“What’re you blaming society for, Johnny?” “Whaddya got?”

 …to paraphrase Marlon Brando.

For Christmas, my daughters gave me the best present a father can get, proof they listen to what I say.

Thanks, girls!

Poppa

A world without string is chaos.

This Just Makes Me Smile

The HD version at YouTube is remarkable.  Click “watch in HD” right underneath the video.

Poppa

Floored!

Last week, we all lived like cars.  For five days, Monday through Friday, the only way we could get in or out of the building (without setting off an alarm) was through the garage doors.  The reason?  The lobby floor was being refinished.

I was again’ it.  The original lobby floor was a mix of terrazzo and concrete and I liked the gritty, industrial look.  I didn’t have any idea what the new floor was going to look like, but I figured it would be boring and conventional.  This turns out not to be the case.

I’ve never seen a surface like this.  The predominate color seems to be green, but it changes depending on the lighting and the viewing angle.

It has a 3D effect when you examine it closely.  I’m not sure if the effect is real but smoothed by a layer of thick transparent acrylic, or an optical illusion.  It’s really striking.

It was described to us as “leading edge” (hopefully not “bleeding edge”).  Time will tell how well it holds up to wear and tear, and how firm the footing is when it’s wet.

But for now, I like it.

Poppa

Eating St. Louis…

… by Patricia Corrigan, is a quick and enjoyable read Nan picked up at the Public Library the other day.  It also describes a typical weekend, like this one.

The New – we try two new pizza places

The first, The Good Pie, was a noble attempt at pizza napoletana spoiled by sheets of fatty prosciutto that didn’t seem to have been sliced with the rest of the pizza.  After sawing through it to separate the slices, the prosciutto ensured the first bite of each slice pulled the toppings off into one big, chewy, wad, leaving bare crust for the remaining bites.  The atmosphere was clean and Metrosexual, the Caesar salad was good, the crust was good, but we both preferred the pizza at Pi.  The place has only been open several days at this point.  We may try it again someday.

The second was The Wedge, an older, more established place, open almost a month and a half by now.  We tried the Meatball sandwich with onion rings, both of which were very good, but the star of the night was the Stinky Pizza (actual name), with Taleggio, Gorgonzola, Goat Cheese, Roasted Garlic, and Fontina.  To. Die. For.  Unfortunately, the Stinky Person at the table closest to us spent the entire time we were there reading a book, drinking from a Big Gulp cup, and smoking cigarettes.  And smoking cigarettes.  And smoking cigarettes.  And smoking cigarettes.  Usually when you’re sharing restaurant space with smokers, they at least take an occasional break to eat something.  But not Stinky.  We had no metal piercing the non-lobed parts of our body or tattoos, so we felt a little out of place there (read “old”).  The pizza was great, but if we go back for more, it will probably be a carry-out operation.

Oddly enough, we’d never heard of Taleggio cheese until the night before at The Good Pie, where we found it on the menu and asked what it was.  It was described there as “stinky cheese.”  Bad marketing.  Great cheese.  This must be the new “IT” Cheese.  (“IT” is that quality possessed by some which draws all others with its magnetic force.  With “IT” you win all men if you are a woman—all women if you are a man.)  And with “IT” you win both men and women if you are a cheese.

The Old – we return to old favorites

We’re not one-horse charlies, oh no.  We didn’t just eat pizza this weekend.  We had Dim Sum at Lulu on Saturday…

Generic Picture of Dim Sum From a Hong Kong Government Web Site Everybody Uses When They Blog About Dim Sum

…and Sunday morning, we had the Daily Scramble, Egg #3, and Pomegranate-layered Mimosas at Rooster just around the corner.

Pomegranate-Layered Mimosa at Rooster

Then I walked over to 11th and Washington for our annual photos of the Steaming Lions.

The Steaming Lions of 11th and Washington

A Steaming Lion of 11th and Washington

It was, like, 9 degrees out.  They were steaming up a storm.

Two more days, then I don’t work for the rest of the year.  Huzzah!!

Poppa

Absinthe Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

The absinthe drinker meets The Green Fairy

By Wednesday evening, we were back to our “eat and be entertained” mode.  I had my first taste of absinthe.  We went to Pi for pizza and then crossed the street to see Shawn Colvin at the Pageant.  Pi was outstanding, as we’ve come to expect after three visits so far.  The pizza is our current favorite in St. Louis and it’s on my Four Best Pizzas in the World List.  We ordered the garlic bread appetizer and were delighted to receive a mini-baguette, hot and crusty from the oven, with a ramekin of delicately flavored garlic butter on one side and a whole bulb of roasted garlic on the other, so you could add as little or as much of the Stinking Rose to your bread as you (or the people around you) could stand. 

The cocktail list included absinthe “spoon-fired with caramelized sugar,” so I tried a glass.  It wasn’t bad.  I don’t feel like going on a killing spree as yet, but don’t mess with me until it’s out of my system.  (Turns out I’m not likely to go on a killing spree, American absinthe is thujone-free.  Oh, and the Absinthe Wienies look down on firing the sugar as a perversion invented in the 1990s by Eastern European purveyors of cheap absinthe.)

The Shawn Colvin concert was wonderful.  She has a very mellow stage presence and plays and sings beautifully.  She did much of her growing up in Carbondale, Ill, about 100 miles from St. Louis, and many of her old friends were in the audience.  Reminiscing took place.

In the category of People Watching, the couple sitting next to Nan were wielding three BlackBerries between the two of them.  The woman was holding one in each hand.  She must have been working both sides of her brain at the same time.

Poppa

Bagpipes in the Basilica

Tuesday night we didn’t, repeat, DID NOT, go out to eat somewhere.  Instead, we focused on nourishing the soul.

Heh.  Are your eyes rolling yet?

We attended the Holiday Brass Concert at the Cathedral Basilica of St. Louis.  The Basilica is a unique place to hear music.  The huge space generates a full eight seconds of reverberation, so the building itself becomes an instrumental voice.  This means the music performed must be selected and performed with the reverberation in mind.  Music with a bouncy, staccato rhythym will sound like a train wreck.  But the right music produces magic.

The Holiday Brass Concert has been staged there something like 17 years in a row now, and consists of more than just brass.  There were two choral groups, the Central Presbyterian Church Chancel Choir (it’s nice to see the Catholics and the Protestants playing nicely together) and the Kirkwood Children’s Chorale.  The cathedral pipe organ takes part, and my friend from Invera’an, George Gerules, played two numbers on his Great Highland bagpipes.

The program was made up of Christmas music, mostly traditional.  The most innovative aspect of the concert was the use of the entire nave and transcept area by the musicians.  Instead of the various groups taking turns at the front of the nave next to the sanctuary, the musicians were positioned around the interior in every nook and cranny.  As one song ended, another would start up from an unexpected part of the Basilica (except from the chapel where the Cardinals hang their hats).

Some of the songs just didn’t work, they were too dynamic for the reverb, but most were acoustically compatible.  The songs involving the vocal groups were all successful and O Come All Ye Faithful, performed by the Children’s Chorale, was transcendent.  George played a solo tune and topped off the first half of the concert with Highland Cathedral, starting solo and finishing to a brass accompaniment.

The Basilica was packed.  Nan and I had a great time.

And then we didn’t go out to eat.  Really.

Poppa

Dances With Dingos

It’s been a grueling week here in the Loo.  Dianne, our Atlanta friend, was here from Thursday to Sunday, and we spent our time chatting interspersed with trips to some of our favorite eateries; Tucker’s for pork chops, Lulu for dim sum, City Diner for Cuban sandwiches, and India Palace for saag and butter chicken.

Monday night, Nan, Jan, and I went to a 5:15 showing of Australia, a two-hour forty-five-minute Down-Under Romance set in 1939… wait for it… Australia.   It stars Nicole Kidman and some beefcake named Huge Akman.  Huge plays a drover named “Drover,” and based on this naming convention, the other characters should have been named “Snooty But Kind-Hearted English Lady,” “Plucky Half-Caste Urchin,” “Sneering Fly-Torturing Villain,” “Aged Inebriate With Heart of Gold,” “Mercurial Chinese Cook”, “Trusty Sidekick,” and ”Saintly Mystical Aboriginal Patriarch.”

The first thirty minutes were quite unusual and I liked them immensely, then the movie became cliche-ridden, though beautifully photographed.  The Aboriginal-Australian hooey rating was almost off the scale, what with all the animal controlling and psychic GPS capabilities whipped out by Plucky Half-Caste Urchin and Saintly Mystical Aboriginal Patriarch whenever required by the plot.  There’s no question which side of the Australian History Wars the movie supports.

I must say I enjoyed it over all, in spite of the things I’ve cranked about here.   The two-hour forty-five-minute running time was mitigated by the comfy leather couches of the Moolah Theatre.  I give it three out of five kangaroos.

After the strinefest, we went to BB’s Jazz, Blues, and Soups for a late supper (yes, they have all three and it’s ALL good).

Poppa