This morning, though, my dreaming mind presented me with a thriller in which Canada attempted to destroy American rye production by introducing a black fungus that would wipe out the crop. They had ordered the assassination of a Congressional committee member who was blocking the importation of Canadian rye – and with his death, the clock began to tick.

“No,” I said to myself when I woke up from the dream. “No one wants to read a thriller about Canadian agriculture.”

The dream persisted. An hour later, I woke up again. “Seriously,” I said. “No. There’s just nothing sexy about a black rye fungus.”

It tried a third time, too, with a vivid depiction of the cover of a scholarly journal warning of The Misuse of Black Rye Mold in International Agriculture.

I wonder if I can get Michael Bay to direct?

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

The proceeds go to benefit Haiti. You can pre-order here, though the US purchase site doesn’t appear to be set up yet.

Incidentally, Christy Moore had something interesting things to say about benefit gigs in the Christy Chat I received this morning.

John Spillane and I have been putting a few chords together… “Haitian Girl” is the current working title of a song that is emerging. We will perform a gig in Vicar Street, Dublin on Tuesday, 23rd March. All proceeds will go to GOAL in Haiti. Ticketmaster have waived their commission and Vicar Street their rental fees.

An increasing number of people seem to be becoming critical of benefit gigs. They question the motives and claim that tragic situations are being exploited. One Dublin journalist wrote a scathing attack on those who do benefit gigs. (Presumably getting well paid for the piece) I have heard stories of NGO’s in areas of war and catastrophe, of aid workers behaving inappropriately … But I have also witnessed the courage and commitment of volunteers giving their time and sometimes their very lives to help others. I am in awe of their commitment. I believe that the courage and compassion of thousands far outweighs the errant behaviour of a few. Also I know that certain performers cannot resist any PR opportunity, sometimes cynically, more times unwittingly, but I believe they too are in a minority. Then there are the political arguments, the ethical dimensions, the opportunism of donor nations, the fashionable ladies and gents who lunch for charity … I simply don’t have the time to work it all out, I need to keep it simple. If I can give a dig out I will, and if some want to put a slant on that … so be it.

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

I went to OSH for supplies – a rosemary bush, some stripper (for the cabinets, you perv), a tube of epoxy, and a pitchfork.

I walked out with a tulip, some stripper (still for the cabinets – what is wrong with some people?), a tube of epoxy and, yes, a pitchfork.

Going to OSH was not the mistake.

Going to OSH at 4:30 on a weekday – that was the mistake.

The drive there was fine, but coming home? Yeesh.

I got so fed up with the traffic on Bundy that I turned off, planning to take Pico to 23rd and come home past Santa Monica Airport.

Never, ever take 23rd past the airport during rush hour.

A couple of miles north of the airport, I posted this to Twitter.

(Before you chastise me for tweeting while driving – I wasn’t driving. I was sitting through two light changes, in the middle of a blocks-long tailback, waiting for the cars in front of me to move. They finally did – after the light turned red for the third time.)

Some time later, I made it home with my pitchfork. (And my tulip, and my epoxy, and my stripper. Which is still for the cabinets.)

And NovySan said that we just don’t use pitchforks often enough in this modern world.

He had an idea for how we could change that, though.

Not by pitchforking people in traffic, but by escorting trick-or-treating groups armed with pitchforks and torches.

Imagine it – a cluster of princesses, mutants and monsters, flanked by a sizeable group of (possibly tipsy) adults waving the implements of B-movie riots proudly aloft.

Halloween may never be the same.

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

It was, alas, too late.

So, in lieu of pictures, here’s the recipe (more or less) for spiced date and pecan-crusted catfish and balsamic greens.

Start with about a cup of pecan halves. Add three dates (sans pits – does that sound like romantic advice?), two or three cloves of garlic, a dash of salt, and a generous measure of garam masala. (I have two varieties in the cupboard. One contains more cumin, the other more black pepper. For sweeter dishes, like this one, I use the one with more pepper. If you don’t have garam masala, it’s a mix of sweet and savory spices – pepper, cumin, coriander, cinnamon, clove and cardamom, maybe some saffron or nutmeg. It’s like a shortcut to yummy.) Pulse in a food processor until everything’s mixed – but try not to completely pulverize the pecans. Spread the mixture in a baking dish – mine’s 11X7. You might want to drizzle a little olive oil in there first, just to make sure nothing sticks. Lay two catfish fillets on top of the pecan mixture, then flip them over a couple of times until they’re completely coated. You might need to dig some of the mix out from under them and ladle it over the top. I sprinkled them with some peppercorns, fennel seed and a little more salt. (I’d stick with black pepper – I used a peppercorn mix, and we discovered the white pepper was still a bit crunchy at the end.) Bake in a 350 degree oven for about 30 minutes, covered.

As for the greens, they were cooked over a medium flame in a cast iron skillet with olive oil, balsamic vinegar and a bit of salt, until they wilted. These were collards, but any greens you like would do. (And actually, I think the collards do better to be slow cooked – they don’t have a lot of moisture in them, so they don’t soften in the pan the way chard or spinach will.)

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

I’ve decided that we don’t have midlife crises – what we have are cycles of reinvention. It’s just that when one of them happens to come within ten years of your fortieth birthday, it’s called a “midlife crisis.”

Dye your hair pink when you’re 20? No problem.

Buy a motorcycle at 25? Hey, you’re young, that’s no problem.

Take up salsa dancing at 35? Oh, you’re trying to hold onto your youth, aren’t you? But you’re not that old – it’s not really a problem.

Dye your hair pink when you’re 40? Don’t you know you’re not 20 anymore?

Buy a motorcycle at 50? Next thing you know, you’ll be filing for divorce and making a fool of yourself in singles’ bars.

Take up salsa dancing at 65? I think it’s great you have something to do in your old age!

And that, children, is my rant for the day. Now go buy yourself a motorcycle and ride it to your salsa class. I, for one, applaud you for living, when so many people around you are stagnating instead.

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh