The fish and chips at Shakespeare are world class. But if you’re on a diet, or at least simulating being on a diet, the spicy chicken strips are a suitable replacement, combined with 2 pints of Fuller’s ESB. To wash them down, like.
There is a crowd of elderly gentlemen who assemble there on Friday afternoons, for to tip it the quaff. Members of the Greatest Generation, I surmise, by a lingering military bearing and the kind of easy comeraderie that is so often forged in the crucible of great and shared conflict, and so difficult to acquire elsewhere. Seeing them reminds me of the country we used to be, while also holding out hope for the future – If they’re pissed at what we’ve done with their legacy, you can’t tell it from their faces. They’re old but still healthy, and they’re having a lot of fun. Sometimes I envy them a bit. They finished the race. They kept the faith.
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Michelle Malkin drives certain people crazy. She has Become the Story over the last few days, first from Dean Esmay on what I take to be the right, and then from a UNC law professor who really ought to spend his time more fruitfully. I’m not a fan myself – she’s rather over the top at times, and her outrage is a trifle too selectively partisan for my tastes. All of this I could take if the art itself supported it – picture Hitchens or Steyn, and view the Platonic Form – but her writing reminds me of James Webb’s, or Oliver North’s – they boxed as midshipmen at the Naval Academy back in the day, and write as though they were boxing still. It isn’t that the words they write are inelegantly assembled, it’s just that elegance forms no part at all of the aesthetic. But coming back to Malkin again, I really cannot see what it is that makes other people hate her so, when there are so many other people who manifest these sins, such as they are, to such a greater degree.
There is an unbecoming element of racism and sexism inside of all that, I fear. In striking at Malkin, her critcs all too often wound themselves.
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I don’t care even a little bit about the former president and his reminiscently wagging finger. Legacy polishing: All of that is so pre-9/11. So trivial.
In case you were curious how I felt about that.
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The best pizza in San Diego is to be found at Bronx Pizza, in Hillcrest. No heterodoxy of opinion will be tolerated. Dissent will be crushed. Resistance is futile.
You don’t go there for the ambiance. You don’t go there for the service. You go there for the pizza. It’s art.
Hey: People want to know these things.
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I know I offered you the possibility at least of a sea story. I’m sorry to disappoint. The well has run dry for the nonce. Oh, I suppose I could tell you about the time that a certain Tomcat pilot of my acquaintance, a man rather regrettably y-clept “Slut,” found himself on Boat Officer duty while the ship I had the honor to serve aboard swung at the chain in the harbor off Sunni Karachi, Pakistan. A choppy cross-sea was up, and the brown trout swam all about, modern theories of sanitation being held suspiciously at arm’s length in those parts, in those times. Never have I seen a man so thoroughly ill, as the bows and counter strove fitfully for vertical dominance, tap-tap-tap. He lay across the thwarts, covered in a blanket, insensate, very nearly dead, and almost entirely careless of his ultimate fate. The sight of him would have made you laugh, had you, like most fighter pilots, checked your empathy at the door.
He got better.
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“Gilead,” by Marilynne Robinson is a Pulitzer Prize winning novel, and an excellent read, in spite of all that. I bought it last year, when I was in Monterey and feeling all poetic, like. The environment there being suitable to poetry, oceans and mist, etc.
Well, no, it’s not Ireland, but still.
Very little time have I had for poetry, or even reading, lately. I’ve got to pick a thesis topic soon, and a pair of advisors, and that’s only the beginning of it. It’d be OK, if I could only throw a dart at the board and grind something out, but that’s not my style, I’m very much afraid.
This is going to hurt.
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Speaking of hurt, I got my bicycle back from the store yesterday, and the paying for it was rather a blow to the solar plexus. Doesn’t matter that Trek gives you a wonderful discount for battle damage, we’re not talking chips and salsa. It does look lovely though. Can’t wait to click in, and give her a spin.
In that vein, my very fondest thanks to you four, Anonymous Strangers, who saw fit to drop a non-trivial sum into the tip jar, quite of a sudden a week or so ago. That helped to ease the sting a bit.
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So it’s off to join the Hobbit, I am. An office party, as it were. Her co-workers.
I must fortify myself.
Have a great weekend!
Congrats on getting your bike back.
I only got seasick twice. Both times leaving port with a hangover. Pearl harbor.
OH, and good luck on your Thesis
Ahhhh I finally caught a Friday Musings on a Friday and quickly remembered why I’ve always enjoyed them so much.
And I will stand right with you that the best pizza in SD is, without a doubt Bronx Pizza. Ate there my first evening in town during my last visit. Am looking forward to revisiting the establishment soon. Hmmmm perhaps I could bribe you and yours to join me for a pie or two!
When I think of San Diego, fish & chips, and pizza do not cross my mind. I will try both of your recommended spots on our next time down, for sure.
San Diego *does* make me think of fish tacos. Any suggestions? Family and I like The Tin Fish, at the end of the IB pier. It’s a great place to sit and watch carrier and helo ops while having decent suds and stuff.
Break. Break.
On pizza: the “best pizza” is one of those things for which I have never needed to search.
Sam Delia of Trenton NJ (S. Broad Street) was our neighborhood hang out.
No A/C. No rest rooms. No beer. No “Italian dishes” except for pizza.
Sam smoked Parodi Cigars while he made his flat art objects. The place smelled Italian.
The big secret: Sam used what had to be a century old oven where the heathstones were worn from the peels carrying thousands of pizzas.
The oven was fired by a burning pile of industrial coke adjacent to the cooking area. Pizzas left unattended caught on fire. Brooms had to be dipped in water before sweeping out the toasted corn meal left on the open-hearth or else they’d burst into flames.
Sam used great ingredients. The mozzarella was by Maggio, the whole milk variety. Sam made dough using maybe 30% semolina flour. The dough proofed all day long in wooden boxes. The dough was never rolled out — only Sam’s fingertips spread the dough into the shape, followed by stretching and a little un-flashy toss.
The sauce was imported ground San Marzano plum tomatoes.
Garlic was a favorite ingredient as this was a working class neighborhood — most of the clientele worked at John A. Roebling’s Wire mills.
Mushrooms were dried to half their volume in the large open basket atop the oven.
Sausage was made just down the street by a butcher friend.
The olive oil was extra virgin — dark green, unfiltered and fresh.
I got to watch Sam make hundreds of pizzas over the years. I learned from him. Sam is long gone, but I use his technique for our family pizzas. They are awesome. I only wish I had the coke fired oven.
vr/SJBill
SJBill, you made me drool! I’m also a bit of a pizza connoisseur. I make my own pizza and would love a coke-fired oven, too. But I’ve found that unvarnished quarry tiles placed on the oven rack can be an excellent substitute.
But coming back to Malkin again, I really cannot see what it is that makes other people hate her so
If Skippy were not hung over, I wonder if he would have already spooled up on this one…
http://fareastcynic.blogspot.com/2006/06/interesting-irony.html
If you haven’t read it already, try Steinbeck’s LOG FROM THE SEA OF CORTEZ, the funny, thoughtful, and engaging Steibeck. If school has used up your non-fiction quota, dip into CANNERY ROW; same content, only fictional.
“But coming back to Malkin again, I really cannot see what it is that makes other people hate her so, when there are so many other people who manifest these sins, such as they are, to such a greater degree.”
CAPT Lex,
I cannot see what President Bush has done to draw the bile and venom he draws either. But perhaps it is because I am insufficiently partisan that prevents me seeing that name calling doesn’t incorporate any Lessons Learned for future use. I don’t think Bill Clinton could have invaded Afghanistan with Congress the way it was in 1998 or 2000. Before 9-11 there would have been no support for same for George W Bush to do so.
Mrs. Malkin may seem over the top to you, however, it has always been our charter in the Navy to answer reliably, accurately and with a minimum of recrimination any questions or ponderings of the press or our Congressional leaders. We never throw out the baby with the bath water. Her opinions are hardly extreme.
We sometimes sacrifice our own on the altar of political correctness, but that is because there are so many of our “own” that an institution as large as the Navy must also look towards perpetuation of the institution and sacrifice its charges for self protection sometimes (this is rarely done and is always wrong anyway…but no one’s perfect).
I realize bloggers and assorted pundits face no such tradition or restrictions upon their correspondence as time, tradition and Navy training have placed upon a thoughtful Lex, but it just makes me think there is something more noble and correct with military or ex military personnel who recognize we serve whichever Master gets elected. And that we need to ensure we never become so partisan we can serve only one group and not the other.
While it is often satisfying, even fun, to think of casting off the vile organs of our American society, I always come back to one thing. They are American, I promised to uphold and defend the enshrining documentation of their Rights, and I intend to be a more noble and duty bound Man than they shall ever be.
I know you feel the same.
Subsunk
Interesting read at Dean Esmay. “I think this is the first blog comment thread I’ve ever read where the host uses more obscene language than the commentors.”
Regarding Michelle Malkin: I think that for a fairly large segment of the liberal world, it simply does not compute when a person of any other color than pasty white is not in sympathy with their politics. I’ve read plenty of nasty stuff written by both conservatives and liberals, but the very most vitriolic comments seem to be directed to ethnic-minority conservatives.
Sir, I second Subsunk’s opinion.
One of the key purposes of a military is upholding values, what we collectively think a nation SHOULD be even if it doesn’t always seem to live up to those standards on a day by day basis. Which is one reason why we extend professional and personal courtesies to brother officers and NCOs of the services of other nations. We expect them to be honorable unless proven otherwise. And more often than not, we find that our trust and respect are well-placed and reciprocated. We know they can be a strong influence for good and so they are. Courage and decency are not the exclusive province of any one country, but are the commonwealth of humanity. And should be encouraged wherever and in whomever we find it.
I think it’s the same with bloggers. Blogging can actually get you killed in some quarters, and Malkin herself has received threats from racist lunatics. She seems to come from the old muckracker reporter tradition [back when that was an honorable, if risky, thing to be.] She is confronting the “domestic enemies” of the Constitution and paying a personal price for it. That’s courage in my book. And if she seems ‘over the top’ at times, it may be that she is involved in the dirty and confused ‘close fight’ as they say in the infantry, and not looking at things from 30,000 feet. Just a grunt perspective.
Knowing that you generally support her purposes if not her style or approach might lead to an improvement in both. Influence is indirect leadership.