Cotton Candy + Pig Feces

[Partial Transcript from the Santa Cruz County Fair Planning Meeting, March 2007]

Board Member #1: Does anyone have suggestions for the Fair's theme this year?
Board Member #2: We need a pun.
Board Member #3: Let's pun on a song about the U.S. Government failure in Vietnam and its subsequent betrayal of its veterans. That would be both funny and appropriate.
Board Members (all): Hooray!

Ergo, we have...

Clearly, this Fair is going to be full of cool rocking daddies.

As much as you might think the Fair sounds lame, don't judge until you hear about the musical entertainment. From the Palo Alto Daily News:

Just off the main promenade, through a pair of dark doors, are the twanging replies of Big Mama Sue and the Banjo Man. Red-cheeked kids walking in from the afternoon sun pause and peer at the duo's strange instruments: a metal kazoo, a gravy whisk grating on a washboard, a skinny-necked banjo. Something about these strange sounds has them on the verge of dancing.

Sue Kroninger of Santa Cruz and Andy Norbin of San Jose say they have been getting this sort of attention from kids since they started playing the fair 20 years ago - even though "Americana" music, as Kroninger calls it, is no longer in style.

"Kids don't hear this kind of stuff in the schools anymore," Kroninger said. "There's nothing produced about it."

Right, because kids just don't have any experience with improvised musical instruments now that the schools are encouraging experimentation with Moogs. Kids just never see anyone playing a kazoo now that they just use the "electric kazoo" function in Pro Tools. Sigh. The world is changing. I will diminish, and go into the West and remain Galadriel.

Any plans for the weekend? Want to meet me at the SC County Fair?

Self-Knowledge Can Be Troubling

But am I too boringly perfect? Apparently not.

Recent Discoveries in Loathsome

How's this for a new feature at Fosco Lives? Every week I do the legwork to find someone/something loathsome. Then I tell you about him/her/it. I call it "Recent Discoveries in Loathsome."

This week, let's give it up for the loathsome Norris Church Mailer. As per a review in the September 9th NYTimes Book Review,

Mailer, who was a Wilhelmina model for several years, also worked as a soap opera actress, and the plot is as sudsy as they come. (Mailer, the wife of Norman Mailer, is also from Arkansas.)

Great. As if Norman Mailer isn't loathsome enough, now the readers of the NYTBR have to deal with his former-model/actress wife and her novels about a model who grew up in Arkansas.

Why We Were Scared of the 1980s

Fosco's boyfriend Oz had an eventful week at work. I can't tell you all the details, but I can reveal that it involved an angry and complaining phone call from an eighties celebuteen. Which one?

Here's a hint: her initials are D.G.

Here's another hint: she was an early supporter of teen electrification.

Here'a photographic hint:

That's right! Oz talked to Tiffany!

Living with Music: A Playlist by Count Fosco

In spite of himself, Fosco has been intrigued by the weekly NYTimes bookblog Paper Cuts. Especially fascinating is the Wednesday feature called "Living with Music," in which a "a writer or some other kind of book-world personage" is asked to provide a playlist of songs for that month. Sure, it's kinda annoying, like when Miranda July used it to establish her indie cred or when Daniel Handler decided to demonstrate his breadth of musical knowledge (settle down, Lemony... You've impressed us all. You have remarkably catholic taste. We get it.). But then you read a list like Tom Perrotta's and you think, "Those are some good songs. Good work, Book-World Personage!" I must say I like Tom Perrotta a lot more this evening than I did this morning (a fact that's already registered on my Tom Perrotta Q Meter).

Well, let's see if Count Fosco can get his Q Score a bit higher by providing his own September 2007 Playlist.

Count Fosco's September 2007 Playlist

September is that month when it's still kind of summer (especially here in California) and suddenly kind of not. The beaches are sunny, but almost empty. School is about to start, even though you didn't make a serious dent in your summer reading list. Hello September...

1. For The Actor, Mates of State. I'm digging the Mates of State right now. There's no guitar, but I don't really miss it. The imperfect harmony is ridiculously appealing. This is a good end-of-summer song: not too fluffy, but still upbeat and optimistic. When it slows down for the coda, you can feel autumn in the air.
   
2. Don't Stop Believin', Petra Haden. The original version of this song is one of the five best songs ever. EVER. This cover is thrilling, even though it's like a capella (which is evil). She sings all the parts herself, including the guitar solos... Is it good? Is it funny? It's both.
   
3. Racing in the Street / I'll Work for Your Love, Bruce Springsteen. A double-header from Uncle Bruce. "Racing in the Street" is probably my favorite Bruce song. It's full of regrets and recriminations--just like September. "I'll Work for Your Love" is brand new. It's from Bruce's album "Magic" (due out October 2). There's kind of a "Thunder Road" vibe going on here in the piano line. The first line, "Pour me a drink Theresa / in one of the glasses you dust off," takes us exactly where we need to be for September. Let's pour a drink and think about stuff.
   
4. Yours to Keep, Teddybears (featuring Neneh Cherry and Annie). Just because summer is over, it doesn't mean we can't listen to one more great road trip song. This song is perfect for driving in a convertible (Psst Todd). And yes, that is Neneh Cherry singing! The Neneh Cherry. Her voice is so damn shmoove.
   
5. This Woman's Work, Kate Bush. Hmmm. It's harder than it looks to write a paragraph about each of these songs. This is the only Kate Bush song I like, but I really like it. I'm pretty sure she's not related to the Connecticut Bushes, but I can't guarantee that. The best part of the song is when she hesitates before singing "hand" (as in "Give me your... hand.")--that's gold, baby. I just wish they weren't using this song in the new CSI: promos. Is crime scene investigation women's work? Huh? That doesn't make any sense.
   
6. Big Casino / If You Don't, Don't, Jimmy Eat World. A twofer by one of Fosco's five favorite bands. "Big Casino" is the first single from their upcoming album. This lyric is irresistible: "I'll accept with poise, with grace / When they draw my name from the lottery / And they'll say, 'All the sun in the world couldn't melt that ice.'" Who hasn't had that fantasy? "If You Don't, Don't" is a ridiculously good song that relies on a strange stuttered chorus. Whenever I hear this song I think of driving home alone late at night on empty streets at the end of summer; it's starting to get cool and there's condensation on the rear window. I just hooked up with someone I want to love me and I'm singing (to that person): "Would you mean this please if it happens?" At least that's how I imagine it.
   
7. The Only Moment We Were Alone, Explosions in the Sky. Lyrics are totally unnecessary when you write songs like this. Chiming guitars manage to be plenty expressive here. This song still gives me chills every time I hear it. It's the most beautiful song I've heard this year.
   
8. Something More, Aly & AJ. I've already admitted that I'm a tween at heart. But this song is such a (guilty) pleasure. Who doesn't love remembering the beginning of a summer romance? "And I remember the night you said / 'Lets go for a ride.' I didn't want the night to end. / Would we be more than friends?" It totally takes you back to your youth, doesn't it? Excuse me, I have to go put on eyeliner and lip gloss.
   
9. The Trapeze Swinger, Iron & Wine. Reasons to love this song: the vulnerability in Sam Beam's voice, the regular addition/subtraction of instruments in an essentially repetitive musical structure, the heart-breaking incantation to "please remember me," the makeout session at the circus, the sense that the entire history of a life-long relationship has been condensed into a ten minute song.
   
10. Ocean Breathes Salty, Sun Kil Moon. It's originally a song by Modest Mouse, but their version always leaves me cold; it's like they (purposefully?) refused to express the emotional resonance of the lyrics. Mark Kozelek performs this song as it was meant to be performed: with a sad earnestness that makes the wry lyrics all the more dangerous. "I hope heaven and hell are really there, but I wouldn't hold my breath. / You wasted life, why wouldn't you waste death?" And the earnest lyrics? Oh yeah, those are good too. "Your body may be gone / I'm gonna carry you in / In my head, in my heart, in my soul." Summer is over, my friends, but we can still carry it in our head, heart, and soul.

Suck It, Jesus.

Fosco is one gin and tonic away from renaming this whole damn blog... Seriously, by tomorrow, you may find yourself reading "Suck It, Jesus!"

In related news, did you hear that the HI-larious Kathy Griffin won an Emmy and then said something wonderful? As per Reuters:

"A lot of people come up here and thank Jesus for this award. I want you to know that no one had less to do with this award than Jesus," an exultant Griffin said, holding up her statuette. "Suck it, Jesus. This award is my god now."

Can we just say that once more? Suck it, Jesus. Suck it, Jesus! SUCK. IT. JESUS.

It's like a beautiful dream.

[No matter what my boyfriend Oz thinks, I think KG is grand. GRAND.]

Anniversary

I've settled into a tradition for dealing with today. I plan to spend today with my favorite artistic responses to the tragedy. Art may not be an adequate response to something like this, but it's better than any of the other options. There are three works of art that I find most meaningful:

• John Adams, On the Transmigration of Souls. If you haven't listened to this requiem, you should do so today. It's amazing. John Adams is our greatest living American composer and this is one of his masterpieces (for which he won the Pulitzer Prize). The last four minutes are completely heartbreaking. Unfortunately, it's so powerful that I can only listen to it a few times a year.
  
• Deborah Eisenberg, "Twilight of the Superheroes." The title story in her collection of the same name. Eisenberg chronicles the aftermath of the disaster in New York through the lives of four privileged twenty-somethings and an older gallery owner. Her voice is light and sad and right on:
  

  Oh, that day! One kept waiting--as if a morning would arrive from before that day to take them all along a different track. One kept waiting for that shattering day to unhappen, so that the real--the intended--future, the one that had been implied by the past, could unfold. Hour after hour, month after month, waiting for that day to not have happened. But it had happened. And now it was always going to have happened.

• Bruce Springsteen, "The Rising." A remarkable achievement in popular music. Watching the shows on the "Rising" tour, raising my hands in the air along with Bruce and thousands of other people while singing "Rise Up!"--that is the closest I've come to a communal healing experience.

And of course art isn't just about consolation. Allow me to leave you today with a blistering poem by one of my favorite poets, Frank Bidart. Below is his curse on the terrorists. Take care of yourself on this day, my friends.



CURSE

May breath for a dead moment cease as jerking your

head upward you hear as if in slow motion floor

collapse evenly upon floor as one hundred and ten

floors descend upon you.

May what you have made descend upon you.
May the listening ears of your victims    their eyes    their

breath

enter you, and eat like acid
the bubble of rectitude that allowed you breath.

May their breath now, in eternity, be your breath.

                 *

Now, as you wished, you cannot for us
not be. May this be your single profit.

Of your rectitude at last disenthralled, you
seek the dead. Each time you enter them

they spit you out. The dead find you are not food.

Out of the great secret of morals, the imagination to enter
the skin of another, what I have made is a curse.



[from Frank Bidart, Stardust, 2005]

Life. Art. So on.

The NYTimes ramped up its 9/11 coverage today with an article about the photo at the right. It was taken by a woman from her Shanksville, PA farm after Flight 93 crashed into the field. Fosco had never seen this photograph, but apparently it's quite (in)famous. The main point of the article is that the unfortunate photographer is being harassed by 9/11 conspiracy theorists and general internet wackos. People are indeed annoying, but that's not the point of this post.

What's interesting for our purposes is that barn. It's owned by Mr. Robert Musser. According to the article:

To accommodate visitors who will show up on Sept. 11 to recreate the picture, and who eventually find their way to the Mussers’ 94-year-old barn, they’ve tried to spruce it up this past week, adding a touch of paint. They plan to spend thousands in the near future to shore up the foundation on one side so the barn will endure for years to come.

“Here this barn could fall down, and it’s in the picture that’s so famous,” said Mr. Musser’s wife, Phyllis. “We have to do something.”

And there it is. That tingling in your groin means we have now entered Don DeLillo territory. In DeLillo's best novel, White Noise, we find the "Most Photographed Barn in America":

Soon the signs started appearing. THE MOST PHOTOGRAPHED BARN IN AMERICA. We counted five signs before we reached the site. There were forty cars and a tour bus in the makeshift lot. We walked along a cowpath to the slightly elevated spot set aside for viewing and photographing. All the people had cameras; some had tripods, telephoto lenses, filter kits. A man in a booth sold postcards and slides--pictures of the barn taken from an elevated spot. We stood near a grove of trees and watched the photographers. Murray maintained a prolonged silence, occasionally scrawling some notes in a little book.
   "No one sees the barn," he said finally.
   A long silence followed.
   "Once you've seen the signs about the barn, it becomes impossible to see the barn."
   He fell silent once more. People with cameras left the elevated site, replaced at once by others.
   "We're not here to capture an image, we're here to maintain one. Every photograph reinforces the aura. Can you feel it, Jack? An accumulation of nameless energies."
   There was an extended silence. The man in the booth sold postcards and slides.
   "Being here is a kind of spiritual surrender. We see only what the others see. The thousands who were here in the past, those who will come in the future. We've agreed to be part of a collective perception. This literally colors our vision. A religious experience in a way, like all tourism."
   Another silence ensued.
   "They are taking pictures of taking pictures," he said.
   He did not speak for a while. We listened to the incessant clicking of shutter release buttons, the rustling crank of levers that advanced the film.
   "What was the barn like before it was photographed?" he said. "What did it look like, how was it different from other barns, how was it similar to other barns? We can't answer these questions because we've read the signs, seen the people snapping the pictures. We can't get outside the aura. We're part of the aura. We're here, we're now."
   He seemed immensely pleased by this.

And now, in Shanksville, PA, we have the actual Most Photographed Barn in America. Up for a road trip?

Denouement: 9/2-9/9

Last week, while you were celebrating Ann Beattie's 60th birthday, Fosco was

• continuing his long campaign to destroy the monster Orville Redenbacher.
  
• ironing out the wrinkles in time.
  
• sailing away, set[ting] an open course for the virgin sea.
  
• being a college freshman. In his MIND.
  
• having some laughs with found pictures.
  
• trying to see Zac Ephron's sixpack through the cloud of smoke.
  
• wondering how many millions make a billion.

I'm Kilroy! Kilroy! Kilroy! Kilroy!

Two Fridays ago, Fosco and his adorable boyfriend Oz devoted an evening to art at the rockin' Dennis DeYoung Museum. Did you know that, in the future, rock music will be outlawed? Luckily, "rock and roll misfit" Robert Orin Charles Kilroy will escape from the futuristic prison by pretending to be one of the robot guards. That's what happens when you try to outlaw rock and roll. Word.

Oh wait. Oz and Fosco actually went to San Francisco's delightful de Young Museum (of art). You may recall the de Young's flashy new copper-clad Herzog and de Meuron building.

The building is gorgeous in pretty much every way. But what else does the de Young have going for it?

Well, for one thing, it's not afraid of some fun. Fosco and Oz went for the weekly Friday night cocktail party and it was great. The museum stays open until 8:45 and serves cocktails, offers children's activities, and has a live DJ spinning tunes in the main hall. The crowd was a great mix: arty yuppies in fancy clothes, families in casual dress, hip art students with clunky glasses, young professionals, old people, and tons of hippies. Check out the ensemble on this chubby guy in his fifties (it's hard to take a surreptitious photo of someone in a museum):

That's a purple and white leopard print fur jacket. With purple bell bottoms (with the embroidered pattern on the bells). What you can't see: the skintight purple stretch shirt over his potbelly and the black kufi hat. That is some kind of style!

The tower observation deck was great fun, although the fog was rolling in and obscuring the long view. Here's a pic of Oz taking a phone call in the tower:

See the fog? And the metal grate trim? Very cool.

Here are two views of the museum from the tower. The first is of the main entrance courtyard.

And here is the rest of the museum as seen from the tower.

But what of the art? The de Young has been criticized recently for booking mostly "fluffy" visiting shows (lots of fashion, etc.) at the expense of serious fine arts shows. To some extent, this criticism is probably fair; however, Fosco can think of some pretty fluffy fine arts shows at "serious museums" around the country (think of those blockbuster French Impressionist shows that the Art Institute of Chicago is always doing. Ugh.).

Not to mention that the de Young offered us a thrilling visiting retrospective of Hiroshi Sugimoto--the extremely-serious contemporary Japanese photographer. Fosco has loved Sugimoto for years, having seen an installation of his seascapes at the Met in NYC during Semester Break 1993 (on a trip with his college roommates). The de Young installation was breath-taking. The photos were spotlit in completely dark galleries: they took on the force of religious objects. The seascapes were remarkable as always:




I had always wanted to see his film photographs, in which he uses a long exposure to take a photograph of an entire movie. The result produces a bright and otherwordly movie screen, surrounded by a still (and often ornate) theater:


And how irresistible is the 50 foot long backlit photograph of 1000 Buddhas in Kyoto (excerpt below):
The Sugimoto show was brilliant and entirely satisfying. It was the highlight of the evening.

But what of the art in the de Young's permanent collection? As Fosco is unfit to judge anything but twentieth century European and American art, he cannot comment on the permanent collection as a whole. However, the parts he saw were not entirely distinguished.

The de Young has a beautiful collection of art glass, with attractive works by Chihuly, Bertil Vallien, and Jon Kuhn. Here's a picture of Kuhn's "Portals of Andromeda" (with Oz in the background):

The glass work is all very impressive and quite eye-catching, but what exactly is it saying? It's all a bit... decorative.

As for more meaningful art, the de Young isn't too stacked. They have some decent pieces by important artists, but very little that stands out. There is one gorgeous Diebenkorn from his "Ocean Park" series. Here is Ocean Park 116:

There's a charming Demuth (and Fosco does love Demuth). This is "From the Garden of the Chateau":

Oh, and there's one fun (though ultimately unsatisfying) Wayne Thiebaud:

Yum, bubblegum!

On the whole, it was a completely magical evening. Art (even less distinguished art) is fun. Oz is fun. An evening in Golden Gate Park is fun.

But then we had to ruin it by having an uncharacteristically bad meal at Fosco's beloved Chow.

"Hey little girl...

...have you ever seen a Mormon naked? Me neither."



[Picture of Mitt Romney from the Times.]

I will be your preacher teacher (Be your daddy)

Fosco was raised Catholic. Thank goodness that's all over. But sometimes Fosco thinks back to his days as an altar boy at St Linda's and how he was lucky to evade the romantic attentions of Father Fingers.

We all know that the Catholic Church's response to sexual molestation has been completely shameful. But you know what else is shameful? That millions of Catholics continue to give money to the Church every week at Mass. The Church took advantage of its members (and their young sons) for decades; now it continues to take advantage of the financial resources of its members to pay for the sins of its priests.

This is all old news, of course, but Fosco got angry again today as he was reminded of the scale of it all:

• Archdiocese of Los Angeles, 2007, agrees to pay $660 million to about 500 people.
  
• Diocese of San Diego, 2007, agrees to pay $198 million to 144 people.
  
• Diocese of Orange, Calif., 2004, $100 million for 90 abuse claims.
  
• Diocese of Covington, Ky., 2006, up to $84 million for more than 350 people.
  
• Archdiocese of Boston, 2003, $84 million for 552 claims.
  
• Diocese of Oakland, Calif., 2005, $56 million to 56 people.
  
• Archdiocese of Portland, Ore., 2007, agrees to pay about $52 million to 175 victims to emerge from bankruptcy protection; sets aside another $20 million for any future claims.
  
• Diocese of Spokane, Wash., 2007, agrees to pay $48 million for about 150 claims to emerge from bankruptcy protection.
  
• Diocese of Sacramento, Calif., 2005, pays $35 million to 33 people.
  
• Archdiocese of Louisville, Ky., 2003, $25.7 million to 243 victims.
  
• Diocese of Tucson, Ariz., 2005, agrees to fund a settlement trust worth about $22 million for more than 50 victims to emerge from bankruptcy protection.

[Source: NYTimes 9/8/07.]

This is all money that could have been spent on education or on charity. If you are Catholic and you care about educating children or alleviating suffering, maybe you should think about withholding your money from the Church and giving it to a non-religious charity.

Judy Blume Is Next

Although this news is not exclusive to Fosco Lives! (like our recent report of the death of Roberto "Len" Butler), we are sorry to note the passing of author Madeleine L'Engle. You can read the NYTimes obit.

Fosco recalls being thrilled by Ms. L'Engle's fiction, especially A Wrinkle in Time, as a seventh-grader. Fosco's English teacher Mrs. Eycleshymer (seriously!) assigned all of the L'Engle books to him for extra credit reading (yes, Young Fosco was just that obnoxious). It was even more thrilling when, a year or so later, Mrs. Eycleshymer and Young Fosco were able to attend a reading by Ms. L'Engle at a nearby community college. Young Fosco was selected by Mrs. Eycleshymer to be allowed publicly to ask Ms. L'Engle a question.

Young Fosco asked: "Which of your books is your favorite and why?"

Madeleine L'Engle answered: "You may as well ask me which of my children is my favorite."

To this day, Fosco considers this answer to be bullshit. Parents obviously have favorite children; there's no reason that authors shouldn't have favorite works. Fosco certainly knows which of his creative or academic endeavors he likes best. The nice thing about choosing the favorite of your textual progeny is that the other books don't get jealous and get pregnant to try to get your attention. Actually, come to think of it, Fosco still slightly resents her for that answer.

I would love to be able to say that Ms. L'Engle's books were important to the development of Young Fosco. Or that they somehow made Fosco who he is today. To tell the truth, Adult Fosco doesn't remember anything about any of her books. Was there time travel? That sounds about right. Precocious kids? Signs point to yes. Talking cartoon bats? Sure. Why not.

He does remember a diagram of a tesseract in one of the novels that completely blew his mind. There was this whole thing about trying to imagine the two-dimensional diagram in four dimensions. Fosco can honestly say that this was the last time he thought math was cool.

Actually, if you want to see a really nifty animated version of a tesseract, please check this out. But even so, math still isn't fun. Math: it's never fun. Oh, and it's completely useless.

Smoke Factory

Here's a satellite picture of the Santa Cruz area today:

Okay, not really. But it feels like it.

I hope the fires don't threaten the historic site of the first UCSC Pot-Lympics.

Thursday Quickies

There is a nasty haze of smoke over Santa Cruz today, thanks to a big (though non-threatening) wildfire over the mountains. Fosco has a scratchy throat today and he's blaming it on the smoke. I don't know how they're going to put out the fire, because it hasn't rained here since April or so. Maybe they'll just let it burn for a few months. I'm starting to feel like I'm living in John Mackey's LA (click on the "Griffith Park Fire" link to see some thrilling pics). But hey--that's LA! LA is supposed to be an inferno. This is the nice part of of California. There shouldn't be smoke in paradise, baby.

Fosco has no energy to write a long post right now. So here are some quickies:

• Speaking of the Inferno, there is a Purity Test based on the sins in Dante's Scholastic hell. Take it here. Fosco gets placed in the Seventh Level:
  

  Beyond the wood is scorching sand where those who committed violence against God and nature are showered with flakes of fire that rain down against their naked bodies. Blasphemers and sodomites writhe in pain, their tongues more loosed to lamentation, and out of their eyes gushes forth their woe.

  That sounds about right.
  
  
• Football-loving homosexuals unite! Outsports has created a head-to-head Gay vs. Straight Fantasy Football Contest. Can the gays play FF better than the hets? Well, Fosco played fantasy football for like eight years with eleven straightish people. He won the championship once, was runner-up once, and finished third twice. That's not bad. Respect the homos, football fans--we know a little somethin'.
  
  
• You may recall that Fosco loves "High School Musical" (and the sequel!). So how irresistible is it that a nudie pic of HSM star Vanessa Hudgens showed up on the internet today [link is sorta SFW, thanks to Photoshop]. Even better, the always reliable TMZ confirms that the pic is real. I bet Disney will be really happy, because any publicity is good publicity, right?
  
  Of course, a nude VanHudge still doesn't compare (in Fosco's book) to a shirtless Zac Ephron.
  
  
  Even better, there is a report that Zac's orange tan is fading.
  
  
• You may remember Ted's infatuation with the line "It was like watching a dog play the piano" (over at the Gideonse Bible). It's a good line.
  
  Now Fosco has come across a similar line that he's pretty fond of. From yesterday's Gawker post on socialite Tinsley Mortimer's new blog:
  

  It's like My Little Pony learned how to type!

  Fosco is thinking about changing his whole blog concept so that he could claim that title.

Orville Redenbacher: Mass Murderer?

In her book, Raw Material: Producing Pathology in Victorian Culture (incidentally, one of Fosco's favorite academic books), Erin O'Connor describes how conditions in Victorian factories destroyed the human flesh of the workers:

This problematic relation, in which manufacture altered bodily composition, took a variety of forms: industrial disease manifested itself as an adaptation of parts, as when the skeleton deformed itself to fit a machine; as a mixing of human and industrial waste, as in metallic mucus or lumps of phlegmatic coal; and, most dramatically, as a chemical reaction between flesh and raw material. Copper poisoning, for instance, converted the worker into a kind of anatomical alloy; smelters absorbed so much metal that they acquired its chemical properties. They tasted like copper [...] and they even oxidized: as copper molecules fused with oxygen in the body's tissues the hair, gums, urine and stools all took on a greenish tint [...]. Likewise, matchmakers suffering from phosphorus poisoning became phosphorescent. As the phosphorous penetrated into the jaw and spread to the surrounding tissues of the head and neck, workers laboring under matchmaker's necrosis began to glow; indeed, with their luminously decomposing heads atop comparatively inert bodies, matchmakers with 'phossy jaw' were living lucifer matches in their own right.

Of course, this horrible tradition continued even into our own time with cotton workers lung and black lung disease. Even so, industry must be cleaner and safer now, right? Isn't there some sort of government regulatory agency that protects (American) workers? (Of course, I have no doubt that the poor workers in China are slathered in lead paint.)

But of course, industrial capitalism hasn't gotten any less evil--not even in the United States. Allow Fosco to call to your attention something called "popcorn workers lung," also known as (seriously!) "butter flavoring lung injury." Now, while buttery lungs may sound delicious, they're not: it turns out to be a horribly debilitating disase. According to the NYTimes, the disease

seems to lead the small airways in the lungs to become swollen and scarred. Sufferers can breathe in deeply, but they have difficulty exhaling.

And yes, it can be fatal.

An article in the Times today calls attention to the fact that

exposure to synthetic butter in food production and flavoring plants has been linked to hundreds of cases of workers whose lungs have been damaged or destroyed.

And now, for the first time, popcorn lung has been diagnosed outside the factory: in a man who regularly ate microwave popcorn.

The man told Dr. Rose that he had eaten microwave popcorn at least twice a day for more than 10 years.

“When he broke open the bags, after the steam came out, he would often inhale the fragrance because he liked it so much,” Dr. Rose said. “That’s heated diacetyl, which we know from the workers’ studies is the highest risk."

Fosco hates popcorn in all of its varieties, but he doesn't think popcorn lovers (or popcorn workers) deserve this kind of punishment. This is ridiculous. Is it really possible that butter-flavored popcorn cannot be made without crippling or killing workers? Fosco finds himself more and more in agreement with Theodor Adorno in Minima Moralia: "There is nothing innocuous left."

Alternative Mindset List

Every fall, Beloit College publishes its Mindset List, attempting to capture the life experience of the incoming first-year college students to a much older faculty. This year's list assumes that the future Class of 2011er was born in 1989. In previous years, Fosco has found this list to be moderately interesting, in a "damn I'm old!" kind of way.

This year's list is quite disappointing. For example, look at #4: incoming firstyears "never 'rolled down' a car window." Really? Fosco was still driving a car with manual windows until 2002. What cars were these kids riding in? And as for #58 ("They get much more information from Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert than from the newspaper."), I don't think that's limited to just 18-yr-olds. Fosco has gone through long periods of time when that was true for him. And he refuses to be ashamed of that fact.

Count Fosco would like to offer some additions to the list. For the Class of 2011:

1. "George Bush" is a popular name for presidents.
   
2. Zebra mussels have always lived in the Great Lakes.
   
3. The hypothetical actions of Jesus have been a source of curiosity.
   
4. There's only been one war in Afghanistan.
   
5. Wrigley Field has always had night games.
   
6. The Olsen Twins have always been sexually intriguing.
   
7. Tacos have always been a popular dinner option.
   
8. Kirstie Alley has always weighed more than fifty pounds.
   
9. Everyone has made out with (or will make out with) someone named Jessica, Ashley, or Brittany.
   
10. The Pope has always been an old white man.
    
11. Queer theory has always existed.
    
12. Candles have always been scented.
    
13. Hooking up is a popular way to show affection.
    
14. Corpses have always been comedy gold.

Yikes. Who are these kids?

Count Fosco Salutes...

Another Sunday with no Dan Harper column. But you know who might cheer you up? A gentleman named Michael Attree. He loves the ladies and he loves his facial hair. And he is apparently some kind of Edwardian supervillain.

How much do moustache rides cost in the UK?

I don't know why this guy makes me feel so happy. But he does.

[N.B.: check out the thrillingly-moustachioed aviator in this post by Fosco's new blogopal kungfuramone. I like what's happening in the world.]

Denouement: 8/26-9/1

Last week, while you were coming to terms with your terrible knowledge of Judith Thurman's colonic irrigation, Fosco was

• trying to keep "American Idol" viewers away from his beach.
  
• beating a dead gay horse and then beating him again. Oh, and then laughing at the ads for said dead horse. Mmmm, repetitive.
  
• fondly remembering a meal that didn't come wrapped in a flour tortilla.
  
• wondering whether Young Jeezy is a better poet than Chamillionaire. (Making up rapper names is fun!)
  
• considering the changing fashions for the "short n curlies."
  
• feeling alternately juvenile and sulky.
  

Oh, and he changed the blog color scheme like five times. Now it's red.

Dreaming of Gary Danko...

The French Association Relais & Châteaux provides a guide to the most prestigious hotels and restaurants in over fifty countries. There are only eighteen restaurants in the United States that have earned the "Relais Gourmand" designation. In the last thirteen months, Count Fosco has dined at three of them. Here is one of those stories...

In July, Fosco had his belated birthday dinner in San Francisco with his mother and sister. Fosco would have loved to head to Napa to enjoy the delights of The French Laundry, but come on: a $200 prix fixe dinner? Not this year.

So instead, Fosco and the family went to dinner at the beloved Restaurant Gary Danko (which, it's worth noting, has the same food rating as the French Laundry in the current Zagat San Francisco guide. It's also the most popular restaurant in that survey).

[N.B., the restaurant is unrelated to the Jake Gyllenhaal space-time bender.]

Named for its eponymous master chef, Restaurant Gary Danko occupies an unassuming corner in a quiet residential neighborhood near the tourist monstrosities of Fisherman's Wharf and Ghirardelli Square. There is nothing touristy about GD. The interior is a comfortable haven from the street, with warm lighting and an extraordinary profusion of flowers. The atmosphere is relaxed and welcoming. GD prides itself on its service, and justifiably so: this was the friendliest restaurant staff I have ever experienced, from the waiters to the runners to the sommelier. You will feel extremely at ease at GD, I promise. No wonder it's so hard to get a reservation (it really was).

I'm going to walk you through our dinner course-by-course. But remember: I'm not John Mackey, so my food photographs are taken with a camera phone and they are not very good (seriously, how the hell does JM take such good pictures of food? Click on his "Journal/Blog" link and enjoy the deliciousness).

There is nothing like a gorgeous place setting. And this picture shows nothing like a gorgeous place setting. But trust me, that glass plate with the black blossoms was exquisite. (The photos do get a little better after this one.)
Shall we begin with an amuse? Indeed! These are blurry chicken dumplings floating in wild mushroom broth. Pretty simple, but quite delicious--and kind of surprising for summer.
My family and I challenged the sommelier by requesting a "reasonable" wine that works well with seafood (for my mom and my sister) and red meat (for extremely carnivorous Fosco). She was a pro (of course), and came up with a delightful rosé by Clos Saron in the Sierras called "Tickled Pink." I guess there is some sort of stigma attached to rosé, but this was a really good wine for all of our various courses.
First Course. My mom had the Risotto with Lobster, Rock Shrimp, Corn and Tomatoes. My sister had Sweet White Corn Soup with Corn Truffle Ravioli and Summer Truffles. Fosco had the Seared Foie Gras with Caramelized Red Onions and Peaches (pictured below). I think that carmelized red onions are now one of my favorite fruits (they're hiding under that green stuff). And that sweet and savory jus at the bottom of the plate? So delicious. I wanted to lick it up.
Let's take a quick break to note how beautiful my sister looked that night.
Main Course. My sister continued the corn theme (a choice she later regretted, just from the perspective of having too much of one flavor) with the Roast Maine Lobster with Yellow Chanterelle Mushrooms, Corn and Tarragon. Gary Danko is known for his work with lobster and this was really quite thrilling:
My mother had the absolutely beautiful Seared Sea Scallops with Sweet Pea PurÈe, Shimeji Mushrooms, Chorizo and Fava Beans. Look at those scallops! They were so rich and smooth.
I enjoyed the Roasted Loin of Bison with King Trumpet Mushrooms, Onion and Herb Spaetzle. This is one of the three or four most delicious things I've ever eaten. The bison was seasoned so extraordinarily that, just by itself, it would have made the whole meal. But the gorgeous green spaetzle were thrilling as well. This was a hearty dish with surprisingly complex flavors. I could eat it everyday. Bask in its bisonic glory:
I had read that GD's cheese cart is pretty impressive, so I decided to have a cheese course. I made the following four choices (beginning in the upper right corner on the plate below and moving clockwise):

1. I forget the name of the first cheese, but it was from France, it was creamy, and it contained plums soaked in Armagnac. Yes, it was as good as it sounds.
   
2. The delightfully creamy (and buttery) Pave d'Affinois.
   
3. The truly exceptional Hook's Cheddar from Wisconsin. Sharp as a blade, baby. I could eat some of this on crackers for lunch most days.
   
4. And, for a little bit of adventure, a very smelly Livarot. This is a complex flavor--one that gets up into your sinuses and says "Fuck You!" It was pretty remarkable. However, I couldn't eat this on crackers everyday.

And now we come to the mild disappointment of the evening: dessert. I hate to say it, but the desserts at Gary Danko just weren't up to the standard set by the rest of the food. Not that they were bad; they just weren't very interesting. I had a Chocolate Cherry Napoleon with Pistachio, Black Pepper and Red Wine Ice Cream, which sounds a lot better than it was. It was basically just chocolate and cherry flavors. My mom and sister were similarly unimpressed with their desserts.
Next time, I think I'll just do with cheese for dessert. (Although, perhaps the dessert offerings in other seasons are better.) There was a plate of petits fours, of course, thoughtfully topped with a candle and a chocolate script "Happy Birthday" (to me!). And the "ladies" in my party (which apparently does not include Fosco) were each given a beautifully-wrapped peach upside down cake to enjoy for breakfast the next morning. Luckily, Fosco's sister is allergic to peaches so I could eat hers. Take that, sex-discriminating pastries!

On the whole, dinner at Gary Danko was one of the exceptional meals in my life. The cuisine, the atmosphere, and the service made this a truly extraordinary birthday dinner. Allow me to recommend Gary Danko for your next special occasion.