Dan White

I enjoyed the New York Times article about the colony of painting chimps in the Hamptons. ChimpYaddo, ChimpBreadloaf and ChimpMacdowell are soon to follow. P.S. Amy’s blog, once moribund, has been revived. You can find the blog at www.amyettinger.com Also, I still don’t have a voice. http://cactuseaters.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default

I have (literally) lost my voice. This may come as a surprise to people who know me. To paraphrase one of my students, I could talk the potato off of a couch. My voice loss happened gradually. During my last two days of classes, my voice sounded like a claw rasping against a window. Then it cut out altogether — right in the middle of class — and I wonder when it will ever come back. It’s hard to get by with no voice at all. Going to the grocery store is strange. Boxboys say, “Paper or plastic?” Cashiers say, “Credit card or debit?” Then I point at my tonsils, and make a throat-slashing gesture to signify my voicelessnes. They don’t understand. They get cross with me. They think I am threatening them. Last night, I woke up to find my cat, Robert Earl, biting me on the arm. I…

My last day of teaching at SJSU is this Friday. I guess I’ll have to back to being boring old “Dan White.” http://cactuseaters.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default

You won’t believe this. My mother-in-law was hanging out with a pal in one of the most illustrious sushi restaurants in Silicon Valley. I’ve been there many times; it is quite good. Anyhow, my mother-in-law (M.I.L. in future references) ordered the sushi as usual, but her friend ordered a hot-chicken dish, which came out uncooked and gross!! The friend sent it back to the chef, who sent it back to her still cold and completely unchanged. The friend sent it back to the chef again, and this time it was shoved into the microwave and was slightly warmed up — but it was still rather rubbery and unpleasant. Anyhow, when my MIL and her pal challenged the bill, the waitress said that they had better pay up or they would both be arrested! Trying to get to the bottom of the problem, my MIL approached the chef herself, and he…

As everybody knows, some sections of Haight Ashbury smell like essential oils, pot and and reeking B.O. However, bad smells are not confined to my neighborhood. The Financial District smelled quite fishy and moldy when I was walking through it yesterday. Foul aromas wafted from every vent and manhole as I hurried through the streets en route to the new Nicole Kidman film. It’s hard to walk when you are holding your nose and closing your eyes and not breathing through your mouth. I think someone should spray this entire city down with Axe. http://cactuseaters.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default

The undeniably disgusting Guggulah Muggulah cured me of my bad cold this week and restored my voice. I’m wondering if it might have a similar wholesome effect on Amy Winehouse, whose personal tsuris is preventing her from carrying on with her tour. I think a good strong cup of Guggulah Muggulah might put her back on the straight-and-narrow. But in her case, I would leave out the rum. I would just go with the straight up milk, honey and butter combination. http://cactuseaters.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default

“This will make you nauseous. Then you will gag.” That is what my mother-in-law said as she handed me my first Uggulah Muggulah, an Eastern European folk cure that is supposed to sooth sore throats and restore your voice. I was sick as a dog that day, barely able to speak at all. My voice was a pitiful croak. My mother-in-law prepared for me a slimy concoction of melted butter, milk and honey, all stirred together and heated up in the microwave until frothy, warm, and indescribably vile. Somehow, I was able to drink several tablespoons of the nasty beverage — and, lo and behold, it restored my voice for the rest of the day! Here, then, is the recipe for an Uggulah Muggalah. It’s truly disgusting and phlegmy but it really works, if you aren’t squeamish about drinking butter: one half a cup milktwo tablespoons butterone tablespoon honey chop…

Last weekend, Amy saw some lady trying to smuggle her dog into the opera. It was a small dog, stuffed into a purse. Someone saw the little dog and asked the owner: “Does that dog enjoy opera?” The owner replied that she “really did not know” if the dog liked opera or not. That is a reasonable answer. Who the hell knows what dogs, or animals in general, think about anything? But then the dog owner added that her ratdog preferred ballet and yoga. I find this hard to believe. Dogs can’t stand upright for longer than a couple of seconds. They can’t brachiate (extend their arms in a rotating fashion.) I can’t see how a dog could do a Sun Salutation Pose without serious discomfort. http://cactuseaters.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default

I’m getting some email inquiries from Singapore, Israel and Algeria. I’ve heard from England a couple of times, and Icelanders have discovered this site. But I’m wondering why no one from Canada ever writes in. I am trying to think of ways to make Cactuseaters appeal to Canadians more overtly. At the same time, I don’t want to pander by throwing in references to the obvious Canada-related topics such as grizzly bears, Seth Rogen, Sealtest Ice Cream, Neil Young and Neal Peart’s lyrics to “Subdivisions.” Stay tuned. I’m going to mess with the formula to make Cactuseaters more Canada-friendly in the future. And here is my addendum to this thoroughly outdated post: thank you, Canada. In the past few months I have received many heartening and inspiring messages from people living in all parts of Canada, including one who recently bought The Cactus Eaters and a two-year subscription to Catamaran…

I hate to say this, but after all my kvetching and moaning about the bad quality of bagels on the West Coast, I just baked up a batch of bagels that are, if anything, even worse than the ones I’ve eaten here!! The bagels I’ve eaten in this state are flavorless and insipid. They aren’t real bagels. They are nothing but dinner rolls with navels, and I doubt the bakers even boiled them or used even a speck of malted barley powder or syrup, not to mention high-gluten flour. But this doesn’t excuse the fact that my own home-made bagels are slimy hockey pucks, too gooey in the middle, and with crusts so hard that biting down on them could pull your jaw right out of your skull. I’m not going to give up on bagels just yet but I promise to stop whining about bagel quality until I can…