Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Hop Head Said - A Blog by Curtis: Mid-week Beer - Lindemans Framboise


“This doesn’t taste like beer!” is probably the most common comment I hear when I introduce this beer to people. Effervescent and sweet with no bitterness (that I can taste) this beer is more reminiscent of a tart raspberry soda than anything else. You can expect the same tart soda like flavorings from the other Lindemans’ products. They produce a variety of fruit (apple, peach and cherry just to name a few) flavored beers.

However, don’t expect that sweetness from any other fruit Lambic style beers you might find on the shelves, Lindemans are by far the sweetest beers I have tasted. Most other Lambic style beers are quite tart and some are down right sour.

Lindemans-Framboise

Published by permission. Visit Curtis' blog at http://hopheadsaid.wordpress.com/

Monday, March 28, 2011

Hop Head Said - A Blog by Curtis: The Perfect Pint: Pint Glasses


In an effort to expand on the “education” part of my “Beer reviews, etiquette and education” motto, I am starting a new series of posts that will focus on beer glassware. Specifically, I will be talking about the glass’s shape and why that particular glass is an appropriate vessel for a specific beer style.

This week I will be discussing a glass that has become ubiquitous with pubs, bars and restaurants, the pint glass. There are several names (Nonic, shaker and tumbler) and slight shape differences but they are basically the same glass. Pint glasses are the gold standard of beer glasses for home and commercial use with good reason. They are cheap and can be replaced easily. They are easy to clean and store because of their no-nonsense shapes and. These glasses are sturdy and can take a beating before they break. Most importantly to many beer drinkers, they provide a historical standard for individual beer consumption. With exception of the historical measurement (which isn’t even accurate these days) these glasses have little to do with enhancing the overall drinking experience and more to do with convenience to the establishment’s owner.

Pint glasses are hardly the BEST glass for any beer. True, they fit in the hand nicely and their wide openings facilitate easy drinking, however, the wide openings do nothing to condense the foamy head. A thick and dense head on a beer works as a filter allowing a gradual release of aromatics. The relatively large surface area at the top of pint glass encourages a thin head which allows the aromatics to escape quickly and easily.

Because of their size, only low to mid strength beers should be served in a pint glass. Beers with higher alcohol levels should be consumed in moderation and in smaller serving sizes.

Pint Glasses: Nonic, Shaker or Tumbler
The workhorse of glasses. Traditionally used
for any American or English ale.

Nonic Pint

Nonic Pint

Shaker Pint

Shaker Pint

Published by permission. Visit Curtis' blog at http://hopheadsaid.wordpress.com/

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Debbie Does Music: Dust off the Cobwebs: Let’s Talk Hotels & Highways


Gonna jump right in!

Last week I had the pleasure of interviewing a new Americana Roots band, Hotels & Highways, for a local publication, VC Reporter, check it out!

You’ll get some good background info on the band, and a glimpse at the interview.

But only here, at DDM, will you get the complete, uncut version of my exchange with Erin “Syd” Sidney. And the pictures from their cd release show at Zoey’s Cafe in Ventura last Thursday. Check it!!

DDM: So this tour, it’s like you are hitting places in between all of your homes. How did you all meet, given you live in really different places?

H&H: Ok — so Patrick grew up in Detroit and played music there – after college he was in a successful band called the Patrick Thomas Theory, played all over the midwest. At the same time that he was doing that I was getting a pretty healthy national touring solo singer/songwriter career going. I was based out of Boston and in about 2005 he came and played a show with me and a guy named Todd Martin at a now-defunct club in Boston. He mentioned offhand that if I needed someone to tour with, he was my guy.

I called him a few months later when I had a tour going from CA to VT. We were best friends by the grand canyon and somewhere on that tour or another that followed we wrote the song Live Now in a hotel in Ames, IA. We were staying in a lot of hotels. We were driving on a lot of highways. So…..

Lisa, in the meantime, had been called away from her career as an elementary school teacher when my dear friend Gregory Douglass had connected with her at a gig he played at Skidmore college. She could sing with him and that’s a huge deal because he’s amazing and he took her out on the road as his co-singer.

Somewhere in there she asked me to produce a record for her just as I was moving to NYC and thinking about doing the solo singer/songwriter thing less. Patrick and I had been writing a bit in New York and we were doing this semi-annual gatherings called the Who’s That Pack where us a few other kind of notorious solo singer/songwriters got together and played each other’s songs. Chad Perrone, Tim Blane, Todd Martin, Pat & I made up these comedy/party fests. (There is some genuinely weird/funny youtube stuff on that here)

Anyway, she started coming into the city from her home in CT and we were writing together. Then I introduced her to Pat and the three of us wrote together for her record — and it was great.

SO basically. You take all of those experiences and you put them in our back pockets. Life goes on and this past fall I had a string of college dates booked to anchor a tour. I was not interested in going out and playing them alone and doing my solo material. I was over it. And, further, I’d had an incredibly shitty summer with my step mother dying really terribly from cancer. Pat arranged to borrow a friend’s cabin on a lake in New York, we invited Lisa, I flew in, and the whole thing began. We really just went there intending to write in the spirit of the Hotels & Highways stuff we had done before, knowing that a performance collaboration could be as fun as the who’s that pack and that writing together was something we enjoyed.

DDM: You’ve obviously spent a great deal of time together recording the album, Lost River, but now your time on the road…is there some adjusting taking place? I know what a “road trip” for a family of five is like, and I wouldn’t want to do it again for an extended period of time like you all are doing!

H&H: Ah, well, it’s a built in part of our lives my friend. It’s funny — even my relationship with my wife, who I’ve been with for about 10 years, is built around the idea that I leave for weeks/months at a time. And sure, there’s adjusting, but really it’s the beginning and end that’s an adjustment. Once you’re out here, it’s happening, you have a choice — either make each other’s lives easy and comfy or don’t. We have really closely aligned goals desires schedules and senses of humor. So that helps a lot.

DDM: I’m listening to you now, who are you listening to as you drive across the country on tour?

H&H: Haha, this sounds a little like a pervy chat room — well, *I’m* wearing a dog collar and rainbow colored wig… ;-)

This very second Patrick is trying to figure out one of the changes in “Fidelity” by Regina Spektor. Lisa learned it on banjo in the van between Saratoga Springs, NY and Camden, NJ and we just remembered how pretty it is when she sings it.

But otherwise, we’re listening to some standby podcasts – This American Life, RadioLab and some standby records — there’s a fellow named Joe Pisapia who we had the pleasure of visiting in Nashville and singing with. He’s just a true gem. He gave us a copy of a record he made a while ago called Watercolor. Check that out on iTunes. Guy and a girl singing. Just gorgeous. He plays with kd lang now in her band The Siss Boom Bang and was with guster for years. Anyway. Him. And Tony Rice, the classic bluegrass cat. We’re trying to get better at that bluegrass stuff. And then an awful lot of shuffle, which you can actually see by going to my last fm profile and see what I’ve been playing/listening to.

Also I posted my year end wrap up for music I’ve been liking at my blog.

DDM: Who are some of the band’s influences (probably some you mentioned above)

H&H: It really has to do with a feeling more than anything. We like feeling like we’re playing with a sort of adventurous and comfortable at the same time feeling. Like we’re following something and we don’t know where it leads but it feels really familiar too. We have had a lot of fun listening to Fleetwood Mac and various other artists a lot of fun just trying to play our instruments the way we play them and not think too hard about it.

Along with feeling, it’s sound. What happens when you just play and the tape is there to pick up what you are capable of playing, not what you could play if you were…a robot. Hahah.

DDM: Anyone at SXSW who you are all excited to see/meet?

H&H: We have some really good friends down here in the business or on the outskirts of the business. Actual, real, friends, not “biz” people — those are the folks we’re excited to see. The first night we were here though we had a fantastic and totally typical SXSW night — Devotchka in a giant theater, then this woman Hazel Dickens in a cozy room where this 90 year old woman sang her ASS off over classic bluegrass. Then over to see Young The Giant, a way sexier and groovier and spacier and more natural Killers/Coldplay. I love them and the band did too. We finished the night with our hands in the air at a Talib Kwali show.

(DDM drools here…)

Tonight was mellower — saw the strokes at a giant outdoor stage and then I caught up with an old friend named Matt Duke while Patrick saw Portugal. The Man at Stubb’s.

Tomorrow we just chiiiiilllllll out and prep ourselves mentally for our show. I’ll go for a run, Pat will go into town. Lisa will go for a walk, make some lunch. Just a normal day at home on the road.

DDM: Speaking of the tour…It seems your taste in music, and food, are delicious! You’ve got me drooling with your blog posts of tour meals! Are these friends or fans that are treating you so well? And are they competing for “best meal”?

H&H: Ha, no competition. Many of them don’t know we’re doing that. We’re just, you know, trying not to come home and get sick immediately from all the shit we’ve been ingesting. Trying to check each other before we fall off the healthy food wagon. It’s working generally very well, though today I almost made us late for a show by wandering the aisles of this insane organic grocery store and trying to pick up tons of stuff. Pat snapped me out of it.

The folks we featured are part of what we refer to as our fan-mily. I recently had someone introduce me at a party as “a guy that has been a fan of mine for a long time” and that statement just gave me the creeps. So — we blur the line a bit I guess. People are people. Whether they’re on stage or in the crowd.

DDM: Let’s talk about the album! I love it! You recorded it at a cabin in upstate New York! Where? (I have lots of family all over upstate NY) Tell us about the experience of delving into the music for 10 days straight. Does it get much better than that?

H&H: The experience was totally unlike any other, and yet drew from previous positive stuff. I had done a record in a barn in the woods of Vermont in the dead of winter a few years back. Patrick lived in his home studio and Lisa had always dreamed of a cabin recording experience. We all had. So it just came together — we set up Patrick’s home studio, we lived there. We went kayaking, running, walking. We tried to just devote every moment to nurturing creativity. We didn’t drink or dull our minds, we stayed sharp and focused, and we had fun. Every day we’d run the “tape” and play a few blues songs, covers of our own stuff, whatever, get loose, and then explore the latest idea.

After we left the house and came home from tour, Pat took the tracks back to his studio and added some pieces to the songs and started the long process of mixing.

DDM: Is the album what you hoped it would be?

H&H: Oh, beyond. Pat did such a great job mixing it. It’s a headphones record. It’s a good driving record. I mean, I’m really truly proud of this thing. None of it feels forced or contrived at all to me. It feels like a record of people making music in a room together. That’s what it is.

DDM: Any favorite songs for you from the album?

H&H: That is very difficult to answer. I like the album! I like it as a whole. “Night Song” is pretty special to us all. That was a song we had come up with, tried to record and couldn’t quite capture. It came to us in one take after a day of preparation doing other stuff, little stuff. That song is take 1 on a warm summer night with the cicadias humming away in the background. What a gift.

DDM: You funded the majority of the album through Kickstarter.com, with great success! That is good news, Not all bands/songwriters have been as successful. Tell us about how that worked for you.

H&H: When you have an album, that’s just step one of a possible….hundred…infinite! Steps. We knew in order to bring this record to life we needed:Great artwork, physical product, a decent length and size tour, and PR. So we turned to our fans, asked them for $10,000 in exchange for goods and they met our goal and exceeded it. We raised $13,000 and now I write to you from a hotel room at SXSW, one of the most prestigious festivals in the business, and we have a showcase tomorrow that is listed on the back of every program. I mean, it’s a little mindblowing. We were given a gift from our supporters to be able to get in the van and go where we were needed rather than try to chase dollar signs.

DDM: There is a big difference, I’d think, from working intimately in a beautiful cabin setting to playing gigs in different cities each night. What is like to go from one to the other?

H&H: It’s a good point. I like to call it “getting my head together” before we play. A run, the gym, meditating, just getting my shit together and remembering why we began this journey and where it began and then stepping onstage and trying to honor those core principles: Explore, Say Yes, Don’t Push.

The stages and crowds are different but we try to extract that vibe from the room.


DDM: You’ll be playing at Zoey’s Cafe, next Thursday, for a CD release show. Coming home after being gone how long?

H&H: I left town on 2/24. And it’s home for the blink of an eye, the next night we’re in San Fran and then up the coast and over through Chicago back to the northeast for the big release shows.

DDM: This will be your first “hometown” show with the group?

H&H: Yes!

DDM: Syd, how long have you lived in Ventura? How has the music community in the Ventura area inspired you?

H&H: 3 years, about. I came here nearly every summer through college. Polly and Steve and what they’re doing at Zoey’s as well as all the touring musicians and friends I have that come through are great. Even greater is that I can play in a band like The Pullmen with former members of Shim Come Quick and the MIssing 23rd and get this instant entry into a scene I never would have seen if I didn’t play music. To be in a band with guys that grew up surfing every day, that understand California culture, that understand PUNK ROCK culture and it’s significance, that’s huge for me, it’s such an education. Not to mention a blast.

In it’s own way, it’s a vibrant scene. Not too big, not too small, and it’s growing. I have high hopes for a place like Ventura and you know, I’ll always be a Vermont kid at heart, but I miss it right now! I miss that weird little quirky sweet town. It’s got a real character. It’s a damn shame that the character in most towns gets completely overrun by the soulless mall culture that infects the US like a cancer, but Ventura is putting up a decent fight trying to keep it’s soul. As a guy from the only state without a McDonald’s in the state capital, I respect that 100%.

DDM: What is your connection with Zoey’s?

H&H: Steve and Polly are like family to me. And to so many other musicians around here. I worked there this past summer, got to meet lots of musicians from the area and touring through. Doing sound there is a lot of fun AND really tough. It gave me a whole new level of respect for the guy on the other side of the board. Anyway, for years and years I’ve been coming through and playing there. Now that they’ve moved I feel like the possibilities for what the venue can be have expanded and they’re starting to do more and will expand with the space.

DDM: After the tour, do the three of you go back to your “previous lives”? Are there any plans to continue with more recordings?

H&H: I’m as committed to this band as I ever was to my solo career and I can speak for the band when I say they are too. When I get back I plan to hit the phones and the airwaves putting the plans together for the next steps. We’ll be conference calling, group emailing. It’s amazing, having three band leaders working simultaneously — we get a LOT of shit done and we keep each other honest. We’ll be ready for more! We’re already planning more touring, and we’ve written some songs on the road. This is far from over. That being said — I’m Erin “Syd” Sidney, Pat is Patrick Thomas and Lisa is Lisa Piccirillo — we always have that forum for creative expression if it demands to be put into a different context. But Hotels & Highways is a band, no matter where we are.

Pictures from Thursday night’s cd release show

Zoey’s Cafe, Ventura CA




Printed by permission. Visit Debbie's blog @ http://www.exurbmagazine.com/

Food in Life - A Blog by Jen: Pretty Food


So sorry for the prolonged absence and lack of sharing.....between work and life I have been a bit too busy to sit down and share my latest and greatest feasts and food adventures. Not to mention the recipes that go along with them.


Tonight is a short, but I couldn't resist sharing with you what mama is making for dinner.

As I sit at the counter recovering from a crazy week at work (translation: drinking wine and NOT standing up all the while singing in my head the song by Dolly Parton "Workin' 9-5" except in my case it was more like 5-9. As in 5am-9pm. Urgh), I was summoned by Mommy Dearest over to the window with a "Jen you gotta get a picture of this!"

So I got up and tiptoes over to the window to find this....


Which in turn got wrapped up so nicely to become this....


"This" is a 3 1/2 pound trout from Lake Casitas that my Dad brought home. I think it might have been as big as my bass.....but I'm pretty sure not. They are a great team, Dad brings home the food, mom makes it pretty and delicious.

Anyhoo....brain is not working so well so I am just going to share with you, eat my dinner and pass out for at least 12 hours.

Whole Fish Wrapped in Grape Leaves
Adapted from recipewizard.com

One 8-ounce jar grape leaves, drained and rinsed
1 small lemon, sliced into paper-thin rings, preferably with a mandoline
One 2 1 ⁄ 2- to 3-pound snapper of any variety: black, striped, or spotted bass; whole large-mouth bass or freshwater bass; any variety of whole drum; or whole parrotfish, orange roughy, ocean perch, tilapia, or trout, scaled and cleaned
1 tablespoon olive oil
Suzi Q Santa Maria Style Seasoning (or Garlic Salt & Pepper)
8 parsley sprigs
8 thyme sprigs


Lay three quarters of the grape leaves on your work surface, overlapping them to form a compact bed that you will later fold up onto the fish; reserve the other leaves to lay over the fish. Lay 4 lemon slices down the center of the leaves.

Score the fish skin three times in parallel, diagonal cuts on each side of the body, cutting down only about 1⁄2 inch, not through to the bones. Oil the fish on both sides with 1 tablespoon olive oil; season each side and the cavity with the Suzi Q. Place the parsley sprigs and another 3 or 4 lemon slices inside the fish's body cavity. Set the stuffed fish over the lemon slices on the grape leaves.

Arrange the remaining lemon slices over the top of the fish, then lay the reserved grape leaves over the body. Fold the bottom leaves up to cover the sides of the fish, tucking them under the top leaves to seal the fish in a grape-leaf packet. Pat to adhere, then tie in several places with butcher's twine to close the fish and the leaves in one packet.

Position the rack in the center of the oven and preheat the oven to 375 F. Place a metal rack in a large baking sheet or roasting pan. Set the wrapped fish on the rack. Roast until the leaves are crispy and a metal skewer inserted through the leaves and into the flesh comes out hot, about 25 minutes. Untie the fish; discard the grape leaves and lemon slices before serving.



Printed by permission. Visit Jen's blog @ http://foodinlife.blogspot.com/

Date Night - A Blog by Mari: Oh bly me. Nerd Alert!


I’m familiar with BJs in Oxnard, but I’ve never been to the restaurant.

Ba-dum, cha!

I ate pizookie at BJ’s with a guy I like to call Pi (π) Guy. Pizookie is a desert cookie made to look like pizza (Pizza + Cookie = Pizookie), and BJ’s is… well, if you don’t know anything about BJs, I suggest you watch more porn.

Drumroll… ba-dum CHA!.

Okay, serious: BJs is a restaurant off Oxnard Blvd (1), Southbound side. I walked in and found π guy near the bar. He smelled decent, had manners and personality, 6’1″, and in his face were a killer pair of aquamarine eyes that I could have swam through if he let me, and if I fit in his eye socket.

…and then the interview commenced.

Dating:

Come in. Sit down. Crack a few jokes and then down to business. What do you do for a living? How do you like that? How long have you done it? What do you listen to? What kind of movies do you like?

This interview was derailed when he told me about Pi day, the day devoted to π, a mathematical constant (3.14159265, to be precise) whose value is the ratio of a circle’s area to the square of its radius. The formula has been known for 4000 years, but this (2011) is only the 22nd year of π celebrations.

On π day (3.14), you bake a pie or a pizza, and eat it at 1:59 (3.14159), with others or alone, while discussing the relevance of π. Pi π guy baked a peach pie and intended on eating it at 1:59.

“You can eat it twice in one day if you stay up late enough,” he said.

I appreciated how high up the pole he hoisted that nerd flag.

He was like a cloudburst of data, sprinkling and then showering me with details. Did you know there is also a Pi Approximation Day? Well, 5 days to be exact. The most popular Pi Approximation Day is July 22, because 22/7 is approximately Pi.

“You can eat cobbler on that day,” said Pi Guy. “Because it’s not exactly Pie.”

I did a bit of digging and found that here’s also square root day, celebrated on days when both the day of the month and the month are the square of the last two digits of the year. For example: April 4, 2016 is the next Square Root day.

Geekalicious.

If this world is a circuit and π guy was electricity, my resistance was low and I felt an increase in current flow in direct proportion to voltage. Kismets. Meet cutes. Even if only for a night, some people can grab you and knock your socks off–much like a powered, ungrounded piece of electronic gear.

After Pizookie and beers, we continued transmitting across the parking lot to the Home Depot (hey, it was the only thing open). We lazied up and down the aisles, talking about nothing important for about half an hour, and then we called it a night.

Mmm… Pizookie and beer for dinner and an evening stroll through the screw aisle. Greatest date since 1956.

Maybe dating doesn’t have to be linear, convincing us that there are proper steps (dinner date, call me, movie, meet friends, meet family, move in together) that allow us to coordinate our relationship toward the ultimate goal. And the belief that there is some “ultimate goal”… isn’t that fatalism? Let the adventures fall around you like snowflakes, I say, and don’t assume there is some ultimate destination because then you’ll lose track of the present, which will go unnoticed because you’re too busy struggling to see through the fogged glass of the future, which is just as useful as looking at the past. It’s just intangible. Enjoy what you have now.

May dessert come before dinner, and long walks along the beach be replaced by walks through lumber and hardware… and may BJs last forever.

Published by permission. Visit Mari's blog at http://www.mari-go-round.com/

Friday, March 25, 2011

Hop Head Said - A Blog by Curtis: Mid-week Beer - Speedway Stout


If you like bitter chocolate and coffee then you have try this beer! Pour into a snifter and let it warm up just a bit. Note how the aroma and the flavors change as the beer warms up. At 12% this beer is a sipper and I think best enjoyed AS dessert.

This midweek.mini-review is a part of my interactive guest review series. Click my Beer Goggles review card and you will be able to read reviews from other beer enthusiasts. You will also find a blank card for this beer that you can save/print and fill out for yourself. Fill out your card, e-mail your review back to me and it will be included with all the other guest reviews. Be sure to include your name and/or beer blog or beer website information with your review.

Blank cards for other beer styles can be found at http://hopheadsaid.wordpress.com/write-your-own-review/ . Right click and save or print. Do you want to use the same font? You can find the free “My Type of Font” at http://www.dafont.com/my-type-of-font.font.

Alesmith Speedway Stout

Published by permission. Visit Curtis' blog at http://hopheadsaid.wordpress.com/

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Date Night - A Blog by Mari: Lost in Translation


My mother had not been home to her native Philippines for almost 18 years, so when the chance came this year I gladly joined her.

She arrived two weeks prior, and then met me at the airport when my plane landed in Manila. From the airport, we took an 11 hour bus to Candon, which is the next-to-last stop till mom’s town, and arrived at 2am. Momma didn’t expect us to make such good time, so we were momentarily stranded at the small, open air, dirty bus stop.

I hadn’t slept since I left Los Angelees so mom laid my luggage on the ground and set up a make-shift bed. It was lumpy, and mosquitos were buzzing around my head, and the humidity made my skin shiny and sticky, and 20 feet away there were kids pulling an all-night playtime at the city park.

Mom sat on the bus stop bench, and she pet my hair while apologizing for these conditions and the uncomfortable ride from Manila. She added, “Don’t tell your friends about this, okay? Only tell them the beautiful things about the Philippines.”

She didn’t want me to tell my friends that I slept at a bus stop.

3 Halloweens ago

I guess I never told her about my US Navy years and all the bathroom floors I’ve slept on, or how I fell asleep in Kristy’s tub a few Halloweens ago, or the time I blacked out and woke up in a baby crib (don’t worry–the kid was at a sitter’s). There’s also that time I backed into a male urinal and peed in it when no other restrooms were open.

Don’t sweat it, mom. You didn’t raise a priss.

The next day, my Aunt Mina (a mid-wife and nurse) arrived early and brought us through the mountains to Tangaoan, the little town where my mother spent her childhood and where my Aunt still lived in the same house my Grandfather built. That night, I met all of my Filipino cousins for the very first time. They spoke English, but could not understand me–they were used to hearing English through a Filipino accent. One detail of my life clearly needed no translation: I was 32 years old and I was single.

My cousin Margarett (she just finished college and is a cadet in the Philippines National Forces) was the first to inquire if I had a boyfriend. She seemed truly heartbroken when I told her I was single. She touched my arm and asked, “But why, cousin?”

“I just haven’t met anyone I really like.”

She considered this and replied, “Hmm…You have dated?”

“Yes.”

“Are you only wanting a certain kind of race?”

I shrugged. I didn’t know what to tell her. I looked down at the photo album in her lap because I was too exhausted to hold eye contact while trying to form thoughts. I had just arrived after a long flight and drive, great excuse, right? But the truth is, I’m always lost for words when asked why I’m single; I said, “I just haven’t found what I’m looking for?”

Her reply: “I think being an Old Maid runs in our family. It’s okay. Auntie Mitzie is 42, you know? She is still not married. Our cousin Giselle, she is also single. I think it’s a curse.”

Might sound like a slap in the face, but it wasn’t. It was an honest answer from a girl whose female population is generally married by 25.

Margarett chatted with another cousin in Ilocano, and I wondered if she was passing the word: “Ladies, this one’s bearing the mark. Steer clear.”

A few days later we were in Baguio City, visiting my Aunt Goria, and I got to meet my young 25-year-old cousin, Ivy (she teaches English to Korean students). Ivy and I are single so I mentioned the curse to her. I was shocked when she said she was cursed too, and laughed when she gave me a the verbal shopping list of the women in my Filipino family who are educated… and single.

I couldn’t believe that this young and beautiful girl believed she was truly cursed at the age of 25. I shook my head at her and said, “No! In my country we are not old maids at this age, 30 is the new 20.”

A few days later, Mom and I were back in Tangaoan. All across the country, they were celebrating Fiesta, and at Fiesta, the different communities gather at the Baranguay center, children perform traditional Filipino dances, and the adults eat and talk.

I tried to understand conversations with the bits of Ilocano and Tagalog I currently understand, but when translation exhausted me, I began hunting for stuff to photograph. I was a forced tourist.

My uncle Amante found me in the crowd and said, “I’ve been looking for you! I want to introduce you to a friend of mine. The Chief of Police.”

Uncle took my hand and I knew he was up to something. I felt like a little girl being led to her foster parents. When we reached the top of the hill, Uncle said something in Ilocano, stood aside, and I was in front of a Filipino man who looked exactly like Enrique Inglesias, but in uniform.

I’m not attracted to Filipino men, but o sea, el hombre era caliente.

Very obviously a set-up.

“Hi,” I said.

My new friend said “hello” and introduced himself as Augosto, and my uncle Amante slowly backed away. He closed his hands together, as though he wanted us to come together. He said, “Okay… talk…”

And he was gone.

Awkward. I looked at Augosto and smiled.

“Hello…” I said again.

He began to ask questions about the United States, about my childhood, my family, and I answered each question, returning with questions of my own. He smiled gently and admitted his own nervousness at this sudden meeting. He told me he didn’t know that Uncle Amante was going to do this. I could only smile and agree that I, too, was a victim of the flash-flood date.

After about 5 minutes, we said goodbye and went our separate ways. I quickly found my mom and told her what happened. She asked me to locate this cop so that she could check him out.

I pointed up toward the top of the hill and there, with 3 other officers, stood Augosto. He smiled and waved down at me. I waved back. Mom said, “Just be friends! He lives too far, ha?”

I was like, “Mom, we didn’t go carve our names into a tree–we just talked for a few minutes. I think you can relax.”

A few hours later we had to leave. My Aunt Mina, the midwife, had to return to Tangaoan to deliver a baby.

When we arrived at the house, Aunt Mina crossed the street to begin prepping for the newborn while the rest of us started preparing dinner; Mom and I were on the porch, shaving vegetables for the stew. I heard yelling and saw my aunt running toward us through the rain from the house across the street. She ran inside our house for a few seconds, then she was back out again–running and yelling as she crossed the street.

“What was she saying?” I asked.

Mom laughed and said, “She said the baby’s head is coming.”

My Aunt Mitzie came out of the house next, followed by Gladys, my cousin’s wife. Gladys yelled to me, “Want to see? I want to see!”

I scrambled to get the bowl of vegetables from my lap, and slipped my flip flops over my feet. My mom yelled, “Hey! No! Don’t watch! It’s too private!”

I ran after Gladys, the three of us giggling as my mom was still yelling, “Hey! No!”

Being a visitor to the Philippines, having watched men urinate openly, showering with my mom standing in the same room, I have learned that nothing is too private in this country, and almost everything is shared. Everyone is so close, and I don’t mean spatially. There’s plenty of land, but they’re so emotionally close. They struggle together, they endure floods and droughts and famine together, and they pull each other along. It’s called Bayanihan–helping one another without asking for payment.

So when she said to stop because it was too private, I hit the gas.

We arrived at the house and hustled inside. I felt like part of a football team that’s getting ready to huddle for the big play as we bunched up around a bedroom door. I peeked over their heads but was unable to get my real-live-birth fix. I glanced at the slatted windows and saw little eyes peeking in, then heard one of the women shout something at the kids and slam the slats shut.

My Aunt Mitzie, the 42 year old fellow “old maid” in my family, turned and saw me rubber-necking. She reached through the girls and tugged my arm, pulling me forward through the gaggle of women who had all personally experienced this moment.

I felt sudden stage fright. I had my hands up in protest and my feet were dragging.

“You’ve never seen this?” one of the young girls asked.

“No..” I said.

“She’s single, and she doesn’t have babies,” Gladys said.

I felt hands at my back.

“It’s okay! It’s okay!” they said, nodding, pulling me.

I was pushed forward and placed in a chair that was aimed at the open doorway. I had a front row seat and saw a girl lying on the floor, on a bed made of clean sheets and cardboard–preparing for incoming life. My mid-wife Aunt, Mina, was sitting between the girl’s legs. The father was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding his wife’s hand.

I braced myself in that chair. I was only 10 feet away from the door of life (if you want to call it that). I watched, not understanding all that was said, but I imagine it was:

“Hold my hand,” the wife said.

“Okay,” her husand replied.

My Aunt Mina said, “PUSH!”

“Okay…!”

“Here’s the head…”

And from the girls who surrounded me: “There’s the baby!”

I, myself, I was too stunned to react with them. I watched the girl’s vagina split open like Steven Tyler’s lips, and then a little blue head emerged. My Aunt gripped the baby’s head very gently as the rest of the body squirted out. I’ve seen puppies and kittens born, but never a human baby–it all happens at the same speed. As soon as that head is out, the body pours out like water. Kinda gross, but kind of cool at the same time. The afterbirth flowed next, followed by a sack of placenta.

I slapped my hands over my gaping mouth and my eyes started to water.

“Oh my God…” I whispered through my hands that reeked of vegetable stew.

The new grandmother came over to where I sat and, in English, said, “Wow.. It’s been some trip for you, hah?!”

And the women all laughed while I shook my head in amazement.

For the two weeks I was there, a day didn’t pass without someone mentioning my single hood and then seeming shocked or saddened by the curse of being an Old Maid. I returned home to Ventura where singleness at my age is as common as blue skies, and I haven’t really talked about my experience of being single in the Philippines, nor thought about it.

I was gently reminded when, on the phone with my mom last week, I asked how the family was. She replied, “They’re good. Your Uncle Amante wants to know when you’re going to write that cop. I think it would be nice if you wrote him, you know? As a Friend.”

I intend on sending a postcard to my Aunts and cousins, but I don’t know about Augosto and the whole long-distance thing. I can barely stand to date a guy who lives in Los Angeles.

“Bahala na,” is also what they say. It means, “Whatever will be will be.”

Published by permission. Visit Mari's blog at http://www.mari-go-round.com/

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Hop Head Said - A Blog by Curtis: Mid-week Beer - Firestone Walker: Double Jack

This is a great entry level Double IPA with plenty of malty sweetness to balance the aggressive hop character of this beer. A lingering bitterness encourages you to keep drinking but be careful, at 9.5% this beer will catch up to you!

This midweek.mini-review starts a new interactive aspect for HopHeadSaid. Click my Beer Goggles review card and you will be able to read reviews from other beer enthusiasts. You can find blank cards for any style at http://hopheadsaid.wordpress.com/write-your-own-review/ . Right click and save or print and e-mail your review back to me. Be sure to tell me your name and if you have a beer blog or website include that information as well.

Click for more guest reviews.

Published by permission. Visit Curtis' blog at http://hopheadsaid.wordpress.com/

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Date Night - A Blog by Mari: Should I poo poo the Puja?


Apparently, I’m the only person who has never heard of a Puja and those who have, describe them with words like weird, sex, and orgy. By true definition, a Puja is a gathering of people for a specific purpose, such as to teach a spiritual lesson, or as a practice in devotion to the self or to some sort of deity.

Kristy invited me to a Puja in Ojai this weekend.

It was like our own little road trip. We stopped for snacks at a gas station and listened to each other’s music; we had long talks, and also gaps of comfortable quiet.

As we snacked and sang to each other I started noticing that we were getting deeper into Dueling Banjo country.

Don’t tell anyone, but I secretly fear I’ll stop at a gas station in some backwoods town someday, and a guy with a wheat twig sticking out of his lips will approach my car, tap on the glass and say, “Ain’t you a bit far from your neckuh the woods… brownie?”

That fear always turns into a fantasy where I have to hump the guy silly in order to regain my freedom.

Up and up, and deeper and deeper (oh yes!) into Ojai we went.

On my facebook, I posted as my status:

If I die today, it’s because Kristy took me to some weird mountain cult and they sacrificed me to some old man who sucks on used underwear and worships chicken bones (or something). I love you all.

When we were near the destination we still had at least 30 minutes before game time so Kristy pulled off at a vista point.

“Giving me one last look at the earth?” I asked her.

She smiled and continued to rend gummy bears apart with her teeth, and I began to wonder if she had ever tore through human flesh with those same choppers. After 17 years, was there a side of Kristy I had never seen?

“Hey,” I said, as she chewed gummys, “I don’t feel like riding Hale Bop tonight.”

She smirked, “Oh please.”

Then it was time for us to head toward the Puja.

The directions Kristy received stated: “You will see a sign that reads Do Not Enter. This does not apply to you.”

About a mile down the road, the pavement turned to dirt and we passed a sign that read: Do not enter.

To Kristy, I said, “This does not apply to you.”

She continued onward, slowing the car when we wobbled over potholes and dirt hills. I continued to text my last goodbyes when Kristy said, “Dude, you’re not going to have access to your phone out here.”

“Convenient. No access to my phone so my blood curdling screams will disappear into the hills, you murderer?”

“Oh, dude,” she said with a giggle of endearment.

The dirt road began to show signs of civilization. Old trailer-park looking homes with scarecrows on the front lawn.

“I hope we’re going the right way,” Kristy said.

“I’m sure we are. I just saw a guy holding a still-beating human heart, and he was pointing this way.”

When we came around the final turn, we were looking at an amazing log home with a grand view of green hills and valleys.

It was beauteous.

Kristy was still driving very slowly when she spotted something strewn across the yard, like dried out pumpkins.

“I wonder what those are?” she asked.

I delivered my final wisecrack: “Remnant human skulls.”

Kristy parked, we grabbed our Yoga mats and pillows and entered the compound. All around us, wearing comfy yoga pants–even pajamas–were guys and girls my own age, and they were all attractive and in great health. Considering that this could become an orgy, I started picking out which guys I would wanted in my Mari Sandwich.

We were asked to remove our shoes, just like my childhood, and welcomed to grab a cup of hot green tea (after we paid our $25 entry fee, of course).

After we were shoeless and tea-filled, we found a seat inside a big room with Christmas lights strewn across the ceiling. The universe is sometimes within reach, I guess. We just have to want it.

Everyone laid their mats out in a circle, and mingled a bit until the leader of the Pooj had us take our seats. She introduced herself and then we introduced ourselves.

The beginning of the Puja was simple enough: Talk to two strangers in the room and tell them about your hopes.

Then it picked up speed. We began participating in exercises that were not sexual in nature, but meant to teach us–this small group of unknowns–to be more outgoing, and to nurture and love each other, complete strangers, so that maybe in those 3 short hours something would stick and we would remember to treat the rest of the world in the same loving way.

In any other blog I’d be more than happy to blanket you with the details of my experience, but in this case I don’t think details will do the Puja any justice. It isn’t something that really requires foreknowledge or expectations, and I can only promise: your skull will be used as a lawn ornament and you will not end up on a pyre surrounded by flames and, unfortunately, no group orgies. Everyone’s clothes stayed on.

I will tell you it was worth the money, but I’m not sure if I could afford to pay that price again for these lessons that should come as naturally as breaking wind: Treat others fairly and kindly. If the world really is going to end in 2012, wouldn’t our greatest attribute be how much happiness and love we brought to other lives? Maybe that’s just me.

Published by permission. Visit Mari's blog at http://www.mari-go-round.com/

Monday, March 7, 2011

Date Night - A Blog by Mari: Road Closed for 6 months


I’m on a mission.

Six months of celibacy. Clear all the crap out of my head from my previous relationship and get some perspective.

Luckily, a guy I dated last year called me a few weeks ago after 1 year of radio silence. We have a mutual non-interest in each other, therefore it’s the perfect situation to achieve my mission of celibacy. I call him Ventura Dude (VD for short).

This week Ventura Dude invited me to his parents’ place in the Ventura Keys to SUP board.

After I reached his parents’ street, I put my phone aside and began searching house numbers. When I arrived at 3864, I parked on the street and did as Ventura dude said:

“Go into the gate and it will be open. Just come around the side of the house, you’ll find us in the back.”

I walked to the gate, reached over and opened the latch.

“Hello?” I called, stepping across the threshold and closing the gate.

Two little yap yap dogs ran around the corner of the house from the backyard and began barking furiously at me. I tried not to show my fright (and also slight irritation)–damn that Ventura Dude, he said nothing about ankle biters.

I looked around the side of the house for a path out back, but there were kayaks blocking the walkway. I went to the front door, dogs nipping and barking, and I pressed the doorbell.

“Hello…?” I called, my voice beginning to crack as I sensed that the little butt holes at my feet were ready to break some skin.

The doorbell rang. I couldn’t see inside because the front door was solid and the windows were curtained. Venura Dude’s ‘rents were a bunch of recluses, I guess.

I tried knocking with a heavy fist and then waited, smiling at the peephole.

When no one answered, I dropped the smile and tried to be nice to the cute four-legged furballs who wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

I went back out the gate, then around to the other side of the house where I found another gate.

Maybe he meant this one?

I pushed the gate open about half a foot before it slammed into an old lawn mower. Beyond the lawn mower I was able to spy some shrubs and an overgrown path that was impossible to walk through.

“What the hell?” I asked myself, wondering what kind of freak Ventura Dude was, and who the hell his parents were to think a person could come through either of these passages.

I latched the gate again, looking down at my toes to make sure they didn’t catch at the bottom of the fence. When I looked down, I saw that the cement was marked with tiny hand prints and several names.

As I read the names, I noticed that Ventura Dude’s name was not among the little imprints. Then, I read: The &&&& Family. Wait a second… Ventura Dude’s last name wasn’t &&&&.

My phone rang. It was VD himself.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“I’m at 3864,” I replied. “Thanks for warning me about the GD dogs.”

“Okay,” He said, “Now come down a few more houses to 5864.”

My bad.

When I arrived at his parents house, a much nicer two-story Spanish style home with a manicured walkway and full access to the back deck, VD introduced me to his mother and her friends.

After a short talk with the ladies, VD and I walked down the ramp to the dock where our boards were waiting.

He helped me aboard my board, and after we knocked those puppies into gear, we started talking. Well, I mostly listened to him talk about his current (lack of) relationship status, and I tried to give him advice when dealin’ with… the ladies…

I was amazed that, after only a few minutes, I was no longer shaking and struggling. I was paddling like a pro, like those old guys you see in summer when the sea is as calm as land. Someday, I want to be one of those old guys–minus the hairy droopers, of course– with no purpose, but to find some sort of inner peace and relaxation on my board.

It’s amazing how quickly we adapt to adversity isn’t it? Yes, that had double meaning.

Six months of celibacy? Pfft. I can do this.

Peace of cock.

Cake, I mean!


Published by permission. Visit Mari's blog at http://www.mari-go-round.com/

Friday, March 4, 2011

Date Night - A Blog by Mari: The Soapbox Yogi


Yesterday, I ran 5 miles.

I started at my apartment on Poli and ran toward Seward. Music against my ear drums, blood throbbing through my veins, and junk–good and bad–going through my head. I stomped those sidewalks, nodding to other pavement smashers who breezed by. I passed Ventura High School and then the County Medical Center, I made an S through the Ventura College Campus, and I skidded to a stop when I arrived at Bryn Mawr.

This is where my friend Ventura Dude lives. The run was nuts, and I felt exhausted like fresh-squeezed turds, so I text and asked if he could drive me home. He said he would.

Ventura Dude is a bad ass. Too bad I’m recently broken.

Up.

We dated briefly last year, and when there was no mutual love connection we stopped talking. No hard feelings. Then, out of the Hueneme grey, he called me. It’s like what Reggie said: somehow, they know.

When I arrived at his doorstep, he said, “You look like shit.”

I thanked him.

He grabbed his keys. Being in his Benz again sparked memories of an earring I lost during our brief dating stint. It looked bohemian, made of gold, with golden webbing across the center.

He opened his center console, and replied, “If it’s here, it’s probably stuck to used condoms.”

I had poker face.

He frowned, and said, “Jees, I thought that would at least get a response.”

Then I saw a twinkle. It was buried alive, but not stuck to rubbers. As he moved more stuff, I recognized the netting. It looked tarnished, but there it was!

I screeched, pushed past his hands like Charlie Sheen pushing through porn stars for the Vodka bottle, and pulled my earring to safety.

I held it to my cheek and sang Reunited by Peaches and Herb, then I gave it air-kisses. Little miracles.

And my run, well, that was a little miracle, too. Last year, while dancing at an 80s club in Hollywood, I did a stage dive in heels; when I landed, I heard a *crunch* in my right knee cap. The doctor said there was no permanent tear or break, but like anything badly hurt, it would take time to heal.

I used to run 15k’s, and this is the farthest and least painful run I’ve had since the injury.

Hear that?

There’s always hope for healing, it just takes time.

You would think I was hinting about the healing over my recent break-up, but this is where the story takes a Palm Street dip.

You see, last week I screwed up big time; and at the same time, someone screwed up on me me pretty bad.

My dad has a bad joke for every occasion. And this joke just fits right now:

“Did you hear about Sam and Kathy Wong and their new white baby?”

“No, Dad.”

“Yeah, everyone is saying two Wongs can’t make a White.

I can’t tell you what my screwing up was, but I definitely caused pain to another being.

Badly.

And though I forgive others when they wrong me, I never expect to let others down, especially in such a way that is mean without question, or hurtful, or causes heart break.

The fault I feel for opening this Pandora’s box is the most regret-filled feeling in this world. And regret is like an envelope that smothers you, and you can’t breath for a while, and you feel like the world’s biggest butthole. I advise my friends to live without regret, because you own your actions and you should always act knowingly and purposefully. Advice that I was forced to swallow that on the night I totally F’d up.

So enveloping was this feeling, that I couldn’t see through the haze of my own screw up to remember how badly I was fucked over.

But I realized today, after Yoga, after I breathed an Om with the rest of the class and felt their energy radiate through me, and I was filled with this euphoric calm, that forgiveness isn’t just about pardoning the other person, it is about pardoning yourself, too. If you can’t even forgive the person you love most–you–you can’t possibly begin to forgive another.

Why is it important to forgive another person who hurts us?

I realized, during my drive home from Yoga, as my little Honda was hugging the curves of PCH and I was seeing the stretch of the Pacific–this open space that has seen and holds so many secrets, that exists and will exist much longer than my time on this earth–that anger, grudges, and that cruel handshaking is worthless.

You are not a robot.

If you can get to this point of universal forgiveness, and you can see Love and feel it from the inside and then 360 degrees around you, then you are a supreme being because you are an all loving being.

But lets be smart about it, too, and remember: forgiving and forgetting are two completely different ideas.

And maybe all this sounds corny to you because you came to Date Night to laugh, but instead you got a message from my spirit to yours. Well so be it. Stephen King does it all the time, after all. And, honestly, one of my favorite Stephen King quotes applies:

“I still believe in the resilience of the human heart and the essential validity of love; I still believe that connections between people can be made and the spirits which inhabit us sometimes touch. I still believe the cost of those connections is horribly, outrageously high, and I still believe the value far outweighs the price which must be paid. They are old fashioned concerns and beliefs, but I would be a liar if did not admit that I still own them… and that they still own me.”

A couple of nights ago while out on a monogamous date with Ventura Dude, and before my epiphany, I said, “I’m an asshole.”

Ventura Dude strained his fingers out in front of him, and he said, “Are you an asshole or a Bitch? Because you called yourself a Bitch 5 minutes ago, and you can’t be both.”

“I’m an asshole,” I said, shaking my head.

“Good. You’re an asshole. Now shut up so we can find a place to eat.”

Ah, Love that is rough is the best love to have.

I’m not really too much of an asshole, but I’m also not a robot.



Published by permission. Visit Mari's blog at http://www.mari-go-round.com/

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Hop Head Said - A Blog by Curtis: Ladyface Ale Companie: Picture City Porter



Ladyface Ale Companie, located in Agoura Hills, is a Belgian-centric restaurant that features a wide range of their own handcrafted beers. At the time of this post Ladyface Ale Companie had no less than eleven of their beers on tap. Click here to see their current tap selection, which includes several guest taps.

Picture City Porter comes in two different versions: regular and bourbon-fied. It is my understanding that this is a limited edition (available in small quantities and/or for special occasions) beer so be sure to ask if the bourbon barrel version is available if you want to experience the beer in this review.

When you order a beer that comes from a bourbon barrel it is hard not to have any preconceived notions about the aromas and tastes you will encounter. Try to put any of those notions aside and dig a little deeper, you won’t be disappointed. Picture City Porter is a treat and a challenge to taste; and with a little digging you will discover a wonderful, complex beer.

Served in a pint glass, the traditional drinking vessel, Picture City Porter poured an opaque brown with a diminishing off-white head. I think it would have had better head retention if served in a less traditional tulip shaped glass. However, what it lacked in head retention it made up for in the wonderful lacing pattern it left on the inside of the glass.

Generally I don’t care for pint glasses as they tend to let the aromas dissipate too quickly (as well as the head) which can eliminate a layer of complexity that could be enjoyed throughout the session. However, this beer held its own against the mighty mouth of the pint glass. The bourbon aroma is a thick and unmistakable layer that floats on the beer’s surface and will greet your nose just a tick before each drink. While it does dissipate a bit, the bourbon aroma hangs around for the whole session. I love the bourbon aroma but the real pleasure in this beer is finding its hidden layers. If you “squint” just a bit you will discover an all but hidden layer of subtle earthy notes wafting just behind the bourbon. For me it was reminiscent of freshly turned soil with a mix of herbs sprinkled about.

My first thought as I tasted the beer was “Where is the bourbon?” The bourbon aroma was so powerful that I was certain that each drink would be overrun with bourbon flavor. Instead, roasty malts dominated the palate with a subtle burnt toast flavor that was mixed with a chocolaty sweetness. The dark malts and hops provide a moderate bitterness that keeps the sweetness in check.

As the tasting progressed I started to discover two more hidden layers. The earthy notes showed up again but this time in the flavor. My guess is that these earthy notes are a result of the beer being aged in oak barrels. Then from under the earthy notes a new layer emerged, almost as an afterthought. Spice. This layer can be easily missed if you aren’t paying attention because you won’t experience it until you exhale. After you swallow take a moment (your frites won’t cool down that much) and enjoy this final stage of tasting a beer that is so often overlooked. Exhale. Feel the spicy esters float to the roof of your mouth and then up and out of your sinuses. Was this spice caused by the hops or the oak or was it a magical combination of the two? I’m not sure but I AM glad it was there.

The beauty of this beer is in its layers. Its tough guy persona (the bourbon aroma) is just a façade that is protecting its more delicate almost hidden layers. Picture City Porter rewards those who stick around to get to know it. Do yourself a favor, pull up a chair and introduce yourself to this beer.

Published by permission. Visit Curtis' blog at http://hopheadsaid.wordpress.com/

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Hop Head Said - A Blog by Curtis: Summit Brewing Co - IPA



If your travels take you to the Minnesota or the any of the Mid-West states be sure to try this beer. Its mild hop aroma, balancing sweetness and medium body make it an easy drinking beer. This IPA is a wonderful combination of the English and American styles.

Published by permission. Visit Curtis' blog at http://hopheadsaid.wordpress.com/