The fatty tuna I ate last night looked like Spam

Except imagine twice the fat, such that the tuna meat separated into what looked like mini slices of Spam. If I closed my eyes and asked my dinner companion to distract me with inane rambling, I could stomach it. It just tasted like tuna, but fattier. However, with my eyes open, it was one of the least appetizing $5 pieces of fish I've ever seen, much less eaten.

I do not recall my favorite flavor...

A visit to the Jelly Belly Factory in Fairfield, California today revealed that even a beloved candy company seems unable to stand above the fray of partisan politics. There are no fewer than four Ronald Reagan portraits made entirely out of Jelly Bellies on display, and since you're in line for an hour to take the factory tour, you get plenty of time to stare at them, and perhaps share your favorite Reagan anecdotes.
Then there's the Reagan shrine, culled from the 'personal archives' of Jelly Belly CEO Herman Rowland. Rowland sent a steady stream of Jelly Bellies to Reagan starting in the early 1970s, and in a prominently-displayed letter amid the Air Force One red, white and blue Jelly Bellies, Ronnie states that the availability of Jelly Bellies during Cabinet meetings was the reason the Reagan administration was able to get anything done. One wonders what they would have been able to get done without the Jelly Bellies.

But the right-wing fun-fest doesn't stop there, as prominent conservatives are immortalized in bean all over the Jelly Belly factory -- there's Arnold, the Pope, and both Bushes (those portraits weren't on display -- they must be at the National Gallery). I felt decidedly blue state in a red state candy store. (And the availability of an Arabic translation of the Jelly Belly "menu" just confused matters) Between that and the "Revelations 3:20" printed on my In 'n' Out burger wrapper, my jaunt out of Berkeley was an awful reminder of life outside the liberal bubble. I like my bubble, thank you very much. You can have yer stinkin' Roasted Garlic Jelly Bellies. I'll take my Al Gore and my bio-diesel producing Kettle Chips any day!

Two Recommendations and a Gripe

There is simply no excuse not to see the movie "An Inconvenient Truth." Here, go look up where it's playing in your town. The fact that Bush refuses to see it only confirms what the rest of us know: he is in denial about how much trouble the environment is in. The movie is, indeed, very frightening, but it's also not such a bitter pill to swallow. Al Gore makes a great impression. It's too bad he wasn't elected president. Oh wait, he was.
Anyway, you'll exit the theater angry and numb, especially if you live in one of the places that's going to be under water when Greenland melts. And a lot of us do. But that's no reason not to see the movie, and if you happen to know a Republican, bring 'em along, too.


This is the book I'm reading right now -- Zadie Smith's On Beauty -- and I highly recommend it. I wasn't as wild about White Teeth as the critics were, but this book lives up to the hype.

Cody's Books is a Berkeley institution, one of the finest independent bookstores in the country, I'd venture to say. Sadly, yesterday Cody's closed their flagship store on Telegraph Avenue (where, incidently, they allowed dogs, which is always a selling point for me). They're still open at their (anticeptic) 4th Street location, as well as the new Cody's in San Francisco, but I'm mourning the loss of my favorite place for new books, where there was room for both a shelf on Anarchist Spanish History and stacks of the latest Harry Potter. I know some of you are wedded to your Border's and your Barnes and Noble, but I say shop independent! -- so that bookstores like Cody's may live...

Welcome back, welcome back, welcome back

I fear I will lose my core readership (shouts-out to my core readers: holla!!) if I don't post something, even though I haven't come up with a catchy garlic-fries-type topic. But if you're wondering where I've been, I'll give you a hint: The names have all changed since you hung around, but those dreams have remained and they're turned around (who'd have thought they'd lead ya) (who'd have thought they'd lead ya) (right here where we need ya) (here where we need ya)...

That's right: it's Welcome Back, Brenneis, as I stepped back into that most hallowed of ground, the classroom, just two short weeks ago. I'm teaching an intensive 8-week Spanish course -- 2 hours a day, 5 days a week -- with another instructor, in which the students walk in as Joe Schmoes and walk out 8 weeks later as José Eschmoes, supposedly. It's a little draining, frankly, as I'm used to long empty days of mulling over my dissertation in virtual isolation, bouncing ideas off Addison. Now, I'm off on my bike to campus every morning, jumping around like a trained monkey in front of 20 students, who quite possibly think I'm always this effusive at 9 am, but are quite wrong. I can turn on the charm and gusto for language classes, I guess. Still, I got into the Spanish Literature biz for the thrill of the classroom, so it's good to get back to basics, in a sense. I'll keep you posted on any wacky antics that take place, rest assured...