Friday, February 24, 2006

Paranoia Strikes Deep

On Tuesday I wrote about Gulfstream V, tail number N8068V (now changed to N44982) that has been rendering enemies of The Republic to various police state countries around the world. I included a foto of the jet in its N8068V incarnation. On Tuesday, there were dozens of fotos to choose from of both jets. Today there are a total of three of N8068V, and none of its successor. The word is, the fotos are being scrubbed as a national security measure.

Taking fotos of tail numbers of jets is a national security measure because.......???

The completely ironic reality of this situation is that the planespotting geeks are so much better organized than Homeland Security that if there were ever a REAL security problem with.....say a renegade Saudi billionaire with access to Gulfstreams (oh, Michael....that would never happen! Saudis are our FRIENDS)......The geeks would have better records of take-offs and landings from which random airport to which other random airport than our own government. Seems to me.

But our guys seem really upset about this whole deal. Touchy, touchy.

Yipes! I hope I don't wind up inside N8068V. Save your copy of the now rare foto for the wake.......or delete the motherfucker, clean your drive, defrag and pray.........

Thursday, February 23, 2006

Masters of Food and Weirdness

Cachagua chefs…..Masters of Food and Weirdness…..

A break in the political action. This is theoretically a food blog.

Brendan is back from Prague, having sold his bar. He needed to come home or die…..too many supermodels, too many nights closing the bar at 6am…..actually, closing the bar every night at 6am. So now he is puritanically virtuous, and teutonically hardworking: he has been beating us with sticks. It is brutal.

The Pub is moving into The Store space, and The Store is moving into the Pub space. The Kitchen is now twice as big as BB (Before Brendan). Well, no wonder: at Mugaritz, the kitchen was 5,000 square feet, and the dining room about 1,500. So, we have a little catch up.

Expanding the kitchen, switching Store for Pub…..this is all hugely traumatic. But, the kid is organized. All the supplies and materials were in place. Adrian, the proud new dad, was giving us his day off with his kid for the construction work. All the pre-prep was done by Brendan while I played with the rich and famous at the Masters of Food and Wine at the Highlands.

Sunday morning, Brendan and Adrian were tuned up to move the wall and finish the sheetrock in the new kitchen. Of course, we have Sunday Brunch at the same time. My backup chef was on call for Peninsula Septic Tank Service (you think I am kidding…..), so I had to pass on the early prep with Cat Cora at The Highlands and do my own brunch. This is where I think about the difference between pretend chefs and real ones…..hollandaise on the construction site. Bring it Rachel Ray…..Come to think of it, bring it Cat Cora.....she makes Rachel Ray look like Kirstie Ally. Think Katherine Ross with a Granton-edged Santuko knife…….

Anyhow, the boys left about ten minutes before me for The Store. Just as I got to the top of Cachagua Grade my phone rang. Terrible reception, but there is reception: “Dad…..the….crackheads…..stole…the 4x4’s…..” “What?” “Dad…..the….crackheads …….the 4x4’s…..”

Fuck. The goddam crackheads. They will steal anything in Cachagua. They used to cut up my garden hose to make siphons to steal the gas from the catering vans. I finally cut lengths of garden hose and hung them from the front of The Store, just so I didn’t have to keep putting new endpieces on my hoses. Then they stole the snowshovel I use to turn the compost….and that was a nasty-ass shovel. And…. what the hell does a crackhead need a snowshovel for in Cachagua? Is there THAT much meth?

Now, just when we are trying to make something nice in Cachagua, and bring them a real bar and restaurant with an actual pool table to go with the lighted Hillbilly Bocce by the Creek…..they steal our construction supplies. I passed Brendan and Adrian going back towards town, probably to go to Orchard to get more supplies.

I was boiling. I was gonna muster the troops and search the camps for my 4x4’s. Heads would roll.

I got to The Store mad as hell. Sure enough, the 4x4’s were missing. I stomped around The Kitchen doing my prep for the ungrateful assholes of Cachagua, when Brendan and Adrian came in. “They stole the fucking 4x4’s?!?” I asked.

“Stole the 4x4’s? No, we put them up in the rafters, out of your way. I was calling to ask you to pick up the “brackets for the 4x4’s” We left them in the driveway……We had to go back.....”

Brackets for the 4x4’s……Crackheads stole the 4x4’s……..

Easy now, Big Shifter……..


In the Guantanamo Express post I mentioned that I always double check Bennie's tips. This is not because I doubt what he says......but because I know his story is always only the tip of the iceberg.......

One of Bennie's Buddies is a venture capital guy from the Bay Area. He flew into the SFO jetport in his Gulfstream last week, back from a tough week of venturing. It was a gorgeous day in the City, and as Buddy got off his jet on the apron, he looked around, he saw all the other Gulfstreams lined up on the apron, with their tails ever so.....against the beautiful blue sky. He took out his camera to record the moment......

A siren went off, and the next thing he knew....a big Suburban roared up. Two Homeland Security guys jumped out, and yelled at him: "Put down that camera!!" Now, Buddy is a Billionaire......and he just got off his OWN Gulfstream.....this is not some geek with a backpack. "It is against the Patriot Act to photograph tail numbers on this apron!" They took his camera, and erased the image.

Another act of terroism averted.....

This means: 1) it may or may not be illegal to photgraph airplanes at a public jetport; 2) they have cameras on the runways of the jetport; 3) there are dudes watching the playback from the cameras; 4) the dudes watching the cameras are in radio communication with guys in Suburbans who are guarding the jetport against camera-toting billionaires; 5) those planespotting geeks really have the big boys' tits in a wringer; 6) how many Guantanamo Express jets are there......or why else would they not want the tail numbers photographed?

I can't wait till we do the party for Robert Redford at OUR local jetport next month. I hope the cameras get aload of my bumperstickers. We always feed the cops on jobs.....I wonder if the Homeland Security guys will come over for scotch and foie gras like the regular cops.......

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Air Condi.....The Guantanamo Express

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Tuesday, February 21, 2006

I am George.....Fly me!!

I can’t remember if it was Thomas Pynchon or Kurt Vonnegut (both worthy Cornell chemical engineers) who wrote: “The worst part about being paranoid is being right…….”

"Bennie" replied to my last post about global corporate lovefests with a picture of N8068V, a Gulfstream GV jet called “The Guantanamo Express”. This plane has been the culprit in a number of the infamous ‘extraordinary renditions’ of terrorist suspects and Islamic radicals since 911. The foto was taken at the Santa Barbara airport, and Bennie’s humorous comment was that I should prepare myself for being stuffed in body bag and flown to Poland. We have worked out a communication code if he is in the opposite body bag. (We are going with the John McCain Hanoi Hilton Code). And anyway, like Poland would be culturally more bleak than Cachagua in February…..

I love Bennie, but I always double-check his comments (see paragraph 1) against objective reality.

I googled “N8068V”. Omigod! Talk about Pandora’s box.

Turns out that N8068V is now N44982, registered to Bayard Foreign Marketing in Portland. (Oregon, not Maine). All the directors of the corporation are phonies (birthdates in the 40’s and 50’s, SS#’s in the late 90’s), as were the directors of the previous owners of the plane (Premier Executive Transport, out of Boston.) The CIA doesn’t work as hard establishing fake identities for Planes as it does for Plames. Before that N8068V was N379P…..same deal.

Remember those weird English dudes who were arrested for spying on planes in Greece? Got caught at an Air Force base with fotos and lists of tail numbers of Air Force jets. Their defence (do you love the spelling?) was that they were “Plane Spotters”. We all saw the other movie……and there were no trains, just a lot of heroin and pooping in Mum's bed. If you need any proof that the English are weird…check out the nude hikers:,,1714260,00.html

But no….these Planespotting guys are real. They are everywhere and they are organized, like the Fuzzies. Non-political, for the most part, like the Fuzzies..... They just like planes, not plush animal costumes, but they both have anonymous sex in hotels in Ohio at their conventions. There may be some control issues, and o.c. disorder….but no matter. They have websites. They keep track of shit. N379P did fly from Sweden to Jordan. It did fly 50 times to Guantanamo from Poland, Syria, Jordan…. always returning faithfully to home base in North Carolina. When the Arab dude from Toronto got snatched and shipped to Egypt….sure enough. N379P was tracked by both a Canadian geek and an Arab geek. (The good news is they spent a lot of time at Shannon in Ireland). Transcipts of both English and Irish parliamentary proceedings mention dear old N8068V, quite a bit. Not many answers, just lots of questions.

Not that human rights dudes need to worry about fact checking. All this is public information. Tail numbers can be tracked on an FAA website. Worldwide landing permits for jets (CALP’s) are tracked by the US Army Aeronautical Services Agency. You can get a CD of all the take-offs and landings of any given plane for $6.25. The ugly record is there for all to see. For a high tech analysis, check out these guys for advice about tradecraft, and possible doctoral dissertations on N379P:

Turns out that everything all the wackos say about N8068V is true: FAA records, geek records, U.S. Army records. We snatch guys, fly them to weird places where sadistic fucks fuck them up and get them to tell us psychotic fairy tales….and then they disappear them: Jordan for torture and info, Syria and Egypt for death. Just what the Founding Fathers had in mind, I am sure. "From the Halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli......."

Unfortunately now is sad times for N8068V. The CIA finally realized that legions of geeks knew all about it, and N8068V had more internet space than Paris Hilton. Bayard Foreign Marketing is dumping it. Check it out: Number 581, '99 Gulfstream.

Below market, given the 1100 some-odd landings in only 6 years.

Don’t mind the bloodstains.

Any Port in a Storm

If anyone is surprised that our government has turned the operation of many of our major ports over to an Arab company, Dubai Ports World……don’t be.

First, of course, the conflicts of interest…..or more accurately, the ALIGNMENT of interests between the Arabs and the Bush Administration: John Snow, our Secretary of the Treasury was chairman of a big rail company that sold ITS port operations to Dubai Ports two years ago for some billions of dollars. And our new director of the U.S. Maritime Administration just left his job as head of Europe and Latin America for Dubai Ports.

This is normal. So stop complaining about the sand in the least there is Vaseline.

For those who remember their Thomas Pynchon in Gravity’s Rainbow: In World War II Royal Dutch Petroleum (England) held the patent on the V2 rocket fuel being produced for Germany by Royal Dutch (Holland). All through the war, Germany paid royalties on the use of the formula to the country it was bombing with the formula. See.....Vaseline!

To crown the irony, the V2 launches took place mostly in Holland and northwest Germany, and used two radar signatures for aiming purposes. The first was the Royal Dutch tower in Amsterdam….the rockets flew directly over that one. The second was the Royal
Dutch Shell building on the south bank of the Thames in London. That defined the target area. The ultimate irony is that the Shell building, during and after the war, was the head office of the British Secret Service.

So, when the suitcase A-bomb goes off in Newark harbor in the unchecked container freshly arrived from Pakistan by way of France, the profit on the port fees will go to the Dubai Ports shareholders..... who also will have funded the radical Islamic madrasa that will have trained the bombers.

And the benefit to the U.S. citizens and taxpayers is…….ummm. The benefit is, ah……..ummm. I better get back to you on that one……There MUST be some benefit to us, or why would our President allow it to happen?

Meanwhile, pass the Vaseline.

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

More St.Valentine's....and LDB's

You have to be an insane person, or seriously lazy, to go out for dinner on SAINT Valentine's Day. The restaurants are packed with rookies.....which means low tips, therefore crappy service, and a miserable time promised for all.

My last venture: I was so blinded by love that I bought Biwa pearl earrings and made reservations at a little dinner place in Carmel. They were so busy they ignored us for 40 minutes....blood sugar plunged, tempers flashed.....and I wound up dragging the waiter to the table by his tie and testing the resilience of his skin with my steak knife. Not quite as romantic as I had hoped.....But then, I am Irish.

Another friend ventured out to Piatti, to pop the question on Valentine's.....oops: St. Valentine's. He asked the maitre d' to bring the ring with the desert, and handed it over with a serious tip. They were seated next to the kitchen, of course....very romantic. At the proper moment, he ordered an absurdly overpriced bottle of Dom Perignon, and anxiously awaited delivery of dessert. (I strongly recommend listening to "The Gift" by Velvet Underground...White Heat, White Light album). Dessert came. No ring. His date dug into her mousse, and pounded the Dom while my buddy looked around anxiously. He excused himself, and checked with the maitre d'. He insisted all was well, and the ring had been delivered. The waiter was consulted, then the chef. The ring had been delivered as promised, goddammit. The crowd approached the table. The chef seized the mousse, plunged his fingers into it, and retrieved the ring. "You said you wanted it delivered in the dessert, and here it is! What is your problem? I am busy!"

Nuff said about that. The Power of the Preposition: ''with'', not ''in".......

LDB's. Like IED's, an acronym of concern. Little Dead Birds. Everyone and his/her brother has chimed in on the Cheney shooting incident....well, except me.

We have worked shooting parties like the one in question. Just so you know, these birds are not exactly wild. They are raised in pens, and booted out of the cages just before the hunters appear.

In our case, we worked at a big ranch in Big Sur. The pheasants for the shoot were flown in from Fresno, along with special dog teams with their handlers. The shooters gathered for a little hot food, and a little whiskey. Always whiskey. When all was ready, the shooters would walk out into the field with the dogs and handlers. The trucks with the pheasants were just over the rise on the hill. As the shooters started walking, the Mexicans on the back of the flatbeds starting opening cages and throwing the pheasants out of the trucks. The dogs would flush the poor confused birds, and the shooters would shoot them with their $30,000 Purdy shotguns. Later, the Mexicans would take the birds over to the sheds where there was a plucking and cleaning machine, while we served lunch. The guests got cryovac-ed packages of LDB's, all clean and nice. And every bit as sporting as a Vietnamese dog-shoot down at the SPCA. Or invading Iraq.

My distant, but expert analysis of the Cheney incident: 1) Never be in front of the part of the gun with the little holes in it. (When I was a dive instructor, Little Rich Jimmy used to come shoot fish with his brand new million dollar dive gear, including spiffy speargun.....and, terrified of the dark water, try to swim BEHIND me! No, Jimmy. I ain't going out with a spear up the ass......) Anyone who has ever been on a shooting range, or walking patrol knows this. 2) You pay by the birds that are released, not for the birds you manage to hit. Five will get you ten, the Mexicans in charge of the birds released early, before the shooters were ready. Then all hell broke loose when Cheney tried to shoot the birds before they got away.

What does this tell you? Of course they were buzzed. They ALWAYS are. Alcohol and gunfire are the Cialis and Viagra of Americana. Who cares? On the other hand, they were fucking idiots to go shooting tame birds with their buddies in the line of fire, just because they were too cheap to pay for another release.

Is there anyone out there that is surprised that Dick Cheney and friends are mean, indulgent, vicious, impulsive pricks....ignorant of the dangerous consequences of their actions?

I didn't think so.

Monday, February 13, 2006

Saint Valentine, hear my prayer!!!

St. Valentine’s Day:

These poor demented fools that run our local commie radio station keep asking me back to talk about food. What are they thinking? Picture a blog without SpellCheck or MouthCheck……

Anyway, today’s guest on the Tasty Planet Show was supposed to be Catherine Fallis…fifth ever Master (Maitresse?) Sommelier…..and author of a book about erotic food. Scott Dick, the host was worried that he could not milk two hours out of Catherine or the subject… he booked me as chaperone. In Ireland we would say: “That lad could talk the legs off a donkey……”

And, believe it or not, I actually do my homework. I downloaded Catherine’s book and Evelyn Wood Reading Dynamic-ed the mothafucka.

And I dropped everything and scooted over to Sand City for the Show, at 1pm on the Saturday of the AT&T. And, of course, the famous Catherine was a No Show on Tasty Planet….she literally phoned it in. Hence the expression, I guess. Hint to the newbies: when you are being interviewed on the radio and have to pee…..turn off the phone.

The 45 minutes with Catherine were a snoozer. I could not find a single thing to say, for the first time in recent memory. When finally turned loose, my first comment: “I have been silent for most of an hour, listening to two people talk about erotic foods, one named Dick and the other named Fallis.”

Catherine gives recipes: truffle risotto, sea bass with something something. Do endangered species taste better or are they more erotic? Like bear paw, rhino horn and tiger dick? Is there room in the lexicon for my Spotted Owl Souflée?

I am so pissed at Bill O’Reilly. Not for the normal reasons. I was raised Catholic, and was the Bishop’s altar boy. I could feel myself being inexorably sucked towards his position of: “Christmas is secular! The Negro lesbian hippie Jew fucks have stolen Christ from Christmas!” Possibly because we actually physically stole Jesus from the Manger Scene at a local ranch, and machinegunned the Wise Guys, and filmed Jesus strapped to the front bumper of a truck being rammed at high speed into…..but never mind.

If the Christian Right is upset about Secular Christmas, what about Secular Valentine’s? For Chrissakes, it is SAINT Valentine’s Day. Whatever happened to the fucking SAINT?

I am here to tell you. One of the several Valentines (the lesser was murdered by Muslims in Spain along with his sister Agape, and his brother Fructus…..not a good Saint to focus on during CartoonRiotWeek) anyway Valentine1 was from Umbria. A Foligno dude. Foligno is near Montefalco and Bevagna, and close to Assisi. St. Francis actually chilled with the bluebirds outside Bevagna, on the Foligno road, not in Assisi. This is Truffle Central, but I digress.

Umbria is the center of Italy. Foligno is the center of Umbria. In the center of Foligno is a bar, and in the center of the bar is a pool table….and in the center of the pool table…..Well, just think about Valentine’s Day and romance…..You want to have extra chalk when you play that 8-ball across the middle of that table.

Anyway, St Valentine the Primero was a nice man who cared for the victims of the Roman oppression. When they caught him, the Romans chopped off his head on the Via Flammini….on February 14, 192

The Romans already had a festival on February 15, Lupercalis. Rome was founded by Romulus and Remus, who were abandoned as babies and suckled by a she-wolf in a cave on the Palatine Hill. To honor the wolf, on Feb. 15 each year, the priests would gather outside the cave with all the young people and slaughter some goats and a dog. They would slather the young men with the blood and cut the goatskins into long strips. The bloody, half-naked young men would run through the crowd of half-naked young women and whip them with the fresh goatskin strips. Adult beverages were served…to the point that the scribes mention them as a potential problem. Amongst all Roman festivals, Lupercalia was the big wine scene…..Sort of like Mardi Gras, with goatskin whips instead of beads.

Being whipped by a fresh goatskin strip by a half naked young man would bring the young woman increased fertility and a painless childbirth. Given the amount of wine served at the event, we are now blessed with a plethora of Scorpios throughout history.

When the Catholics finally took over, they looked for random Saints and events to assume the old Roman feasts. Midwinter became Christmas, even though Jesus was born in March. The Spring Thing became Easter. Halloween became All Saints’. And Lupercalia became St. Valentine’s. Hence the pink….the color of blood.

Finally, a word about Aphrodisiacs. From the Greek, Aphrodite. (If you want to read a REAL erotic food book, check out “Aphrodite”, by Isabel Allende).

L-Arginine is an amino acid. It is a precursor to nitric oxide. Nitric oxide is a neuro-transmitter responsible in part for male and female erections. Turns out that the list of foods high in L-Arginine reads like an aphrodisiac manual: Shellfish, especially oysters and crab; nuts, coffee, chocolate……Hold on ye Vegans!…..Soy and seaweed are also at the top. No wonder sushi makes a great date. Cialis wrapped around Viagra.

Unfortunately, because there is a God, and She has a Vicious Sense of Humor, all these foods also can trigger an outbreak of herpes. Caveat Emptor.

Anyway, truth in labeling. St. Valentine had almost nothing to do with this thing, beyond getting chopped. He was buried in his own catacomb for centuries until the space became tight. The Vatican then evicted him and moved him into a church in Madrid, St. Anton’s. Last year, Al Gore’s TV network set up a videocamera there. All day, only eight couples came to pay respects.

But today’s Monterey Herald has half an inch of ads for crappy Valentine’s presents.

Bill O’Reilly, where the fuck are you when we really need you?

Sunday, February 05, 2006


Just so we understand groveling had nothing to do with Pusho-Man. He is still a fuck-head. Or our bizarrely derangend ruling class.

This week I heard the single best talk radio quote I have heard in months. An older African American woman called in to Commie Radio to rant about the Reverse Robin Hood Spending Bill: $40 billion taken from old people, children, students and sick people to give to guys to hire a backup mechanic for the cigarette boat that sits nine months a year at the dock outside their sixth house.

Anyway, she went off: "These people are not Christians if they have never listened to the Sermon on The Mount. Just because you get your picture taken on the steps of the Church, or go to services on Sunday....that don't make you a Christian anymore than stepping into your garage makes you a damn car!!!"


Friday, February 03, 2006

Mea Culpa

When I worked in France and someone fucked up, there was always a world of shit just waiting to thunder down on your head. The only strategy was to fess up immediately: “Que j’ai honte…..” Basically, “I am a piece of shit, I am so ashamed…..” The angry, red-faced chef, usually with some lethal weapon at hand, would stop in mid-charge. Often, the guy would wind up consoling you.

A theme in some of the posts in the last month has been the decline of mores and ethics all around us. The rich robbing the poor; folks allowing greed or selfishness blind them to those around them; self-absorbtion creating its own kind of blindness to the labors, needs, skills, and sufferings of others.

This kind of attitude has always been part and parcel of life in the service industries. We service workers are always the lowest of the low, or at least are treated that way. The chefs and restaurateurs are always from the most recent wave of immigrants…..the cheapest, and the easiest to look down upon. Last century it was first the Italians (Gene Cavallero at The Colony, Siro M also at The Colony and then on to Le Cirque). Then the French off the ocean liners (Henri Soulé at Pavillon, Lutece, Pierre Merle at Le Berry). Now, of course, we have all the various forms of Latinos, East and West Coast.

In the dining room it runs the same. People seem only to be comfortable being served by people they can look down on, or feel good about throwing some shekels to: the French and Italians again, the Filipino navy stewards after WWII, and most recently actors, college kids, and gay people. Almost any kind of rudeness is allowed…..and unfortunately the rudeness flows back and forth. The hostess snaps at the maid, and artichoke stems go in the Disposal, or those earrings disappear from the bureau. The host is condescending to the barman, and suddenly an extra half-case of champagne appears on the bill…..

Or….the hostess is crazy neurotic and wildly rude to the workers, to the point where no one wants to even retrieve their stuff, or even send a bill…..and the caterer snaps back in a blog. Driven by the same or worse kind of insensitivity to his fellows described above, he thoughtlessly slams an innocent bystander in the process.….trying to clever, catty and ironic. And forgot to change the names, so any pain generated is personal, not general.

Once words are gone from your mouth or your pen… can’t bring them back. Apologies seem beside the point…..There really is no excuse for rudeness. One can only hope that a lesson has been learned, and the future might be informed by a modicum of kindness, understanding and fellowship.

In the meantime, I am embarrassed, sorry…..and yes, ashamed.

Que j’ai honte. Really.

Thursday, February 02, 2006

MySpace: Human Resources

The Millennium has finally arrived. The End of Times is near.

No.....It has nothing to do with The Christian Right, or a White Horse in Israel (or is it a White Cow? No, I think the White Cow is in India....but they are breeding white critters in Texas to prepare for this......) Or the White Chimp in the White House....

Thursday I had my first job application on MySpace. It actually worked out pretty well. For catering, there are a few requisites: reasonably attractive; reasonably intelligent; strong sense of humor; raging sense of irony, or complete indifference. What did I miss? At least we are doing better than the U.S. Army. No waivers for criminal activity needed yet for A Moveable Feast. Those guys work at The Store.

I had read somewhere that major corporations are using MySpace to vett applicants....but on the sly. The same corporations are creeping around checking out existing workers. That photo of you in your ClubKid outfit with your Special Party Bong may just leak out to your supervisor at the County Prosecutor’s Office.

Anyway.....according to MySpace.......Vantastic, our new applicant was 23, 5’4””, average build, a 2004 grad of Santa Clara University with a major in Psych, minor in English. Books she admires: J.D. Salinger, George Orwell, C.S. Lewis (!!??), Arundhati Roy, and James and the Giant Peach. Music: Ella Fitzgerald (!!??!!) in the number one spot. Movies: Office Space, Dirty Dancing, The Goonies, Best in Show (??!!?). She had a cynical anti-Bush poster on her space....since deleted (??!!!??) One of her friends played soccer. Another friend posted a poster (how appropriate...posting a poster!!) of an angry Latino: “Who You Calling Alien, Pilgrim?’’


If you did not know already: everyone under the age of 30 with an IQ over room temperature in a chilly room is on MySpace. If the Bush Administration sees a need to keep track of us citizens they don’t need illegal wiretaps. It is all here.

By the way, Vantastic was fantastic. Smart, energetic, involved, creative, unafraid to assume responsibility, prompt, well-groomed.......ironic. My only question: why is she catering? Is the job market for Santa Clara grads that bad? Is the social/intellectual/sports/cultural milieu so drab and awful that great kids like this work for me schlepping drinks FOR FUN AND INTELLECTUAL STIMULATION? Sweet Sleeping Jesus on His Holy Mountain…......Isn’t this a crisis and threat several levels above that of Al Quaida? (however the hell you spell it....maybe NSA has SpellCheck....) Threat level Day-Glo School Bus Orange?

For those that are unfamiliar with MySpace....not only is Vantastic's stats and secret fantasies laid out for all to see.....any of Vantastic’s on-MySpace friends can be accessed with a simple double-click. And then that friend’s friends.....on and on. I picture the 2046 Supreme Court hearings for Vantastic, where the esteemed Senator from Baja California is irate about the Candidate’s MySpace profile after college……."Ms. Vantastic....what is it about C.S. Lewis that informs your understanding of the Constitution......and why did you post that poster about Pilgrims? What do you have against The Founders?"

I leave you with a post from Vantastic’s friend that origianlly referred her to me....also on MySpace: She is a 23 year old graduate of Chico State in Music Business with a full time job and her own condo:

Well I may have had a mini epiphany…all of my negativity surrounding my single status is getting me nowhere and doing nothing for me. So with that said I shall enjoy my life and current situation. I will enjoy the fact that I can make-out with anyone at any given time. I will enjoy the fact that I can pick up and leave for a weekend trip and consult no one whenever I feel like it. I will spend MY money on ME and whomever else I feel deserves and appreciates it. I know there is more that I want to do with this freedom than the things I just mentioned but I think those are the ones that I most look forward to. I don’t know why it took me so long to feel this way. I have always said that you should always enjoy where you are in life because you never know what is next for you. Enjoy being single, young, free, in college, a homemade meal, a conversation with a old friend, your little brother, living in Soledad…this list is never-ending. (About that Soledad one…I am still figuring out how to enjoy that one. If you have any suggestions please send them my way!) I would just like to end by saying I am almost 24 years old, single, I have a good job…life is good and it will only get better. I am game for nearly anything and looking forward to new adventures. So, call me up and lets go do it up!

I am trying to figure out if this is either the happiest, or saddest, thing I have read from a young person this century.

All these minds….all this energy and creativity. Mr. Bush…..wake up! We are not wasting oil….it is much worse than that……