Fan Mail and an Explanation for My Absence

Dear Brian,

Where have you been? Your posts are few and far between and hardly any of them relate to the up coming election. I miss you.

                                                                                                                           
                                                                                                                           Yours,

                                                                                                                           Brian

Well, Brian, I’ve been protecting myself from the inevitable 2020 Trump re-election. Sorry for not having a more poignant, insightful excuse for my absence from my own blog, but that’s the simple truth. With my daughter’s leap to college only six months away, the possibility of a Corona-plague, and a handful of familial dilemmas that require my sincerest attentions, I’ve decided to shut my big, fat, fucking mouth and focus on other matters that matter to my loved ones and me. As I’ve discovered, there’s nothing I can write here (or anywhere) that will change anything for anyone. Trump is guaranteed a repeat and I refuse to endure the years-long depression (compounded by the hypochondriacal aches, palpitations, twitches, and panic-attacks) that will follow.

It’s no secret, Brian, that I’m a Bernie-bubala. He’s the very first person I ever voted for (when, at 18-years-old, I registered to vote in Bennington, VT) and, simply put, he mostly represents everything I believe in, policy-wise. I am not, however, a Bernie-or-Bust Bro. If the eventual Donkey-nominee ends up being Warren, Biden, Buttitieg, or (shutter) Bloomberg, my vote is theirs. But with the current state of Idiocracy that governs the self-perpetuating anger of white men (and many white women) from Staten Island, NY to Orange County, CA, I can’t imagine a fortuitous outcome. On Tuesday, November 3^rd, by midnight, His Marmalade Highness will be spraying another can of his fetid tan on America. And when our Velveeta Leader finally dies of a massive coronary explosion while still in office, we will experience a run of Trumplings that will shift our already tenuous democracy into a full-blown gilded royal oligarchy with president Don-Don Jr. followed by the first woman as president, Ivanka Trump, then a short reign for the one-dimensional Doofus-in-Chief, Eric and, finally, when the United States of America is rebranded, Trumptopia, King Barron Trump the First. It’s inevitable. Enough. Stop.

Seriously, silliness aside (or not), I’ve been silent because I can’t manage the pain. The last election nearly did me in. If I publicly pour out my passions again I anticipate a mental and physical collapse greater than the last… and that I can’t endure. I’m just not strong enough.

So, Brian, my silence.

Burn after reading.

Sincerely,

Brian

Love on the Line

Today, I purchased a rather worn out book at the Strand, _The Collected Works of Buck Rogers in the 25th Century_, which reprints the cartoon strips from 1929 to 1968. Hiding underneath the jacket flap is an inscription in the lost art of actual script, dated “12/72”:

“My darling, Enjoy the past of the hours you spent with Buck Rogers and the future he lives in and think every now and again of the future, your future, our future, of what it is, of what it can be, and remember always that I love you, P.”

More than just about anything else in my life, books — physical texts — are the embodiments of our complex emotional greatness, even when saccharine, but especially when sincere. P’s gift to Darling is proof. Will our iPads, Kindles, many other electronic gizmos carry the same personal and historical weight? The iPhone I’m writing this post on sure as shit doesn’t.

When Frankie Sings

With him and all that is associated with him, it's all about the cycle of cliches. I wake up every morning, and before I check the news I say to myself, "Shit couldn't get any worse." At the end of the day, just as I close my eyes, I think, "You can't make this shit up." I wake up. Repeat. I go to bed. Repeat. Seemingly, ad infinitum.

I just don't want to open my eyes on November 4, 2020 repeating for the 1461st time, "Shit couldn’t get any worse." Instead, I'd rather be humming, as Carolyn Leigh wrote and Frank Sinatra sang, "The best is yet to come."

It should be noted that Ol' Blue Eyes once told Ol' Jaundice Face, "Go fuck yourself!" after the latter failed to pay the former what he was contractually owed to play Atlantic City. Big surprise, right?

In the meantime, I'm trying to adjust my perspective to prepare for tomorrow's inevitability: "'It's a real good bet,' the WORST is yet to come." Still, tomorrow's worst may lead to the next day's even worse... and that shit you simply can't make up.

Autumn Shmautumn

Various degrees of self-immolation and a culinary example of “size doesn’t matter” — that little fruit with the nasty stinger on the upper right is the sweetest, spiciest, zestiest chili I’ve ever grown. Called the “Orange Teapot,” this tiny squib packs the taste of a clementine on fire. As far as flavor/fire profile, the Carolina Reaper ain’t got nuthin’ on it.

2019's Chili Season Is Already a-Smokin'

Just a quick pic of the first ripe examples from this year's rooftop harvest:

Left to right: purple cayenne, (traditional) cayenne, Criolla Sella chili, and Yellow Bedder chili.

Mr. Marmalade's Rejection of Newspeak

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/03/25/opinion/trump-free-speech-colleges.html

This should not be an executive order with the threat of diminished federal funding... but identifying liberal language control as "illiberal" speech is close to getting it right... or do I mean "close to getting it left"? Funny how the Right has to champion liberal expression and the Left is bent on Newspeak. The Orwellian script has flipped. 

How did we get here? 

Where do we go from here?

The idea that my absolute belief in free expression, ALL expression, and the breadth of liberal principals that I ascribe to myself -- all women's rights, all and any gender and non-gender rights, all medical rights, all safety rights, all rights of Freedom and equality for ALL -- are all "rights" which fly in the face of the Right. The fact (FACT!) that the absolute right of free expression has leapt from the principles of the Left to being cause célèbre of the Right is another one of those confusing sociopolitical positions that send sociopolitical ideology into the maelstrom of political positioning (and meaning). 

I recognize that President Hex #FF9900 (https://www.colorhexa.com/ff9900), a.k.a., "Orange Peel," sanctioned this agenda in support of the mealy-mouthed, maggot-spewing, shriveled-dick urine-spraying white men (and women) of marginal humanity floating in their own "Vacuum of Anger" (http://brianphilipkatz.blogspot.com/2018/10/the-vacuum-of-anger.html), but this may force the Left to identify the breadth of its liberalism (with an unhealthy dose of "illiberalism") to include that which is most sacred and most right for all the human rights I believe in... which is all of them.

So, despite being ordered for the wrong reasons and despite the fact that an Orwellian bureaucracy needs to be established to protect free speech (which, in itself, is not "free speech"), I can't help thinking that, in the short term (or at least until we get a leader for plurality, a leader we actually deserve), this might make it easier to be who we are, say what needs to be said, make art like a magnificent motherfucker, and loudly and proudly reject the P.C. Police and their expression controlling shillelaghs clubbing language like baby seals. 

I hate that this had to come from HIM; but, being that I just wrote what I just wrote in the spotlight of his executive order, I'm somewhat, reluctantly grateful. 

Finally Finished with Facebook Forever

I've ended my presence on Facebook because I was starting to despise my "real" friends' virtual lives; and my growing ire was beginning to frighten me.

In all aspects of wasting time on that generator of uselessness, Facebook was making me a full-blown misanthrope. Why? The reasons were many and include:

1. I didn't give a shit about my Facebook friends' repeated attempts at wit, political commentary, statements of love or hate, pithiness, promises, and bombast -- I liked them all more when I knew less about everything they thought about.

2. I didn't trust the "newsworthy" news I was receiving (in my desperate search for insightful explanations) whether from linked posts by my "friends," the invasive news sources (often poorly written) like Vice and News & Guts, and/or algorithmic ads aimed at Facebook's idea of my liberalism.

3. I didn't like myself as I scrolled through my newsfeed in a time-sucking search for something/anything from someone/anyone I actually cared about... only to discover that the best of my real associations have deactivated their accounts (or long ago blocked me because I was "virtually" everything I hated about everyone else).

4. I didn't want to be a stalker... and I felt like a stalker when I followed a post to an old girlfriend's Facebook page and scrolled through her "highlights" only to find myself disappointed in how she turned out  (despite the appearance that she was probably doing a whole lot better than I and the "disappointment" was in me, natch, for judging her while I was wasting my time on Facebook being the gnarly arbiter of my own crappy opinions).

5. I didn't want Facebook tracking me; and I certainly didn't want it advertising my whereabouts when I was trying, so desperately, to hide from the silently circling helicopters.

6. I didn't want to see another sweaty picture of my "friends" either working out or having worked out, preparing to run a marathon or celebrating coming in 127th place in a 5K.

7. I didn't care about what anyone was having for breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner, and supper... and the sadly saturated phone pics of said meals had me worrying about everyone's health.

8. I didn't want to stroke anyone's ego any more than it was being stroked by all the inane (I mean "heartfelt") comments of support by Facebook "friends" (supplemented by over 100 "likes" [Isn't that the mark of a successful post?], 27 hearts, 12 frowns, and four furious faces).

9. I didn't want to judge my friends' parenting skills and their rotten children... but I still am (and I blame the parents for making their children so rotten).

10. I didn't (and still don't) understand emojis and memes... and I abhorred being relegated to using them.

11. I didn't want to read Oscar predictions; snide remarks about struggling teams and ballplayers; trite music, television, and movie reviews by people I once admired for their critical expressions but now loathe because they advertised the worst of themselves in posts posted several times a day; and date night restaurant reviews while swimming in absurdly large glasses of alcohol.

12. I didn't care about others' unfocused pictorial adventures in Italy and Thailand and I cared less about what anyone was doing at anytime in any romantic place anywhere (especially if in a sunny, warm climate while I ailed in my nor'-east winter miseries).

13. I didn't appreciate the clickbait rabbit hole and the time wasted falling through Dunderlandian absurdities of celebrities, mullets, deadly animals, and botched surgeries.

14. I didn't have the will to not click "Next."

15. I didn't understand how it was that I always received a perfect score on all those quizzes when I knew that I didn't know some of the answers; and I know my IQ is not THAT high.

And... 16. I didn't want Facebook's shoddy, shitty business practices anywhere near data connected to me even though I know it's too late to worry about what they're doing with my social e-transcript because they're already doing what they're doing with my publicly-personal information... and it's probably some insidious shit.

Facebook force-fed the worst in me with empty, electronic calories. In turn, I could no longer afford to feed Facebook with what's left of the best in me: My struggling, flailing, sputtering humanity and my REAL love for  "actual" people.

Hot Sauce Sale

After giving away over 60 bottles of my hot sauce so far this year, I have approximately 40 bottles remaining; and, alas, these are for sale.

There are a total of ten varieties (listed below) with updated numbers of remaining bottles (after the equal (=) sign). 

ALL chili pepper plants were grown on our roof here in the East Village, NYC. 

Sauces are made with only fresh, selected, organically grown peppers, apple cider vinegar, pink Himalayan salt (for the darker brews) or sea salt (for the lighter brews), and, depending on the taste profile of the chilies, fresh garlic. That's it.

All prices include shipping in the USA. Email first if ordering from Hawaii or Alaska.

If you are picking up bottle(s), subtract $3.00 from the cost of each purchase.


Here's a group photo of the remaining varieties. :

From left to right: Ram, Bonda Ma Jacques, Ghost Hab, Choco Hab, Stupid-Fuckered-Up Mix, Golden Ghost Mix, The Last Hab, Orange Teapot, Brazzy Star, and Beni.

Sauces are rated 1 (very mild) to 11 (melt your face) on my personally dysfunctional heat index scale (pdhis). Still, what's "mild" to me many not be "mild" to you; and sauces that I find to be spectacularly, deliciously soul incinerating (like Orange Teapot), others may think, "Meh."

More information on individual peppers can be found here: http://brianphilipkatz.blogspot.com/2017/09/chile-harvest-hoedown.html

All bottles are 5 ounces.

Scroll down to the sauce (or sauces) of your choice, click the PayPal link, then send me an email with your selection(s) and address to rooftoppeppers@gmail.com. 

Ram Sauce (2 pdhis) = 4 bottles @ $12.00 each, PayPal.Me/hotsaucesbpk

After the Tear Drop, which is no longer available, this is Maria's go to flavoring for her morning eggs. A relatively mild sauce with a hearty cayenne profile -- like a Tabasco with guts.

Bonda Ma Jacques (6+ pdhis) = 7 bottles @ $12.00 each, PayPal.Me/hotsaucesbpk

More citrusy sweet (on its own) and spicier than Habanero, Bonda Ma Jaques is among my more prolific growers -- one plant produces at least 200 pods. This is a good entry-level sauce for those wishing to discover the complexities of super-hot peppers.

Ghost Habanero (5 pdhis) = 6 bottles @ $12.00 each, PayPal.Me/hotsaucesbpk

Fruity AND rich, my Ghost Habanero sauces tend to be thick and packed with flavor. Perfect for spicing up a guacamole or bean dish.

Choco Habanero (6 pdhis) = 0 bottles @ $12.00 each, PayPal.Me/hotsaucesbpk

Choco Habanero (from chocolate habaneros, duh) is my second favorite sauce (Orange Teapot being the Supreme Ruler of the roof). This brew has everything: a nice kick with some legs, an addicting savoriness (that makes me want a taste as I write this), and, yes, a chocolate finish (but that might be me deluding myself). If you order this pepper, I will include one fresh pod with the purchase. (I brought this plant inside fro the winter because it was still producing beautiful peppers the first week of November. It is now happily growing in the window.)

Stupid-Fuckered-up Mix (5- pdhis) = Last bottle @ $11.00, PayPal.Me/hotsaucesbpk

A mix of ALL peppers remaining after single-brewed batches: I've given more of my these sauces away than my others. They tend toward familiar taste profiles for those who are only dabbling in hot sauces -- simply spicy and salty (with a dash of fresh garlic). Goes with pretty much everything you would want it to go with. 

Golden Ghost Mix (6- pdhis) = 2 bottles @ $11.00 each, PayPal.Me/hotsaucesbpk

A mix of my remaining yellow chilies, this is a surprisingly complex sauce that, after feeling the burn, releases a lemon meringue finish.

The Last Hab (5 pdhis) = 1 bottles @ $11.00 each, PayPal.Me/hotsaucesbpk

Made from my giant red habaneros, this is exactly what you think: a bawdy, sassy sauce with lots of tang.

Orange Teapot (9+ pdhis) = 2 bottles @ $15.00 each, PayPal.Me/hotsaucesbpk  

This is my favorite pepper (the Orange Teapot), my favorite plant, my favorite sauce... just, my favorite. Period. Ever. 9th level heat and bursting with orange (flower and fruit) -- this is the pod that almost sent me to the emergency room two years ago. The pepper is deceptively cute and I munched on half a fruit as if it were a grape. 

Subsequently, I slipped into a painful panic attack. But on the other side of the endorphin-fueled meltdown was a damn near religious experience. I recovered quickly, returned to my steak dinner, and drank my hoppy beer by myself on the roof... and I swear, the pepper opened every flavor complexity in everything that night. Perhaps the greatest meal I've ever had. This sauce will not duplicate that experience, but it will bring heaven (or hell) closer to earth.

Brazzy Star (3 pdhis) =  3 bottles @ $12.00 each, PayPal.Me/hotsaucesbpk  

My go to sauce. Made with Brazilian Starfish chilies, this is a meaty brew with a soul. 

Beni (5- pdhis) =  4 bottles @ $12.00 each, PayPal.Me/hotsaucesbpk  

Normally among my highest yield plant, my Beni Highlands plant had a comme ci comme ça year. The peppers make a nice, fresh sauce that should be enjoyed now. This is not a brew that develops as it sits on the shelf (ages). When you receive it, use it. This sauce reminds me of summer. 

R.i.P., Stanley "More Than a Mere Mortal" Martin Lieber

I swear when I write, I thought about him this morning. During my afternoon class, my iPhone pinged the news and I had to gather myself... but I wasn’t surprised.

When I was a kid interning at Marvel Comics, I kind of met Stan (the Man) Lee. At the time, he wasn’t much of a physical presence around the midtown offices; but when he was there, everyone knew it. There was a wave of his energy that moved through the building. I worked at a desk in the hallway and before I could process the idea of the actual person, I sensed him — the normal Marvel buzz shifted its buzziness — and then he was passing me with a smile and a “Hey kiddo.” I was 18 and, striding by like a jaunty West Wind, was my Charles Dickens. He was taller than I expected, elegant, and mannerly. He entered an editor’s office, closed the door, and I waited for him to re-emerge, but he didn’t. I don’t know how he disappeared — there was no other way to exit but to pass me by; however, I knew Stan Lee was gone before I knew he was gone. I just felt it... like this morning.

Eternally Opessimistic [sic]

Optimism can be painful. 

When Bush #1 was president and my political awareness started to really form, I thought it couldn’t ever get any worse. When Newt planted the seed of what was to become Trumpism (when Trump was just an Ivory Tower blowhard), I thought it couldn’t get any worse. When Bush #2 used “compassionate conservatism” to level the economy and wage another crusade in the Middle East, I thought it couldn’t get any worse. And then there was a break when things didn’t get any worse and my positive outlook was validated. Now, I wake up every single morning in the torrent of a Tweetstorm with the thought that it couldn’t get any worse as it continues to get worse. The daily disappointment is crippling! In no way am I apologizing for my reactions to the Bushes and the Newts of the past 30 years, but Damn(!), what I would do for those days when attempted versions of civility and  reasonability were, more often than not, an American responsibility. Now... now, our American discourse is completely soiled, seemingly well beyond an industrial stain remover, as a steady stream of verbal diarrhea is sprayed from the Puckered Anus of the White House. I’m covered in shit, you’re covered in shit, the whole country is covered in shit... and I’d like to believe it couldn’t get any worse; but the odor is horrendous and it’s getting harder to imagine a future without this excrement all over everything. Maybe it’s the confusion of morning after another fitful sleep, but I’m no longer saying, “It couldn’t get any worse” because it did and it did and it did get worse; but yet, there is still promise: It’s not the worst it could be... I mean, after the events of the last two weeks (and the last two years!) and the direction America seems to be traveling, my imagination can really imagine what the worst could be and this ain’t quite it... yet. So, starting today, in the earlier glow of daylight savings and on the cusp of the seemingly hopeful midterm elections, I’m going to stop comparing today to the halcyon days of Bushes and Clintons and Obamas because there may be a time, say ten years from now, should the Earth still be inhabitable and I still be alive, when I look back at two terms of Trump and long for the shittiness of these days. Starting this morning, I’m adjusting my perspective: I’m no longer saying, “It couldn’t get any worse,” and instead I’m saying, “It’s unlikely to get better.” Somehow, someway, this makes today seem okay.

Pessimism is less painful and, in an attempt at being in the here and now, the only optimistic way to embrace the day until the time comes when the worst is behind us -- and it will be! -- is to say, "It's unlikely to get better." Repeat. 

Optimistically pessimistic or pessimistically optimistic? Whatever gets me, you, us through the day.

The Vacuum of Anger

“Angry white men” are “making America great again” for “angry white men.” It was “angry white men” who used their “anger” to win the election in 2016 and it is “angry white men” who are doggedly shaping policies to benefit “angry white men.” Now, an “angry” white man will be tipping the Supreme Court’s scales in favor of “angry white men” (and future generations of “angry white men”). When “angry white men” have secured a country of “angry white men,” they’ll be angered by their lack of “anger” over being “angry white men”... like they are now. It’s a vicious cycle in the Vacuum of Anger.

This Year's Models...

... of roof-grown chili peppers:

A Remembrance of Pigswill Past

“Champagne quality without the champagne price.” The ad on the back cover of the first issue of Epic Illustrated (spring 1980) is a reminder of some of the worst mornings of my teenage life. My Champale moments led to a steady stream of neon vomit and a general sense that by drinking this “Extra Dry” or “Pink” pigswill I was no longer celebrating life but rather welcoming a kind of death... at least until I discovered Bartles & Jaymes. Oh, what a world of variety (of vomit) those wine coolers introduced to me!

Liberals Lambasting Liberals

Words are speaking louder than actions... and this might be our undoing in 2020.

I’m wondering if the liberal backlash against liberals (some of which I’ve experienced in academia) is going to stall any momentum we’re gaining. Lefties like James Gunn (the director of the Guardians of the Galaxy movies), a person with a solid history of supporting humanistic goals and ideals, but undermined by his juvenile attempts at boundary-pushing via Twitter, was revealed by the far right media to be a lousy provocateur. He tweeted some really stupid shit a decade ago. Still, he has been fired (I know, boo hoo) along with many others who’ve said and tweeted some really stupid shit despite living and acting differently. Is this, in some twisted political maneuvering, validating the right’s view of the left? Easily offended Snowflakes all?! We need to chill the fuck out, look deeper, dance the mea culpa dance, and apologize when necessary because it’s getting ridiculous. Some on the left will start to move to the center or even, shudder, the right just for shelter. With the magnificent groundswell of young liberals storming (and saving!) the Democratic party, this might also be the time to forgive and fortify.

Let's go beyond Twitter and Facebook and embrace this tired cliché anew: Actions speak louder than words.

W.W.R.D.? [What Would Ronnie Do?]

From my copy of Webster’s New International Dictionary, Second Edition Unabridged, printed in Springfield, Mass., U.S.A., 1946. This is how we defined and understood the term “traitor” after WWII: “... specif., one who violates his allegiance and betrays his country; one who, in breach of trust, delivers his country to an enemy...”

Is the definition lost to us now? It used to be that the Republican Party stood as staunch defenders of America (even as we debated, within and without our borders, its principles). Seems like the time has arrived when many lefties like myself actually long for the G.O.P. of yesteryear.

Oh, if only Reagan could resurrect himself and his party.

The New Revolution Will Be Advertised in Four Colors

Since its proto-era, cartoons and comics books have embraced social and political agendas (often of the left-leaning variety). Exploding WWII propaganda across its pages in the 40s; cowering in the corners of the Red Scare and hogtied by religious and right wing political fervor in the 50s [The CODE! The dreaded CODE!]; earnestly addressing social issues in the 60s (mostly thanks to Stan and the "King"); embracing subculture and sneakily promoting elements of universalism in the 70s (partly thanks to one of my favs, Tony Isabella); flipping the bird at the establishment in the 80s; sucking its thumb in the 90s [Worst. Decade. Ever.]; commercializing the idea of the “Other” in the Aughts; and, I suppose, galvanizing itself in the teens: Something is now brewing in mainstream comic books... something akin to a REVOLUTION. A more overt sense of resistance is expressing itself in many Marvel, some DC, and quite a few Image books. My daughter (and her dad with a horrifying “case of arrested development” (-- Hemingway)) still reads some of the best of these books and the new _X-Men: Red_ is the ideal representation of what “conventional” comics can inspire in readers. The most recent issue, #5, by Tom Taylor and Mahmud A. Asar reminds my genes (the part that is European and Russian Jew), my ideology (ummm… far left), and my (lack of) belief structure (pluralistically plural with a heaping dose of Pope Francis) that the fight is on! I’m beyond thrilled that my 16+ year old daughter can find an ideological similitude in the comic books she’s reading. The New Revolution is in four colors. As Jean Grey(-Summers) (a.k.a., Phoenix) says in the last panel of the most recent issue, "We're going to crush the lies. We're going to weaponize the truth." Check it out: