story time


Jellyfish / Burning Man 2015

This is just a single photo series that i thought deserved a stand-alone, even though my camera phone isn’t great, especially in low light, so i did not do the moment justice — and that’s kind of the point of discouraging heavy photo-snapping on the playa. If you’re experiencing it through your lens / screen, then you’re no longer directly experiencing it … but I digress.

Anyhow, we were at a dance club, when off to my right i saw these jellyfish: fabric, inflated, illuminated, each one held aloft by a single person. I didn’t get a great look at the design, I suspect that the poles lofting each of them may have served double duty as inflation air delivery pathway, but that is pure speculation.

The larger point is these things were gorgeous and a lot of fun, and they passed toward and right by us, with one of them going directly overhead.

what not writing looks like

It’s not that I’ve been defiantly or consciously not writing; it simply that my attention and effort have been directed elsewhere.

With maybe one or two exceptions, all of the following arrived at some point during 2012, and most of them over the last three or four months.

pickles and kraut, muthaf*#&@$ !!

I have good reason neither for going dormant with respect to blogging nor for resuming even a scintilla of activity now, with this. Then again, why not?

Anyhow, we are going camping this weekend, and by we, I mean my spouse and myself, plus our two dogs. Plus about a dozen friends from the San Francisco Extreme Croquet Club.

(Is dormancy contagious? Did the club infect me? Or I it? I digress…)

Mostly owing to my better half’s pursuit of these particular culinary interests, we’ve begun doing some of our own fermented foods (pictured: red cabbage sauerkraut and dill pickles), and, even more recently, dried foods (not pictured: the glorious, jerkyfied end product of 3 lbs chuck sliced, subjected to moonlight marinade, and a work day’s worth of electric-fanned  180 degree weather — a housemade dried meat concoction so impossibly good, that upon tasting it only once, for ever more, just hearing the words “slim jim” will cause involuntarily projectile vomiting of your own entire head).

welcome to jazz blob on

blorp, blorp on the two and the four

hi there. welcome to jazz blob on

1. be nice. we all know that it can be a nutty world out there, but please don’t track shit inside onto the carpet.

2. anything that is directly from the world of jazz, or that is a close enough neighbor to jazz such that it can knock on the door anytime to borrow a cup of sugar is good.

3. guidelines subject to revision / expansion, but for now, it’s really some blissfully simple stuff: play jazz and / or stuff that borrows from it, and don’t be a dick.

this is a picture of my dog sam, included for no good reason apart from the fact that he is packed full of teh awesome

my chicken stock

my chicken stock brings all the boys to the yard,

and they’re like

it’s better than yours

damn right it’s better than yours

i can blanch it

but you’ll have to pluck

#redsox 2011 season: a food analogy


Let’s say you’re feeling a bit peckish, and decide to make a sandwich.

Not just any sandwich. Not even a really good sandwich. No. you’re keen to cobble together the. best. sandwich. ever.

Now, of course, tastes vary, and at the risk of putting my vegetarian friends off their tempeh, I’m going to take this in the Reuben direction, just for the sake of analogy.

So then: you source the finest, most moist and delectable corned beef imaginable. You grabbed your ceramic crock and hit up your farmer’s market three days ago, so your supply of farm-fresh sauerkraut is in great shape. Swiss cheese? Check. High functioning mustard? Check. Dressing? Made from scratch.

Now your attention turns to bread. You *could* go with that lovely marble rye.

But instead, you walk down to the train tracks, and you search until you find a pair of hobo turds of comparable size, weight, and dessication.

Arrange all ingredients between them. Take a big bite, and chew hard.

How’s that season taste? A middle packed with the very best, and bookended by pure shit.


photo via flickr user magerleagues