I'm ready for my close-up

Can I just say - I am totally freaking amazed at what this cheap little camera can do?

And now for something cool

Los Angeles holds some refuges from the summer heat, and we were lucky that we found one today. We enjoyed the day with friends in their incredible garden, on a shady terrace close enough to the coast that the heat was tempered by ocean air. Beyond the terrace, a pond featured amethyst-colored water lilies and a magnificent specimen of Nelumbo lutens, the American Lotus.

The pink lotus, or Nelumbo nucifera, is a divine symbol in the Hindu and Buddhist faiths. Brahma and Vishnu are often shown holding its flowers, or sitting upon its leaves. It is said that wherever the Buddha treads, lotuses grow in his footsteps.

The pure beauty of the lotus blossom, rising as it does from roots in the mud, is celebrated in Chinese and Indian poetry.
In nineteenth century England, Tennyson - after Homer - wrote of the Lotos-Eaters. Odysseus's men land on an island and eat the plant offered by the islanders.* They lapse into a dreamy stupor, and just like many who come to Los Angeles and experience personal change, they vow to remain in the land where "it seemed always afternoon", where

"With half-shut eyes ever to seem
Falling asleep in a half-dream...
hear each other's whisper'd speech;
Eating the Lotos day by day,
To watch the crisping ripples on the beach."

Not for nothing is Hollywood known as Lotusland. Like the Lotos-Eaters, people come here hoping for stardom, which to many might be the modern equivalent of living

"On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind.
For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurl'd
Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curl'd
Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world:
Where they smile in secret..."

I'm not sure Tennyson would recognize his Lotos-eaters in the languid denizens of Malibu, lounging in cabanas sipping cocktails and hearing each other's whisper'd speech through their Bluetooth devices.

And here in Los Angeles, unlike the Gods, even Lotos-eaters aren't immune from

"...earthquake, roaring deeps and fiery sands,
Clanging fights, and flaming towns..."

A different Lotusland can be found near Santa Barbara in Montecito. This 37 acre garden was created by Ganna Walska, a Russian singer, in 1941. Walska was an eccentric person with eclectic interests like spiritualism, Ouija boards, and various other mystical schools of thought. Her opera career, which was promoted by her wealthy second husband, is said to have inspired the character of Susan Alexander, Charles Foster Kane's wretchedly untalented mistress in Citizen Kane - her singing was that bad!

After Walska's initial plan to create a monastic retreat called "Tibetland" didn't work out, she named the garden Lotusland after the pink sacred lotus in her water garden. The garden is just as fantastic as anything Kublai Khan or Kane might have had - a living clock made from succulents and topiary; a garden planted with entirely blue plants and flowers; giant clam shells fountains and glittering chunks of geodes and abalone shells lining the paths.

But let's not get carried away with lotus eating, shall we? enough of drug culture, strange cults, and half-baked mysticism!

We are contemplating the American lotus - a more down-to-earth and altogether more wholesome plant.

Our friends' garden was no place for mild-eyed melancholy and decadent lotus-eaters - it rang with the sounds of five toddlers banging on drums, vroom-vroomming toy cars, and tipping baskets of toys off the railing into the rosemary bushes below.

One little boy took his mother's hand and walked to the side of the pond, intent on the goldfish swimming within. The white blossom of the lotus was as high as his head. His mother and I each put our noses to it and sniffed. The scent was faint, barely detectable, but pure, sweet and beautiful.

"Lotus on four sides and willows on three,
Half a pool of autumn water reflects a hill.
Distant fragrance is all the more delicate and fresh."

Zhou Dunyi (1017 - 1073 AD), Song dynasty

*The lotus eaten by Odysseus's crew is thought to be Nymphae caerulea - the Egyptian blue water lily - and is said to have psychoactive properties.

What's in the Fridge for breakfast?

Sunday morning. Three hungry people in the house. What's in the fridge?

Only two slices of bacon. No onions. One quarter of a red bell pepper. A couple of scallions. A single ear of sweet corn (3 for $1 - only 2 of us had dinner at home last night). Some wilted basil leaves. What's in those baggies? A rind of aged gouda cheese and some crumbles of sharp cheddar.

Cook bacon until crisp and drain, reserving bacon fat. Cut kernels off ear of corn. Chop red bell pepper into 1/4 dice. Thinly slice white and light green part of scallions.

Heat reserved bacon fat in saute pan, and saute chopped vegetables until onion and pepper are wilted:
Break 6 eggs into bowl and lightly beat.
Add finely chopped basil:

Pour eggs into pan with vegetables, making sure entire bottom of pan is covered with egg mixture and vegetables are evenly distributed. Lower heat to Medium Low.

Break bacon into bite-size pieces and sprinkle into egg mixture. Grate gouda cheese and mix with cheddar bits; sprinkle over eggs.


Pre-heat broiler - yes I know it's not good to use the oven when it's hot out - this is just for a few minutes.

When egg mixture in pan is almost set, remove from stove and place under hot broiler for 2 minutes, or until eggs are completely set and top is lightly browned. Remove from heat, being careful with the hot handle.

Put a large plate on top of the pan, hold carefully with one hand, and with the other, turn the pan upside down so that frittata ends up on the plate:
Slice like a pie, and serve.

First day of summer

This is now.

Heat wave declaration

It's so hot this evening [The Man I Love] said - "Let's take off all our clothes" and I interjected "and stand in opposite corners of the house!"

Teheran in Westwood

Today I had to order a cake for a friend's birthday, and went to a little French bakery I know of on Westwood Blvd., south of Wilshire.

That part of Westwood is sometimes known at "Little Teheran" because of its concentration of Iranian businesses. There are restaurants, travel agencies, beauty shops, book and music stores, and professional offices, all owned by Iranian immigrants.

I ordered my cake, and strolled up and down the street. In the book store everything was written in Farsi, which is printed in Arabic script. The flowing calligraphy lent a graceful beauty to each volume. Of course, I had no idea what it said. There were several books or folios of prints on sale depicting paintings by modern Persian artists - romantic depictions of lush gardens, ancient domed cities, cornucopia of fruits, and idealized portraits of beautiful black-haired women - some were kind of like Persian Thomas Kinkaid paintings. Others, like these by Mahmoud Farchian presented complex and multi-colored fantasies that build on the ancient traditional art of Persian miniatures.*

The Jordan market was well-stocked with produce - fresh fruits like cherries, figs, apricots and berries looked luscious. I bought a couple of Persian cucumbers because they aren't carried at my local store. I also bought some fresh pita bread. There was a whole shelf holding fancily packed gift boxes of pistachio nougat. Cellophone-wrapped rock candy in many colors glittered in the fluorescent light. Plastic trays of pastries and cookies dusted with crushed green pistachios. There were bins of nuts and dried fruit you could buy in bulk. And yes, boxes of brightly colored Jordan almonds!

This market also has a large selection of fresh flowers and potted orchid plants. The orchids plants were arrayed on top of the high-front refrigerated case that displayed meat and fish, the lovely blooms arching over shoppers' heads as they peered in at the salmon, chicken, and lamb kidneys.

There were jars of imported jams and preserves, including quince jam, and rosepetal preserves. I bought a jar of sour cherry preserves, because I like to put a spoonful on my breakfast oatmeal. The shopkeeper tapped the label approvingly when he rang up my purchase. "This is a very good one - it is from Iran."

Another lady bought some plums and Rainier cherries, and chatted in Farsi with the woman behind the deli counter. I thanked them, and went back on the street. It was lunchtime.

Just south of the big Borders bookstore on the east side of Westwood Blvd., on a side street called Wilkins is a little shop that you enter through a tiny courtyard. This is the Attari Sandwich Shop.

You order at the counter. The display case holds platters of oliveh, a creamy chicken salad, and tongue, a couple of sandwich options, and kotlets, which are beef or chicken fried cutlets. Someday I'll try some of the other offerings on the menu, but today I ordered a kuku sabzi sandwich.

You can eat in the shop, where an elderly man watched a soccer game on the flat-screen TV on the wall, or you can eat outdoors in the courtyard, under cheerful yellow umbrellas and the waving fronds of palm trees and giant bird-of-paradise trees in the planter boxes. As I waited for the server to bring my sandwich, I watched the other diners - a table of older men, who hugged, back-slapped and kissed cheeks when another man joined them. A table of handsome dark young men in designer jeans with gold watches. A couple of older ladies in business attire walked into the shop and walked out with take-away. Everybody was speaking Farsi.

Kuku sabzi is like a dense frittata made with finely chopped green herbs. It's sliced and served on a crispy-crusted baguette with sour cucumber pickles. It is a burst of fresh green flavor in your mouth, and as you crunch through the sandwich, brilliant green flavored oil drips out to stain your fingers. Another delicious thing to order here is the Ash or soup - a rich lentil soup golden-yellow with spices served with a garnish of sour cream and crispy fried onions. It's a meal in itself - but today was too hot for soup. You can get a bottle of doogh, a carbonated drink made of yogurt with mint - I had it once, it's like drinking fizzy buttermilk. Not for all tastes. I had a diet Coke today.

After I left I walked across Westwood to where a sign beckoned saying "Persian Ice Cream." This is the Rose Garden Ice Cream Shop. The owner gave me a taste each of Saffron-Pistachio and White Rose ice cream.

Ice cream is a nice thing to eat during a heat wave like today. I opted for a pint of Saffron-Pistachio, and decided to pick up one of White Rose tomorrow for the birthday party. Someday I'll come back and get the faloodeh, which is a kind of sorbet made with little frozen vermicelli, flavored with sour cherry syrup.

For those who can't get to Westwood and want to taste Persian ice cream, visit Mashti Malone - in Hollywood or Westlake Village, at Whole Foods, or on line. I think they do mail order.

Mail order ice cream. What a concept.

*I chose not to post images of paintings, due to respect for copyrights. The painting above is a modern Indian botanical gouache I own. But I encourage you to go visit the links to see the amazing and beautiful paintings - both ancient and contemporary.

Florida wisdom

"You know how hot it is?

It's hotter 'n a boiled owl."

9:02 PM and it's still hot.

Roadside sign

There's got to be a story behind this!

Plush porn

When Our Son was about 3 years old he became a collector of stuffed plush animals, or "stuffies".

And like collectors who are consumed by other passions, such as antique art pottery, rare coins, or manga figurines, he saw every trip away as an opportunity to acquire another souvenir for his collection.

On one trip, we visited an Aquarium, and in the Gift Shop we bought a pink octopus. He named it Pinktopus.

On another trip, we discovered a green octopus. It was Groctopus.

Pinktapus and Groctapus played roles in the stories Our Son playacted with his stuffies. Octopi are mollusks, with mouths located at the center of their tentacles. It only made sense that Pinktapus and Groctapus kissed by smushing their tentacles together.

Our Son abandoned his stuffies around the age of nine, and the collection gathered dust on his bedroom shelves. A recent visit by a friend's two-year-old unearthed Pinktopus and Groctopus, who have been living in our bedroom ever since.

It's made [The Man I Love] and me remember Our Son's playacting tenderly. We identify with these plush octopi - I'm Pinktopus, and he's Groctopus. However, in our jaded minds, the relationship between them has taken on a racier tone.

We've produced in the Doves Today studios a dramatization of octopoidal passion, using the painstaking laborious technique of Stop-Action animation.







Please note that you must be over 21 to view stuffed octopus porn.