Acategorical Top Ten List of 2008

10. Ada Zelda -- Cutest baby born to one of my friends in 2008 (Note: category unavailable in 2009 due to competition)

9. "Helvetica" -- Best documentary about a font I saw in 2008.

8. Fiddlehead ferns -- Most exciting culinary discovery of the year, this East Coast green helped me move beyond my period of mourning the 18 varieties of lemon available in California. (Pictured at left, with asparagus) Runner-up: Sugar shacks, the best place to drink shots of hot maple syrup right off the still.

7. Black, aka arroz negro -- Best paella of 2008.

6. David Byrne at the Calvin -- Here, the Rock Critic and I agree: the Talking Heads frontman's performance in Northampton, complete with agile modern dancers jumping over Byrne's head, was the best concert I saw in 2008. Runners-up include Wilco at the Shubert, The Hold Steady at Terminal 5, and New Pornographers, also at the Calvin.

5. Dreams from my Father -- Best book to read between November 4th, 2008 and January 20th, 2009.

4. My Parents Got TiVo before I Did -- Most unbelievable technological advance of the year.

3. C, eh? N, eh? D, eh? -- Funniest joke about Canada I heard this year.

2. The Ice Storm along the Mass Pike -- Most eye-popping weather phenomenon I saw in 2008. Runner-up: the 8 feet of snow that kept me trapped in my house one Friday night. OK, maybe it was a foot and 1/2.

1. SJBlog Readers -- Smartest, most loyal blog readers of 2008. And I, SJB, take top honors in the category for most pandering, patronizing blogger of 2008. Everyone wins! Happy New Year!

Spanish Bombs

At left, photo of Republican militiawomen by Gerda Taro













This obituary in Monday's Times, coupled with the exhibits of Spanish Civil War photography and graphic arts I saw in New York last Friday, and the book I'm reading, have me absorbed of late in the images and espionage that arose out of war-torn Spain from 1936-1939.

The reporter Lester Ziffren's obituary included his encoded message from Spain announcing Francisco Franco's military uprising in Melilla, one of Spain's Moroccan outposts, to the press:

“‘Mothers everlastingly lingering illness likely laryngitis Aunt Flora ought return even if goes north later equally good if only night...’”

The first letter of each word spells out "Melilla foreign legion revolted martial law declared ..." and it seems to me that more of our day-to-day communication should be encoded like this, for thrills.^*

Anyway, something that our guide at the International Center of Photography exhibit told us struck me as similarly intriguing: apparently, the coded message that communicated Franco's uprising to the Nationalists, his followers, over Spanish radio was "Los cielos están claros por toda España" ("Skies are clear over all of Spain"). This is curious because one of the clandestine jokes to arise during the Franco dictatorship -- Franco being a general and from rainy Galicia, in the Northwest of the Iberian Peninsula -- read as: "Parte meteorológico: Reina en toda España un fresco general procedente de Galicia..." ("Weather report: All over Spain a general chill originating from Galicia will reign.") 'Fresco general' can also be read as a 'fresh general,' and there's no doubt that Franco would, indeed, leave Spain in the cold for 35 years.

^* Bats undulate sheepishly hanging in secluded areas near icy dark interior openings together.

Dude, we are so totally not in California anymore

Yesterday.

Today.

Rainy Days and Mondays

It has been raining for over a month. I am thinking of growing banana plants in the trunk of my car. Every attempt to gel my hair into submission results in chaos and curl anarchy minutes later. The dog is unclean, and it seems like giving her a bath would be as futile as washing the car. A trip to scenic Yountville proved that there is nothing to do in scenic Yountville when it's raining. My apartment smells. I'm sick of my sweaters. The streets never drain. Puddles are always much deeper than you think they're going to be. Springing forward only resulted in one more hour of rain. The sidewalks are littered with snail remains. The only thing to do on a Sunday is watch three episodes of "Buffy" and complain about the rain. Even my blog suffers, enduring the embarrassment of a post entitled with a Carpenter's song. Woe is me.