cannesinavan.com

Andy, Si and Jamie sat around one spring night last year and hatched a brilliant plan to bring films to Cannes in a Van, guerilla film style, they will be showing films right out of their van.

The site has a blog and a forum and they are busily collecting as many independent films as possible. Their plan is to show the films for free and to generate as much buzz for the filmmakers as possible. Think Slamdance, only its CannesDance...I have only one word for this, YEAH!

if you want to send them your films or if you're feeling flush with cash, send them money...
twoblokes@cannesinavan.com

loveheals.org

A year ago began a descent into a certain kind of hell. I lost my dear old friend from childhood to Aids, Diana Emmet. It was a devastating loss for all of us. She was a true giver, its in that spirit that I share information about LoveHeals.org

Love Heals is an organization founded in memory of Ali Gertz by her childhood friends. Since its founding, Love Heals has helped thousands of HIV+ people through their speakers bureau. Diana was part of that effort, making a huge and positive impact on the lives of many people as an educator, advisor and friend.

I guess I'm posting this to let you know about Love Heals and hoping that if you're looking to give back this is a great place to support.

Thermonuclear Chicken soup

Ok, too many sneezes on the other end of the line, so here goes:

Great Grandma Sarah's thermonuclear chicken soup (slightly updated by Francesca):
In a stockpot
Clean water- filtered about 1/2 to 3/4 full keep adding water as needed
chicken stock (organic-free range)
chicken bones & chicken (same)
1 oz vinegar-helps pulls the minerals from the bone
Bring to a boil, cook at med heat until meat has separated from bone.

take out bones and meat and cool the stock skimming off most of the fat once its cool. In the old days, they would keep the chicken fat in a jar and use it to cook with. Now with all the weird stuff going on, its better not to, just toss it. Most toxins get stored in fat.

Now you can add the bones and chicken back, bring the pot to a simmer for 30 to 45 mins or so and add:
7-12 whole cloves of garlic-just score them, no need to slice
hand full of red peppercorns
star anise-gives it a nice bracing cooling undertone
2 bay leaves-take them out after 1.5 hours
2 whole red dried chilies-gives it a kick and helps detox
1 tbsp paprika-earthy feel
Some powdered Sage to taste-goes with chicken but optional
4 chopped and sliced onions-tangy and zaps colds
8 stalks of celery medium sliced-full of minerals
1 fennel thickly sliced-ditto
5 med sized carrots, sliced- beta carotene
1 celery root peeled and cubed-minerals and helps ground the soup
1/2 cup chopped up parsley the dark green chewy kind-loads of vitamin B
Italian parsley to taste as a garnish-loads of vitamin B

Optional:
Other root vegetables-helps ground the soup
Fresh sage leaves-yummy

this tastes better on the 2nd day sometimes.

advertising short

Ok, this is sort of funny:
secure.wiredrive.com/clients {I broke the link here so you can paste it}
/young/hub/viewPortfolio/0/a0410db4298f1c36078ebd720e5bb141/link

so

how is everbody?

food for thought, food for life

Slow Food Nation
By Alice Waters, The Nation
Posted on September 9, 2006, Printed on September 13, 2006
www.alternet.org/story/41131/

It turns out that Jean Anthèlme Brillat-Savarin was right in 1825 when he wrote in his magnum opus, The Physiology of Taste, that "the destiny of nations depends on the manner in which they are fed." If you think this aphorism exaggerates the importance of food, consider that today almost 4 billion people worldwide depend on the agricultural sector for their livelihood. Food is destiny, all right; every decision we make about food has personal and global repercussions. By now it is generally conceded that the food we eat could actually be making us sick, but we still haven't acknowledged the full consequences -- environmental, political, cultural, social and ethical -- of our national diet.

Cheesy poof song from south park

I was driving with George last week and he mentioned the Cheesy Poof song sounds just like the NPR tune...Coincidence? Strange that. Listen and compare the two some time...

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cheesy_Poofs

the bittersweet chocolate experience

Walking back from a delightful French lunch on Fillmore, I am drawn to Bittersweet, the ultimate chocoholics destination.
Did my nose lead me, was it the color on the walls? The walls glow orange. The incredible variety of chocolates they have all over, tucked into little corners, these little love bombs set to explode.
The preverbial kid in a candy store, I darted from case to case, the baked goods, the dulce de Leche chocolate pudding nearly knocked me over, as a kid the only way to get those flavors was to eat an alfajor.

I stood there gobsmacked, the overwhelming aroma of chocolate permeates the entire store. It was strong, pungent with a sweet note here and there. Oh there, no there, no There, each flavor offered a short trip. Standing back and straddling my indecision I looked up at one of the paintings and then out of the corner of my eye I saw the ultimate choice. Hot chocolate laced with pepper and roses.
Sipping it slowly, tentatively, the first sip nearly engulfed me in a wave of endorphins, easing my way out of the shop, quietly walking down the street becoming increasingly doe eyed, romanicing my cup of cocoa sip by little sip I walked slowly as if under some kind of spell. I felt a strange throbbing in my chest, the lights in the sky seemed somehow brighter and everyone looked so gorgeous, even the dogs. I recognized the signs instantly, it was almost like being in love.
(c) Francesca Prada 2006

Cinnamon Peeler by Ondaatje

The Cinnamon Peeler, by Michael Ondaatje

If I were a cinnamon peeler
I would ride your bed
And leave the yellow bark dust
On your pillow.

Your breasts and shoulders would reek
You could never walk through markets
without the profession of my fingers
floating over you. The blind would
stumble certain of whom they approached
though you might bathe
under rain gutters, monsoon.

Here on the upper thigh
at this smooth pasture
neighbor to you hair
or the crease
that cuts your back. This ankle.
You will be known among strangers
as the cinnamon peeler's wife.

I could hardly glance at you
before marriage
never touch you
--your keen nosed mother, your rough brothers.
I buried my hands
in saffron, disguised them
over smoking tar,
helped the honey gatherers...

When we swam once
I touched you in the water
and our bodies remained free,
you could hold me and be blind of smell.
you climbed the bank and said

this is how you touch other women
the grass cutter's wife, the lime burner's daughter.
And you searched your arms
for the missing perfume

and knew

what good is it
to be the lime burner's daughter
left with no trace
as if not spoken to in the act of love
as if wounded without the pleasure of a scar.

You touched
your belly to my hands
in the dry air and said
I am the cinnamon
Peeler's wife. Smell me.