of these were complimentary, however whenever one was not it noted a superior customer service solution that would make any geriatric Floridian confident this was a company and a brand they could trust.

I was sold. Representing this company and products would surely be a dream job. All I had to do was ace the audition and my apartment would be full of time saving, life improving gizmos..

I decided to prepare a monologue based on bad old jokes and out dated mops. It would go something like this…

“ Good Afternoon, My name is Geoff DeVito and I am really happy to be here. I just flew in from Chicago and boy are my arms tired! (Pause) Now you may not think that joke is funny, but it wasn’t long ago that people would have rolled on the floor with laughter. Equally, that old broom that you have that was wonderful 5 years ago has also become outdated and the new micro-fiber duster is the way of the future”

I’d talk for a little while about the importance and superiority of the micro fiber duster and then wrap up with

“So while “Take my wife. Please” may have had a limited shelf life in the comedy clubs, the all new micro fiber duster will last in your closet and heart forever, OR YOUR MONEY BACK.”

When I arrived at my “audition” I found myself in a hallway full of seemingly schizophrenic applicants, dazed and repeating the same sentences over and over. Moving towards the registration desk it became clear what the panic and stuttering were about. As I checked in a gentleman handed me a paper with 2 “sides” for me to read aloud. This would be my audition. Not a fancy or clever salute to my newly beloved micro-fiber duster, but rather a prewritten tribute to something called the Master Cut 2 (it was in bold) It was at this moment that I realized three things that were bound to change my life.

Number one: there was no chance in hell I was going to land the roll as the newest live infomercial superstar. Number two: I would have to figure out another way to get my own micro-fiber duster and Number three,: as soon as my bowling documentary is finished I am going to make a film about the real lives of infomercial hosts and call it “As Seen On TV”.

As I write this there are 45 minutes left until the time I was told I would be responded to if I was invited for a call back. As stated in realization number one, I do not expect a call, but in the back of my mind, for the next 45 minutes my fantasy of being a real life live infomercial host will stay alive!

The Beard Has Gone...The Beard Has Gone Away...

Thu, 4 Jun 2009 10:19:47 +0200

1000 years ago, I would guess that beards were more common than not. 10,000 years ago, I imagine that any human with the chemical ability to grow a beard would have worn one and 20,000 years ago, former President George Bush (beardless) would feel the world didn’t exist.

After six months of wearing a beard, it’s gone. Gone I tell you. Gone. And the worst part is, it is all my fault. No one else to blame but me. Today a casual beard trim mixed with a healthy dose of ADD meant a clean shave rather than a ¼ inch trim. The second worse part is I doubt that anyone other than me cares about the loss of a beard. Perhaps those that have had the pleasure of growing a beard understand the pleasure of facial hair, the freedom, the spirit and the general confidence that a beard provides. Those that don’t or those that don’t develop such a relationship with facial hair may never understand how much the beard means. In fact, it is not the beard so much that has significance, it is the meaning of beard that caries the weight.

A beard is dreaded by girlfriends, employers and generally everyone who can not (genetically or socially) grow one. Therefore the beard, if and when grown, can mean independence, individuality and, more than anything, that subtle feeling that no one tells you what to do.

So tonight, while I sit at my keyboard stroking my bare chin instead of a handful of beard, I remember the fond days of inclusion in the facial hair club. Now I feel like a child and outcast of the fraternity I was so proud to be a member of. I wonder, what will my future hold. I wonder what life will be like among the shaven, the smoothen, the unbeard.

Kashgar, RIP

Sat, 30 May 2009 03:16:03 +0200

Kashgar, RIP.

I remember reading the headline when Stevie Ray Vaughn’s helicopter crashed. Only days before, some older kids (I was 13) had told me that if I liked the guitar in Led Zeppelin, I should check out a guitarist named Stevie Ray Vaughn because he was “wicked” awesome. Before I had a chance hear a single note, the helicopter carrying him crashed and Stevie Ray Vaughn died. That was the first time I remember wishing I had experienced something before it was taken from Earth forever.

In subsequent years I had the same remorse when the Berlin Wall fell, Jerry Garcia died and the Concorde took its last flight. In the past few years I’ve been trying to experience as much as the planet has to offer before it’s too late. Yesterday I read in the New York Times, that another of our planet’s great offerings will soon be forever gone.

The city of Kashgar is one of history’s great oasis towns. China has decided it is time for Kashgar be leveled in fear that earthquakes are imminent. The government believes that after thousands of years resting on a “major” fault line that now it is time to change the city.

China has many dangerous institutions including coal mines, secret police and snake bile wine. One wonders why after so many years now is the time to level a fabled oasis. My suspicions are than in a reaction to the media attention after China’s last major earthquake someone was put in charge of saving a village from the same fate and in a typically good idea meets awful reality, someone chose Kashgar. Of course, if there is a way to prevent tragedy all steps necessary should be taken, but in this instance, the cultural loss will also be severe.

Kashgar is one of those places that I’ve had on my travel wish list. Embarrassingly I was along the Tajikisatn border just a few years ago. During this adventure a close friend of mine and I decided that Kashgar would have to be on the short list of places to visit in the next few years. In the time since then life and travel have taken us to many places, but not to Kashgar. I guess we figured that it would always be around. We figured wrong.

In 2006 I heard that China’s famous Tiger Leaping Gorge was scheduled to be dammed, disappearing from the earth forever. I made my way there, insistent not to let one of the great treasures leave without me saying good-bye.

There is little chance that I will have the opportunity to visit Kashgar before it is razed and of course there is a lesson here. Look around your neighborhood, listen to the radio, read the local paper and make sure that you embrace all that society has to offer. Even when things look like they’ll be around for ever, you never know when there is going to be another “Kashgar”. Live it. Now!

Read the great New York Times article here

The Perfect Meatball

Mon, 25 May 2009 22:42:09 +0200

There are many things in life that we eat and take for granted. We don’t necessarily take the meal itself for granted, but often we fail to respect and appreciate the creativity and trial and error process one has to go through to make the perfect recipe. For me, I have always enjoyed meatballs and at their basic level, it is near impossible to make a bad meatball. Sure, they can be overcooked, a little dry or even bland, but with enough tomato sauce nearly every meatball can be eaten with satisfaction. I think it is the everyday acceptance of such “par for the course” meatballs that give the “meatball artist” such a valuable role in society today. When you bite into a meatball so juicy, tender and explosive that you want to fall to your knees and praise Santa Carniceria ( the patron Saint of meat), it is at this point that life has new meaning.

While this may seem like an over passionate introduction, I am happy to announce that today I will share my meatball recipe with you. I hope that as you follow this recipe you will appreciate the struggle that the meatball angels have gone through to get to this point.

The first thing to know about meatballs is that they are better when baked, not fried. They are also healthier this way.

The second thing to know about meatballs is that without a great sauce recipe, there is no great meatball. While I will share with you my own meatball recipe, DeVito family law forbids the sharing of our sauce recipe, sorry.

The third thing to know about meatballs is that unlike other foods, you really can’t test the meatball during the cooking process. Trust your meat instinct. It is sort of like using The Force, but takes longer to train.

The fourth thing to know about meatballs is that they are not meatloaf, hamburger or any other type of meat. You must respect the meatball as an individual and this is an individual that if respected, will respect you back.

Ok, here is the recipe. Keep in mind that one of the worst things for meatballs is the precision measure. Go with your gut feeling. This recipe suggests the basic framework for an award winning meatball, but it is the cooks’ individual interpretation that will make this ball shine. Use local, organic and lean ingredients when possible. Not only will it taste better and be healthier for you, but it will help make the world a better place to eat meatballs for years to come.

The Perfect Meatball
Materials
One bottle of red wine. I prefer a Malbec for this recipe, but anything red will work
1.75 pounds ground beef
1 pound ground pork
½ pound bacon, 80% cooked, but not crispy! Bacon needs to be tender and juicy.
1 cup dry breadcrumbs, seasoned with your favorite Italian seasoning combination
½ small yellow onion, chopped chunky
2 large cloves garlic finely chopped
3 tablespoons grated parmesan cheese (the fresher the better, grate fine for best results)
3 tablespoons “Italian” seasoning blend
1 tablespoon Red Pepper Flakes
Salt and Pepper to taste.
2 eggs
4 tablespoons tomato paste
Bread, Pasta or what ever vehicle you choose to guide meatball inside you
Lots of Sauce

Once you have the ingredients assembled and in front of you, the process is pretty quick. The time it takes the meatballs to cook is also how long it seems to take to clean up, so by the time the balls come out of the oven everything in the kitchen should be clean.

Method
1) Open bottle of wine and pour yourself a glass. A meatball needs romance to come to life and there is nothing more romantic than a glass of wine in the kitchen. Put the bottle to the side, you will need it again soon
2) Preheat oven to 400F. make sure to have two large cookie sheets ready.
3) In a large bowl, mix beef and pork together. Kneed and blend the meat with your hands until it is evenly mixed.
4) Mix cheese, breadcrumbs, onion, garlic and spices. Add to meat and re-kneed again, mixing evenly.
5) In a separate bowl beat the eggs, add the tomato paste and blend in 1/3 cup red wine. Try to make this mixture as smooth as possible, but keep in mind, it will be rather lumpy due to tomato paste.
6) Add wine/egg/paste mixture as well as finely chopped bacon to meat and spices and mix evenly.
7) Take a small amount of meat( the size you want your meatballs to be, and pack it into a ball the same way you would make a snowball. Pass back and forth until the right size and shape is in your hand. If in this process the meatball feels a bit dry add a little more wine. If it feels runny for some reason add a small amount of breadcrumbs.
8) Once consistency is where you want it, make as many meatballs as you can with the mixture you have.
9) Place raw meatballs on cookie sheet leaving a bit of space between them.
10) Put meatballs and cookie sheets into the oven and set timer for 10 minutes.
11) Pour additional wine in glass and enjoy while doing dishes
12) After ten minutes take meatballs out of oven, flip over and put back in oven for 10 more minutes.
13) Make sure that your pasta/bread and sauce are ready
14) Take one meatball out of oven and cut in half and make sure cooked all the way through. If meatball is pink in the middle, return to oven for up to 10 more minutes. All ovens vary with cooking time, but allow 20 to 30 minutes total time to get meatballs to temperature.
15) When meatballs are done, place in/on serving tray/dish. Add sauce.
16) Top favorite pasta, add provolone cheese for toasted sub and enjoy more wine.

This recipe provides enough meatballs for 5-6 hungry people. If serving pasta, chances are you will have leftovers, which is awesome.