The Followspot

This American Life

The news lately -- some sad, some farcical, some infuriating -- presents a target-rich environment for any blogger. The only problem is, "Where to begin?"

Lately every other day, it seems, has been punctuated by another celebrity death. I am totally mystified by the prolonged brouhaha over Michael Jackson's demise. I thought The Freak Show that was M.J. for the past twenty years was barely on the radar anymore. Who wanted to hear about a disgraced, unsavory pedophile addicted to self-mutiliation and an infantile grandiosity? Apparently, half the globe. Now there's a tidal wave of distraught fans ready to immolate themselves on his funeral pyre in an elaborate parody of grief? Sure, as long as the cameras and helicopters are hovering over the writhing, narcissistic mob.

Then there's the latest episode of America's Gubernatorial Freaks, the smash reality show wherein state chief executives from around the country vie for the title of Biggest Horse's Ass. Thrill to the spectacular idiocies of "Macaca" Allen, Elliot Spitzer, Rod Blagojevich, and the latest contestants -- Mark Sanford and Sarah Palin. Talk about a cage match! Just when you think you've seen the ultimate in addled egos from "Bull of the Pampas" Sanford, Madame Moosejaw Palin comes along and blows him away with a single insane presser/pity-party.

You settle in for a prolonged mocking of one elected hypocrite and before you know it, another comes along. Or a mega-celebrity death pushes the lucky pol off the front page.

Oddly enough, the one death that saddened me the most was that of pitchman Billy Mays. Some people found him totally annoying. Many more -- myself included -- thought of him as an American original. I could count on seeing Billy almost every day on tv, pitching OxiClean or Kaboom from his roster of household products, and somehow I trusted him. I never ordered anything on the phone -- the S&H charges are where the sellers make their money -- but I have bought OxiClean and Kaboom in stores. And they work!

Billy wasn't a distant, surreal celebrity like Jackson. He wasn't an ancient icon finally leaving the scene like Ed McMahon. He was the typical overnight success who worked 25 years to get there. His new reality series on Discovery, "Pitchmen", was surprisingly enjoyable.

Billy was the king of the two-minute infomercial. He was unmistakable: "Hi! Billy Mays here for OxiClean!" His voice was a gravelly shout. His smile was eye-crinklingly happy. His hand gestures were pitch perfect, pun intended. He'd reach out with both hands as if he was grabbing you by the lapels and drawing you close to him. And he always wore the uniform of the Everyman: blue shirt open at the collar, khaki pants and sneakers.

He was only 50 years old, far too young to go. He worked with his son, Billy Mays III, from his first marriage. He had an adorable three-year-old daughter from his second marriage. The people surrounding him weren't delusional egotists, sycophantic courtiers or fame-whores. They were ordinary Americans like you and me.

Billy was astonished and thrilled that he was living the so-called American Dream. He was a very rich man when he died. It's too bad he didn't have more time to enjoy his success but I believe he died a happy man. I've been surprised at the depth of affection I grew to have for Billy and his pitches. I miss him already.

Happy 4th -- make it sane and safe!

Chiaro is back! And nothing could make me happier.

I'm not back, because I'm still nursing an injured right hand and I can't tether myself to the computer for more than a short while each day -- generally just enough to check my e-mail (and not respond at length).

If I were back, I'd probably be musing (not kindly) about the similarities between the M. Jackson feeding frenzy and the Cult of Evita.

But, on a much more upbeat note...Happy Indepndence Day.

P.S. I should've known that Chiaro would be a fan of the Vermont Country Store -- as am I. I'm about to order myself some Tired Old Ass Soak. Check it out.

Punks, sweetgrass and summer

I am convinced that half of our adult lives are spent in trying to recapture the lost pleasures of childhood -- well, at least mine is. Long ago I waxed elegiac at The Broad View with "Remembrance of Toys Past." Lately I've been searching for something more ephemeral -- the scent of the past.

Does anybody else remember the summer smell of burning punks? You know, the long sticks of dried something (dung?) -- like incense but not perfumed except with a primal odor that must be encoded into our DNA. As kids, we'd light a punk and hold it between our teeth. It was supposed to repel mosquitoes but the real attraction was the curling tendrils of delicate smoke. I imagine Paleolithic campfires smelled like punks.

Years passed and the ancient folkways disappeared. DEET reigned supreme. It may be toxic but, by gum, it does the job.

There are a few places, though, that have preserved the past as if in amber, and they charge commensurately. The Vermont Country Store sells punks and mine were delivered yesterday. The price is $14.95 for 600 punks, plus shipping. Crazy, I know, but I've been sitting on the porch with the punks smoldering alongside and I don't regret a thing.

There's another scent memory that you might have experienced: sweetgrass. The scent of sweetgrass is intoxicating, an elusive yet totally memorable blend of vanilla, earth, hay and sky. Native Americans burn it ritually and some northeast tribes used sweetgrass in basketry for the tourist trade (not to be confused with the sweetgrass baskets made in the Gullah tradition in South Carolina).

I had one of those small lidded button or sewing baskets, bought on a family trip to Niagara Falls in the late '50s. (Dad drove our used 1952 powder-blue Chrysler sedan -- a dream car with a spacious back seat that a child could stretch out on and take a nap.) Somehow, the basket got misplaced and lost years ago. You can buy sweetgrass braids from those new-agey, herbal healing and ritual suppliers. But the old baskets are calling...

Happy Fourth of July!

In time for your Fourth of July weekend cookouts, my favorite potato salad recipe:

Bavarian Potato Salad

Note: All measurements are approximate. Use more or less of anything, to taste.

3 or 4 lbs. new potatoes, peeled and sliced fairly thinly
2 or 3 eggs, hard-boiled
8-12 slices of bacon
1 or 2 shallots, depending on size, minced finely
1 Tbs. Dijon mustard
½ - ¾ cup dry white wine
1 or 2 Tbs. cider vinegar
1 or 2 tsp. sugar-in-the-raw
2 Tbs. chopped flat-leaf parsley
1 cup, more or less, of mayonnaise
freshly ground pepper, salt to taste if desired

Hard boil the eggs. (Cover in cold water, bring to a boil and turn off heat. Allow to stand for 10 minutes, then rinse in cold running water or an ice bath to cool completely.) Set aside.

While the eggs are cooking, finely mince the shallots; set aside. Chop parsley; set aside.

Fry the bacon over low heat until crisp and the fat is completely rendered. Remove the bacon to paper towels and set aside. Leave the fat in the pan for the dressing.

Start the sliced potatoes in cold water. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer for 8-10 minutes or until tender. Shock in cold water to stop cooking and drain well.

While the potatoes are cooking, make the dressing:

—Add the minced shallots to the hot bacon fat and saute over medium heat for a few minutes until shallots start to get tender.
—Add the Dijon mustard and stir or whisk to incorporate with the fat and shallots.
—Add the white wine and raise heat to medium-high to start reducing the liquid.
—After a minute or so, add the cider vinegar, the sugar and pepper to taste. Whisk to incorporate and simmer for another minute or so. Set aside to cool for 5 or 10 minutes
—In a bowl, combine the mayonnaise and shallot mixture. Mix well and add more freshly cracked pepper, if desired.

In a large bowl, combine the potatoes and the dressing, folding carefully to avoid breaking up the potatoes too much. Slice the hard-boiled eggs and crumble the reserved bacon. Add to the potatoes along with the chopped parsley. Mix everything together well. Adjust seasoning as desired. Chill well to meld flavors.  Note: I don't use any added salt because the bacon has plenty of salt. The salad will seem too gloppy while still warm. The extra dressing will be absorbed by the potatoes as they cool. If making a serving platter, garnish with diagonal alternating lines of extra bacon and egg slices. Serve.

BTW, if you'll be having a July 4th picnic, Cook's Illustrated advises that it's not the mayonnaise that causes food poisoning from spoiled potato salad. Mayonnaise contains sufficient acid to inhibit bacterial growth and commercial mayo is made with pasteurized eggs. Rather, it is the potatoes that are the culprits:

"The bacteria usually responsible for spoiled potato salad are Bacillus cereus and Staphylococcus aureus (commonly known as staph). Both are found in soil and dust, and they thrive on starchy, low-acid foods like rice, pasta, and potatoes. If they find their way into your potato salad via an unwashed cutting board or contaminated hands, they can wreak havoc on your digestive system."