It has been a while, since I reported either on the weekly "Forward" or the bimonthly "Moment", so I thought I would set this down so you can see what you have been missing.
The Forward edition (August 25) was a very interesting one. Look at this.
1. Senator George Allen of VA is Jewish? (His mother, French-Tunisian, was undoubtedly Jewish by birth? She came from a long Portuguese Sephardic family. She could not be married in the Catholic Church (Allen's parents were married by a Justice of the Peace at a Jewish friend's house).
2. Should Israel (and the U.S.) start conversations with Syria? Pro: the Syrians are the gateway for Hezbollah arms into Lebanon. Pro: Hamas' home office is in Damascus. Con: there go the Golan Heights.
3. Are Israeli and American policies too much in lockstep, to the detriment of both?
4. What about Gunter Grass and his revelation that he was an SS member as a very young boy? Has he atoned through his writing (and in fact without this experience, would he have become the novelist he is, and concentrating on morals and ethics, as he has)? Or should the Nobel, or other prizes, be taken from him? Is he the prime example, and one of the last, of Germany coming to terms with its Nazi past?
5. Why is Chabad the first Jewish movement to open synagogues in fast growing, newer suburbs?
6. How about all the scandals hitting Israeli political and religious leaders? Mostly, they are personal (claims of sexual harrassment, etc, and include the president and the two chief rabbis)? Only one involves governmental activity, a claim of improper activity by Knesset member when he was in charge of the environmental policy of the country.
7. Dedication of Al Jolson Way on W 51st St in NYC.
8. Shaun Green, Jewish ball player, now a Met.
9. Is the push for inquiry of failures of the recent war in Lebanon too political to be counted on for reliable answers?
10. The Rabbinic Assembly (modern Orthodox rabbis in USA) put out a statement saying that Israel should not be so protective of civilians during war; clearly Hezbollah was not, and war is war, and Jewish law and tradition does not demand this care or concern. Yuck.
11. The Republican Jewish contender for senator in Connecticut, running now against both Lieberman and Lamont, has only 5% of the vote. Why?
12. The market recently bombed in Moscow is owned by Azerbaijani Jews. Was it an underworld bombing?
13. The two AIPAC officials accused of giving Israel confidential information. A recent court ruling has said that it must be shown that release of the information was against US interests (may not be able to be shown). The information was of the dangerous situation developing in Iran. Michael Berenbaum, in an op-ed piece, asks if their problem wasn't really that they were right, but too early, as the US government was still then in the mode of showing that Iraq, not Iran, was the bigger concern?
14. Reviews of two new books on the former Jewish community of Salonika, Greece, a major center of Jewish life for 400 years.
15. A fascinating new book on the history of various Hasidic leaders who broke away from the movement, committed suicide, converted, etc. The book is in Hebrew, written by the head of the Jewish history department at Tel Aviv University, and attempts to bring to light repressed information that has been distorted by both Hasidic historians and their non-Hasidic opponents. The book is being sold here only under the counter, and has created a firestorm of comment.
16. A list of 28 fiction books, set in Israel. Recommended reading. The books have been published over the past 30 years or so.
17. An article about Lorenzo da Ponte, librettisist for Marriage of Figaro, Cosi fan Tutte, and Don Giovanni. A fascinating story. Da Ponte is now the subject of an exhibit at Vienna's Jewish Museum.
And now Moment:
1. The War in Iraq. Good or bad for the Jews. (not very enlightening)
2. Brian Epstein, the Beatles manager. His story.
3. Conversos in Mexico. Fascinating.
4. Interesting article by Menachem Rosensaft, who learned of his mother's exploits during the Holocaust, after her death.
and more.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Thursday, August 24, 2006
A Rare Gift from CVS (7 cents)
I stopped at the Van Ness CVS store on the way to the office to pick up a small notebook, which was marked 89 cents. I took it to the register, the clerk (the sales associate? the partner?) put in a number and out popped 99 cents.
Obviously not a big difference, but I mentioned it and we went back to the shelf to see if I had read it correctly. 89 cents.
The store manager happened to be in the same aisle; she asked how she should handle this, since she had already rung up the sale (and I had already paid the 99 cents, along with 6 cents for the District), and he said: "Just give him back a quarter."
I said that the difference is only 10 cents, but the clerk said, "that's ok, take the quarter".
A rare gift from CVS.
Obviously not a big difference, but I mentioned it and we went back to the shelf to see if I had read it correctly. 89 cents.
The store manager happened to be in the same aisle; she asked how she should handle this, since she had already rung up the sale (and I had already paid the 99 cents, along with 6 cents for the District), and he said: "Just give him back a quarter."
I said that the difference is only 10 cents, but the clerk said, "that's ok, take the quarter".
A rare gift from CVS.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Don't lose your focus
Several years ago, during another D.C. mayoral primary campaign,, one of the second string candidates, who lived not far from us, was himself putting up posters on telephone poles. He came to the pole at our corner and I happened to be in the yard, and he came up to me and introduced himself and told me he was running for mayor. Of what city?, I asked. D.C., he said, looking at me as if I were a little dense. Then, pardon me, I said, why are you wearing that T-shirt that says "I Love Boston"?
Well tonight, at the forum for D.C. mayoral candidates at the DC JCC, we lingered a bit talking to friends. When we left, there was someone at the front door handing out brochures for Michael Brown. But in his other hand, he held a bag of two oranges, the gift (and campaign symbol) of candidate Vincent Orange.
We went to see the five primary candidates, because we did not know who to vote for. We still don't.
Adrian Fenty arrived an hour late and left an hour early. Council chair Linda Cropp left early, and arrived almost on time. Orange, Brown and Marie Johns stuck it out the hwole time, with Johns coming early enough to shmooze at the reception, Brown sticking around long enough to shake the hands of the lingerers, and Orange sticking around outside even longer, giving out oranges. "Please take them so they don't go to waste."
Who won the forum? Hard to say. Who lost it? Fenty. I think I am going to vote for Orange. Sure, sometimes he says a little too much, but I think he is bright, and appears dedicated, and I believe he understands the city's finances. My wife thinks I am nuts. But Oranges and nuts don't make a bad combination.
Of course, one of the winners will undoubtedly be Fenty or Cropp. Sorry, cannot vote for either one. Cropp has had too many high level positions (council chair, school board president) not to be part of the problem. Fenty is the Al D'Amato (Senator Pothole from New York) of Washington; he is apparently great on constituent service. But that does not translate, for a 35 year old, to being able to administer a city.
Or perhaps it is just that I cannot vote for a candidate who might win.
Mah Nishtanah ha-election hazeh mi-kol ha-elections?
Well tonight, at the forum for D.C. mayoral candidates at the DC JCC, we lingered a bit talking to friends. When we left, there was someone at the front door handing out brochures for Michael Brown. But in his other hand, he held a bag of two oranges, the gift (and campaign symbol) of candidate Vincent Orange.
We went to see the five primary candidates, because we did not know who to vote for. We still don't.
Adrian Fenty arrived an hour late and left an hour early. Council chair Linda Cropp left early, and arrived almost on time. Orange, Brown and Marie Johns stuck it out the hwole time, with Johns coming early enough to shmooze at the reception, Brown sticking around long enough to shake the hands of the lingerers, and Orange sticking around outside even longer, giving out oranges. "Please take them so they don't go to waste."
Who won the forum? Hard to say. Who lost it? Fenty. I think I am going to vote for Orange. Sure, sometimes he says a little too much, but I think he is bright, and appears dedicated, and I believe he understands the city's finances. My wife thinks I am nuts. But Oranges and nuts don't make a bad combination.
Of course, one of the winners will undoubtedly be Fenty or Cropp. Sorry, cannot vote for either one. Cropp has had too many high level positions (council chair, school board president) not to be part of the problem. Fenty is the Al D'Amato (Senator Pothole from New York) of Washington; he is apparently great on constituent service. But that does not translate, for a 35 year old, to being able to administer a city.
Or perhaps it is just that I cannot vote for a candidate who might win.
Mah Nishtanah ha-election hazeh mi-kol ha-elections?
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
fhgurytogjhwhtughks[-htf ee=a (90 cents)
You probably have already figured this out, but we spent yesterday at the National Cryptography Museum.
You find it off Maryland Rte 32, just before you get to Ft. Meade. It is on the grounds of NSA, the National Security Agency, which has quite a large set up, with glass office buildings (people who work in glass office buildings shouldn't throw stones) and parking lots and everything. With all that is there, you would think that they could accomplish a lot more than they seem to.
You know that you are in dangerous territory when you see three unmarked cars splayed across the road with uniformed be-rifled men staring at your and waving you to stop. He looked at me, and I at him. I blinked first and said: "We are going to the museum". He asked if we knew how to get there, and when we didn't he told us. Then he said, "let me see your driver's license". I got it out, held it to him, but not closely enough so he could possibly see it, he didn't write anything down, he just said OK, go on.
Now, I ask you, what was that about?
The museum has several rooms, and enough stuff in it for many more. It is crammed, walls floor to ceiling, cubicles, everywhere. It has some very interesting stuff, like an entire collection of German Enigma machines, and stuff about satellite spying, and encryptions done by Pitney Bowes on its postage machines, and how Japanese spies worked, and how they found out Alger Hiss and Harry Dexter White and David Greenglass (and his sister, Ethel R.). Pictures of cryptographers (all very smart), Cray computers that took up rooms, Kremlin-White House hotline telephones. Everything. And a lot of words to explain it.
We had a docent tour. Our docent was formerly with SpecOps. He must have been about 80. (As we left, a friend of his came in the building and seemed very surprised to see him there. "I thought you only work Mondays", he said. Our guide was nonplussed, thinking that he was getting old and made a terrible mistake. It took them both some time to realize that it was Monday. I was not fooled; I knew all along.)
It's hard to explain our docent. It was like his speech was encrypted. The words were English, but I couldn't understand what he was saying half the time. Sentences seem to abruptly stop, many phrases to early. He would go from topic to topic, but appeared to think that he was staying right on point.
In fact, he was very much like a comic book character. "And the Japanese encryption was easy to break, and what then? WHAM!!" or "And you know what happened when they figured out where we were? WHOOSH! BAM! BLONG!" That sort of thing.
But how much of what we learned was true? These guys are taught to lie, right? For the sake of our country? Give out false information. That sort of thing.
Maybe nothing in the museum was accurate. Maybe those machines weren't Enigmas. Maybe "WHOOSH! BAM! BLONG!" really only means: read Arthurthinks.blogspot.com.
You find it off Maryland Rte 32, just before you get to Ft. Meade. It is on the grounds of NSA, the National Security Agency, which has quite a large set up, with glass office buildings (people who work in glass office buildings shouldn't throw stones) and parking lots and everything. With all that is there, you would think that they could accomplish a lot more than they seem to.
You know that you are in dangerous territory when you see three unmarked cars splayed across the road with uniformed be-rifled men staring at your and waving you to stop. He looked at me, and I at him. I blinked first and said: "We are going to the museum". He asked if we knew how to get there, and when we didn't he told us. Then he said, "let me see your driver's license". I got it out, held it to him, but not closely enough so he could possibly see it, he didn't write anything down, he just said OK, go on.
Now, I ask you, what was that about?
The museum has several rooms, and enough stuff in it for many more. It is crammed, walls floor to ceiling, cubicles, everywhere. It has some very interesting stuff, like an entire collection of German Enigma machines, and stuff about satellite spying, and encryptions done by Pitney Bowes on its postage machines, and how Japanese spies worked, and how they found out Alger Hiss and Harry Dexter White and David Greenglass (and his sister, Ethel R.). Pictures of cryptographers (all very smart), Cray computers that took up rooms, Kremlin-White House hotline telephones. Everything. And a lot of words to explain it.
We had a docent tour. Our docent was formerly with SpecOps. He must have been about 80. (As we left, a friend of his came in the building and seemed very surprised to see him there. "I thought you only work Mondays", he said. Our guide was nonplussed, thinking that he was getting old and made a terrible mistake. It took them both some time to realize that it was Monday. I was not fooled; I knew all along.)
It's hard to explain our docent. It was like his speech was encrypted. The words were English, but I couldn't understand what he was saying half the time. Sentences seem to abruptly stop, many phrases to early. He would go from topic to topic, but appeared to think that he was staying right on point.
In fact, he was very much like a comic book character. "And the Japanese encryption was easy to break, and what then? WHAM!!" or "And you know what happened when they figured out where we were? WHOOSH! BAM! BLONG!" That sort of thing.
But how much of what we learned was true? These guys are taught to lie, right? For the sake of our country? Give out false information. That sort of thing.
Maybe nothing in the museum was accurate. Maybe those machines weren't Enigmas. Maybe "WHOOSH! BAM! BLONG!" really only means: read Arthurthinks.blogspot.com.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Indian Food
Recently, I wrote about the excellent meal we had at Jyota in Adams Morgan. This evening, we found ourselves in Laurel MD at supper time, and stopped at India Gate, a restaurant in a small shopping center on Route 1. We knew nothing about the restaurant, but had a good feeling looking at its salmon and aqua interior.
We ordered fairly simply. Onion pakora and a Kingfisher to start. An okra dish and a mushroom dish, along with Roti to finish. The food was absolutely, just right. we would go back and, if it is as good the second time, keep going back.
The chef is from Punjab. The sign says that all the meet is hallal, although the restaurant seems Hindu, not Moslem. But they must know their target market.
Our waiter was from Nepal. He told us that everything in Nepal is OK, although some people don't like living in an absolute kingdom. But he says that the riots and occasional Maoist uprisings don't really affect normal life. I asked him when he was in Nepal last; he told me it has been about five years. He may go back soon for a visit he said, but (perhaps forgetting his conversation three minutes earlier) said that he hestitated to go now, with all the political problems. Why should he put himself in harm's way?
Go figure.
We ordered fairly simply. Onion pakora and a Kingfisher to start. An okra dish and a mushroom dish, along with Roti to finish. The food was absolutely, just right. we would go back and, if it is as good the second time, keep going back.
The chef is from Punjab. The sign says that all the meet is hallal, although the restaurant seems Hindu, not Moslem. But they must know their target market.
Our waiter was from Nepal. He told us that everything in Nepal is OK, although some people don't like living in an absolute kingdom. But he says that the riots and occasional Maoist uprisings don't really affect normal life. I asked him when he was in Nepal last; he told me it has been about five years. He may go back soon for a visit he said, but (perhaps forgetting his conversation three minutes earlier) said that he hestitated to go now, with all the political problems. Why should he put himself in harm's way?
Go figure.
More on Figaro
The Washington Times also gave the voices (and especially Susanna and the Countess) a good review, and I thought the reviewer had it right, when he said that the whole was less than the sum of its parts, and that he thought that the conductor did not have good control of the musicians or the stage. He thought more rehearsal would have helped. Perhaps
This past weekend.....
1. We had hoped to go away, but the weather report was unsettled, so we stayed put. The weather was beautiful.
2. We were at home most of Saturday as we were having our yard and garden cleaned and totally deweeded, ivy pulled from over our fences, and all sorts of other stuff in preparation for an outdoor re-do. It actually took 2 full days for a crew to do this and mulch and clean up. They did a terrific job.
3. Saturday night we had a light meal sitting outside at the Tavern on the Lake on Reston's Lake Anne. Very pleasant. Nice food.
4. Then we went to see 'The Marriage of Figaro' at Wolf Trap with friends, and we saw several others at the opera. It was the Wolf Trap Company. The voices were very good, but I felt there lacked the oomph and excitement the opera needed. I thought that might be because of where we were sitting (balcony, center, 9 rows back), or because the orchestra was not quite up to par (tempo was good, but it lacked something), or because the stage was too big for the opera, or the sets too weak. Today's Post review was very positive, agreeing with me that the two female leads, playing Susanna (Maureen McKay) and the Countess (Ailyn Perez) were the best. I thought Perez had the better sound, but McKay's voice was augmented by her superior acting and charisma. But I would not have rated the performance as highly as Stephen Brookes did. Although he agreed with me about the set: "looked like it was banged together from old building scraps, given a fresh coat of dirt, and...littered with department store closeout furniture."
5. Sunday was also pretty quiet. At 4:30 we left for Baltimore, where we took our 80+ year old friends to supper. They keep kosher, but said that they would order fish or vegetarian anywhere. They are getting a little slow, and I wanted to find a place that looked to be elderly-friendly, and I chose (from a drive by only) the Olive Branch, the restaurant of the Ramada Inn on Reisterstown Road, near the Beltway. It is very big, and very crowded (not just overnighters by far), but the menu turned out, for us, to be very limited as most things are served with shrimp. Like the salmon special: "it comes with linguini and shrimp. we can't do it any other way. it's a special". That kind of thing. As to the quality of what we ate. Not too high. I'd give it a C-.
2. We were at home most of Saturday as we were having our yard and garden cleaned and totally deweeded, ivy pulled from over our fences, and all sorts of other stuff in preparation for an outdoor re-do. It actually took 2 full days for a crew to do this and mulch and clean up. They did a terrific job.
3. Saturday night we had a light meal sitting outside at the Tavern on the Lake on Reston's Lake Anne. Very pleasant. Nice food.
4. Then we went to see 'The Marriage of Figaro' at Wolf Trap with friends, and we saw several others at the opera. It was the Wolf Trap Company. The voices were very good, but I felt there lacked the oomph and excitement the opera needed. I thought that might be because of where we were sitting (balcony, center, 9 rows back), or because the orchestra was not quite up to par (tempo was good, but it lacked something), or because the stage was too big for the opera, or the sets too weak. Today's Post review was very positive, agreeing with me that the two female leads, playing Susanna (Maureen McKay) and the Countess (Ailyn Perez) were the best. I thought Perez had the better sound, but McKay's voice was augmented by her superior acting and charisma. But I would not have rated the performance as highly as Stephen Brookes did. Although he agreed with me about the set: "looked like it was banged together from old building scraps, given a fresh coat of dirt, and...littered with department store closeout furniture."
5. Sunday was also pretty quiet. At 4:30 we left for Baltimore, where we took our 80+ year old friends to supper. They keep kosher, but said that they would order fish or vegetarian anywhere. They are getting a little slow, and I wanted to find a place that looked to be elderly-friendly, and I chose (from a drive by only) the Olive Branch, the restaurant of the Ramada Inn on Reisterstown Road, near the Beltway. It is very big, and very crowded (not just overnighters by far), but the menu turned out, for us, to be very limited as most things are served with shrimp. Like the salmon special: "it comes with linguini and shrimp. we can't do it any other way. it's a special". That kind of thing. As to the quality of what we ate. Not too high. I'd give it a C-.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
What happened at the Trover Shop?
No one, absolutely no one, asked! (Maybe you are all on vacation?)
Well here goes -
I walk into the Trover Shop on Capital Hill, something I have done maybe two times before in my life. It is a Tuesday and it is lunch time.
I look at the books on the shelf, and try to decide whether to by an autographed copy of Senator Ted Kennedy's new book. I decide against it.
A woman comes in the shop. She is dressed very well. I would guess her to be about 70. She walks with erect posture.
She goes to the counter and asks the salesman if he has a copy of A.A. Milne's 'Now We Are Six". He looks it up in his catalog and says that he does not, but could order it quickly. She says that would be fine.
He goes into his computer and asks whether she would want a soft cover copy or a hard cover copy. She asks the price difference. The hardcover is more than three times as expensive. She says: let's take the hardcover. My grandson will only be six one time.
You note that so far, everything is fine. Nothing annoying has happened.
The salesman goes back to the computer to start the order process. She looks straight ahead and without missing a beat starts reciting the book. From cover to (I assume) cover.
Like Homer reciting the Iliad, or a Moslem the Koran, she goes on and on and on. And the book is such nonsense, especially to hear on a Tuesday lunchtime at the Capitol Hill Trover Shop.
Now, aren't you sorry, you didn't ask?
Well here goes -
I walk into the Trover Shop on Capital Hill, something I have done maybe two times before in my life. It is a Tuesday and it is lunch time.
I look at the books on the shelf, and try to decide whether to by an autographed copy of Senator Ted Kennedy's new book. I decide against it.
A woman comes in the shop. She is dressed very well. I would guess her to be about 70. She walks with erect posture.
She goes to the counter and asks the salesman if he has a copy of A.A. Milne's 'Now We Are Six". He looks it up in his catalog and says that he does not, but could order it quickly. She says that would be fine.
He goes into his computer and asks whether she would want a soft cover copy or a hard cover copy. She asks the price difference. The hardcover is more than three times as expensive. She says: let's take the hardcover. My grandson will only be six one time.
You note that so far, everything is fine. Nothing annoying has happened.
The salesman goes back to the computer to start the order process. She looks straight ahead and without missing a beat starts reciting the book. From cover to (I assume) cover.
Like Homer reciting the Iliad, or a Moslem the Koran, she goes on and on and on. And the book is such nonsense, especially to hear on a Tuesday lunchtime at the Capitol Hill Trover Shop.
Now, aren't you sorry, you didn't ask?
Friday, August 18, 2006
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Little Miss Sunshine is a loser.
A Chevy Chase-like comedy about a little girl who wins a statewide and enters a national beauty/talent contest, and her talent (taught by her recently deceased raunchy grandfather) is strip tease.
It starts out very, very cute and funny and, after about twenty minutes, heads downhill very rapidly for the next hour and a half or so.
It is not at all worth seeing, EXCEPT FOR one extraordinary thing:
Uncle Frank, the suicidal Proust scholar, who joins our heroine's family to recover from his unsuccessful romance, is played by the same actor who played President Ahmadinajad on the Mike Wallace 60 Minutes interview!!!
No wonder, Iran is doing such a good media-relations job. Their president is a Hollywood supporting actor.
It starts out very, very cute and funny and, after about twenty minutes, heads downhill very rapidly for the next hour and a half or so.
It is not at all worth seeing, EXCEPT FOR one extraordinary thing:
Uncle Frank, the suicidal Proust scholar, who joins our heroine's family to recover from his unsuccessful romance, is played by the same actor who played President Ahmadinajad on the Mike Wallace 60 Minutes interview!!!
No wonder, Iran is doing such a good media-relations job. Their president is a Hollywood supporting actor.
We win, you lose
Back when the Vietnam war was going very badly, Senator Aiken of Vt. said "let's just call it a victory and pull our troops out." A good idea but it didn't work.
Hezbollah and Iran are rejoicing in the Hezbollah victory (so-called) in Lebanon, but unlike Senator Aiken, they appear to be unwilling to pull their troops out.
They in fact make much more sense. How do you celebrate a victory, and then retreat?
This war is not yet over.
Hezbollah and Iran are rejoicing in the Hezbollah victory (so-called) in Lebanon, but unlike Senator Aiken, they appear to be unwilling to pull their troops out.
They in fact make much more sense. How do you celebrate a victory, and then retreat?
This war is not yet over.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Ahmadinajad. By George, I got it (maybe) (10 cents)
Last night's TV was surreal. C-Span showed a rebroadcast of Sunday Night's 60 Minutes with Mike Wallace interviewing Ahmadinajad. The interview was about 30 minutes. Then, they showed the full interview (without cuts), which ran about 60 minutes. Then, they had a call in show, but only for a few minutes, where almost everyone seemed to think that Ahmadinajad seemed like an OK kind of guy ("even if I don't agree with what he says all the time'), but Mike Wallace was a boob. If this is not surreal, what is?
In the first place, Ahmadinajad is America's sworn enemy. But here is he having a almost friendly interview with Mike Wallace. Mike Wallace is 88 years old. Ok, so he looks 70, and is willing to fly to Tehran of all places to interview Ahmanijad. And they both sit there, and smile at each other. It doesn't make any difference what they were saying; the important thing is that they were smiling, and no one raised their voice (or even their eyebrows) and it looked like they were old buddies sitting around having a beer.
Now, when you are 88 years old, and have a yellow pad in front of you, and are in Iran, you don't need to be a brilliant questioner to get the red badge of courage. And, truth be told, Wallace's questions were not always on point, and his follow up, where it existed, was weak. I mean real weak, things like "are you being serious?". That is not good follow up.
And his interrogatoree was well prepared. He knew how many Americans were in prison and who lacked health insurance. He knew exactly how to sound like an American liberal.
Not where Israel is concerned of course. There he was adamant, but he had no solution. And the Israeli's? He likes them well enough, just not their government or their country. They can go somewhere else - like Europe or the USA. Just not on 'other peoples' land'.
He was good at finessing the embarassing questions, and the follow-ups let him escape with his finessing. It was a coup for the Iranian.
The C-Span callers also focused on Wallace's sometime petulance, and his treating Ahmadinajad rather informally. "I think he needs to be shown more respect; he is the president of their country." Come on, callers!! Show him respect? Surreal.
A lot will be written about this. The Wall Street Journal had a couple of good, and contrasting articles today, one concluding that Wallace did a good job, but that Ahmadinajad is just a media master. I think that is going too far. The other saying that Wallace did not ask the hard questions, and giving a list of them, mostly very specific ones about horrific happenings in the country.
That may be accurate, but it misses the point. This was not about substance. This was about 'getting the interview' (to paraphrase McLuan, the interview was the message) and secondly to entertain (both Wallace, a/k/a CBS, and the Iranian president wanted entertainment value, for their own purposes).
Ahmadinajad is a horrible person. Unfortunately, we will find that out more and more as time goes on. Hopefully, we will be able to do something about it. But it seems like many Americans won't believe that. Like Uncle Joe Stalin, and the early Adolph Hitler, too many of us will conclude that he can't be all bad, he even spends "quality time" with his three children.
In the first place, Ahmadinajad is America's sworn enemy. But here is he having a almost friendly interview with Mike Wallace. Mike Wallace is 88 years old. Ok, so he looks 70, and is willing to fly to Tehran of all places to interview Ahmanijad. And they both sit there, and smile at each other. It doesn't make any difference what they were saying; the important thing is that they were smiling, and no one raised their voice (or even their eyebrows) and it looked like they were old buddies sitting around having a beer.
Now, when you are 88 years old, and have a yellow pad in front of you, and are in Iran, you don't need to be a brilliant questioner to get the red badge of courage. And, truth be told, Wallace's questions were not always on point, and his follow up, where it existed, was weak. I mean real weak, things like "are you being serious?". That is not good follow up.
And his interrogatoree was well prepared. He knew how many Americans were in prison and who lacked health insurance. He knew exactly how to sound like an American liberal.
Not where Israel is concerned of course. There he was adamant, but he had no solution. And the Israeli's? He likes them well enough, just not their government or their country. They can go somewhere else - like Europe or the USA. Just not on 'other peoples' land'.
He was good at finessing the embarassing questions, and the follow-ups let him escape with his finessing. It was a coup for the Iranian.
The C-Span callers also focused on Wallace's sometime petulance, and his treating Ahmadinajad rather informally. "I think he needs to be shown more respect; he is the president of their country." Come on, callers!! Show him respect? Surreal.
A lot will be written about this. The Wall Street Journal had a couple of good, and contrasting articles today, one concluding that Wallace did a good job, but that Ahmadinajad is just a media master. I think that is going too far. The other saying that Wallace did not ask the hard questions, and giving a list of them, mostly very specific ones about horrific happenings in the country.
That may be accurate, but it misses the point. This was not about substance. This was about 'getting the interview' (to paraphrase McLuan, the interview was the message) and secondly to entertain (both Wallace, a/k/a CBS, and the Iranian president wanted entertainment value, for their own purposes).
Ahmadinajad is a horrible person. Unfortunately, we will find that out more and more as time goes on. Hopefully, we will be able to do something about it. But it seems like many Americans won't believe that. Like Uncle Joe Stalin, and the early Adolph Hitler, too many of us will conclude that he can't be all bad, he even spends "quality time" with his three children.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
It's Sunday night again
It just doesn't seem right that I have to go to work on Mondays, does it?
Saturday started off with a venture to the Aquatic Gardens on Kenilworth Avenue. In this unlikely spot exists perhaps the prettiest sight (site?) in the District of Columbia, the view of the Anacostia Marsh and River from the end of the Acquatic Gardens boardwalk. Saturday did not disappoint, and the two egrets sitting out on an island were a nice plus. Of course, before you get to the boardwalk, you must stroll through the lilly pads and lotus swamps. This is a good time of the year to see them in pretty full bloom; a few weeks ago might have been better. And, because the day was so nice, a third species was prevalent: the tripods, each with a camera on top, and a patient, laden down photographer in close contact. We went with our pocket digitals, and liked our pictures. Would they be that much better if we had all that equipment?
We then went to the memorial to those men who lost their lives on the Titanic in 1912, saving the lives of women and children. The Christ like figure on a pedestal was sponsored by the 'women of America'. It is located in Washington. Anyone know where?
We had lunch at W Domku. No, we did not take a commuter flight to Warsaw. W Domku is, of all places, on Upshur between 8th and 9th. An eclectic mixture of eastern European menu items, served in a modern, light filled, informal setting. We did not over order; everything was good. We would especially recomment the carrot/ginger soup (with a good tang of ginger) and the three kinds of herring, each one smoother than the other (that probably is a logical impossibility).
Supper was at RFK, where we went with our New York houseguests to see the Mets beat the Nats. The score was 6-4; could have just as easily been the other way.
Today started off with a nice walk (with a bagel and good cup of coffee at its northernmost end), and a romp in the garden (if you can call it that), where I pulled enough weeds to fill at least one Dempsey Dumpster. Then for the most part a quet day at home, where I got to work on some of my many projects, followed by a trip to the gym where, while on the cross trainer, I read the finals parts (well, OK, I finished it at home) of Erik Larson's "Isaac's Storm", a book that came out in 1999, and dealt with the hurricane/flood that hit Galveston Texas and killed over 3000 in 1900. It is a very well written book, and a very quick read, and tells you not only about the Galveston storm, but about others over the centuries that have created havoc around the world, and about the vagaries of weather forecasting and weather forecasting politics. Yes, there is such a thing, most notably that the United States, when it took Cuba from Spain, set up its own weather station in Havana, not wanting to rely on the much more proficient Cuba forecasters and, to show its superiority, forbade the Cubans from transmitting any forecasts to the states. American arrogance hasn't changed much, has it?
Saturday started off with a venture to the Aquatic Gardens on Kenilworth Avenue. In this unlikely spot exists perhaps the prettiest sight (site?) in the District of Columbia, the view of the Anacostia Marsh and River from the end of the Acquatic Gardens boardwalk. Saturday did not disappoint, and the two egrets sitting out on an island were a nice plus. Of course, before you get to the boardwalk, you must stroll through the lilly pads and lotus swamps. This is a good time of the year to see them in pretty full bloom; a few weeks ago might have been better. And, because the day was so nice, a third species was prevalent: the tripods, each with a camera on top, and a patient, laden down photographer in close contact. We went with our pocket digitals, and liked our pictures. Would they be that much better if we had all that equipment?
We then went to the memorial to those men who lost their lives on the Titanic in 1912, saving the lives of women and children. The Christ like figure on a pedestal was sponsored by the 'women of America'. It is located in Washington. Anyone know where?
We had lunch at W Domku. No, we did not take a commuter flight to Warsaw. W Domku is, of all places, on Upshur between 8th and 9th. An eclectic mixture of eastern European menu items, served in a modern, light filled, informal setting. We did not over order; everything was good. We would especially recomment the carrot/ginger soup (with a good tang of ginger) and the three kinds of herring, each one smoother than the other (that probably is a logical impossibility).
Supper was at RFK, where we went with our New York houseguests to see the Mets beat the Nats. The score was 6-4; could have just as easily been the other way.
Today started off with a nice walk (with a bagel and good cup of coffee at its northernmost end), and a romp in the garden (if you can call it that), where I pulled enough weeds to fill at least one Dempsey Dumpster. Then for the most part a quet day at home, where I got to work on some of my many projects, followed by a trip to the gym where, while on the cross trainer, I read the finals parts (well, OK, I finished it at home) of Erik Larson's "Isaac's Storm", a book that came out in 1999, and dealt with the hurricane/flood that hit Galveston Texas and killed over 3000 in 1900. It is a very well written book, and a very quick read, and tells you not only about the Galveston storm, but about others over the centuries that have created havoc around the world, and about the vagaries of weather forecasting and weather forecasting politics. Yes, there is such a thing, most notably that the United States, when it took Cuba from Spain, set up its own weather station in Havana, not wanting to rely on the much more proficient Cuba forecasters and, to show its superiority, forbade the Cubans from transmitting any forecasts to the states. American arrogance hasn't changed much, has it?
Friday, August 11, 2006
The Appearance of Janey Jones (ten cents)
Well, the name of the play is "The Disappearance of Janey Jones", but for us, since we had not seen it previously, it was more an appearance, than the opposite. Hannah was the dramaturg on this new play by young playwright Jennifer Fawcett, a graduate playwriting student at the University of Iowa. It is being performed 6 times at the Hatchery Festival (hatching new playwrights) at the D.C. Arts Center in Adams Morgan. It opened last night.
I did not know what to expect, since this is clearly a low budget operation, and not one that is very well known. The small black box theater was sold out (which surprised me) but it was the one act, 90 minute play that surprised me more. A grandmother who struggles with bipolarity for most of her life, a granddaughter with the same "disease" or "problem" (depending on which character is describing it) and a mother in the middle, who is just fed up. The granddaughter is 28, but her 8 year old self is also a character in the play, and they come in contact with each other (sharing the same room as they do, as well as the same mother and grandmother). "I don't want to grow up like you" says that 8 year old; "but you will" says her 28 year old self.
Moving back and forth generation to generation, sometimes with two time periods existing not parallel to each other but in synchronicity with each other.
Very well acted, especially the grandmother (who in real life is probably 28) and the 8 year old (who is also about the same age). In fact, the entire cast seemed to be about 28. And the entire audience.
Before the show, we had supper at Jyota, the Indian restaurant in Adams Morgan, which I have used quite often as a carry out restaurant. The owner/my friend was not there (perhaps on vacation), and the food (tanduri salmon, lamb something, black lentil dal, and eggplant (made from peeled eggplants and much milder than most Indian eggplant dishes). It was very, very good. Each and every dish.
I did not know what to expect, since this is clearly a low budget operation, and not one that is very well known. The small black box theater was sold out (which surprised me) but it was the one act, 90 minute play that surprised me more. A grandmother who struggles with bipolarity for most of her life, a granddaughter with the same "disease" or "problem" (depending on which character is describing it) and a mother in the middle, who is just fed up. The granddaughter is 28, but her 8 year old self is also a character in the play, and they come in contact with each other (sharing the same room as they do, as well as the same mother and grandmother). "I don't want to grow up like you" says that 8 year old; "but you will" says her 28 year old self.
Moving back and forth generation to generation, sometimes with two time periods existing not parallel to each other but in synchronicity with each other.
Very well acted, especially the grandmother (who in real life is probably 28) and the 8 year old (who is also about the same age). In fact, the entire cast seemed to be about 28. And the entire audience.
Before the show, we had supper at Jyota, the Indian restaurant in Adams Morgan, which I have used quite often as a carry out restaurant. The owner/my friend was not there (perhaps on vacation), and the food (tanduri salmon, lamb something, black lentil dal, and eggplant (made from peeled eggplants and much milder than most Indian eggplant dishes). It was very, very good. Each and every dish.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
I Quit (1 cent)
I quit reading Anita Desai's "Journey to Ithaca" and I quit reading Virginia Dawson and Betty Wilson's "The Shape of Sunday".
So what are you gonna do about it?
So what are you gonna do about it?
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Blackie/Black's (five cents)
It used to be Blackie Auger who had a group of restaurants around town, the most significant being Blackie's on 22nd Street NW. Blackies closed last year.
Now it is Blacks. (I am not sure if there is a Mr. or Ms. Black). They have a restaurant in Rockville, one in Garrett Park, one on McArthur in NW DC, and now a recently remodeled Blacks in Bethesda, where we ate last night.
Absolutely first class.
And, although I don't usually say this: don't skip the deserts. (I had a cherry dessert, which had fresh cherries, cherry sorbet, a cherry cake, a cherry flan, and some sugary wafers; and it was not too much).
It was a birthday dinner for Michelle.
Now it is Blacks. (I am not sure if there is a Mr. or Ms. Black). They have a restaurant in Rockville, one in Garrett Park, one on McArthur in NW DC, and now a recently remodeled Blacks in Bethesda, where we ate last night.
Absolutely first class.
And, although I don't usually say this: don't skip the deserts. (I had a cherry dessert, which had fresh cherries, cherry sorbet, a cherry cake, a cherry flan, and some sugary wafers; and it was not too much).
It was a birthday dinner for Michelle.
The Seminole Negro
By chance, I picked up a copy of Jeff Guinn's "Our Land Before We Die", the story of the Seminole Negro, and learned a lot about a small group of people with a unique story.
Basically, there were runaway slaves who escaped to Spanish Florida in the early 1800s and would up living near and working with the Seminole Indians there. Their status became precarious when Florida became part of the United States (for obvious reasons), and when the Seminoles, or the majority of them, were moved to Indian Territory (now Oklahoma), the Seminole Negroes went with them as part of the tribe. In Indian Territory, the Seminole were forced to live in close proximity to their near relatives, the Creeks, with whom they got along not at all, and everyone was at risk of attack by the warrior Commanche and Apaches. And the Seminole Negroes were also at risk from slavers, who viewed them simply as runaways.
The Seminole Negroes were given the unique opportunity to resettle in Mexico (this was shortly after the U.S. Mexican War, Texas had just become a state, and there was still conflict on the Texas/Mexico border, if they would assist the Mexicans in guarding the border. They went on foot on the 700 mile journey, a story itself filled with danger and hardship, and lived for a period of time outside of this country.
Following the Civil War, the majority of them returned to the United States, being promised their own land in Indian Territory if they would first work as Indian scouts for the Army in Texas. They were settled in Texas and apparently were very successful scouts and fighters for the Americans, but wanted to return north. In the meantime, the Seminoles (whose relationship with the Seminole Negro was, to put it mildly, always troubled) had signed a treaty with the U.S. government to obtain land in what is now Oklahoma, identifying as Seminole those who were members of the tribe, or descendants of members, in 1823, before the Negroes were given tribal membership in Florida.
The Negroes were then stuck in Texas, their services as scouts no longer needed (the Commanches being no longer a danger), and they were evicted from their military base housing and left to fend for themselves.
Descendants of the Seminole Negroes still live in and around Bracketville Texas, and when Guinn, a Ft. Worth journalist, started to write this story almost ten years ago, he had two community elders and one South Texas historian to rely on. By the time he finished, the historian had died, and the 90+ year old matriarch and former school teacher, Miss Charles, had Alzheimers (she died in July of this year). His book, which won a Texas history book prize, is story of the Seminole Negroes to be sure, but also the story of how he got the story.
A very interesting book to read.
Basically, there were runaway slaves who escaped to Spanish Florida in the early 1800s and would up living near and working with the Seminole Indians there. Their status became precarious when Florida became part of the United States (for obvious reasons), and when the Seminoles, or the majority of them, were moved to Indian Territory (now Oklahoma), the Seminole Negroes went with them as part of the tribe. In Indian Territory, the Seminole were forced to live in close proximity to their near relatives, the Creeks, with whom they got along not at all, and everyone was at risk of attack by the warrior Commanche and Apaches. And the Seminole Negroes were also at risk from slavers, who viewed them simply as runaways.
The Seminole Negroes were given the unique opportunity to resettle in Mexico (this was shortly after the U.S. Mexican War, Texas had just become a state, and there was still conflict on the Texas/Mexico border, if they would assist the Mexicans in guarding the border. They went on foot on the 700 mile journey, a story itself filled with danger and hardship, and lived for a period of time outside of this country.
Following the Civil War, the majority of them returned to the United States, being promised their own land in Indian Territory if they would first work as Indian scouts for the Army in Texas. They were settled in Texas and apparently were very successful scouts and fighters for the Americans, but wanted to return north. In the meantime, the Seminoles (whose relationship with the Seminole Negro was, to put it mildly, always troubled) had signed a treaty with the U.S. government to obtain land in what is now Oklahoma, identifying as Seminole those who were members of the tribe, or descendants of members, in 1823, before the Negroes were given tribal membership in Florida.
The Negroes were then stuck in Texas, their services as scouts no longer needed (the Commanches being no longer a danger), and they were evicted from their military base housing and left to fend for themselves.
Descendants of the Seminole Negroes still live in and around Bracketville Texas, and when Guinn, a Ft. Worth journalist, started to write this story almost ten years ago, he had two community elders and one South Texas historian to rely on. By the time he finished, the historian had died, and the 90+ year old matriarch and former school teacher, Miss Charles, had Alzheimers (she died in July of this year). His book, which won a Texas history book prize, is story of the Seminole Negroes to be sure, but also the story of how he got the story.
A very interesting book to read.
Lack of Critical Thinking (1 cent)
The morning call-in show on CSPAN today was on attitudes towards the United States as experienced by Americans traveling abroad this summer. Most of the callers were quite interesting. One, who had spent time in Cairo, said, among other things that Egyptians wonder why "there is not more critical thinking done by Americans". What an interesting question.
That brought me to critical thinking about George Bush and his war on terror, and spefically about Iraq. So far, what has happened is that Saddam Hussein has been deposed, and the entire country (if you can call it that) has been put at great risk of civil war between Sunnis (minority Muslims formerly on top of the heap in Saddam days), Kurds (who would love nothing better than their own country), and Shiite Arabs (who share hatred of the Sunnis with the Kurds, and who are religiously allied with Shiite, non-Arab Iran).
In Saddam days, after the Iran-Iraq War (Sunni led vs. Shiite), and the Gulf War, the Kurds and the Shiites were protected by a no-fly zone controlled by the United States. Now, they will be subject to a government which is Shiite led (if there will ever be a truly functioning government), and which will clearly be under Iranian influence.
So, the major effect of George Bush's war on terror in Iraq has been to strengthen Iran and the Shiites, so that they will control Iran, Iraq and (through Hezbollah) Lebanon, at least. George Bush has done more for Iran than any Iranian leader could ever have done by himself.
Therefore, those who are pleased with Bush's war on terror in Iraq, and who believe that we are just going over some inevitable bumps in the road, have not engaged, in my opinion, in sufficient critical thinking. The war on terror has made things worse.
Not only for this country, but for geographically perilous Israel, of course, whose leaders and populace may also have lacked in the critical thinking department. For Ahmedjihad (or whatever his name may be; I like the one I use)is cleverly posing himself as a friend of the Arabs (of course, using Shiite brotherhood), and doing so by being more more anti-Israel than even the Palestinians, again in order to increase Iranian hegemony over the entire area.
This is bad, bad, bad.
That brought me to critical thinking about George Bush and his war on terror, and spefically about Iraq. So far, what has happened is that Saddam Hussein has been deposed, and the entire country (if you can call it that) has been put at great risk of civil war between Sunnis (minority Muslims formerly on top of the heap in Saddam days), Kurds (who would love nothing better than their own country), and Shiite Arabs (who share hatred of the Sunnis with the Kurds, and who are religiously allied with Shiite, non-Arab Iran).
In Saddam days, after the Iran-Iraq War (Sunni led vs. Shiite), and the Gulf War, the Kurds and the Shiites were protected by a no-fly zone controlled by the United States. Now, they will be subject to a government which is Shiite led (if there will ever be a truly functioning government), and which will clearly be under Iranian influence.
So, the major effect of George Bush's war on terror in Iraq has been to strengthen Iran and the Shiites, so that they will control Iran, Iraq and (through Hezbollah) Lebanon, at least. George Bush has done more for Iran than any Iranian leader could ever have done by himself.
Therefore, those who are pleased with Bush's war on terror in Iraq, and who believe that we are just going over some inevitable bumps in the road, have not engaged, in my opinion, in sufficient critical thinking. The war on terror has made things worse.
Not only for this country, but for geographically perilous Israel, of course, whose leaders and populace may also have lacked in the critical thinking department. For Ahmedjihad (or whatever his name may be; I like the one I use)is cleverly posing himself as a friend of the Arabs (of course, using Shiite brotherhood), and doing so by being more more anti-Israel than even the Palestinians, again in order to increase Iranian hegemony over the entire area.
This is bad, bad, bad.
Monday, August 07, 2006
You look familiar, but who are you? (2 cents)
Remember when the U.S. refused to recognize Red China? Herblock (or maybe it was Bill Mauldin) had a cartoon in the Washington or St. Louis Post, showing State Department official Chester Bowles (one of my favorites)giving Congressional testimony to a Congressman, who was standing with a pointer in front of a wall map of the world. Well, almost the world, because while Russia and India ended the map to the East, Japan ended it to the West. The Congressman was pointing to the wall to the West of Japan, and saying: "Now tell me again, Mr. Bowles. What do you think is here at the end of the world?"
One of the first things that was done to end our stalemate with the mainland Chinese was, of course, to recongize the country. Had this not been done, what a mess we would be in today.
So, let's go to the middle east.
It seems obvious to me (only me?) that as long as middle eastern countries do not recognize Israel, the problems will continue. As long as the Arab boycott of Israeli goods (and secondary boycott of those who trade with Israel) continues, the problems won't get better.
So, in addition to everything else that is being bandied about by the U.N., by NATO, by the G-8 and who knows who else, shouldn't one requirement be that all of the countries in the regions recognize each other? If its middle east neighbors are forced to recognize Israel, and exchange ambassadors and do all those other things that countries do, things have to get better, not worse. Isn't this something that the U.N. should be able to require of its member nations???? Seems obvious to me.
One of the first things that was done to end our stalemate with the mainland Chinese was, of course, to recongize the country. Had this not been done, what a mess we would be in today.
So, let's go to the middle east.
It seems obvious to me (only me?) that as long as middle eastern countries do not recognize Israel, the problems will continue. As long as the Arab boycott of Israeli goods (and secondary boycott of those who trade with Israel) continues, the problems won't get better.
So, in addition to everything else that is being bandied about by the U.N., by NATO, by the G-8 and who knows who else, shouldn't one requirement be that all of the countries in the regions recognize each other? If its middle east neighbors are forced to recognize Israel, and exchange ambassadors and do all those other things that countries do, things have to get better, not worse. Isn't this something that the U.N. should be able to require of its member nations???? Seems obvious to me.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Seven Hours (25 cents)
We spent seven hours at the National Gallery of Art today, from 11 until 6. Time passed quickly.
1. The Henri Rousseau Exhibit. Rousseau's paintings, in person, look very naive and primitive, without detailed attention paid to perspective or sizing. Yet, they are not unpleasant and, particularly the jungle paintings, are fanciful enough to overcome their other shortcomings. Rousseau himself seems to have been a sad character. Born in France in the mid-1800s, he was married twice, and saw five of his seven children die before adulthood, as well as his two wives (one at 37, the other at 51). His working career was spent as a customs agent, a job from which he retired at 49 with an insufficient pension, to enable himself to spend his time painting. He was an untrained painter, and for most of his life ignored. Yet some artists (like Picasso) thought highly of him, and one of the highlights of his life was the party Picasso threw for him, inviting other well known artists of Paris and such as Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas. Low lights were his arrests for stealing stamps from a lawyer for whom he worked as a youth, and his arrest and sentencing for attempted bank fraud, when he fraudently opened a bank account and was going to withdraw a significant amount of funds on credit. He died of a gangrenous leg at 66.
The exhibit is large, and is accompanied by a well made movie, narrated by Kevin Klose (Kevin Kline?).
2. The work of Charles Sheeler. This is the other special exhibit at the East building, and it is an exhibit of an American painter/photographer of the first half of the twentieth century, who specialized in urban and industrial paintings (such as his series on the GM River Rouge MI plant, or on mills in New England). Quite a contrast with Rousseau.
3. The West building has two exhibits on Venice, one of old masters and the other of drawings. We had previously seen the first and skipped the second today. You can't do everything in just 7 hours.
4. We opted for the buffet lunch in the West building courtyard that apparently has something to do with Venice. The food was all right, and the variety interesting, but it was probably too expensive for what there was. The meat dishes included a guinea hen in a black pepper sauce and a liver pate on toast, neither of which looked very appetizing. There was a delicious radiccio salad, calamri, eggs, a zucchini fritata, an arugula salad, carrots and raison salad, polenta, breads, strawberries, fig and nut loaf, and more.
5. We saw two movies. We did not expect much of the first, a 1927 American silent movie called "A Boy of the Streets", which had been lost and then found in a movie conservation library in Toulouse, where it was fixed up and interlineated in French. The boy's older brother is mixed up with the wrong guys in San Francisco, and they are paid by an opposition politician to pull a Watergate on the incumbent. In the meantime, the boy is hit by a car driven by a beautiful young woman, whose father is the incumbant and taken to their house to recover. Meanwhile the brother and two other men break into the house and are caught, but the girl saves the brother by saying that she had asked him to come and get his younger sibling. You can see what is going to happen. Yes the older brother and the girl live happily ever after and "have many children", but not before a numbers of plot twists and turns, and fights, and jails, and fancy parties. All in all, a lot better than anticipated.
6. After the movie, and a short time in the museum book shop, we went to see an exhibit of drawings from the Woodner collection, which were quite enjoyable. All European, they were as old as the 1400s and as new as the twentieth century.
7. Back to the theater for "Senso", a 1954 Italian movie starring Farley Granger, set in Venice (you see the pattern) at the time the Italians were unifying and about to kick out the Austrians. It starts with terrific scenes of performance of Tosca and becomes itself an opera without words - where the Italian contessa falls in love with the insincere Austrian officer, and sells out her countrymen only to find out that all he wanted was her money. Operatic plots are often quite silly but saved by the music. Here, there was no music.
After we left the gallery, we headed to the AV for dinner, to find it closed for its August holiday. We wound up at the Islander on 12th and U, a Trinidadian restaurant with live jazz. A very interesting Caribbean menu with curry flavor (that's Trinidad for you), and the food was not bad (some quite good flavors), but everything in the kitchen got mixed up. For instance, you are asked if you want A or B. You say A, and then they give you C. That sort of thing. Plus, they don't serve coffee. Whoever heard of that? No tea either. The waitress said "because we don't serve anything that is packaged". The meal was too expensive for what we got. The saxophone led jazz (we stayed for three pieces) was "easy listening jazz", and the listening was a little too easy. A few years ago we sat on the banks of the Snake River in Idaho Falls and heard an easy listening sax player. They could have gone to school together.
1. The Henri Rousseau Exhibit. Rousseau's paintings, in person, look very naive and primitive, without detailed attention paid to perspective or sizing. Yet, they are not unpleasant and, particularly the jungle paintings, are fanciful enough to overcome their other shortcomings. Rousseau himself seems to have been a sad character. Born in France in the mid-1800s, he was married twice, and saw five of his seven children die before adulthood, as well as his two wives (one at 37, the other at 51). His working career was spent as a customs agent, a job from which he retired at 49 with an insufficient pension, to enable himself to spend his time painting. He was an untrained painter, and for most of his life ignored. Yet some artists (like Picasso) thought highly of him, and one of the highlights of his life was the party Picasso threw for him, inviting other well known artists of Paris and such as Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas. Low lights were his arrests for stealing stamps from a lawyer for whom he worked as a youth, and his arrest and sentencing for attempted bank fraud, when he fraudently opened a bank account and was going to withdraw a significant amount of funds on credit. He died of a gangrenous leg at 66.
The exhibit is large, and is accompanied by a well made movie, narrated by Kevin Klose (Kevin Kline?).
2. The work of Charles Sheeler. This is the other special exhibit at the East building, and it is an exhibit of an American painter/photographer of the first half of the twentieth century, who specialized in urban and industrial paintings (such as his series on the GM River Rouge MI plant, or on mills in New England). Quite a contrast with Rousseau.
3. The West building has two exhibits on Venice, one of old masters and the other of drawings. We had previously seen the first and skipped the second today. You can't do everything in just 7 hours.
4. We opted for the buffet lunch in the West building courtyard that apparently has something to do with Venice. The food was all right, and the variety interesting, but it was probably too expensive for what there was. The meat dishes included a guinea hen in a black pepper sauce and a liver pate on toast, neither of which looked very appetizing. There was a delicious radiccio salad, calamri, eggs, a zucchini fritata, an arugula salad, carrots and raison salad, polenta, breads, strawberries, fig and nut loaf, and more.
5. We saw two movies. We did not expect much of the first, a 1927 American silent movie called "A Boy of the Streets", which had been lost and then found in a movie conservation library in Toulouse, where it was fixed up and interlineated in French. The boy's older brother is mixed up with the wrong guys in San Francisco, and they are paid by an opposition politician to pull a Watergate on the incumbent. In the meantime, the boy is hit by a car driven by a beautiful young woman, whose father is the incumbant and taken to their house to recover. Meanwhile the brother and two other men break into the house and are caught, but the girl saves the brother by saying that she had asked him to come and get his younger sibling. You can see what is going to happen. Yes the older brother and the girl live happily ever after and "have many children", but not before a numbers of plot twists and turns, and fights, and jails, and fancy parties. All in all, a lot better than anticipated.
6. After the movie, and a short time in the museum book shop, we went to see an exhibit of drawings from the Woodner collection, which were quite enjoyable. All European, they were as old as the 1400s and as new as the twentieth century.
7. Back to the theater for "Senso", a 1954 Italian movie starring Farley Granger, set in Venice (you see the pattern) at the time the Italians were unifying and about to kick out the Austrians. It starts with terrific scenes of performance of Tosca and becomes itself an opera without words - where the Italian contessa falls in love with the insincere Austrian officer, and sells out her countrymen only to find out that all he wanted was her money. Operatic plots are often quite silly but saved by the music. Here, there was no music.
After we left the gallery, we headed to the AV for dinner, to find it closed for its August holiday. We wound up at the Islander on 12th and U, a Trinidadian restaurant with live jazz. A very interesting Caribbean menu with curry flavor (that's Trinidad for you), and the food was not bad (some quite good flavors), but everything in the kitchen got mixed up. For instance, you are asked if you want A or B. You say A, and then they give you C. That sort of thing. Plus, they don't serve coffee. Whoever heard of that? No tea either. The waitress said "because we don't serve anything that is packaged". The meal was too expensive for what we got. The saxophone led jazz (we stayed for three pieces) was "easy listening jazz", and the listening was a little too easy. A few years ago we sat on the banks of the Snake River in Idaho Falls and heard an easy listening sax player. They could have gone to school together.
Friday, August 04, 2006
Civil War in Iraq? (21 cents)
The headlines say that Iraq is nearer than ever to civil war.
Where is the surprise?
I have just finished reading Paul Bremer's engaging memoir, "My Year in Iraq". Putting aside the arrogance that Bremer had, seeming to believe that, like Alexander Haig, "I am in charge", and that his direction had the best chance of bringing democracy to Iraq, it is perfectly clear that there was no plan to get from here to there.
But how could there be?
I don't think anything is different now than it was four years ago. You cannot take away the government of a country (whatever it may be) and expect another, to your liking, to rise in its place.
And this is particularly the case in Arab Moslem countries, or so it seems.
The essence of American democracy is that, first, the parties are built to encompass a number of views with no internal party discipline (such as you find in the U.K.), and second that if you use an election, you go on living and wait for the nex time.
Well, Iraq does not have parties, does not have large organizations where various views get heard, and certainly does not have the concept of giving up if you lose and waiting until next time.
Whether it is the religion, the heritage, or whatever, it appers to be the fact. If you are not on top, you believe that you will be shamed, belittled, and perhaps much worse. So you MUST wind up on top. If you don't get there, you must subvert those on top, in showings of strength and numbers.
This is just the way it is.
Divide the country up. Shiites, Sunnis and Kurds. I don't think you need to worry about the Sunnis and the Kurds; but the Shiites are danger, as every Sunni knows all too well.
So, Iran (non-Arab) and Hezbollah are enormous threats and, at this time, are probably not good partners for compromise. The war has begun. Perhaps it is World War III; perhaps it is a clash of civilizations.
East is east, and west is west.....
Where is the surprise?
I have just finished reading Paul Bremer's engaging memoir, "My Year in Iraq". Putting aside the arrogance that Bremer had, seeming to believe that, like Alexander Haig, "I am in charge", and that his direction had the best chance of bringing democracy to Iraq, it is perfectly clear that there was no plan to get from here to there.
But how could there be?
I don't think anything is different now than it was four years ago. You cannot take away the government of a country (whatever it may be) and expect another, to your liking, to rise in its place.
And this is particularly the case in Arab Moslem countries, or so it seems.
The essence of American democracy is that, first, the parties are built to encompass a number of views with no internal party discipline (such as you find in the U.K.), and second that if you use an election, you go on living and wait for the nex time.
Well, Iraq does not have parties, does not have large organizations where various views get heard, and certainly does not have the concept of giving up if you lose and waiting until next time.
Whether it is the religion, the heritage, or whatever, it appers to be the fact. If you are not on top, you believe that you will be shamed, belittled, and perhaps much worse. So you MUST wind up on top. If you don't get there, you must subvert those on top, in showings of strength and numbers.
This is just the way it is.
Divide the country up. Shiites, Sunnis and Kurds. I don't think you need to worry about the Sunnis and the Kurds; but the Shiites are danger, as every Sunni knows all too well.
So, Iran (non-Arab) and Hezbollah are enormous threats and, at this time, are probably not good partners for compromise. The war has begun. Perhaps it is World War III; perhaps it is a clash of civilizations.
East is east, and west is west.....
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
We missed the cricket demonstration
that was held on Sunday after the matinee of Wonderous Oblivion, but saw the movie tonight. Simple plot. London, 1960, working class, brick row house neighborhood. Holocaust survivors live amongst very English neighbors and are the object of prejudice until the black Jamaican family moves in next door. Twelve year old Jewish boy only wants to play cricket, but is not good enough to make the team. The Jamaicans put a cricket net in the backyard and the Jamaican father plays every evening with his two daughters. Jewish boy becomes part of the family (his parents' displeasure not withstanding) and becomes adept at the game and makes the team at his school. The former school outcast is now a big man on campus and invites his friends to a birthday party. They come, and when the Jamaican girl next door knocks on the door he sends her home. End of friendship between the boy and his neighbors. Also, end of budding romance ("We shouldn't be doing this") between Jewish mother and Jamaican father. In the meantime, Jamaican house is fire bombed, Jewish man rescues Jamaincan father from the smoke, everyone makes up, Jamaicans invite them to a Jamaican picnic with cricket, Jewish boy accepts invitation even though it means missing big school game, Jewish parents decide to move to Hendin, Jewish boy rebels, but Jamaican father tells him he must go with his family. Good feelings all around. End of film.
Very moving. Very well done. Very anxiety provoking. At the Avalon (our membership non profit theater).
Very moving. Very well done. Very anxiety provoking. At the Avalon (our membership non profit theater).
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
A Lesson in Journalism (1 cent)
Last Saturday, the Washington Post, on page 2 of its business section had two small articles on Walmart. The first said that Walmart was selling its 85 stores in Germany and pulling out of the country. Too bad, you say, that Walmart failed; must be tough on them. The second article said that Walmart's stock rose 93 cents on the announcement of its decision to close 85 stores in Germany. So, the stores were a drain and the company is better off without them. Congratulations to Walmart. Depends which article you read. Spin, spin, spin.
Believe it or not, the same page of the same paper on the same day had two small articles on Chevron. The first article said that Chevron's profit rose 18% in the second quarter based on results a year earlier and that this was their largest profit in 127 years of business. Way to go, Chevron. The second article said that Chevron stock went down $1.68 a share, because the 18% rise was below industry expectations.
I don't know if it was an accident that these articles appeared the way they did, or if it was deliberate. But it certainly teaches a lesson.
Believe it or not, the same page of the same paper on the same day had two small articles on Chevron. The first article said that Chevron's profit rose 18% in the second quarter based on results a year earlier and that this was their largest profit in 127 years of business. Way to go, Chevron. The second article said that Chevron stock went down $1.68 a share, because the 18% rise was below industry expectations.
I don't know if it was an accident that these articles appeared the way they did, or if it was deliberate. But it certainly teaches a lesson.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
"Them"
In the 1920s, I believe, Eugene Zamiatin wrote "We", a satire on Soviet life that has only recently been released in Russia, although it was immediately translated into English and other languages.
Whether or not Francine du Plessix Gray chose "Them" as the title of her biography of her mother, Tatiana du Plessix and her step father, Alexander Liberman, in deference to Zamiatin, I do not know.
But the story Gray tells is equally fascinating.
Both Tatiana and Alex were from Russia. Titiana from an old family, whose members included some extraordinary over achievers, and she herself the young lover of Russian revolutionary poet, Mayakovsky. Alex from a Russian Jewish family (actually he was 3/4 Jewish and 1/4 Gypsy), who also included over achievers, including his own father, who was one of the architects of Lenin's New Economic Policy.
Both had discombobulated childhoods, with fascinating mixtures of wonderful and terrible experiences. Both had been married before (and in fact Tatiana was married still when they met, and Gray already born (she is now 75), but her husband died in a plane crash when he was flying to London to meet up with de Gaul and the Free French.
They were separated when the Germans invaded France, barely made it out of Europe and wound up in New York. (Interestingly, both of their fathers had come to America years before, to lead very different lives from their lives in Europe.
In New York, Tatiana and Alex became a power couple. She became New York's premier ladies' hat designer, at a time when all women wore hats. She worked first at Henri Bendel, and then for decades at Sacks Fifth Avenue. Her customers included the cream of society and of the entertainment world.
He was both an artist (and in fact a world class sculptor), and for almost five decades worked at Conde Nast publications, a company that he ran for much of that time. Conde Nast published many important magazines, 'Vogue' became perhaps alwasy no. one.
So they were a "must meet" couple for people who wanted to meet other talented, wealthy, ambitious and publicity seeking people.
They raised their daughter/step daughter often as an afterthought to their professional and social lives, but enabled her to meet the biggest names not only in New York, but in the world. It seems that every day their upper east side brownstone was the site of an important social gathering.
Yet with all of this, these two were an weird as can be, and grew weirder with age. The book is fascinating. She follows the lives of her parents, her grandparents, and her extended family, both in Europe and in this country. She ends with her mother's death at 85 after she had become addicted to alcohol and pain medication, and her stepfather's, also at 85 (but 7 years after her mother died) following his marriage to Tatiana's Philippino nurse and the absolute, immediate and total change of his lifestyle.
Francine Gray's family and mine bear absolutely no resemblance to each other. None.
Whether or not Francine du Plessix Gray chose "Them" as the title of her biography of her mother, Tatiana du Plessix and her step father, Alexander Liberman, in deference to Zamiatin, I do not know.
But the story Gray tells is equally fascinating.
Both Tatiana and Alex were from Russia. Titiana from an old family, whose members included some extraordinary over achievers, and she herself the young lover of Russian revolutionary poet, Mayakovsky. Alex from a Russian Jewish family (actually he was 3/4 Jewish and 1/4 Gypsy), who also included over achievers, including his own father, who was one of the architects of Lenin's New Economic Policy.
Both had discombobulated childhoods, with fascinating mixtures of wonderful and terrible experiences. Both had been married before (and in fact Tatiana was married still when they met, and Gray already born (she is now 75), but her husband died in a plane crash when he was flying to London to meet up with de Gaul and the Free French.
They were separated when the Germans invaded France, barely made it out of Europe and wound up in New York. (Interestingly, both of their fathers had come to America years before, to lead very different lives from their lives in Europe.
In New York, Tatiana and Alex became a power couple. She became New York's premier ladies' hat designer, at a time when all women wore hats. She worked first at Henri Bendel, and then for decades at Sacks Fifth Avenue. Her customers included the cream of society and of the entertainment world.
He was both an artist (and in fact a world class sculptor), and for almost five decades worked at Conde Nast publications, a company that he ran for much of that time. Conde Nast published many important magazines, 'Vogue' became perhaps alwasy no. one.
So they were a "must meet" couple for people who wanted to meet other talented, wealthy, ambitious and publicity seeking people.
They raised their daughter/step daughter often as an afterthought to their professional and social lives, but enabled her to meet the biggest names not only in New York, but in the world. It seems that every day their upper east side brownstone was the site of an important social gathering.
Yet with all of this, these two were an weird as can be, and grew weirder with age. The book is fascinating. She follows the lives of her parents, her grandparents, and her extended family, both in Europe and in this country. She ends with her mother's death at 85 after she had become addicted to alcohol and pain medication, and her stepfather's, also at 85 (but 7 years after her mother died) following his marriage to Tatiana's Philippino nurse and the absolute, immediate and total change of his lifestyle.
Francine Gray's family and mine bear absolutely no resemblance to each other. None.
Tragedy: Avoidable or Not (10 cents)
A building collapses in Qana and over 50 are killed. A bomb explodes on a beach in Gaza and a family on a picnic are killed. Four U.N. employees in Southern Lebanon die.
These are tragedies, but are they avoidable, or simply what happens in war?
If the Israelis called an immediate unilateral ceasefire, what would happen?
If things went back to status quo ante, what would happen?
No one knows the answer to these questions.
But nothing could be worse for Israel's image, not only in the Arab and Muslim countries, but everywhere.
So, how does a country weigh all of this when, for the past 60 years, its neighbors have been targeting it for destruction? Will this incursion/invasion/war make a difference? For better, or for worse?
Should Israel worry about public opinion? Or should it ignore opinion, and not let it influence what it believes it must do? How quickly does public opinion change?
And what about the victims and the infrastructure destruction? Should Israel be involved in repairs or reparations?
And how do you square all of this with the every day Israel, of strong moral position, strong family loyalties, tremendous spiritual, scientific and cultural gifts to the world, who only want to live in peace?
This is very difficult to figure out.
These are tragedies, but are they avoidable, or simply what happens in war?
If the Israelis called an immediate unilateral ceasefire, what would happen?
If things went back to status quo ante, what would happen?
No one knows the answer to these questions.
But nothing could be worse for Israel's image, not only in the Arab and Muslim countries, but everywhere.
So, how does a country weigh all of this when, for the past 60 years, its neighbors have been targeting it for destruction? Will this incursion/invasion/war make a difference? For better, or for worse?
Should Israel worry about public opinion? Or should it ignore opinion, and not let it influence what it believes it must do? How quickly does public opinion change?
And what about the victims and the infrastructure destruction? Should Israel be involved in repairs or reparations?
And how do you square all of this with the every day Israel, of strong moral position, strong family loyalties, tremendous spiritual, scientific and cultural gifts to the world, who only want to live in peace?
This is very difficult to figure out.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
As Promised
I have to be more timely.
This week we have had a houseguest from Chernigov, which is in the northern Ukraine, near the Russian border. She is a bright 23 year old who works with young people in her city warning them about drugs, talking about HIV, and trying to help them become proper citizens of this new democracy (she does not instruct them about smoking; she needs to be instructed in this herself). She is one of four Ukrianians with similar jobs who spent this past week in Washington on a program sponsored by the National Peace Foundation and run by a friend of my wife's. This is the third time we have hosted a participant. The earlier two were Russian men, who were much more difficult to communicate with, although language is still a problem.
Activities with Irina have taken up a good portion of our weekend and evening activities. We met the group at America, the restaurant in Union Station for supper last Saturday, and on Sunday my wife took her to the gym and the farmers' market in Takoma Park and then (after we ducked out for the baseball game), we met the group at the National Gallery and looked at the special exhibit on Venetian art (more about that later), went to a word-less performance which was part of the DC Fringe Festival (a 45 minute display of acrobatics by two Cirque d'Soleil trained young women who were tenants being evicted from successive dwellings by voracious condominium converters; the dwellings were rings, trapezes and nets) and had a terrific supper at Rosa Mexicana (to our knowledge, no Mexican restaurants in the Ukraine), where we had (the three of us) snapper Vera Cruz, chicken enchiladas with tomatillo sauce, delicious lamb and, of course, guacamole and margheritas). Monday night, I met the group for a performance of a DC youth choir at the Kennedy Center and a casual supper at a cafe nearby. Each morning, we had to escort Irina to her 9 a.m. first stop. (I am not sure what happened when I went to Texas mid-week) and last night, we had dinner at our house (from which we are recovering today) for 13, with vegetable soup (Ukrainians need their soup at every meal; good for the digestion), cod, green beans, corn, cucumber and tomato salad (Ukrainians don't eat lettuce at home) and a selection of cakes and berries. Today, they went to the beach and we are no awaiting their return.
This week we have had a houseguest from Chernigov, which is in the northern Ukraine, near the Russian border. She is a bright 23 year old who works with young people in her city warning them about drugs, talking about HIV, and trying to help them become proper citizens of this new democracy (she does not instruct them about smoking; she needs to be instructed in this herself). She is one of four Ukrianians with similar jobs who spent this past week in Washington on a program sponsored by the National Peace Foundation and run by a friend of my wife's. This is the third time we have hosted a participant. The earlier two were Russian men, who were much more difficult to communicate with, although language is still a problem.
Activities with Irina have taken up a good portion of our weekend and evening activities. We met the group at America, the restaurant in Union Station for supper last Saturday, and on Sunday my wife took her to the gym and the farmers' market in Takoma Park and then (after we ducked out for the baseball game), we met the group at the National Gallery and looked at the special exhibit on Venetian art (more about that later), went to a word-less performance which was part of the DC Fringe Festival (a 45 minute display of acrobatics by two Cirque d'Soleil trained young women who were tenants being evicted from successive dwellings by voracious condominium converters; the dwellings were rings, trapezes and nets) and had a terrific supper at Rosa Mexicana (to our knowledge, no Mexican restaurants in the Ukraine), where we had (the three of us) snapper Vera Cruz, chicken enchiladas with tomatillo sauce, delicious lamb and, of course, guacamole and margheritas). Monday night, I met the group for a performance of a DC youth choir at the Kennedy Center and a casual supper at a cafe nearby. Each morning, we had to escort Irina to her 9 a.m. first stop. (I am not sure what happened when I went to Texas mid-week) and last night, we had dinner at our house (from which we are recovering today) for 13, with vegetable soup (Ukrainians need their soup at every meal; good for the digestion), cod, green beans, corn, cucumber and tomato salad (Ukrainians don't eat lettuce at home) and a selection of cakes and berries. Today, they went to the beach and we are no awaiting their return.
Impressions of Ft. Worth
There are few cities which I visit and say to myself: "Get me out of here". Ft. Worth is one of those.
I admit I was there only for about 24 hours, and maybe I am being unfair. But it is not like I saw any place that I wanted to see again, or better, or missed any place I thought might be worthwhile.
It took me about 40 minutes to get to Ft. Worth from the Dallas-Ft. Worth airport, and I was following the instructions to my hotel, located outside of downtown and near the campus of Texas Christian University. About TCU: don't come here because of the architecture, nor because you think that there are going to be intellectual establishments on the blocks surrounding the campus.
The hotel itself, a Marriott Courtyard, had one advantage, a very friendly desk clerk. Friendly and helpful. The hotel is more than adequate.
Dinner at a steak house next door (Marriott guests get a free appetizer) gave me an insight into the Ft. Worth scene. It was quite crowded; I had to wait almost 30 minutes on a Wednesday night. The average customer weighed about 250 pounds (and I am including women and children in my count), but considering what the restaurant served, that was probably less than you would expect.
The menu had, for main courses, a variety of steaks (listed by type and weight), chicken (mainly fried types, including "chicken fried chicken"), shrimp (fried), pork ("chicken fried pork") and salmon (which was advertised as smothered in some type of sauce). Each of the appetizers were fried, including the cheese. The soups were onion (with cheese) and "steak soup". There were a lot of desserts.
I took as my free appetizer the "fried mushrooms" with ranch dressing on the side. They must have given me 50 mushrooms. Unfortunately, they were delicious, but I held myself to 20.
I asked Lacey (what an unfortunate name these days, but very Texan), my waitress, what I should order of the steaks and she suggested the three medallion filets, medium or medium rare. I said OK, and she told me it came with a salad (turned out to be dinner size), and that I had a choice of a number of kinds of potatoes, such as french fries and baked with butter and chives and sour cream. I opted out and told me I could have fresh veggies and that sounded good. She brought a loaf of whole wheat bread, which I told her save for someone else.
20 mushrooms, 1/3 or so of my salad, 2 of the 3 medallions, and the veggies later (I had also had a margherita, called a rio rita there), and the bill came to only $27.
Looking at the people around me, I ate light. They ate and ate and ate.
Lacey was having a hard night, I thought, since the older fellow who with his wife at the table next door, said to her (after she stopped by to ask of everything was all right): "No, it's not. But what I want is for you to get the hell out of here and let me eat in peace". She smiled and backed away. Her boss, the manager, came by about ten minutes later, asking the same question and, of course, getting the same answer.
After the table emptied, I asked Lacey if this was a Ft. Worth term of endearment; I at least thought he must be a regular. She told me she was rather taken aback, but decided not to take it personally, but I think she was quite relieved to know that her boss got the same treatment.
The hotel is located along the banks of the Trinity River (which in drought condition looks more like a brackish sewer) and I did walk along the bike path in the morning a mile or two. There were the usual bikers, walkers, joggers and one roller blader. None said hello. I did not think that this was a very friendly place.
The next day for lunch downtown, I stopped into a "deli" and discovered it was a mini-counter, with four tables, and a soda/beer cooler, mainly for carry out. It was 100 degrees, so i was not going to carry anything anywhere, and I ordered a chicken salad sandwich on wheat bread, which for $4 came with a pickle and Lay's original chips.
Conclusion: you can eat cheap in Ft. Worth.
But it is ugly, ugly, ugly. And not very attractive besides.
I admit I was there only for about 24 hours, and maybe I am being unfair. But it is not like I saw any place that I wanted to see again, or better, or missed any place I thought might be worthwhile.
It took me about 40 minutes to get to Ft. Worth from the Dallas-Ft. Worth airport, and I was following the instructions to my hotel, located outside of downtown and near the campus of Texas Christian University. About TCU: don't come here because of the architecture, nor because you think that there are going to be intellectual establishments on the blocks surrounding the campus.
The hotel itself, a Marriott Courtyard, had one advantage, a very friendly desk clerk. Friendly and helpful. The hotel is more than adequate.
Dinner at a steak house next door (Marriott guests get a free appetizer) gave me an insight into the Ft. Worth scene. It was quite crowded; I had to wait almost 30 minutes on a Wednesday night. The average customer weighed about 250 pounds (and I am including women and children in my count), but considering what the restaurant served, that was probably less than you would expect.
The menu had, for main courses, a variety of steaks (listed by type and weight), chicken (mainly fried types, including "chicken fried chicken"), shrimp (fried), pork ("chicken fried pork") and salmon (which was advertised as smothered in some type of sauce). Each of the appetizers were fried, including the cheese. The soups were onion (with cheese) and "steak soup". There were a lot of desserts.
I took as my free appetizer the "fried mushrooms" with ranch dressing on the side. They must have given me 50 mushrooms. Unfortunately, they were delicious, but I held myself to 20.
I asked Lacey (what an unfortunate name these days, but very Texan), my waitress, what I should order of the steaks and she suggested the three medallion filets, medium or medium rare. I said OK, and she told me it came with a salad (turned out to be dinner size), and that I had a choice of a number of kinds of potatoes, such as french fries and baked with butter and chives and sour cream. I opted out and told me I could have fresh veggies and that sounded good. She brought a loaf of whole wheat bread, which I told her save for someone else.
20 mushrooms, 1/3 or so of my salad, 2 of the 3 medallions, and the veggies later (I had also had a margherita, called a rio rita there), and the bill came to only $27.
Looking at the people around me, I ate light. They ate and ate and ate.
Lacey was having a hard night, I thought, since the older fellow who with his wife at the table next door, said to her (after she stopped by to ask of everything was all right): "No, it's not. But what I want is for you to get the hell out of here and let me eat in peace". She smiled and backed away. Her boss, the manager, came by about ten minutes later, asking the same question and, of course, getting the same answer.
After the table emptied, I asked Lacey if this was a Ft. Worth term of endearment; I at least thought he must be a regular. She told me she was rather taken aback, but decided not to take it personally, but I think she was quite relieved to know that her boss got the same treatment.
The hotel is located along the banks of the Trinity River (which in drought condition looks more like a brackish sewer) and I did walk along the bike path in the morning a mile or two. There were the usual bikers, walkers, joggers and one roller blader. None said hello. I did not think that this was a very friendly place.
The next day for lunch downtown, I stopped into a "deli" and discovered it was a mini-counter, with four tables, and a soda/beer cooler, mainly for carry out. It was 100 degrees, so i was not going to carry anything anywhere, and I ordered a chicken salad sandwich on wheat bread, which for $4 came with a pickle and Lay's original chips.
Conclusion: you can eat cheap in Ft. Worth.
But it is ugly, ugly, ugly. And not very attractive besides.
Where is the Rembrandt? (1 cent)
In the apparent wasteland (also waistland, looking at the average citizen) that is Ft. Worth, there are many signs leading you to the Culture Center. Here, you find buildings devoted to Will Rogers, a large botanical garden, and several museums. The best known is the Kimbell Art Museum, a relatively young museum located in a stunning building designed by Louis Kahn.
Now, when I say that the building is stunning, let me qualify that a bit. The setting is not stunning, nor are the views from the building. It is set in a flat park-like setting (not a park, but park-like, or park-lite), and one of its advantages is that when you are in it or in front of it, you really cannot see any where else.
Also, the building from the outside is not particularly attractive. A series of cones turned on their side, it does not have a very strong appearance, and it does not look like it will pass the test of time. And it certainly is out of context with any other building in Ft. Worth.
But inside is a different story. It is not a big museum, although because there were no special exhibits on display, I don't think I saw the entire building. But you walk into a large room, with an information desk in front of you, and exhibits of non-European art stretching to your right and left.
You go up the stairs to be rear of the desk, and you are on the second floor, which contains three sections (which were open): a large book/gift shop; a very nice cafe/restaurant; and the part of the museum holding the European permanent collection.
There is no American art on display.
Every architectural nuance on the inside of this building is perfect. The light (which comes mainly from natural sources) is extraordinary. The restaurant and the bookstore are both very spacious. And the way the art is displayed, and the signage, could not be improved.
You have an overwhelming sense of time and space to look at the art.
This is not a large museum in the size of its collection. It does not need off site storage, because the entire collection is about 350 pieces. I am not sure how many are displayed. Perhaps 100 or so. Each is a masterpiece (ok, maybe a very few exceptions)
And, I only saw one piece per artist (with almost every really well known artist represented (yes, no da Vinci,
and no van Gogh), except for two Picassos.
You may remember my note on the book of travel articles on Prague, where I thought that everything a tourist ever saw in Prague was mentioned (one time) in the book, except for Velkopopovicky beer, until I got to the last page, and there it was. Here, I thought everyone was represented (with the two understandable exceptions above), but I thought.....they don't have a Rembrandt.
Yet, when I got to the very last picture, there it was, Rembrandt's portrait entitled "Bust of a Young Jew".
Yes, just like the book.
Now, when I say that the building is stunning, let me qualify that a bit. The setting is not stunning, nor are the views from the building. It is set in a flat park-like setting (not a park, but park-like, or park-lite), and one of its advantages is that when you are in it or in front of it, you really cannot see any where else.
Also, the building from the outside is not particularly attractive. A series of cones turned on their side, it does not have a very strong appearance, and it does not look like it will pass the test of time. And it certainly is out of context with any other building in Ft. Worth.
But inside is a different story. It is not a big museum, although because there were no special exhibits on display, I don't think I saw the entire building. But you walk into a large room, with an information desk in front of you, and exhibits of non-European art stretching to your right and left.
You go up the stairs to be rear of the desk, and you are on the second floor, which contains three sections (which were open): a large book/gift shop; a very nice cafe/restaurant; and the part of the museum holding the European permanent collection.
There is no American art on display.
Every architectural nuance on the inside of this building is perfect. The light (which comes mainly from natural sources) is extraordinary. The restaurant and the bookstore are both very spacious. And the way the art is displayed, and the signage, could not be improved.
You have an overwhelming sense of time and space to look at the art.
This is not a large museum in the size of its collection. It does not need off site storage, because the entire collection is about 350 pieces. I am not sure how many are displayed. Perhaps 100 or so. Each is a masterpiece (ok, maybe a very few exceptions)
And, I only saw one piece per artist (with almost every really well known artist represented (yes, no da Vinci,
and no van Gogh), except for two Picassos.
You may remember my note on the book of travel articles on Prague, where I thought that everything a tourist ever saw in Prague was mentioned (one time) in the book, except for Velkopopovicky beer, until I got to the last page, and there it was. Here, I thought everyone was represented (with the two understandable exceptions above), but I thought.....they don't have a Rembrandt.
Yet, when I got to the very last picture, there it was, Rembrandt's portrait entitled "Bust of a Young Jew".
Yes, just like the book.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Coming Soon ($4.02)
I have been slow to post this week, because of house guest and travel to Texas, but coming in the next few days will be items such as:
what I liked about Ft. Worth (extremely short blog)
what I did not like about Ft. Worth (unbelievably long blog)
The Kimball Museum at Mr. Rembrandt
Ukranians in DC
Six in a Row
Venice at the National Gallery
Rosa Mexicana
what I liked about Ft. Worth (extremely short blog)
what I did not like about Ft. Worth (unbelievably long blog)
The Kimball Museum at Mr. Rembrandt
Ukranians in DC
Six in a Row
Venice at the National Gallery
Rosa Mexicana
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Israel/Hezbollah/Lebanon (1 cent)
It is hard to judge whether Israel's destruction of so much of the Lebanese infrastructure is necessary. From here, obviously, it seems excessive.
But we are here, not there.
Israel, after mishandling its occupation of the territories captured in 1967 so badly, withdrew from southern Lebanon in 2000, and from Gaza several months ago. Within Israel, there are those who said that this was a terrible mistake, that it would only open the borders to attack. These Israelis turned out to be correct, aided by their allies in Hamas and Hezbollah.
Clearly not allies in the sense in which the word is normally used, but allies in the belief that peaceful relations are not possible, and that therefore attempts at peaceful relations are misguided.
On the Arab side, it started with Katyusha rockets falling on the border town of Sderot, fired by Hamas in Gaza, day after day after day. There was no Israeli response. Then, there was the capture of two Israeli soldiers by Hamas and the Israelis, as they say, went ballistic.
Seeing the Israeli reaction, Hezbollah in the north decide to move into Israel and capture a few more soldiers. Another strong Israeli action, followed by missles fired into Israel by Hezbollah from Lebanon.
The Palestineans elect a Hamas majority in Parliament; Hezbollah becomes a part of the Lebanese government. Yet, when elected to membership in these coalition governments, Hamas and Hezbollah did not put their independent factions under government control, but let them continue to operate with impunity, knowing that governmental ability to rein them in would be ineffective.
So, in effect, both Lebanon and Gaza were in somewhat parallel situations, each with two parallel governments.
Neither Hezbollah nor Hamas is self sufficient, with Syria the main supporter of Hamas and Iran, operating on roads through Syria, is Hezbollah's main supplier. Gaza can be effectively cordoned off, one presumes, but Lebanon is another story. Only through destruction of the means of supply (i.e., airports and roads into Syria from Lebanon) can there be any hope of weakening Hezbollah. And, they already apparently have 13,000 rockets in the country.
Even without Israel, the middle east is unstable. The Sunnis (Hamas) and the Shiites (Hezbollah) are about as friendly to each other as are the Arabs and Israelis. There is much more death in Iraq, where Sunni-Shiite violence seems to grow daily, than there is in Lebanon. Iran and Iraq have fought major wars; Lebanon has been wracked by civil war. Iraq's coalition government could fall apart at any moment. Iran, the non-Arab country, is under Arab suspicion because it is not Arab; Iran has dreams of empire which would be heightened if they indeed develop nuclear warfare capacity. The gulf Arabs (Saudi Arabia and the gulf states) want no part of any of this. Nor does Egypt, although its population at any point could overturn the Mubarak government. And King Abdullah of Jordan is very forward thinking, but his population is more Palestinian than Jordanian.
The Israelis are not dumb. They recognize that what they are doing in Lebanon will harden Arab (and other) hearts against them, and it cannot be fun to bomb your neighbor. So, they must be convinced they are following the correct path. And the U.S., going out of its way not to call for any cessation of hostilities at this time, must agree with them. And hwo knows what could possibly be going on behind the scenes diplomatically involving who knows what countries.
If Israel had let the current provocations go unanswered, and Hamas had gained ground in Gaza, while Hezbollah continued to build up its armaments in Lebanon under the aegis of a nuclear Iran, there is no telling what could have happened. It is this nightmare that the Israelis are trying to avoid through the current, lesser nightmare.
Are the right or wrong? Who knows?
Perhaps, of course, unless your are a fundamentalist, evangelical Christian. If so, you may be pleased as punch. After all, you could say, didn't God direct the Jews to develop the concept of political Zionism, so that the Arabs could develop the concept of political jihad, so that massive battles could take place as prophesied, so that the believing Christians could be raptured up on high?
Who is the man behind the current pulling the strings here? Is he an Arab, a Jew, or a ________?
But we are here, not there.
Israel, after mishandling its occupation of the territories captured in 1967 so badly, withdrew from southern Lebanon in 2000, and from Gaza several months ago. Within Israel, there are those who said that this was a terrible mistake, that it would only open the borders to attack. These Israelis turned out to be correct, aided by their allies in Hamas and Hezbollah.
Clearly not allies in the sense in which the word is normally used, but allies in the belief that peaceful relations are not possible, and that therefore attempts at peaceful relations are misguided.
On the Arab side, it started with Katyusha rockets falling on the border town of Sderot, fired by Hamas in Gaza, day after day after day. There was no Israeli response. Then, there was the capture of two Israeli soldiers by Hamas and the Israelis, as they say, went ballistic.
Seeing the Israeli reaction, Hezbollah in the north decide to move into Israel and capture a few more soldiers. Another strong Israeli action, followed by missles fired into Israel by Hezbollah from Lebanon.
The Palestineans elect a Hamas majority in Parliament; Hezbollah becomes a part of the Lebanese government. Yet, when elected to membership in these coalition governments, Hamas and Hezbollah did not put their independent factions under government control, but let them continue to operate with impunity, knowing that governmental ability to rein them in would be ineffective.
So, in effect, both Lebanon and Gaza were in somewhat parallel situations, each with two parallel governments.
Neither Hezbollah nor Hamas is self sufficient, with Syria the main supporter of Hamas and Iran, operating on roads through Syria, is Hezbollah's main supplier. Gaza can be effectively cordoned off, one presumes, but Lebanon is another story. Only through destruction of the means of supply (i.e., airports and roads into Syria from Lebanon) can there be any hope of weakening Hezbollah. And, they already apparently have 13,000 rockets in the country.
Even without Israel, the middle east is unstable. The Sunnis (Hamas) and the Shiites (Hezbollah) are about as friendly to each other as are the Arabs and Israelis. There is much more death in Iraq, where Sunni-Shiite violence seems to grow daily, than there is in Lebanon. Iran and Iraq have fought major wars; Lebanon has been wracked by civil war. Iraq's coalition government could fall apart at any moment. Iran, the non-Arab country, is under Arab suspicion because it is not Arab; Iran has dreams of empire which would be heightened if they indeed develop nuclear warfare capacity. The gulf Arabs (Saudi Arabia and the gulf states) want no part of any of this. Nor does Egypt, although its population at any point could overturn the Mubarak government. And King Abdullah of Jordan is very forward thinking, but his population is more Palestinian than Jordanian.
The Israelis are not dumb. They recognize that what they are doing in Lebanon will harden Arab (and other) hearts against them, and it cannot be fun to bomb your neighbor. So, they must be convinced they are following the correct path. And the U.S., going out of its way not to call for any cessation of hostilities at this time, must agree with them. And hwo knows what could possibly be going on behind the scenes diplomatically involving who knows what countries.
If Israel had let the current provocations go unanswered, and Hamas had gained ground in Gaza, while Hezbollah continued to build up its armaments in Lebanon under the aegis of a nuclear Iran, there is no telling what could have happened. It is this nightmare that the Israelis are trying to avoid through the current, lesser nightmare.
Are the right or wrong? Who knows?
Perhaps, of course, unless your are a fundamentalist, evangelical Christian. If so, you may be pleased as punch. After all, you could say, didn't God direct the Jews to develop the concept of political Zionism, so that the Arabs could develop the concept of political jihad, so that massive battles could take place as prophesied, so that the believing Christians could be raptured up on high?
Who is the man behind the current pulling the strings here? Is he an Arab, a Jew, or a ________?
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Great Upper Body Exercise (one cent)
Great upper body exercise is one of the benefits of attending Thursday night's NSO concert at Wolf Trap. Although they started with the score from the Lord of the Rings (a silly piece of music, not worthy of a concert stage) and a medley of Wagner favorites (Wagner-lite), which were accpetable if not profound, they concluded with Orff's Carmina Burana, featuring teh Washington Chorus (120 members strong) and three excellent soloists from the Wolf Trap Opera Company.
The tremendous performance was appreciated by the large crowd, who gave them a 7 minute standing ovation. Great Upper Body Exercise.
Before the show, we had supper at Ovations, the restaurant of Wolf Trap. It is very comfortable to sit outside on a nice night watching the pic-nickers. We had the $25 buffet (soup, salad, entree, veggies and desserts) along with a drink and coffee. Not cheap, but tasty enough.
The tremendous performance was appreciated by the large crowd, who gave them a 7 minute standing ovation. Great Upper Body Exercise.
Before the show, we had supper at Ovations, the restaurant of Wolf Trap. It is very comfortable to sit outside on a nice night watching the pic-nickers. We had the $25 buffet (soup, salad, entree, veggies and desserts) along with a drink and coffee. Not cheap, but tasty enough.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Ariel Dorfman Again (1 cent)
I went back to Dorfman's "Heading South, Looking North", thinking that I had done justice to it the first time. This time, I finished it.
To recap, Dorfman was born in Argentina, quickly moved with his family to the U.S., then moved back to Chile, then again to the U.S., then Chile, the Argentina, the Europe and again the U.S., where he teaches at Duke, and writes.
He went from being bilingual to speaking English only, the Spanish only, then English only, then Spanish only and now either.
His father was a Communist, he was an elitist, then a socialist, then an Allende supporter, etc. He could have been killed after the fall of Allende, but wasn't.
He is a complicated person, to put it mildly.
And the book? It is the story of the history of his times, which means it is the story of Ariel Dorfman. He is the center of whatever universe he is a part of. Major political or social movements are only backdrops to make it easier to understand Dorfman.
This time I finished the book. I still did not care for it.
To recap, Dorfman was born in Argentina, quickly moved with his family to the U.S., then moved back to Chile, then again to the U.S., then Chile, the Argentina, the Europe and again the U.S., where he teaches at Duke, and writes.
He went from being bilingual to speaking English only, the Spanish only, then English only, then Spanish only and now either.
His father was a Communist, he was an elitist, then a socialist, then an Allende supporter, etc. He could have been killed after the fall of Allende, but wasn't.
He is a complicated person, to put it mildly.
And the book? It is the story of the history of his times, which means it is the story of Ariel Dorfman. He is the center of whatever universe he is a part of. Major political or social movements are only backdrops to make it easier to understand Dorfman.
This time I finished the book. I still did not care for it.
Facing East: Portraits from Asia (1 cent)
This is a wonderful exhibit of portraiture from China, Japan, India, Persia and nearby places, spanning well over 2000 years. There are 70 pieces on display, all part of the Sackler and Freer collections, and they at the Sackler through September 4. A very informative review of the exhibit was written in the Post on July 9; it can be accessed through the Sackler web site.
Go see.
Go see.
Melwood: Apply Directly to Forehead (28 cents)
Every time I hear a soporific radio ad for Melwood, backed by even more soporific music (even Muzak would be an improvement), I automatically turn to another station. I am sure that Melwood does good work (it appears to be a non-profit that helps people with serious problems, and that really wants your old cars and boats), but its ads are maddening. And what is worse, in addition to Melwood, there now appear to be Melwood-wannabes who suffer from the same disease.
Now, on television, there is an ad for something or other (I assume it is a remedy for some malady) that ends with a lady saying "Apply it directly to your forehead! Apply it directly to your forehead! Apply it directly to your forehead!" in an abrasive voice, while you see a picture of a forehead being battered by somebody holding a bottle (jar? can? package?) of this wonder drug.
Then, I realized that this is what I don't like about Melwood. When I hear the sob story and strings, I feel like someone is applying it directly to my forehead.
Come on, Madison Avenue, can't you do better than that?
Now, on television, there is an ad for something or other (I assume it is a remedy for some malady) that ends with a lady saying "Apply it directly to your forehead! Apply it directly to your forehead! Apply it directly to your forehead!" in an abrasive voice, while you see a picture of a forehead being battered by somebody holding a bottle (jar? can? package?) of this wonder drug.
Then, I realized that this is what I don't like about Melwood. When I hear the sob story and strings, I feel like someone is applying it directly to my forehead.
Come on, Madison Avenue, can't you do better than that?
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Victorina's Secret (one cent)
The 2005 French movie, Gilles' Wife, gets decent reviews, but I am not sure why. Elisa's sister Victorina and Elisa's husband Gilles have a long running affair, which goes bad. Gilles is a lunatic (I agree with Elisa's mother) and among other things beats up Victorina when she announces she is going to marry Marachel the tobacconist. Elisa puts up with everything, cooks his meals, rubs his back, washes his clothes, takes perfect care of her three perfect children, and jumps out of her attic window. It is nicely photographed (with several scenes of outside darkness and inside light that Vermeer could have designed), supposedly set in Belgium in the 1930s, but I think that in fact it was set earlier than that, unless Belgium had no autos in the 30's (except for an open truck of 1915 vintage.
Sitting through the movie was painful. Deciding whether to see Gilles' Wife again or Assassins again is a Hobson's choice.
Sitting through the movie was painful. Deciding whether to see Gilles' Wife again or Assassins again is a Hobson's choice.
Monday, July 17, 2006
AliAnsariatPoliticsandProse
Iwenttohearaliansariatpoliticsandprosetonightwherehespokeabouthisbook"ConfrontingIran". Hespokeveryveryfastanditwassometimesdifficulttokeepupwithimbutitriedasbesticould.
heisiranianbutlivesinscotlandandhaswrittenanumberofbooksoniran. Hethinksthathtewestandtheusinparticularhaveblownitfornowbutdidnothaveto.
He did say some thought provoking things:
1. George Bush is one of the best shahs Iran has ever had. By making it possible for them to take such an active role both in Shiite southern Iraq and in Kurdish Iraq, and by destroying Iraq's oil capacity, he has given the Persians for the first time in a couple of centuries the chance to think about an empire.
2. By simply calling Iran a part of the evil empire, Bush changed Iran from a foreign affairs issue to a domestic issue, leaving out the chance for progress in relationships.
3. Until 20 years ago, Iran and the U.S., and Iran and Israel, were the best of friends. This makes the current situation all the more difficult. The enemies of all then were the Arabs.
4. Moderate president Katami and Clinton should have done much more. Israeli president Katsev is Iranian, and he and Katami went to school together.
5. He does not think that Aminjahad is out to kill the Jews. The internal reaction to the president's holocaust denial remarks were very strongly adverse, with Hatami telling parliament if one Jew died at the hands of the Nazis, it would have been too many. But the aversion to Zionist Israel is strongly felt in the country.
6. Even when Persia was a strong power, they tended to operate by stealth more than numbers. So, their use of terror tactics, support of Hezbollah, etc. is not out of character.
The session went on for an hour and a half, including questions about Israel, Bahai, Zoroastrians, oil and gas, and so forth.
I don't think that many books were sold, however, as Ansari told us so much tonight that most people did not want to know, or did not need to know, any more.
heisiranianbutlivesinscotlandandhaswrittenanumberofbooksoniran. Hethinksthathtewestandtheusinparticularhaveblownitfornowbutdidnothaveto.
He did say some thought provoking things:
1. George Bush is one of the best shahs Iran has ever had. By making it possible for them to take such an active role both in Shiite southern Iraq and in Kurdish Iraq, and by destroying Iraq's oil capacity, he has given the Persians for the first time in a couple of centuries the chance to think about an empire.
2. By simply calling Iran a part of the evil empire, Bush changed Iran from a foreign affairs issue to a domestic issue, leaving out the chance for progress in relationships.
3. Until 20 years ago, Iran and the U.S., and Iran and Israel, were the best of friends. This makes the current situation all the more difficult. The enemies of all then were the Arabs.
4. Moderate president Katami and Clinton should have done much more. Israeli president Katsev is Iranian, and he and Katami went to school together.
5. He does not think that Aminjahad is out to kill the Jews. The internal reaction to the president's holocaust denial remarks were very strongly adverse, with Hatami telling parliament if one Jew died at the hands of the Nazis, it would have been too many. But the aversion to Zionist Israel is strongly felt in the country.
6. Even when Persia was a strong power, they tended to operate by stealth more than numbers. So, their use of terror tactics, support of Hezbollah, etc. is not out of character.
The session went on for an hour and a half, including questions about Israel, Bahai, Zoroastrians, oil and gas, and so forth.
I don't think that many books were sold, however, as Ansari told us so much tonight that most people did not want to know, or did not need to know, any more.
Wild Swans (12 cents)
Everyone tells me I should read "Wild Swans" and learn about hardship in China. It's a book that everyone raves about.
But it is so long.
And, instead, I found "Bound Feet and Western Dress", by Pang-Mei Natasha Chang, daughter of a Chinese born Yale professor, and herself a recent Harvard Chinese Studies graduate, who has struggled with her Chinese and American identies throughout her life.
She tells of her upbringing in Connecticut, her family on the west and east coasts, and their "strange" ways, which reflect on their Chinese background and earlier years. But she has no first-hand appreciation of life in China.
That is, until she meets her fathers remarkable aunt, Yu-i, who moves from San Francisco to New York and becomes a regular visitor, and a very formal one, to her parents' house.
Over the years, she gets closer and closer to Yu-i, who was born in 1900 and left China for Hong Kong in 1949, after the Communist takeover, settling in Hong Kong and coming to this country almost thirty years later. Yu-i dies in 1989.
Yu-i's story is a remarkable one. Her family (and Pang-Mei's father's family), the Changs, were very wealthy and very prosperous in the China that existed before the Sun Yat-sen revolution in 1915, although a family scandal (her grandfather was accused of a theft by a relative) shamed them into relocation and poverty. But they persevered, most members were very intelligent and were sent to the best schools, in China and more importantly abroad, learned Chinese and Western culture, and promised to be members of the elite of the new China.
But the old ways died hard, and Yu-i was married by her parents at age 15 to a young man who was destined to become one of China's leading poets and intellectuals. It is the rocky story of this marriage, and of Yu-i's children, that forms the basis of the book. Husband and wife were separated for years, then lived together in Germany and England, and then they separated again, this time for good. In fact, they were the first "modern divorce" granted by Chinese authorities, and became celebrities. Yet, although Yu-i was divorced by her husband (all his idea, and he was to marry twice more before dying in a plane crash in the late 1930s), she remained devoted to him intellectually, and devoted to his parents as if she was still married to their son and part of the family.
A divorcee in China, with modern and traditional principles, Yu-i was unique. She was also very intelligent, extremely practical (got a problem, call Yu-i), and she became a women's dress store manager, and an officer and eventually president of a women's bank, which operated until the Communists came, throughout the Japanese occupation of World War II.
Yu-i was not the only Chinese of an earlier generation to find a place in Chang's book. The other was a woman who was a combination maid and nanny, Xu Ma, in some ways perhaps similar to Yu-i (in intelligence and general competency), but from a very different social and economic class, who had worked her father's family since the 1930s in Shanghai. Her story is another story of survival, of a very different type. She was also married off as a child bride, to a man who became an addict and was abusive, and she obtained a position with the Chang family only by chance.
Chinese women of a certain class used to have bound feet. The process is described in detail when it was time for Yu-i's feet to be wrapped to start the process. It was her rebellion and the surprising support from one of her brothers that enabled her to avoid having her toes broken which would have sentenced her to a lifetime of servility and helplessness. At the time, when her mother agreed that her feet did not have to be bound, it was viewed as a calamity: who would marry a girl with big feet?
Hence the title of the book.
But it is so long.
And, instead, I found "Bound Feet and Western Dress", by Pang-Mei Natasha Chang, daughter of a Chinese born Yale professor, and herself a recent Harvard Chinese Studies graduate, who has struggled with her Chinese and American identies throughout her life.
She tells of her upbringing in Connecticut, her family on the west and east coasts, and their "strange" ways, which reflect on their Chinese background and earlier years. But she has no first-hand appreciation of life in China.
That is, until she meets her fathers remarkable aunt, Yu-i, who moves from San Francisco to New York and becomes a regular visitor, and a very formal one, to her parents' house.
Over the years, she gets closer and closer to Yu-i, who was born in 1900 and left China for Hong Kong in 1949, after the Communist takeover, settling in Hong Kong and coming to this country almost thirty years later. Yu-i dies in 1989.
Yu-i's story is a remarkable one. Her family (and Pang-Mei's father's family), the Changs, were very wealthy and very prosperous in the China that existed before the Sun Yat-sen revolution in 1915, although a family scandal (her grandfather was accused of a theft by a relative) shamed them into relocation and poverty. But they persevered, most members were very intelligent and were sent to the best schools, in China and more importantly abroad, learned Chinese and Western culture, and promised to be members of the elite of the new China.
But the old ways died hard, and Yu-i was married by her parents at age 15 to a young man who was destined to become one of China's leading poets and intellectuals. It is the rocky story of this marriage, and of Yu-i's children, that forms the basis of the book. Husband and wife were separated for years, then lived together in Germany and England, and then they separated again, this time for good. In fact, they were the first "modern divorce" granted by Chinese authorities, and became celebrities. Yet, although Yu-i was divorced by her husband (all his idea, and he was to marry twice more before dying in a plane crash in the late 1930s), she remained devoted to him intellectually, and devoted to his parents as if she was still married to their son and part of the family.
A divorcee in China, with modern and traditional principles, Yu-i was unique. She was also very intelligent, extremely practical (got a problem, call Yu-i), and she became a women's dress store manager, and an officer and eventually president of a women's bank, which operated until the Communists came, throughout the Japanese occupation of World War II.
Yu-i was not the only Chinese of an earlier generation to find a place in Chang's book. The other was a woman who was a combination maid and nanny, Xu Ma, in some ways perhaps similar to Yu-i (in intelligence and general competency), but from a very different social and economic class, who had worked her father's family since the 1930s in Shanghai. Her story is another story of survival, of a very different type. She was also married off as a child bride, to a man who became an addict and was abusive, and she obtained a position with the Chang family only by chance.
Chinese women of a certain class used to have bound feet. The process is described in detail when it was time for Yu-i's feet to be wrapped to start the process. It was her rebellion and the surprising support from one of her brothers that enabled her to avoid having her toes broken which would have sentenced her to a lifetime of servility and helplessness. At the time, when her mother agreed that her feet did not have to be bound, it was viewed as a calamity: who would marry a girl with big feet?
Hence the title of the book.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Assassins
We just saw Assasins, the Sondheim musical (?) about presidential assassinations.
If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all. That's my motto.
If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all. That's my motto.
Day Trip to Philadelphia
We went to see the large exhibit of Andrew Wyeth paintings at the Museum of Art. It had been there since April, but this was its final weekend.
We had seen Wyeth of course many times before, both at special exhibitions here, and at the Brandywine Museum at Chadd's Ford. We especially liked a smaller exhibit of his paintings of an African American friend which was shown here a couple of years ago. But we hoped for more from this one.
The exhibit was certainly interesting, and you have to admire Wyeth's technique. Whether his subject matter is generally of interest is, to me, something else, as well as whether his work shows any large changes or growth over the years. Wyeth is going to turn 90 next year, and as far as I know he is still painting. So much for the sickly child he apparently used to be.
I thought that the exhibit was arranged very interestingly. Each room was a different topic. So, there would be a room devoted to portraits, and a room devoted to nature, and so forth. And many of the paintings were "paired", one of the 40's, say, with one of the 80's. This was to show continuity.
Is Wyeth a realist? Not entirely, although his paintings look real. He combines locations, he moves structures, he omits what he doesn't want to show. It is almost a mystical reality, meant to evoke mood as much as to freeze a moment in time.
The audio accompaniment was very interesting, including several conversations with Wyeth himself. Much of this concentrated on the relationship between the individual pictures and people and places associated with Wyeth. In fact, his paintings appear to be as much a diary as anything else, which gives them most a type of interest that they otherwise would lack but, at the same time, takes away something as well.
We were also surprised that some of his best known works (such as "Christina's World") were not represented, and that so few of the "Helga" paintings were on display.
After the show, I looked through the comment book. Many comments were written by children who saw the exhibition with their classmates and who said such things as: "Keep up the good work" and "In 'Airborne' was there a bird that was hit by something [feathers floating in the sky]? If so, this was the funniest picture ever. Please email me an answer." and "I'm more of a musician. Why take a picture of something if it is already there?"
We had seen Wyeth of course many times before, both at special exhibitions here, and at the Brandywine Museum at Chadd's Ford. We especially liked a smaller exhibit of his paintings of an African American friend which was shown here a couple of years ago. But we hoped for more from this one.
The exhibit was certainly interesting, and you have to admire Wyeth's technique. Whether his subject matter is generally of interest is, to me, something else, as well as whether his work shows any large changes or growth over the years. Wyeth is going to turn 90 next year, and as far as I know he is still painting. So much for the sickly child he apparently used to be.
I thought that the exhibit was arranged very interestingly. Each room was a different topic. So, there would be a room devoted to portraits, and a room devoted to nature, and so forth. And many of the paintings were "paired", one of the 40's, say, with one of the 80's. This was to show continuity.
Is Wyeth a realist? Not entirely, although his paintings look real. He combines locations, he moves structures, he omits what he doesn't want to show. It is almost a mystical reality, meant to evoke mood as much as to freeze a moment in time.
The audio accompaniment was very interesting, including several conversations with Wyeth himself. Much of this concentrated on the relationship between the individual pictures and people and places associated with Wyeth. In fact, his paintings appear to be as much a diary as anything else, which gives them most a type of interest that they otherwise would lack but, at the same time, takes away something as well.
We were also surprised that some of his best known works (such as "Christina's World") were not represented, and that so few of the "Helga" paintings were on display.
After the show, I looked through the comment book. Many comments were written by children who saw the exhibition with their classmates and who said such things as: "Keep up the good work" and "In 'Airborne' was there a bird that was hit by something [feathers floating in the sky]? If so, this was the funniest picture ever. Please email me an answer." and "I'm more of a musician. Why take a picture of something if it is already there?"
Friday, July 14, 2006
MFA Kera (13 cents)
Have you ever heard of MFA Kera? This is the name of a woman with an extraordinary voice who was born on Madagascar, raised in Senegal and has spent her adult years living in Paris and Berlin. We saw her with the Black Heritage Band (that is her group, along with singer/guitarist Mike Russell's) at the Hirshhorn's Thursday night jazz concert yesterday.
The group has only a guitar, bass, keyboard and drums. Playing with them last night was a Nigerian conga drummer.
The entire event was somewhat overamplified, but that did not detract from Kera's range and use of various languages and inflections in a variety of songs. Most had an African base, I think, but she clearly has what would be termed an international style.
I was sorry that the program did not detail the songs, because none were familiar. Perhaps the most memorable was a train song, the train going from Senegal to Gabon, with a woman passenger, who got on with three goats (she does a great goat imitation). But one goat was pregnant and delivered on the train. How many goats needed to be paid for? That caused all the trouble.
There were over 100 people in the audience, and many then went into the musuem to hear scholar John Neff talk about Kiefer (more a lecture than a tour). My wife thought Neff very interesting; I thought he droned on much too long.
The group has only a guitar, bass, keyboard and drums. Playing with them last night was a Nigerian conga drummer.
The entire event was somewhat overamplified, but that did not detract from Kera's range and use of various languages and inflections in a variety of songs. Most had an African base, I think, but she clearly has what would be termed an international style.
I was sorry that the program did not detail the songs, because none were familiar. Perhaps the most memorable was a train song, the train going from Senegal to Gabon, with a woman passenger, who got on with three goats (she does a great goat imitation). But one goat was pregnant and delivered on the train. How many goats needed to be paid for? That caused all the trouble.
There were over 100 people in the audience, and many then went into the musuem to hear scholar John Neff talk about Kiefer (more a lecture than a tour). My wife thought Neff very interesting; I thought he droned on much too long.
MFA Kera (13 cents)
Have you ever heard of MFA Kera? This is the name of a woman with an extraordinary voice who was born on Madagascar, raised in Senegal and has spent her adult years living in Paris and Berlin. We saw her with the Black Heritage Band (that is her group, along with singer/guitarist Mike Russell's) at the Hirshhorn's Thursday night jazz concert yesterday.
The group has only a guitar, bass, keyboard and drums. Playing with them last night was a Nigerian conga drummer.
The entire event was somewhat overamplified, but that did not detract from Kera's range and use of various languages and inflections in a variety of songs. Most had an African base, I think, but she clearly has what would be termed an international style.
I was sorry that the program did not detail the songs, because none were familiar. Perhaps the most memorable was a train song, the train going from Senegal to Gabon, with a woman passenger, who got on with three goats (she does a great goat imitation). But one goat was pregnant and delivered on the train. How many goats needed to be paid for? That caused all the trouble.
There were over 100 people in the audience, and many then went into the musuem to hear scholar John Neff talk about Kiefer (more a lecture than a tour). My wife thought Neff very interesting; I thought he droned on much too long.
The group has only a guitar, bass, keyboard and drums. Playing with them last night was a Nigerian conga drummer.
The entire event was somewhat overamplified, but that did not detract from Kera's range and use of various languages and inflections in a variety of songs. Most had an African base, I think, but she clearly has what would be termed an international style.
I was sorry that the program did not detail the songs, because none were familiar. Perhaps the most memorable was a train song, the train going from Senegal to Gabon, with a woman passenger, who got on with three goats (she does a great goat imitation). But one goat was pregnant and delivered on the train. How many goats needed to be paid for? That caused all the trouble.
There were over 100 people in the audience, and many then went into the musuem to hear scholar John Neff talk about Kiefer (more a lecture than a tour). My wife thought Neff very interesting; I thought he droned on much too long.
MFA Kera (13 cents)
Have you ever heard of MFA Kera? This is the name of a woman with an extraordinary voice who was born on Madagascar, raised in Senegal and has spent her adult years living in Paris and Berlin. We saw her with the Black Heritage Band (that is her group, along with singer/guitarist Mike Russell's) at the Hirshhorn's Thursday night jazz concert yesterday.
The group has only a guitar, bass, keyboard and drums. Playing with them last night was a Nigerian conga drummer.
The entire event was somewhat overamplified, but that did not detract from Kera's range and use of various languages and inflections in a variety of songs. Most had an African base, I think, but she clearly has what would be termed an international style.
I was sorry that the program did not detail the songs, because none were familiar. Perhaps the most memorable was a train song, the train going from Senegal to Gabon, with a woman passenger, who got on with three goats (she does a great goat imitation). But one goat was pregnant and delivered on the train. How many goats needed to be paid for? That caused all the trouble.
There were over 100 people in the audience, and many then went into the musuem to hear scholar John Neff talk about Kiefer (more a lecture than a tour). My wife thought Neff very interesting; I thought he droned on much too long.
The group has only a guitar, bass, keyboard and drums. Playing with them last night was a Nigerian conga drummer.
The entire event was somewhat overamplified, but that did not detract from Kera's range and use of various languages and inflections in a variety of songs. Most had an African base, I think, but she clearly has what would be termed an international style.
I was sorry that the program did not detail the songs, because none were familiar. Perhaps the most memorable was a train song, the train going from Senegal to Gabon, with a woman passenger, who got on with three goats (she does a great goat imitation). But one goat was pregnant and delivered on the train. How many goats needed to be paid for? That caused all the trouble.
There were over 100 people in the audience, and many then went into the musuem to hear scholar John Neff talk about Kiefer (more a lecture than a tour). My wife thought Neff very interesting; I thought he droned on much too long.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Greek Embroidery at the Textile Museum
This is a large exhibit, with most items (curtains, bedspreads, clothing, etc) from the 17th and 18th centuries. The work is fine, but not visually interesting to me. For embroiderers, I am sure it would be fascinating both for the designs and also the variety of stiches that are used (and a lot of "whipping", one explanation said).
Most interesting to me are the photos of rooms in which designs of this type appears, largely bedrooms, or combination living and bed rooms, from various of the Greek Isles. The rooms themselves are quite inviting.
The exhibit runs through September 3. I think you can ignore the Textile Museum this summer.
Most interesting to me are the photos of rooms in which designs of this type appears, largely bedrooms, or combination living and bed rooms, from various of the Greek Isles. The rooms themselves are quite inviting.
The exhibit runs through September 3. I think you can ignore the Textile Museum this summer.
Anselm Kiefer at the Hirshhorn
I don't know a lot about Anselm Kiefer, the subject of a large exhibit at the Hirshhorn, except that he was born in Germany just as WWII was ending in 1945, that he spent most of his life there, and that he now has a large rural studio in the south of France.
The docent at the museum told me that this was one of the more difficult exhibits to explain; I am not sure why.
Kiefer is clearly a thinker. His art is by and large non-representational, his canvases by and large very much oversized, his colors tend towars the browns, and golds, and dull reds, and blacks, his picture of the world rather stark, with glimpses of non-wordly light and hope, but inklings of the apocolypse. His images tend to be religious (he is ecumenical is his imagery), his figures expressionless, his landscapes scorched, his skyscapes infinite, his books burnt, his architectural images all at right angles. His trees are leafless, he has never bought (or mixed) green paint. His media is mixed: heavy oils, charcoals, canvas, burlap, lead, clay, objects.
He makes you think. Some of his work is overwhelming.
If you think you would like this sort of thing, this is an exhibit not to miss.
The docent at the museum told me that this was one of the more difficult exhibits to explain; I am not sure why.
Kiefer is clearly a thinker. His art is by and large non-representational, his canvases by and large very much oversized, his colors tend towars the browns, and golds, and dull reds, and blacks, his picture of the world rather stark, with glimpses of non-wordly light and hope, but inklings of the apocolypse. His images tend to be religious (he is ecumenical is his imagery), his figures expressionless, his landscapes scorched, his skyscapes infinite, his books burnt, his architectural images all at right angles. His trees are leafless, he has never bought (or mixed) green paint. His media is mixed: heavy oils, charcoals, canvas, burlap, lead, clay, objects.
He makes you think. Some of his work is overwhelming.
If you think you would like this sort of thing, this is an exhibit not to miss.
Get the Turnip Cakes (1 cent)
When you go to Sweet Basil, the Thai restaurant in Bethesda, make sure you order the turnip cake appetizers.
I know, the idea of turnip cakes does not sound very interesting, or appealing, but.....
trust me.
I know, the idea of turnip cakes does not sound very interesting, or appealing, but.....
trust me.
Monday, July 10, 2006
My American Express Card
American Express sent me four pages changing the terms of my card. I did not read most of it; I stopped when I read: "..references to "New York" in the Applicable Law section of your agreement are changing to "Utah".
Age is in the Eye of the Beholder (1 cent)
Two recent events:
I stand in line for a ticket to the Museum of Natural History in New York. I ask the ticket taker how old you have to be to be a senior and save $5. She says 60. I say "good". She says: "You are not 60". I say that I am, by a couple of years. She says: "what's your secret? Vitamin E or K?" I say I don't take vitamins. She says: "then I bet you drink a lot of water". I say "no, my wife wants me to drink more water, but all I drink is coffee and coke". She asks if my wife is as thin as I am; I say yes. She then talks about how her hair started turning gray at 19 (she is probably in her 50s, with no gray showing), and how fat she is getting (she did not look heavy). She stood up and moved back to show me how fat her hips were (not that fat, as hips go). I said: "you know, you have a long line of people here." She said: "We always do. They can wait. I like talking".
Several days later, I am walking the streets of Washington. I see two people across the street, one with a TV camera, the other looking like she could be an interviewer. I start to cross the street, and a young woman comes up to me, smiles, and says: "Excuse me, I am working for a new TV network, the Retirement Network [something like that], and we are looking for some old men that we can ask a few questions to. Can you help us out?" I should have said: "help you do what? find a few old men?" But I didn't. I smiled and said: "sorry, no time today". She was disappointed and said that they really need to talk to some baby boomers.
At any rate, I was flattered in New York, and aghast at the treatment I received in DC. Even if age is in the eye of the beholder, how is it possible that that is how I am beheld?
I stand in line for a ticket to the Museum of Natural History in New York. I ask the ticket taker how old you have to be to be a senior and save $5. She says 60. I say "good". She says: "You are not 60". I say that I am, by a couple of years. She says: "what's your secret? Vitamin E or K?" I say I don't take vitamins. She says: "then I bet you drink a lot of water". I say "no, my wife wants me to drink more water, but all I drink is coffee and coke". She asks if my wife is as thin as I am; I say yes. She then talks about how her hair started turning gray at 19 (she is probably in her 50s, with no gray showing), and how fat she is getting (she did not look heavy). She stood up and moved back to show me how fat her hips were (not that fat, as hips go). I said: "you know, you have a long line of people here." She said: "We always do. They can wait. I like talking".
Several days later, I am walking the streets of Washington. I see two people across the street, one with a TV camera, the other looking like she could be an interviewer. I start to cross the street, and a young woman comes up to me, smiles, and says: "Excuse me, I am working for a new TV network, the Retirement Network [something like that], and we are looking for some old men that we can ask a few questions to. Can you help us out?" I should have said: "help you do what? find a few old men?" But I didn't. I smiled and said: "sorry, no time today". She was disappointed and said that they really need to talk to some baby boomers.
At any rate, I was flattered in New York, and aghast at the treatment I received in DC. Even if age is in the eye of the beholder, how is it possible that that is how I am beheld?
Alberta
Wasn't Alberta one of Flip Wilson's characters? Or some other black comedian?
Well, in any event, it is also obvious a Canadian province and was one of the featured places for this year's Smithsonian Folklife Festival. The first Canadian province so selected.
It seemed (still does) like an odd choice, as there is certainly nothing very exotic about Alberta. Two big cities (Calgary and Edmonton) each with an NLH hockey team, a lot of wheat, a lot of oil, maybe some Indians in the north, and of course Banff, Jasper and Lake Louise in the Canadian Rockies.
So we approached it a little differently from the norm. Rather than walk through the exhibits quickly and listen to the music (the music was either country music or Ukranian folk bands), we talked to the exhibitors. And it made for an interesting Saturday afternoon.
Here is some of what we did and discovered.
First, there were a number of oil exhibits, talking about drilling and about the equivalent of oil strip mining (along with restoration projects). Alberta has billions of gallons of oil, yet to be drilled or mined. In one of the tents, there was an older man acting as docent. We were the only ones there (the tent had various models of drilling equipment) and I asked him what his role in the oil industry was. This started him talking about how he got a job for a local company having grown up as an Alberta farm boy, and how he then worked for Texaco for 37 years, all around the world, where he became a specialist in off shore oil platforms. He supervised the development of Texaco's North Sea platforms and was one of the platform managers for a number of years. We talked about the platforms (built to withstand 70 mph winds with a 50% safety factor on top of that), the number of men (no women, no alcohol) on board normally, and when there were special functions, the managers' shifts (7 days on, 7 off, as opposed to everyone else who had 14 day shifts), the inability of the manager to sleep, the discipline, the supplying of the platforms by cargo ship, the oil and natural gas pipelines, which ran to the Orkney Islands and Scotland, respectively, and so forth.
Then, we met a young woman named Inna Platanova, originally from the Urkaine, who was a trained scientist (physicist?), who worked for a nonprofit sponsored by the U. of Calgary that was dedicated to bring light to places in the world without electricity, where now kerosene or the like was the only mechanism for light, and which did not provide sufficient brightness. Basically, they are working with solar powered batteries, and what appeared to be a form of halogen bulbs (we did not talk about the bulbs) and they have worked in the Himilayas and in Africa, amongst other places. They are also talking to various organizations about the use of these ideas in disaster relief situations. Quite interesting.
We sat through a cooking class taught by an executive chef from a Fairmount hotel five star restaurant in Banff. He told us how to make pea soup in only about two hours with about 200 ingredients. It was a vegan soup, except for the cream sauce and the pancetta. It was actually very interesting, particularly to hear about the ingredients and how he went about acquiring them, and to see how the "designed" the soup, by looking at cook-top mirror placed overhead so you could see what he was doing from above.
We saw some dinosaur bones, and big rocks that were as old as 1 billion years, and talked to a woman who with her husband used to work for the Canadian Park System, but now lead private trips through the Rockies. She told us about the cuts in the park budget that made private guiding a necessity, but how much was lost now that you could not get free what was once available.
Of course, we saw the rancing exhibit, but did not pay much attention, and the urban design exhibit. We saw a techonology exhibit that we did not fully understand. But all in all it was a very nice way to spend an afternoon.
We sat down for a snack towards the end of the afternoon, not in Alberta, but near the native American basketry exhibit, and were joined by a mother (grandmother?) and daughter (grandaughter) from the very northwest corner of the state of Washington, in or near Olympic National Park. The daughter appeared to be in her early twenties and had a 2 1/2 month old son (who was also in Washington, but we were not sure where). They live a 5 hour drive from Seattle.
What was most interesting was talking about the relationship between the various northwest coastal Canadian and American tribes, and an annual ritual where a canoe trip composed of members of all goes from tribe to tribe. Young men and women join in this physical task, and obviously it is viewed with great importance. The children are still taught native languages (starting with the Head Start program), but are losing fluency, using it mainly for singing, not speaking. Their religion seems to be an amalgam of Christian and native religions, which also provided for some interesting conversation.
Well, in any event, it is also obvious a Canadian province and was one of the featured places for this year's Smithsonian Folklife Festival. The first Canadian province so selected.
It seemed (still does) like an odd choice, as there is certainly nothing very exotic about Alberta. Two big cities (Calgary and Edmonton) each with an NLH hockey team, a lot of wheat, a lot of oil, maybe some Indians in the north, and of course Banff, Jasper and Lake Louise in the Canadian Rockies.
So we approached it a little differently from the norm. Rather than walk through the exhibits quickly and listen to the music (the music was either country music or Ukranian folk bands), we talked to the exhibitors. And it made for an interesting Saturday afternoon.
Here is some of what we did and discovered.
First, there were a number of oil exhibits, talking about drilling and about the equivalent of oil strip mining (along with restoration projects). Alberta has billions of gallons of oil, yet to be drilled or mined. In one of the tents, there was an older man acting as docent. We were the only ones there (the tent had various models of drilling equipment) and I asked him what his role in the oil industry was. This started him talking about how he got a job for a local company having grown up as an Alberta farm boy, and how he then worked for Texaco for 37 years, all around the world, where he became a specialist in off shore oil platforms. He supervised the development of Texaco's North Sea platforms and was one of the platform managers for a number of years. We talked about the platforms (built to withstand 70 mph winds with a 50% safety factor on top of that), the number of men (no women, no alcohol) on board normally, and when there were special functions, the managers' shifts (7 days on, 7 off, as opposed to everyone else who had 14 day shifts), the inability of the manager to sleep, the discipline, the supplying of the platforms by cargo ship, the oil and natural gas pipelines, which ran to the Orkney Islands and Scotland, respectively, and so forth.
Then, we met a young woman named Inna Platanova, originally from the Urkaine, who was a trained scientist (physicist?), who worked for a nonprofit sponsored by the U. of Calgary that was dedicated to bring light to places in the world without electricity, where now kerosene or the like was the only mechanism for light, and which did not provide sufficient brightness. Basically, they are working with solar powered batteries, and what appeared to be a form of halogen bulbs (we did not talk about the bulbs) and they have worked in the Himilayas and in Africa, amongst other places. They are also talking to various organizations about the use of these ideas in disaster relief situations. Quite interesting.
We sat through a cooking class taught by an executive chef from a Fairmount hotel five star restaurant in Banff. He told us how to make pea soup in only about two hours with about 200 ingredients. It was a vegan soup, except for the cream sauce and the pancetta. It was actually very interesting, particularly to hear about the ingredients and how he went about acquiring them, and to see how the "designed" the soup, by looking at cook-top mirror placed overhead so you could see what he was doing from above.
We saw some dinosaur bones, and big rocks that were as old as 1 billion years, and talked to a woman who with her husband used to work for the Canadian Park System, but now lead private trips through the Rockies. She told us about the cuts in the park budget that made private guiding a necessity, but how much was lost now that you could not get free what was once available.
Of course, we saw the rancing exhibit, but did not pay much attention, and the urban design exhibit. We saw a techonology exhibit that we did not fully understand. But all in all it was a very nice way to spend an afternoon.
We sat down for a snack towards the end of the afternoon, not in Alberta, but near the native American basketry exhibit, and were joined by a mother (grandmother?) and daughter (grandaughter) from the very northwest corner of the state of Washington, in or near Olympic National Park. The daughter appeared to be in her early twenties and had a 2 1/2 month old son (who was also in Washington, but we were not sure where). They live a 5 hour drive from Seattle.
What was most interesting was talking about the relationship between the various northwest coastal Canadian and American tribes, and an annual ritual where a canoe trip composed of members of all goes from tribe to tribe. Young men and women join in this physical task, and obviously it is viewed with great importance. The children are still taught native languages (starting with the Head Start program), but are losing fluency, using it mainly for singing, not speaking. Their religion seems to be an amalgam of Christian and native religions, which also provided for some interesting conversation.
Friday, July 07, 2006
"Friends in High Places"
When Webb Hubbell's book about his life in Arkansas, Washington and federal prison came out, and his relationship with Bill and Hillary, the critics were very critical. I am not sure that they should have been. I enjoyed the book very much.
That is not to say that I wound up being fond of Hubbell. Quite the contrary. A clumsy, lanky kid whose father thought him ugly, growing up feeling inferior and uncomfortable, finding a temporary place in the sun on the football field, and eventually attending law school. Meeting and marrying an attractive young woman from a wealthy and highly disfunctional family, getting a job with the prestigous Rose law firm. Befriending fellow attorney Vince Foster, being one of the few supporting the firm's first female associate, Hillary Rodham. Meeting and befriending Hillary's husband Bill, seeing him rise to state attorney general and then the youngest governor of Arkansas.
But was Hubbell himself a person of any depth or substantive ambition? It does not seem so. He does not seem to have been a star litigator, he talks about how his billings were always on the low side, as was his income. The Rose law firm itself seems like it was a very unorthodox, every man for himself type of place, where you only ate what you caught (after coughing up for firm upkeep), and where the culture of professionalism and cordialtiy was converted into a culture of greed and mutual suspicion.
But the Hubbells lived beyond their means (keeping up with his inlaws, I guess), and Webb's lack of ability to keep himself occupied as a lawyer led to an election to the Little Rock city council, and term as mayor and (as a Clinton appointee) a brief spin as chief justice of the Supreme Court of the State. Then, he became Rose managing partner, which filled his time, but not his pocket.
At Rose, every partner could write checks on the firm account and give instructions how to charge (to a client, to the firm, or to a personal account). When Hubbell's bills became too high, he simply wrote checks to himself to reimburse himself for non-existent travel expenses, which he charged to clients. It was easy, and no one noticed. (How much of this occurred, I am not sure, but it seems it was at least $75,000 and probably more.)
Bill is elected president, Webb comes to DC as part of the transition, and winds up as Associate Attorney General in charge of the civil division, knowing all along that he is a crook and may get caught.
Get caught he does, as the Rose law firm gets embroiled in the Whitewater affair (which still seems a non-affair to me), and as the overbillings become apparent. He resigns his position, pleads guilty, and serves almost two years in federal prison.
He does not paint much of a picture of Clinton himself (he was mainly a golfing buddy), but Hillary his buddy does not come accross particularly appealing (my guess is he really never understood her). Vince Foster probably comes across the best, but he killed himself. The Rose firm lawyers all are portrayed as low life.
I had heard before that Bill Clinton's Arkansas buddies were all in over their heads. It certainly seems the case with Hubbell, and the fact that he was trusted by the Clintons as a top advisor, transition team member, and nominated for Associate AG is extraordinary. It makes you stop and think.
There were a few small points in the book that bothered me. On one page, Hubbell says that he only played golf with Clinton once when he was governor; on another, it seemed to be a regular occurrence. On one page, he talks about Campobello Island, Maine, when in fact it is in New Brunswick. And, for Washingtonians, he puts Stone Ridge School on Connecticut Avenue, rather than Wisconsin. Should these inaccuracies make you question the rest of the book? Perhaps.
But, it was interesting and easy reading. The dynamics of the law firm were fascinating to me. Hubbell himself not of much interest. But it does, I think, say something about the (early) Clinton administration.
That is not to say that I wound up being fond of Hubbell. Quite the contrary. A clumsy, lanky kid whose father thought him ugly, growing up feeling inferior and uncomfortable, finding a temporary place in the sun on the football field, and eventually attending law school. Meeting and marrying an attractive young woman from a wealthy and highly disfunctional family, getting a job with the prestigous Rose law firm. Befriending fellow attorney Vince Foster, being one of the few supporting the firm's first female associate, Hillary Rodham. Meeting and befriending Hillary's husband Bill, seeing him rise to state attorney general and then the youngest governor of Arkansas.
But was Hubbell himself a person of any depth or substantive ambition? It does not seem so. He does not seem to have been a star litigator, he talks about how his billings were always on the low side, as was his income. The Rose law firm itself seems like it was a very unorthodox, every man for himself type of place, where you only ate what you caught (after coughing up for firm upkeep), and where the culture of professionalism and cordialtiy was converted into a culture of greed and mutual suspicion.
But the Hubbells lived beyond their means (keeping up with his inlaws, I guess), and Webb's lack of ability to keep himself occupied as a lawyer led to an election to the Little Rock city council, and term as mayor and (as a Clinton appointee) a brief spin as chief justice of the Supreme Court of the State. Then, he became Rose managing partner, which filled his time, but not his pocket.
At Rose, every partner could write checks on the firm account and give instructions how to charge (to a client, to the firm, or to a personal account). When Hubbell's bills became too high, he simply wrote checks to himself to reimburse himself for non-existent travel expenses, which he charged to clients. It was easy, and no one noticed. (How much of this occurred, I am not sure, but it seems it was at least $75,000 and probably more.)
Bill is elected president, Webb comes to DC as part of the transition, and winds up as Associate Attorney General in charge of the civil division, knowing all along that he is a crook and may get caught.
Get caught he does, as the Rose law firm gets embroiled in the Whitewater affair (which still seems a non-affair to me), and as the overbillings become apparent. He resigns his position, pleads guilty, and serves almost two years in federal prison.
He does not paint much of a picture of Clinton himself (he was mainly a golfing buddy), but Hillary his buddy does not come accross particularly appealing (my guess is he really never understood her). Vince Foster probably comes across the best, but he killed himself. The Rose firm lawyers all are portrayed as low life.
I had heard before that Bill Clinton's Arkansas buddies were all in over their heads. It certainly seems the case with Hubbell, and the fact that he was trusted by the Clintons as a top advisor, transition team member, and nominated for Associate AG is extraordinary. It makes you stop and think.
There were a few small points in the book that bothered me. On one page, Hubbell says that he only played golf with Clinton once when he was governor; on another, it seemed to be a regular occurrence. On one page, he talks about Campobello Island, Maine, when in fact it is in New Brunswick. And, for Washingtonians, he puts Stone Ridge School on Connecticut Avenue, rather than Wisconsin. Should these inaccuracies make you question the rest of the book? Perhaps.
But, it was interesting and easy reading. The dynamics of the law firm were fascinating to me. Hubbell himself not of much interest. But it does, I think, say something about the (early) Clinton administration.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Hanif Kureishi
is a British born playwright and screen play writer ("My Favorite Laundrette", "Sammy and Rosie Get Laid") whose father is Indo-Pakistani, and mother English. He memoirs "My Ear at His Heart" is half the story of his father, and half his own story.
Devoted readers with good memories may recall my posting about Vikram Seth's "Two Lives", where Seth traced the lives of his Indian uncle and German Jewish aunt.
Seth and Kureishi do not seem to be similar. Seth appears personally more restrained and inhibited. But they wrote virtually the same book: a book written by an Indian in Britain, who in spite of success, can't figure out who he is or where he is going, and who try to figure it out by looking at a generation back, the generation who actually made the move to Europe, and dissecting their insecurities, their struggles, their limitations, their failures.
I felt sorry for Seth, as someone who clearly is too inhibited to live the life he wants, and I guess feel equally about Kureishi, who has the opposite problem. Their stories are interesting, to be sure, but not exactly heartwarming.
I saw "My Favorite Laundrette" some years ago and don't recall that I liked it much. My guess is that I would feel that way about most things Kureishi writes.
Devoted readers with good memories may recall my posting about Vikram Seth's "Two Lives", where Seth traced the lives of his Indian uncle and German Jewish aunt.
Seth and Kureishi do not seem to be similar. Seth appears personally more restrained and inhibited. But they wrote virtually the same book: a book written by an Indian in Britain, who in spite of success, can't figure out who he is or where he is going, and who try to figure it out by looking at a generation back, the generation who actually made the move to Europe, and dissecting their insecurities, their struggles, their limitations, their failures.
I felt sorry for Seth, as someone who clearly is too inhibited to live the life he wants, and I guess feel equally about Kureishi, who has the opposite problem. Their stories are interesting, to be sure, but not exactly heartwarming.
I saw "My Favorite Laundrette" some years ago and don't recall that I liked it much. My guess is that I would feel that way about most things Kureishi writes.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Hanif Kureishi says (1 cent)
I know you don't know who Hanif Kureishi is, but that will come another time.
For now, just let it be said that he is a writer, who sometimes has writer's block. How does he cope? He says that he simply remembers what he dreamed the night before, and that gives him a start of a story or an essay.
So, let's go.
1. The Move to Atlanta. We were just about packed; the truck just about loaded. We were moving to Atlanta. Why Atlanta? It was a question that neither of us could answer, although we knew we had no choice. No, we were not being forced or coerced, or anything like that, but something compelled us to make the move to a city that neither of us liked. And, just to complete the picture, it should be made clear that we were not the only ones moving. Everyone was moving. But only we seemed to be heading to Atlanta.........
2. The SATs. I had no concern when I entered the large empty feeling room to take the SATs. I had taken them before and done well enough. It didn't seem to matter that I was, by far, the oldest person in the room. This would be easy.....My first hint came when I couldn't read the questions. The letters were not distinct enough, they were not dark enough, they were not stable. There was a glare. I held the paper up at various angles; the words moved around. Take the word "story" for instance; it morphed at some point into "gory". How was I to answer questions when I couldn't tell what the questions were? I thought it might have to do with the laminated paper that the questions were printed on. Or maybe I was looking through the lamination. That must be it. You answer on the lamintated plastic, and turn it in. You keep the underlying paper, which has the questions, but not your answers. I did not stand a chance. Every answer was going to be a pure guess. Why was I taking this test? Did I have to stay?
For now, just let it be said that he is a writer, who sometimes has writer's block. How does he cope? He says that he simply remembers what he dreamed the night before, and that gives him a start of a story or an essay.
So, let's go.
1. The Move to Atlanta. We were just about packed; the truck just about loaded. We were moving to Atlanta. Why Atlanta? It was a question that neither of us could answer, although we knew we had no choice. No, we were not being forced or coerced, or anything like that, but something compelled us to make the move to a city that neither of us liked. And, just to complete the picture, it should be made clear that we were not the only ones moving. Everyone was moving. But only we seemed to be heading to Atlanta.........
2. The SATs. I had no concern when I entered the large empty feeling room to take the SATs. I had taken them before and done well enough. It didn't seem to matter that I was, by far, the oldest person in the room. This would be easy.....My first hint came when I couldn't read the questions. The letters were not distinct enough, they were not dark enough, they were not stable. There was a glare. I held the paper up at various angles; the words moved around. Take the word "story" for instance; it morphed at some point into "gory". How was I to answer questions when I couldn't tell what the questions were? I thought it might have to do with the laminated paper that the questions were printed on. Or maybe I was looking through the lamination. That must be it. You answer on the lamintated plastic, and turn it in. You keep the underlying paper, which has the questions, but not your answers. I did not stand a chance. Every answer was going to be a pure guess. Why was I taking this test? Did I have to stay?
Hanif Kureishi says (1 cent)
I know you don't know who Hanif Kureishi is, but that will come another time.
For now, just let it be said that he is a writer, who sometimes has writer's block. How does he cope? He says that he simply remembers what he dreamed the night before, and that gives him a start of a story or an essay.
So, let's go.
1. The Move to Atlanta. We were just about packed; the truck just about loaded. We were moving to Atlanta. Why Atlanta? It was a question that neither of us could answer, although we knew we had no choice. No, we were not being forced or coerced, or anything like that, but something compelled us to make the move to a city that neither of us liked. And, just to complete the picture, it should be made clear that we were not the only ones moving. Everyone was moving. But only we seemed to be heading to Atlanta.........
2. The SATs. I had no concern when I entered the large empty feeling room to take the SATs. I had taken them before and done well enough. It didn't seem to matter that I was, by far, the oldest person in the room. This would be easy.....My first hint came when I couldn't read the questions. The letters were not distinct enough, they were not dark enough, they were not stable. There was a glare. I held the paper up at various angles; the words moved around. Take the word "story" for instance; it morphed at some point into "gory". How was I to answer questions when I couldn't tell what the questions were? I thought it might have to do with the laminated paper that the questions were printed on. Or maybe I was looking through the lamination. That must be it. You answer on the lamintated plastic, and turn it in. You keep the underlying paper, which has the questions, but not your answers. I did not stand a chance. Every answer was going to be a pure guess. Why was I taking this test? Did I have to stay?
For now, just let it be said that he is a writer, who sometimes has writer's block. How does he cope? He says that he simply remembers what he dreamed the night before, and that gives him a start of a story or an essay.
So, let's go.
1. The Move to Atlanta. We were just about packed; the truck just about loaded. We were moving to Atlanta. Why Atlanta? It was a question that neither of us could answer, although we knew we had no choice. No, we were not being forced or coerced, or anything like that, but something compelled us to make the move to a city that neither of us liked. And, just to complete the picture, it should be made clear that we were not the only ones moving. Everyone was moving. But only we seemed to be heading to Atlanta.........
2. The SATs. I had no concern when I entered the large empty feeling room to take the SATs. I had taken them before and done well enough. It didn't seem to matter that I was, by far, the oldest person in the room. This would be easy.....My first hint came when I couldn't read the questions. The letters were not distinct enough, they were not dark enough, they were not stable. There was a glare. I held the paper up at various angles; the words moved around. Take the word "story" for instance; it morphed at some point into "gory". How was I to answer questions when I couldn't tell what the questions were? I thought it might have to do with the laminated paper that the questions were printed on. Or maybe I was looking through the lamination. That must be it. You answer on the lamintated plastic, and turn it in. You keep the underlying paper, which has the questions, but not your answers. I did not stand a chance. Every answer was going to be a pure guess. Why was I taking this test? Did I have to stay?
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
A Man, A Plan, A Canal, Paris (26 cents)
Several years ago, Arthur Phillips published a novel called: "Prague: a Novel". I was told to read it if I wanted to read a novel about Budapest. (I have not read it. Perhaps, one day)
I did read a book by Erik Zencey called "Panama", which is primarily set in, and deals with, Paris. I really enjoyed the book.
Zencey, according to the cover, is a history professor at Goddard College. This book is as much a history book, as it is an historical novel. ('a' history book; 'an' historical novel?).
The historical context is the failure of the French concessionaire to finish building the Panama Canal, due in large part to economic and political chicanery, and uncovering of a scandal which threatened to bring down the French government. While this was going on, the president of the United States sent John Hay, a future secretary of state, to Paris, to try to acquire the concession from the French. The year was 1892.
Henry Adams (Washingtonians note: Hay-Adams), the grandson of John Quincy, a rather reclusive essayist and historian, is traveling in France, still recovering from the suicide death of his wife, Clover.
Here is where fiction comes in: Adams meets an attractive cultured young woman, an American studying art in Paris, who is soon murdered. Or is she? And, it turns out, her murder (if it ocurred) is involved with a mysterious piece of paper which identified which members of Parliament have been bribed by officials of the canal company.
Adams, who believes that his friend still lives, is determined to find her, meeting real French politicians and law enforcement officials, as well as a number of fictional characters.
All turns out well (except for those unfortunate enough to be the victims of violent crime during the course of the novel), and the reader is rewarded with a compelling history lesson and an adroit mystery, all at the same time.
Of course, as we know, Adams returned to America alone, and the Americans finally did get the canal concession, although not until 1905.
And then, there was Dreyfus, a character not in the book, a Jewish officer, who was accused of being a spy within the French military, two years after the events in the book took place. Dreyfus was innocent, of course, and his trials brought out a virulent form of anti-semitism in France that led, among other things, to Theodor Herzl's development of Zionism (for better or worse). Several of the leading miscreants during the canal scandal, including Jacques (formerly Jacob) Reinach and Cornelius Herz, were Jewish (Reinach escaped punishment through suicide; Herz ran to England), and they were accused by right wing journalist Edmund Drumont of being part of a vast anti-French conspiracy. It was the same Drumont, who became perhaps the biggest anti-Dreyfus media figure a few years later. It does not take a big leap to realize that the publicity surrounding the canal problems helped set the stage for the reaction to Dreyfus and all that followed.
I did read a book by Erik Zencey called "Panama", which is primarily set in, and deals with, Paris. I really enjoyed the book.
Zencey, according to the cover, is a history professor at Goddard College. This book is as much a history book, as it is an historical novel. ('a' history book; 'an' historical novel?).
The historical context is the failure of the French concessionaire to finish building the Panama Canal, due in large part to economic and political chicanery, and uncovering of a scandal which threatened to bring down the French government. While this was going on, the president of the United States sent John Hay, a future secretary of state, to Paris, to try to acquire the concession from the French. The year was 1892.
Henry Adams (Washingtonians note: Hay-Adams), the grandson of John Quincy, a rather reclusive essayist and historian, is traveling in France, still recovering from the suicide death of his wife, Clover.
Here is where fiction comes in: Adams meets an attractive cultured young woman, an American studying art in Paris, who is soon murdered. Or is she? And, it turns out, her murder (if it ocurred) is involved with a mysterious piece of paper which identified which members of Parliament have been bribed by officials of the canal company.
Adams, who believes that his friend still lives, is determined to find her, meeting real French politicians and law enforcement officials, as well as a number of fictional characters.
All turns out well (except for those unfortunate enough to be the victims of violent crime during the course of the novel), and the reader is rewarded with a compelling history lesson and an adroit mystery, all at the same time.
Of course, as we know, Adams returned to America alone, and the Americans finally did get the canal concession, although not until 1905.
And then, there was Dreyfus, a character not in the book, a Jewish officer, who was accused of being a spy within the French military, two years after the events in the book took place. Dreyfus was innocent, of course, and his trials brought out a virulent form of anti-semitism in France that led, among other things, to Theodor Herzl's development of Zionism (for better or worse). Several of the leading miscreants during the canal scandal, including Jacques (formerly Jacob) Reinach and Cornelius Herz, were Jewish (Reinach escaped punishment through suicide; Herz ran to England), and they were accused by right wing journalist Edmund Drumont of being part of a vast anti-French conspiracy. It was the same Drumont, who became perhaps the biggest anti-Dreyfus media figure a few years later. It does not take a big leap to realize that the publicity surrounding the canal problems helped set the stage for the reaction to Dreyfus and all that followed.
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