18 April 2008
Please don't ever let me get so drunk that I...
...fail to notice that one of my drinking buddies has stabbed me in the back with a kitchen knife.
I especially loved this line:
I guess this is what is meant by Russian Drunk.
I especially loved this line:
"We were drinking and what doesn't happen when you're drunk?" he was quoted by Komsomolskaya Pravda as saying.
I guess this is what is meant by Russian Drunk.
17 April 2008
The Wallace and Gromit Effect
There's a story on the BBC website this morning about a five-year-old boy named Sam, who has received a patent for a double-headed broom. Inspired by Wallace and Gromit, Sam came up with the idea as he watched his Dad sweeping leaves. According to Sam,
What's really stunning here, is that Sam was only three when he created his invention. As fate would have it Sam's dad is a patent lawyer. And the rest, as the saying goes, is history.
I saw my Daddy brushing up and made it. There are two brushes because one gets the big bits and one gets the little bits left behind.
What's really stunning here, is that Sam was only three when he created his invention. As fate would have it Sam's dad is a patent lawyer. And the rest, as the saying goes, is history.
14 April 2008
The Subprime Mortgage Crisis
If you are inclined to explore the causes of the subprime mortgage crisis, you will undoubtedly be confronted with a complex tale of high-risk borrowers, mortgage-backed securities, and collateralized debt obligations.
In fact, all you really need to know is that the crisis now choking the globe was brought about by a bunch of greedy bastards (GBs), who thought that it was a good idea to lend lots of money to people with poor credit, often without verifying the income of the borrowers. Betting that the housing market would continue to rise, the borrowers and the GBs were then f**ked when the housing market began to fall in 2006: the borrowers because they were losing equity (which they could get on appreciating mortgages even if they weren't able to pay the principal monthly), thus making it impossible to refinance; and the GBs because the borrowers began to default to the tune of billions of dollars.
Of course the story is FAR more complex than this, but as I was "researching" this post I read that Bush's economic stimulus package might offer me a tax rebate, so I gotta go do my taxes...
If I do get a rebate I promise to buy something to stimulate the US economy and not the German one.
In fact, all you really need to know is that the crisis now choking the globe was brought about by a bunch of greedy bastards (GBs), who thought that it was a good idea to lend lots of money to people with poor credit, often without verifying the income of the borrowers. Betting that the housing market would continue to rise, the borrowers and the GBs were then f**ked when the housing market began to fall in 2006: the borrowers because they were losing equity (which they could get on appreciating mortgages even if they weren't able to pay the principal monthly), thus making it impossible to refinance; and the GBs because the borrowers began to default to the tune of billions of dollars.
Of course the story is FAR more complex than this, but as I was "researching" this post I read that Bush's economic stimulus package might offer me a tax rebate, so I gotta go do my taxes...
If I do get a rebate I promise to buy something to stimulate the US economy and not the German one.
10 April 2008
Raising Girls vs Raising Boys
This post is dedicated to my brother, who became a father last August...
There was a scene in a film I saw last night, in which the father pressed a condom into the hand of his seventeen-year-old son and virtually pushed him out of the car to go meet his date. [That the son was a seventeen-year-old pedophile and not really interested in the lovely young woman waiting for him, was a detail the father was trying desperately to remedy.]
In any case, my mind's eye attempted to fastforward to some bizarre future where my brother would be pressing a condom into his daughter's seventeen-year-old hand, encouraging her to "have fun" and "not to worry about coming home."
At this point I felt my brain starting to melt, so I quit.
There was a scene in a film I saw last night, in which the father pressed a condom into the hand of his seventeen-year-old son and virtually pushed him out of the car to go meet his date. [That the son was a seventeen-year-old pedophile and not really interested in the lovely young woman waiting for him, was a detail the father was trying desperately to remedy.]
In any case, my mind's eye attempted to fastforward to some bizarre future where my brother would be pressing a condom into his daughter's seventeen-year-old hand, encouraging her to "have fun" and "not to worry about coming home."
At this point I felt my brain starting to melt, so I quit.
05 April 2008
Happy Birthday Bette!
Trying to find a clip to honor Bette Davis on what would have been her 100th birthday wasn't easy. It's not that there weren't clips available, quite the contrary. The difficulty was in choosing between a clip from one of her films or an interview clip. Each had its merits, but I finally settled on an appearance on The Dick Cavett Show in which she discusses kissing scenes in Hollywood. The mind reels...
I'm loving the short black dress and the black boots. Ms. Davis was fierce!
I'm loving the short black dress and the black boots. Ms. Davis was fierce!
04 April 2008
The Mountaintop
Chillingly prophetic given that he was assassinated the next day. That aside, it remains an incredible testament to the oratory power he possessed.
What a man...
02 April 2008
Old Women and Young Men: TV vs. Real Life
I was sitting in my favorite cafe this afternoon (no surprise there), when a thirty-something year-old man came in and sat at the table next to mine. I glanced at him when I noticed that the waitress put on a big smile when she took him the menu. Yes, he was handsome, well dressed, and seemed nice enough. He ordered and I went back to concentrating on the manuscript I'm currently editing. About thirty minutes later, a woman in her mid to late fifties came in and joined the man at his table. The waitress stopped smiling.
The woman, who wasn't German but perhaps eastern European, was very attractive and also well dressed. The only problem was her hair, which was [dyed] jet black, a bit too long, and seemed to be teased. No, really. I thought women stopped teasing their hair a long time ago. But what do I know, right?
In any case, she seemed happy to see him, and he seemed bored. To make a long story short, everything about that encounter--from the body language to the conversation--screamed that she was the weak partner in the power struggle otherwise known as a "romantic relationship." There was even an extremely painful moment (for me, at least) when she leaned over his food so that he would have to look her in the eye. Ouch. I actually gave her the quizzical eye, which was meant to communicate: "Okay, he's cute, but he ain't all that. Pull yourself together!" After which they moved to a more private corner at the other side of the cafe. She even said as they were going to the other table: "So we don't disturb you anymore." Tja, was kann man machen?
Well this got me thinking about a melodrama I saw on TV Monday night. [Yeah, I know what you're thinking: no TV watching in the US, but melodramas on German TV?? It's a transnational media studies thing. Seriously...] In this particular film, a beautiful, but somewhat shy fifty-year-old woman goes to spend the summer in Paris teaching literature at La Sorbonne.
The Woman
She stays in what must be the most beautiful pension in the world (thus, clearly beyond the budget of any adjunct lecturer I know), and is drawn into a relationship with the Russian author in the adjacent room, who happens to be about twenty years younger than she is.
The Man
When the two of them first meet, he has a girlfriend who lives with him in the pension and is a hair stylist.
The Girlfriend
They invite the woman to dinner and the man insists that his girlfriend cuts the woman's hair; the plan of course is to update her rather dowdy look.
Well, after a while the girlfriend goes back to Russia and the man and the woman begin an affair. Of course she is torn because: she can't give him kids; she thinks that he'll dump her for a younger woman; he's always making decisions for her; the girlfriend comes back from Russia and calls her old; and so on and so forth. Unlike the guy in the cafe this afternoon, however, this man is clearly into his old babe and goes to superhuman efforts to convince her that his love is for real and that he deserves a chance.
The Couple
Making all of this easier, of course, is the fact that both of them are really beautiful, she gets a contract to stay in Paris and teach, his book is a hit on both sides of the Atlantic, and she has the support of her family, who thinks that the man is really good for her. Beyond all of that, of course, they are in the City of Love.
The City of Berlin, however, seems a bit hard on lovers, though I am perhaps reading too much into the experience of the couple in the cafe. We'll see...
Gotta go. A Tatort rerun is on...
Note: The pics are my shots of the TV screen.
The woman, who wasn't German but perhaps eastern European, was very attractive and also well dressed. The only problem was her hair, which was [dyed] jet black, a bit too long, and seemed to be teased. No, really. I thought women stopped teasing their hair a long time ago. But what do I know, right?
In any case, she seemed happy to see him, and he seemed bored. To make a long story short, everything about that encounter--from the body language to the conversation--screamed that she was the weak partner in the power struggle otherwise known as a "romantic relationship." There was even an extremely painful moment (for me, at least) when she leaned over his food so that he would have to look her in the eye. Ouch. I actually gave her the quizzical eye, which was meant to communicate: "Okay, he's cute, but he ain't all that. Pull yourself together!" After which they moved to a more private corner at the other side of the cafe. She even said as they were going to the other table: "So we don't disturb you anymore." Tja, was kann man machen?
Well this got me thinking about a melodrama I saw on TV Monday night. [Yeah, I know what you're thinking: no TV watching in the US, but melodramas on German TV?? It's a transnational media studies thing. Seriously...] In this particular film, a beautiful, but somewhat shy fifty-year-old woman goes to spend the summer in Paris teaching literature at La Sorbonne.
The WomanShe stays in what must be the most beautiful pension in the world (thus, clearly beyond the budget of any adjunct lecturer I know), and is drawn into a relationship with the Russian author in the adjacent room, who happens to be about twenty years younger than she is.
The ManWhen the two of them first meet, he has a girlfriend who lives with him in the pension and is a hair stylist.
The GirlfriendThey invite the woman to dinner and the man insists that his girlfriend cuts the woman's hair; the plan of course is to update her rather dowdy look.
Well, after a while the girlfriend goes back to Russia and the man and the woman begin an affair. Of course she is torn because: she can't give him kids; she thinks that he'll dump her for a younger woman; he's always making decisions for her; the girlfriend comes back from Russia and calls her old; and so on and so forth. Unlike the guy in the cafe this afternoon, however, this man is clearly into his old babe and goes to superhuman efforts to convince her that his love is for real and that he deserves a chance.
The CoupleMaking all of this easier, of course, is the fact that both of them are really beautiful, she gets a contract to stay in Paris and teach, his book is a hit on both sides of the Atlantic, and she has the support of her family, who thinks that the man is really good for her. Beyond all of that, of course, they are in the City of Love.
The City of Berlin, however, seems a bit hard on lovers, though I am perhaps reading too much into the experience of the couple in the cafe. We'll see...
Gotta go. A Tatort rerun is on...
Note: The pics are my shots of the TV screen.
01 April 2008
Hauptstadt Graffiti
Berlin is famous for its graffiti, and there's so much of it that it just becomes part of the landscape. Occasionally, however, some stuff catches my eye...
(Translation: I want to live today, not tomorrow.)
(Translation: I want to live today, not tomorrow.)
31 March 2008
Goldfinger
This is the first film I remember seeing. It was 1965. My mom was on a date at the drive-in theater and I was meant to be asleep in the back of her Rambler station wagon. I wasn't, which became clear to my mom and her date, when peeking from beneath my blanket I saw the dead naked lady painted in gold. Ah, childhood memories...
In any case, Goldfinger remains a very special favorite...and so does Shirley Bassey.
In any case, Goldfinger remains a very special favorite...and so does Shirley Bassey.
29 March 2008
Dutch Filmmaking
I'm a bit suspicious of films made by politicians; right-wing politicians even more so. Fitna, by Dutch politician Geert Wilders, seems designed purely to provoke. I haven't seen it and have no plans to see it, so perhaps I'm being unfair. Whatever.
In fact, I feel quite lucky that last night I saw another film, which I am pleased to offer as a more fitting example of Dutch filmmaking. Released in 2006 and directed by Kate Brown, Absolutely Positive tells the story of Dennis, who is 16 years old and HIV-positive. As the film begins, Dennis has just moved in with his aunt following his mother's death (AIDS-related suicide). He is an outsider in his new high school and anyone who has ever been in high school, HIV-positive or not, can relate.
Dennis (Hunter Bussemaker)
Dennis finds, however, that his new life isn't all bad. There is a girl named Sara, who is as intrigued by Dennis as he is by her.
Sara, right (Lore Dijkman)
A relationship slowly develops between Dennis and Sara, and when her parents leave town for the weekend, she invites him to spend the night. Without giving away too much of the story, suffice it to say that trying to tell someone you love and are sexually attracted to, that you are HIV-positive, is not particularly easy; in this case it is very nearly heartbreaking.
Absolutely Positive doesn't flinch from the difficulties of being an HIV-positive teenager. There is an especially moving scene where Dennis, in utter despair, burns his wrists with a cigarette.
At the same time, however, the film offers hope, and it is the hope based on the madness commonly known as love. And I'll take that over hate and intolerance any day.
I saw Absolutely Positive on the television station Arte, which is a co-production of Germany and France and perhaps the real reason I moved back to Berlin.
Note: The pics are all my shots of the television screen.
In fact, I feel quite lucky that last night I saw another film, which I am pleased to offer as a more fitting example of Dutch filmmaking. Released in 2006 and directed by Kate Brown, Absolutely Positive tells the story of Dennis, who is 16 years old and HIV-positive. As the film begins, Dennis has just moved in with his aunt following his mother's death (AIDS-related suicide). He is an outsider in his new high school and anyone who has ever been in high school, HIV-positive or not, can relate.
Dennis (Hunter Bussemaker)
Sara, right (Lore Dijkman)Absolutely Positive doesn't flinch from the difficulties of being an HIV-positive teenager. There is an especially moving scene where Dennis, in utter despair, burns his wrists with a cigarette.
At the same time, however, the film offers hope, and it is the hope based on the madness commonly known as love. And I'll take that over hate and intolerance any day.
I saw Absolutely Positive on the television station Arte, which is a co-production of Germany and France and perhaps the real reason I moved back to Berlin.
Note: The pics are all my shots of the television screen.
20 March 2008
Update: Toilet Seat Lady
The Guardian reports that the toilet seat lady's boyfriend has been charged with "mistreatment of a dependent adult."
Hmmm...
I wonder what he would have been charged with had he refused to take food to her in the bathroom and she died from starvation. Classic fucked-if you-do-fucked-if you-don't situation, if you ask me.
Hmmm...
I wonder what he would have been charged with had he refused to take food to her in the bathroom and she died from starvation. Classic fucked-if you-do-fucked-if you-don't situation, if you ask me.
Spring is in the Air
Thanks goodness I had the presence of mind to load up on my allergy medicine before I left DC...
19 March 2008
What I Miss About New York...
It's been almost two years since I had this pastrami sandwich and I still can't forget it.
17 March 2008
Funk is Dead. Long Live Funk!
You see, this is why I love YouTube.
I was sitting here at my desk (or at Silke's desk to be precise) working on a copy editing assignment, when it occurred to me that what I should really be doing is updating the music videos on my iLike application on Facebook. Since I feature funk and classical on my Facebook profile, updating meant that it was time to search for some funk classics since my current classical video selection will be there for a while.
In any case, I allowed myself to wander back to 1978, the absolute height of Funkiness, and eventually settled on this:
I wish I had a Euro for every time I danced to this song back in the day. Written by that English genius of funk and R&B, Rod Temperton, Grooveline is a blast from a funk-da-fied past I am very happy to have experienced.
I'm not sure what happened to music like this, but I intend to find out. Stay tuned...
I was sitting here at my desk (or at Silke's desk to be precise) working on a copy editing assignment, when it occurred to me that what I should really be doing is updating the music videos on my iLike application on Facebook. Since I feature funk and classical on my Facebook profile, updating meant that it was time to search for some funk classics since my current classical video selection will be there for a while.
In any case, I allowed myself to wander back to 1978, the absolute height of Funkiness, and eventually settled on this:
I wish I had a Euro for every time I danced to this song back in the day. Written by that English genius of funk and R&B, Rod Temperton, Grooveline is a blast from a funk-da-fied past I am very happy to have experienced.
I'm not sure what happened to music like this, but I intend to find out. Stay tuned...
14 March 2008
The Flat Earth Society
One of my favorite smart-ass comments when someone says something that strikes me as old-fashioned is:
Imagine my shock to discover that that time is NOW.
Okay, to begin at the beginning. I was watching a science program called Gallileo* and they were investigating conspiracy theories related to the Apollo Moon missions. Well, one thing led to another (as they do when one goes to Wikipedia to check a name, in this case Bill Kaysing), and before I knew it I was chest deep in Apollo Hoax theories. Fascinating. Not really my type, when it comes to conspiracy theories, but fascinating, nevertheless.
In any case, I soon found myself confronted with a group called The Flat Earth Society and after reading their Wikipedia entry and visiting their website, I felt my brain starting to melt. From a critical essay by Robert Schadewald, here's a sample of what they believe:
"Johnson" in the above quote, refers to Charles K. Johnson. He was resident of the society until his death in 2001.**
Apparently, the United Nations also knows that the world is flat. Why else does their flag look like that? Oh and the whole thing, the society I mean, is based on a literal reading of the Bible.
"Sigh..."
_______
*Yes...I am that girl...
**Hmmmm.... Johnson died on March 19, 2001. Exactly 177 days before September 11. Add the numbers 1+7+7 and you get 15. Then add 1+5 and you get 6. That has to mean something, right?
Yeah, yeah, yeah...and there was also a time when people thought the earth was flat...
Imagine my shock to discover that that time is NOW.
Okay, to begin at the beginning. I was watching a science program called Gallileo* and they were investigating conspiracy theories related to the Apollo Moon missions. Well, one thing led to another (as they do when one goes to Wikipedia to check a name, in this case Bill Kaysing), and before I knew it I was chest deep in Apollo Hoax theories. Fascinating. Not really my type, when it comes to conspiracy theories, but fascinating, nevertheless.
In any case, I soon found myself confronted with a group called The Flat Earth Society and after reading their Wikipedia entry and visiting their website, I felt my brain starting to melt. From a critical essay by Robert Schadewald, here's a sample of what they believe:
...the known world is as circular and as flat as a phonograph record. The North Pole is at the center. At the outer edge lies the southern ice, reputed to be a wall 150 feet high; no one has ever crossed it, and therefore what lies beyond is unknown.
The sun and moon, in the Johnson version, are only about 32 miles in diameter. They circle above the earth in the vicinity of the equator, and their apparent rising and setting are tricks of perspective, like railroad tracks that appear to meet in the distance. The moon shines by its own light and is not eclipsed by the earth. Rather, lunar eclipses are caused by an unseen dark body occasionally passing in front of the moon.
(Source: The Flat-out Truth)
"Johnson" in the above quote, refers to Charles K. Johnson. He was resident of the society until his death in 2001.**
Apparently, the United Nations also knows that the world is flat. Why else does their flag look like that? Oh and the whole thing, the society I mean, is based on a literal reading of the Bible.
"Sigh..."
_______
*Yes...I am that girl...
**Hmmmm.... Johnson died on March 19, 2001. Exactly 177 days before September 11. Add the numbers 1+7+7 and you get 15. Then add 1+5 and you get 6. That has to mean something, right?
Karl Marx...
died on this day 125 years ago. From the volumes he wrote, I think I like this quote best:
The quote was taken from a letter to his father, which was written in 1837, and published sixty years later.
History calls those men the greatest who have ennobled themselves by working for the common good; experience acclaims as happiest the man who has made the greatest number of people happy.
The quote was taken from a letter to his father, which was written in 1837, and published sixty years later.
A Bit of Irish
My eyes are definitely watery after reading this story about the Irish Dancing activities of a bunch of elementary school kids and their teacher in the Bronx.
Photograph: Andrea Mohin/The New York Times
I'm happy for these kids and others, who are fortunate enough to have teachers like Caroline Duggan. I'm sad for the millions of kids who are not.
A Bronx Tale indeed.
Photograph: Andrea Mohin/The New York TimesI'm happy for these kids and others, who are fortunate enough to have teachers like Caroline Duggan. I'm sad for the millions of kids who are not.
A Bronx Tale indeed.
13 March 2008
No, seriously... I Saw this on Nip/Tuck...
...except the woman was stuck to the couch in the living room, not the toilet seat.
As it turns out, however, the Nip/Tuck episode was based on a true story. The clip below is the scene in which the Nip/Tuck pretty boys are trying to separate the woman from the couch. It seems that after a few years, her skin had fused with the couch fabric. Not for the fainthearted:
According to news reports, the toilet seat was removed successfully from the Kansas woman's posterior and she is recovering, though she may have lost the use of her legs.
There is obviously a lot about human nature I don't understand.
As it turns out, however, the Nip/Tuck episode was based on a true story. The clip below is the scene in which the Nip/Tuck pretty boys are trying to separate the woman from the couch. It seems that after a few years, her skin had fused with the couch fabric. Not for the fainthearted:
According to news reports, the toilet seat was removed successfully from the Kansas woman's posterior and she is recovering, though she may have lost the use of her legs.
There is obviously a lot about human nature I don't understand.
Room for Rent
There is an article on the BBC website this morning about landlords in Paris who are exploiting the very serious housing crisis there by offering apartments for rent in exchange for sex. Anything Paris can do, however, Berlin can do better.
As far as I can tell from the BBC article, these are landlords with apartments to rent. This means that they don't actually live with these women, rather they will stop by with varying frequency to "collect" the rent. In Berlin, which doesn't have a housing crisis that I'm aware of, the situation is a bit different. The horny guys placing these ads are looking for roommates. So conceivably, paying the rent could be a full-time effort.
I stumbled across these ads while searching for a roommate, and they're pretty straightforward:
Rough translation: Male 55, doesn't want to live alone anymore. Seeking a nice (female) partner who will live with and love him. House with garden, not too big, available. Child and/or pet is no problem. See you soon (I hope), warm regards.
The next one even offers a trial period of a few nights to test the chemistry, so to speak:
As far as I can tell from the BBC article, these are landlords with apartments to rent. This means that they don't actually live with these women, rather they will stop by with varying frequency to "collect" the rent. In Berlin, which doesn't have a housing crisis that I'm aware of, the situation is a bit different. The horny guys placing these ads are looking for roommates. So conceivably, paying the rent could be a full-time effort.
I stumbled across these ads while searching for a roommate, and they're pretty straightforward:
M55, will nicht mehr allein wohnen
Rough translation: Male 55, doesn't want to live alone anymore. Seeking a nice (female) partner who will live with and love him. House with garden, not too big, available. Child and/or pet is no problem. See you soon (I hope), warm regards.
The next one even offers a trial period of a few nights to test the chemistry, so to speak:
Meine letzte WG-Erfahrung hatte ich (M/40) im Studium, aber Okay, this guy had his last roommate experience when he was in college, but he has an empty room in his lovely apartment in Kufürstendamm and could imagine having a young lady living there, who would also occasionally spend the evening with him when he's in Berlin and sleeps in the apartment. Therefore, he suggests a test run...Interested parties could come to him on Monday and spend the night FOR FREE. But to be clear: although he's a man looking for a woman, he won't force himself!! At the same time, he's not repressed. That he is uncomplicated and unconventional is obvious from the ad. This means that with mutual interest "a lot" is possible...but naturally and without stress. There are quite a few people who work in Berlin during the week and go home on the weekends. This includes many civil servants who didn't want to move to Berlin when the capital moved here from Bonn. This second ad just screams civil servant/businessman with an adoring wife and three kids somewhere in another city. In both of these ads, the rent is "free." Ah well... There is so much I could say about these ads, but if I think too much about them I get annoyed. I guess it's enough just to make it clear that when it comes to sleazy...well there's Paris-style, and there's definitely Berlin-style. And yes, I have found a new roommate. I did not, however, find him at the site where I found these ads. But more about my new digs and my new roommate later. |
12 March 2008
And the others?
Now that Eliot Spitzer has resigned for getting caught, I think this would actually be a really good time for all other public officials, who are involved in conduct unbecoming, to do the same. A sort of en masse, "I'm sorry, I fucked up," abandonment of duties.
You know you're out there, and you also know it's just a matter of time. Quit now and no one will even notice...unless of course, your indiscretions involve farm animals. Honestly, I think we've seen just about everything else.
But they won't take my advice, of course. The arrogance associated with power makes them careless, and quicker than you can say "I have a wide stance" they're all over the blogosphere.
Ah well, I tried.
You know you're out there, and you also know it's just a matter of time. Quit now and no one will even notice...unless of course, your indiscretions involve farm animals. Honestly, I think we've seen just about everything else.
But they won't take my advice, of course. The arrogance associated with power makes them careless, and quicker than you can say "I have a wide stance" they're all over the blogosphere.
Ah well, I tried.
05 March 2008
Der Himmel über Berlin & My Exit from DC
The day I took this photo I was moving from Hartmut's place to Silke's place. I shot it behind Hartmut's building when I went to take out the trash.
I've been in Berlin a month now, and before too much time passes, it's important to say Thanks to some lovely people in DC, without whom the only move I would have made would have been to a padded room while dressed in a very long-sleeved jacket.
First, Sarah Jane gave up two weekend days to help me pack. This involved not only packing, which seems obvious, but convincing me to throw out things I really did not need to ship across the pond. I won't go into details here, if you know her, she probably told you about my little "treasures" already anyway... SJ I really appreciate your help and your patience. Thanks again.
Then there was Josh, who responded to my panicked request (read: demand) that he get his ass over to my apartment the night before I moved out, in order to take a bunch of stuff I was going to simply throw away. You know who your friends are by that look they give you when you're totally freaking out and they know it, and you know they know it, but you both act like it isn't happening... Josh, I hope you're using the salad spinner... I miss your face.
Moving on...
It was a simple idea: get a valid driver's license before moving to Europe. Well, what did Steinbeck teach us about the best-laid plans of mice and men? Without going into the details (which beggar belief), let's just say that Mercury was in retrograde and as a result, what began as a brief little excursion to the DMV, ended up in John having to take a day off from work to make sure I actually made my flight. Further evidence of the madness of this day, is that my last meal in DC was at Burger King... Okay, it wasn't so bad, this was also the day that John rode a metro bus for the first time. God, that was hilarious. Dude, I owe you BIG time.
Special thanks also to Sue and to Terry for their beautiful (and oh so practical) going-away sentiments. Sue, my mom tried to steal those gloves, but since I was expecting this, I was ready for her.
Gosh, had I known how much some people in DC cared, I might have stayed... Just kidding, but you get the point.
Thanks my dears!
I've been in Berlin a month now, and before too much time passes, it's important to say Thanks to some lovely people in DC, without whom the only move I would have made would have been to a padded room while dressed in a very long-sleeved jacket.
First, Sarah Jane gave up two weekend days to help me pack. This involved not only packing, which seems obvious, but convincing me to throw out things I really did not need to ship across the pond. I won't go into details here, if you know her, she probably told you about my little "treasures" already anyway... SJ I really appreciate your help and your patience. Thanks again.
Then there was Josh, who responded to my panicked request (read: demand) that he get his ass over to my apartment the night before I moved out, in order to take a bunch of stuff I was going to simply throw away. You know who your friends are by that look they give you when you're totally freaking out and they know it, and you know they know it, but you both act like it isn't happening... Josh, I hope you're using the salad spinner... I miss your face.
Moving on...
It was a simple idea: get a valid driver's license before moving to Europe. Well, what did Steinbeck teach us about the best-laid plans of mice and men? Without going into the details (which beggar belief), let's just say that Mercury was in retrograde and as a result, what began as a brief little excursion to the DMV, ended up in John having to take a day off from work to make sure I actually made my flight. Further evidence of the madness of this day, is that my last meal in DC was at Burger King... Okay, it wasn't so bad, this was also the day that John rode a metro bus for the first time. God, that was hilarious. Dude, I owe you BIG time.
Special thanks also to Sue and to Terry for their beautiful (and oh so practical) going-away sentiments. Sue, my mom tried to steal those gloves, but since I was expecting this, I was ready for her.
Gosh, had I known how much some people in DC cared, I might have stayed... Just kidding, but you get the point.
Thanks my dears!
14 January 2008
Inez's Questionnaire
Since Vanity Fair probably owns the copyright to "Proust Questionnaire" I'll just call my version "Inez's Questionnaire," alter the questions slightly, and hope that keeps me out of some sort of intellectual property dispute...like they are sooo worried about this blog...whatever...just saying...
In any case, here goes:
What is your idea of perfect happiness?
...and justice for all.
What is your current state of mind?
Bemused.
What or who is the greatest love of your life?
Berlin.
Which living person do you most admire?
Aid workers around the world.
What is the quality you most like in a man?
Courage, closely followed by a sense of humor.
What s the quality you most like in a woman?
Same.
What is your greatest extravagance?
Travel.
What is the trait you most deplore in others?
Cowardice.
What is your greatest fear?
The Ausländerbehörde in Berlin.
What do you consider the most overrated virtue?
"Virtue itself is offensive." --Nietzsche
Which living person do you most despise?
I don't have the energy to truly despise anyone.
When and where were you happiest?
2000-2001 in Berlin.
Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
"Fuck!"
"What the fuck?!"
"Shut the fuck up!"
"That's hysterical!"
"My brain is melting."
Which talent would you most like to have?
To be able to play the guitar I own.
If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
To be brave enough to fall in love again.
If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?
A handsome and well-endowed man.
What is your most treasured possession?
My grandmother's pearls.
What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
Hopelessness.
What do you most value in your friends?
Loyalty, intelligence, and humor.
Who are your favorite writers?
DH Lawrence, William Trevor, Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Keri Hulme, and John Le Carré among others.
Who is your favorite hero of fiction?
George Smiley.
Who are your heroes in real life?
Aid workers around the world, like Doctors Without Borders.
Which historical figure do you most identify with?
Nina Simone.
How would you like to die?
In my sleep, like most people.
What is your greatest regret?
Because we didn't have a lot of money when I was growing up, I had to choose between ballet and piano, and I chose ballet. Years later after surgery on both ankles, it was too late for the piano.
What is your motto?
"You get what you settle for."
In any case, here goes:
What is your idea of perfect happiness?
...and justice for all.
What is your current state of mind?
Bemused.
What or who is the greatest love of your life?
Berlin.
Which living person do you most admire?
Aid workers around the world.
What is the quality you most like in a man?
Courage, closely followed by a sense of humor.
What s the quality you most like in a woman?
Same.
What is your greatest extravagance?
Travel.
What is the trait you most deplore in others?
Cowardice.
What is your greatest fear?
The Ausländerbehörde in Berlin.
What do you consider the most overrated virtue?
"Virtue itself is offensive." --Nietzsche
Which living person do you most despise?
I don't have the energy to truly despise anyone.
When and where were you happiest?
2000-2001 in Berlin.
Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
"Fuck!"
"What the fuck?!"
"Shut the fuck up!"
"That's hysterical!"
"My brain is melting."
Which talent would you most like to have?
To be able to play the guitar I own.
If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
To be brave enough to fall in love again.
If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?
A handsome and well-endowed man.
What is your most treasured possession?
My grandmother's pearls.
What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
Hopelessness.
What do you most value in your friends?
Loyalty, intelligence, and humor.
Who are your favorite writers?
DH Lawrence, William Trevor, Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Keri Hulme, and John Le Carré among others.
Who is your favorite hero of fiction?
George Smiley.
Who are your heroes in real life?
Aid workers around the world, like Doctors Without Borders.
Which historical figure do you most identify with?
Nina Simone.
How would you like to die?
In my sleep, like most people.
What is your greatest regret?
Because we didn't have a lot of money when I was growing up, I had to choose between ballet and piano, and I chose ballet. Years later after surgery on both ankles, it was too late for the piano.
What is your motto?
"You get what you settle for."
31 December 2007
11 December 2007
Is it just me or is this stupid?
My mail service pharmacy recently sent me a prescription refill and enclosed was a letter I was supposed to sign.
No problem, except of course that the policy wasn't enclosed. So I called and said that I would be happy to sign the letter as requested, but the policy was not enclosed and that being the case I couldn't sign the letter to say that I had received and reviewed it. I was told by the very confused Customer Service representative, that the policy is never enclosed and that I just needed to sign the letter and send it back.
Seriously...
I refuse to believe that I'm the only person who ever pointed out the lunacy of sending letters to customers asking them to acknowledge receipt of a document they have in fact NOT received.
A bit frustrated with the woman on the telephone, I sent a fax to the company.
No response...
So here we sit in some kind of perverse stalemate. I'm not signing their stupid letter and they're not sending the bloody policy. Of course they can opt to stop sending me my medicine, but I am prepared to fight this. Okay, I'm prepared to fight it for the next six weeks, then it's a moot point anyway.
Stay tuned for developments...
Enclosed please find our Notice of Privacy Practices. Under the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act of 1996 (HIPAA), we are legally required to distribute this policy and obtain the signature of each family member who receives prescriptions through our mail service pharmacy acknowledging that they have received it. Parents should sign on behalf of their minor children.
Please take a few minutes to review the policy, and then have each adult member listed below sign their names in the appropriate spaces.
No problem, except of course that the policy wasn't enclosed. So I called and said that I would be happy to sign the letter as requested, but the policy was not enclosed and that being the case I couldn't sign the letter to say that I had received and reviewed it. I was told by the very confused Customer Service representative, that the policy is never enclosed and that I just needed to sign the letter and send it back.
Seriously...
I refuse to believe that I'm the only person who ever pointed out the lunacy of sending letters to customers asking them to acknowledge receipt of a document they have in fact NOT received.
A bit frustrated with the woman on the telephone, I sent a fax to the company.
No response...
So here we sit in some kind of perverse stalemate. I'm not signing their stupid letter and they're not sending the bloody policy. Of course they can opt to stop sending me my medicine, but I am prepared to fight this. Okay, I'm prepared to fight it for the next six weeks, then it's a moot point anyway.
Stay tuned for developments...
09 December 2007
The Facebook Effect
Good grief, it's been a while...
Well it's not like I wasn't warned, I just didn't want to believe it: Facebook can have a disastrous impact on a blog. So in my case, though my Facebook profile is quite developed, my poor blog is looking like a neglected child...
Obviously, I'm enjoying my Facebook self. I've got a decent amount of friends and since most of them are people I actually know and like, I have no complaints about that. There are also some cool applications that could take up quite a bit of my time, if I allowed them to. Actually, I'm thinking of the Movies application and the night I spent hours searching for cool clips from my favorite films and adding them to my profile. Time well spent, I assure you...
The thing with Facebook is that there the applications do the talking for me. God knows what I'm saying about myself with Filthbook, but Virtual Bookshelf and iLike perhaps balance my image. And then there are the postings from my friends that may give some hints about me based on whatever it is they're saying to me or sending me. Then there are the Questions I ask, the Groups I belong to, and the Causes I support, which must also offer a glimpse into my soul. Or maybe not, who knows??
I suppose I have finally returned to my blog because I just need to speak for me myself; and not speak for me by displaying applications or groups that i find interesting. I'm not sure I have anything particularly interesting to say here these days, but I'm back nevertheless and let's just see what happens, shall we?
Well it's not like I wasn't warned, I just didn't want to believe it: Facebook can have a disastrous impact on a blog. So in my case, though my Facebook profile is quite developed, my poor blog is looking like a neglected child...
Obviously, I'm enjoying my Facebook self. I've got a decent amount of friends and since most of them are people I actually know and like, I have no complaints about that. There are also some cool applications that could take up quite a bit of my time, if I allowed them to. Actually, I'm thinking of the Movies application and the night I spent hours searching for cool clips from my favorite films and adding them to my profile. Time well spent, I assure you...
The thing with Facebook is that there the applications do the talking for me. God knows what I'm saying about myself with Filthbook, but Virtual Bookshelf and iLike perhaps balance my image. And then there are the postings from my friends that may give some hints about me based on whatever it is they're saying to me or sending me. Then there are the Questions I ask, the Groups I belong to, and the Causes I support, which must also offer a glimpse into my soul. Or maybe not, who knows??
I suppose I have finally returned to my blog because I just need to speak for me myself; and not speak for me by displaying applications or groups that i find interesting. I'm not sure I have anything particularly interesting to say here these days, but I'm back nevertheless and let's just see what happens, shall we?
04 August 2007
Shirley Bassey
I was shocked to discover that at 46, I am closer to 70 than I am to 20. How on earth did that happen, I ask you? So forgive me for being on the lookout for amazingly hot septagenarians, who seem to show that life needn't be one long painful slide into the grave.
That said, imagine my utter delight at finding Shirley Bassey's interpetation of Pink's Get the Party Started. Now that's a role model I can live with.
Enjoy!
That said, imagine my utter delight at finding Shirley Bassey's interpetation of Pink's Get the Party Started. Now that's a role model I can live with.
Enjoy!
28 July 2007
Um... NASA, WTF????
Now I really have heard EVERYTHING: Astronauts flying under the influence of alcohol. I mean give me a break.
I truly can't be bothered to look up the name of that mallet-wielding, pepper-spray carrying, and possibly diaper-wearing jilted lover chick who caused NASA to conduct the internal review that led to this most recent embarrassment, but at least she waited to act a fool (as Barbara Jean would say) once she was back on the ground. And though I wish alcohol could explain what she did, apparently she crossed a few state lines ready to kick some love rival ass while she was stone cold sober. But lifting off into space while so obviously drunk that colleagues are concerned for their safety? That just about rips it. Try piloting an America West flight that drunk and see what happens.
Along with the shameless increase in public nosepicking, yet further evidence that we are truly witnessing the decline and fall of western civilization.
Sigh...
I truly can't be bothered to look up the name of that mallet-wielding, pepper-spray carrying, and possibly diaper-wearing jilted lover chick who caused NASA to conduct the internal review that led to this most recent embarrassment, but at least she waited to act a fool (as Barbara Jean would say) once she was back on the ground. And though I wish alcohol could explain what she did, apparently she crossed a few state lines ready to kick some love rival ass while she was stone cold sober. But lifting off into space while so obviously drunk that colleagues are concerned for their safety? That just about rips it. Try piloting an America West flight that drunk and see what happens.
Along with the shameless increase in public nosepicking, yet further evidence that we are truly witnessing the decline and fall of western civilization.
Sigh...
Cruel and Unusual?
Holy Shit!
I can't tell if this is "cruel and unusual punishment" or a very cool way for prisoners to get their exercise while locked up. In any case, I offer for your consideration, a bunch of inmates in the Philippines "doing" Thriller. Tja, and there you were thinking Turkish prisons were hellish...
I can't tell if this is "cruel and unusual punishment" or a very cool way for prisoners to get their exercise while locked up. In any case, I offer for your consideration, a bunch of inmates in the Philippines "doing" Thriller. Tja, and there you were thinking Turkish prisons were hellish...
21 July 2007
Lost Treasures
Say what you will about the wonders of email and all the speed and convenience associated with this type of communication, I miss letters and postcards.
So here I am in DC (still) unpacking my stuff, which up until now has been a rather joyous task. I repeat, until now. Now I am going through the boxes of letters sent to me over the years; the biggest stack by far arriving the first year I ran off to Europe (1994-1995). People I no longer have contact with, writing to offer moral support for the wacky adventure that was (and is some sense still is) my life. Some of these people I no longer remember, and some I am happy to unremember, if I can get away with using that word, which is definitely NOT the same thing as forgetting.
Then there is a huge stack of letters from people I met in Europe, some who are still near and dear to me, and some I apparently loved deeply (or thought I loved deeply and what's the difference anyway?) though no longer have any contact with. How is that possible?
These letters give me insight into my life then, as I read comments and advice on problems or situations I had apparently written about. [Note: My future biographers will be thrilled with Efrat's 14-page letter. So will hers for that matter...] Or they were just ordinary communications about life and work and love, etc.
My heart is threatening to break over the loss of letters and postcards from my life: a few lines scribbled on a postcard, or volumes poured out on graph paper torn from a notebook, or that so-thin-that-you-can-see-through-it airmail stationery. It was all good. Some of these gems also include photographs taken of me by the letter-writer, which would now be just an email attachment. One such photograph--taken in 1991 on a train between New Orleans and Phoenix by a Dutch guy--reminds me that I actually used to take the time to have my eyebrows waxed. Good grief, who was that woman?
I suppose it doesn't help that I watched Central Station last night. The role that letters play in that film is truly staggering, and of course, heartbreaking.
When I was a freshman in college, one of my friends got drunk and told me (in front of all my other friends) that I was "an abstract bitch living in a concrete world." He meant it as an insult of course, but it was probably one of the nicest mean things anyone ever said about me to my face. And in many ways it's reassuring to know that some things haven't changed too much since I was 18. I mean how else could you describe someone who is seriously upset about the fact that no one writes letters anymore?
I tried to remedy this situation a couple years ago when I was living in Scotland by sending postcards. Though I did receive a few postcards in response, inevitably, I received responses via email saying: "Wow, thanks for the card! Very cool." And yes, I have a ton of emails stored in my archives, BUT IT IS JUST NOT THE SAME, OKAY??
There is hope, however. Since I've been in my new apartment, I have received a few cards and letters, and for that I should publicly thank my brother John, and three good friends from Germany: Ina, Tina, and Sabine. And I suppose I should be happy that people think of me, in whatever form it occurs. Still...
So here I am in DC (still) unpacking my stuff, which up until now has been a rather joyous task. I repeat, until now. Now I am going through the boxes of letters sent to me over the years; the biggest stack by far arriving the first year I ran off to Europe (1994-1995). People I no longer have contact with, writing to offer moral support for the wacky adventure that was (and is some sense still is) my life. Some of these people I no longer remember, and some I am happy to unremember, if I can get away with using that word, which is definitely NOT the same thing as forgetting.
Then there is a huge stack of letters from people I met in Europe, some who are still near and dear to me, and some I apparently loved deeply (or thought I loved deeply and what's the difference anyway?) though no longer have any contact with. How is that possible?
These letters give me insight into my life then, as I read comments and advice on problems or situations I had apparently written about. [Note: My future biographers will be thrilled with Efrat's 14-page letter. So will hers for that matter...] Or they were just ordinary communications about life and work and love, etc.
My heart is threatening to break over the loss of letters and postcards from my life: a few lines scribbled on a postcard, or volumes poured out on graph paper torn from a notebook, or that so-thin-that-you-can-see-through-it airmail stationery. It was all good. Some of these gems also include photographs taken of me by the letter-writer, which would now be just an email attachment. One such photograph--taken in 1991 on a train between New Orleans and Phoenix by a Dutch guy--reminds me that I actually used to take the time to have my eyebrows waxed. Good grief, who was that woman?
I suppose it doesn't help that I watched Central Station last night. The role that letters play in that film is truly staggering, and of course, heartbreaking.
When I was a freshman in college, one of my friends got drunk and told me (in front of all my other friends) that I was "an abstract bitch living in a concrete world." He meant it as an insult of course, but it was probably one of the nicest mean things anyone ever said about me to my face. And in many ways it's reassuring to know that some things haven't changed too much since I was 18. I mean how else could you describe someone who is seriously upset about the fact that no one writes letters anymore?
I tried to remedy this situation a couple years ago when I was living in Scotland by sending postcards. Though I did receive a few postcards in response, inevitably, I received responses via email saying: "Wow, thanks for the card! Very cool." And yes, I have a ton of emails stored in my archives, BUT IT IS JUST NOT THE SAME, OKAY??
There is hope, however. Since I've been in my new apartment, I have received a few cards and letters, and for that I should publicly thank my brother John, and three good friends from Germany: Ina, Tina, and Sabine. And I suppose I should be happy that people think of me, in whatever form it occurs. Still...
15 July 2007
Creep Factor: 7.3
I'm sorry, but a headless torso with an arm that I'm supposed to curl myself up in is just creepy. At least 1000 single women in Japan, however, find the new boyfriend pillows the practical alternative to snoring cheats.
Good grief, what does it say about Japanese men, when a one-armed stuffed pillow is seen as a welcome alternative to the "real" thing?
I know what you're thinking: "Hey hypocrite, what about Goldfinger?"
Different matter entirely...
Good grief, what does it say about Japanese men, when a one-armed stuffed pillow is seen as a welcome alternative to the "real" thing?
I know what you're thinking: "Hey hypocrite, what about Goldfinger?"
Different matter entirely...
13 July 2007
Lieber Jörg
Gute Besserung wünsche ich Dir aus Washington.
Und viele liebe Grüße an Leyla, Rosa, und Jan!
Und viele liebe Grüße an Leyla, Rosa, und Jan!
12 July 2007
Kein Zurück
Okay, now I’m musically stuck in the summer of 2003.
During the heatwave that took many lives in Europe that summer, I was meant to be doing the fieldwork for my PhD. Leaving the apartment everyday was an act of courage because it was so hot. Moreover, I was terrified that I’d get the whole ethnography thing wrong and my research project would be a complete failure. As the days ticked away, and my field notebook remained dismally empty, inspiration came from a melancholy song about life from the synthpop duo Wolfsheim.
The song, Kein Zurück (loosely translated as No Return), is a reminder that life has no rewind button; you can’t return to the past, you just have to keep moving forward. It’s also a reminder that what you’re doing can’t ever really be undone: “was getan ist ist getan.” And finally, it is a reminder that life is what is happening now, and not in some magical future when you imagine you'll have all your shit together:
I was also moved by the crazy woman in the video, who seemed to embody all of the frustration I felt that summer. But let's not pretend that the song belongs to my past, I still listen to it at least once a day.
Enjoy.
During the heatwave that took many lives in Europe that summer, I was meant to be doing the fieldwork for my PhD. Leaving the apartment everyday was an act of courage because it was so hot. Moreover, I was terrified that I’d get the whole ethnography thing wrong and my research project would be a complete failure. As the days ticked away, and my field notebook remained dismally empty, inspiration came from a melancholy song about life from the synthpop duo Wolfsheim.
The song, Kein Zurück (loosely translated as No Return), is a reminder that life has no rewind button; you can’t return to the past, you just have to keep moving forward. It’s also a reminder that what you’re doing can’t ever really be undone: “was getan ist ist getan.” And finally, it is a reminder that life is what is happening now, and not in some magical future when you imagine you'll have all your shit together:
Deine Träume schiebst du endlos vor dir her
Du willst noch leben irgendwann
Doch wenn nicht heute, wann denn dann?
Denn irgendwann ist auch ein Traum zu lange her.
I was also moved by the crazy woman in the video, who seemed to embody all of the frustration I felt that summer. But let's not pretend that the song belongs to my past, I still listen to it at least once a day.
Enjoy.
10 July 2007
Merhaba
Okay, so I'm doing my Turkish homework and I've got Istanbul on the brain. So I let my mind wander back to the summer of 2003 when I was living in Little Istanbul (Kreuzberg/Berlin) and Turkey won the Eurovision Song Contest with this entry:
Can I tell you how much fun it was to be living with a Turkish nationalist in a Turkish neighborhood in Berlin when Turkey won? Mind-boggling...
The artist, Sertab Erener, also released a music video for the track, which gives an idea of what the harem girls got up to while the sheik was away:
As for belly dancing, it is important to note that some Turkish men are also quite talented. Particularly the nationalists...
Okay, back to work.
Iyi geceler.
Can I tell you how much fun it was to be living with a Turkish nationalist in a Turkish neighborhood in Berlin when Turkey won? Mind-boggling...
The artist, Sertab Erener, also released a music video for the track, which gives an idea of what the harem girls got up to while the sheik was away:
As for belly dancing, it is important to note that some Turkish men are also quite talented. Particularly the nationalists...
Okay, back to work.
Iyi geceler.
09 July 2007
Duh
Apparently the US is losing out on the global tourism market, and according to a recent Associated Press article, Congress aims to do something about it.
Hmmm...
Well they could poll some of my friends around the world who have declined my invitations to come visit. Chief among the reasons they give for passing up on my generous hospitality include the eyeball scans and fingerprinting they would have to endure at US customs.* I mean really, is this any way to treat guests?
What kind of arrogance rules the land when the government appears to be surprised that many tourists are willing to pass on the opportunity to be abused by US Border Patrol agents? Frankly I'm surprised we've managed to hang on to as many visitors as we have.
According to the article, "the United States is the only global destination without an ongoing program to promote itself." Did I mention arrogance? Whatever. Senate Bill S.1661 proposes a new corporation to help promote the United States as a destination to travelers around the world. Visitors from the 27 Visa-waiver countries will be taxed to help pay for it.
Sigh...
________
*Okay, okay, a lot of them also doubt that I'll still be living in the US by the time they schedule their trips.
Hmmm...
Well they could poll some of my friends around the world who have declined my invitations to come visit. Chief among the reasons they give for passing up on my generous hospitality include the eyeball scans and fingerprinting they would have to endure at US customs.* I mean really, is this any way to treat guests?
What kind of arrogance rules the land when the government appears to be surprised that many tourists are willing to pass on the opportunity to be abused by US Border Patrol agents? Frankly I'm surprised we've managed to hang on to as many visitors as we have.
According to the article, "the United States is the only global destination without an ongoing program to promote itself." Did I mention arrogance? Whatever. Senate Bill S.1661 proposes a new corporation to help promote the United States as a destination to travelers around the world. Visitors from the 27 Visa-waiver countries will be taxed to help pay for it.
Sigh...
________
*Okay, okay, a lot of them also doubt that I'll still be living in the US by the time they schedule their trips.
03 July 2007
Men at Work
I'd like for you to meet Luke.
Luke is the graphic design intern in my office this summer. After getting to know me a bit, Luke suggested that I re-think the manner in which I represent myself on this blog, so he took a crack at designing the new image that has replaced my photo.
I like it. It's abstract but honest; childlike but sophisticated; gray but also red. Luke may only be 20, but he's quite discerning. He saw right through me and captured my very soul in the complicated medium of Etch-a-Sketch.
Keep your eye on this kid: he's definitely going places.
Luke is the graphic design intern in my office this summer. After getting to know me a bit, Luke suggested that I re-think the manner in which I represent myself on this blog, so he took a crack at designing the new image that has replaced my photo.
I like it. It's abstract but honest; childlike but sophisticated; gray but also red. Luke may only be 20, but he's quite discerning. He saw right through me and captured my very soul in the complicated medium of Etch-a-Sketch.
Keep your eye on this kid: he's definitely going places.
03 June 2007
The Hustler Challenge
It's a rainy Sunday in Washington. The perfect kind of day to enjoy a pot of coffee and the Sunday paper. So I'm reading the Washington Post, which isn't the most stimulating newspaper on the planet, but it will suffice for a day like this.
Given how dull the Post is, you have to imagine my utter delight at the full-page ad I have just come across:
"Larry Flynt and Hustler Magazine announce a cash offer of up to $1 Million"
All you need to do is prove that you have had sex with a "current member of the United States Congress or a high-ranking government official."
What about wives and husbands, you ask? It says that the encounters need to be of an "illicit" nature, so I guess that rules out the marital bed.
The ad goes on to say that the "relations" need to "documented" and I guess for $1 million you're going to need more than a semen-stained linen dress from The Gap...as if they even do cute dresses anymore.
In any case, if this ad speaks to you, please call 1.800.251.2714 or email hustler@lfp.com with your hotel receipts, racy pics, etc.
I'm guessing the Blackberries around town are heating up with counter-offers...
Given how dull the Post is, you have to imagine my utter delight at the full-page ad I have just come across:
"Larry Flynt and Hustler Magazine announce a cash offer of up to $1 Million"
All you need to do is prove that you have had sex with a "current member of the United States Congress or a high-ranking government official."
What about wives and husbands, you ask? It says that the encounters need to be of an "illicit" nature, so I guess that rules out the marital bed.
The ad goes on to say that the "relations" need to "documented" and I guess for $1 million you're going to need more than a semen-stained linen dress from The Gap...as if they even do cute dresses anymore.
In any case, if this ad speaks to you, please call 1.800.251.2714 or email hustler@lfp.com with your hotel receipts, racy pics, etc.
I'm guessing the Blackberries around town are heating up with counter-offers...
29 May 2007
Have Your Say
My new favorite pastime is truly demented: I scan controversial news items just to read the other readers' comments. Trust me, this is a perverted wasted of time.
That said, it's also utterly fascinating. You can learn more than you want to know about the state of human consciousness by seeing what gets people really riled up. For example, David Aaronovitch has written a fairly unsympathetic account of the media circus surrounding the abduction of Madeleine McCann, a four-year old British girl who was taken from her bed in a holiday resort in Portugal, while her parents ate dinner in a nearby restaurant. In his article, Aaronovitch explores both the outpouring of grief and the intense media interest the case has generated. Given that the website set up for Madeleine has already experienced over 60 million hits, it's safe to say that there are a lot of people out there who feel very strongly about this little girl. And quite a few of them didn't appreciate having their motives questioned by some pesky journalist.
On the other hand, there is apparently another group which has apparently been suffering in silence. Pissed off because at least 40 other children have gone missing in the UK since Madeleine's disappearance without a call to arms for their safe return from David Beckham or Gordon Brown, these folks were more than happy to hear Aaronovitch hint at the fact that Madeleine is a big deal because she's pretty and white.
So, these two groups squared off in the Have Your Say section at the end of the article. Fascinating. The really cool part isn't when they diss Aaronovitch, but when they start dissing each other. To be fair, they also give positive feedback to the commenters that they agree with. But still, I go there for the dirt, not the props. As this was an article in the Times Online, it was all pretty civilized. If you want real nastiness, however, check out the Reader Comments at TMZ.com
Given that TMZ is a gossip site, let's just say that the readers posting comments there aren't quite as reserved as the readers at Times Online. Far from it. At TMZ the abuse comes fast and furious. Even the N-word gets tossed around with abandon. In fact, the comments become racial fairly quickly. I'm not sure why, but having read my fair share of them, I'd say that there's a lot of not-too-pent-up racism flourishing out here in Web 2.0...
In fact, it is pretty bad out here in cyberspace. CBSNews.com had to do away with reader comments in stories dealing with Barack Obama because of the racist content. If you want to get a mild idea of what I'm talking about here, here is a link to a blog posting from the Chicago Tribune discussing CBS' decision, followed by readers' comments.
I'm sure all of this means something. As for why I bother to read this stuff, I have a pretty good idea, but I'll have to get back to you about it later.
That said, it's also utterly fascinating. You can learn more than you want to know about the state of human consciousness by seeing what gets people really riled up. For example, David Aaronovitch has written a fairly unsympathetic account of the media circus surrounding the abduction of Madeleine McCann, a four-year old British girl who was taken from her bed in a holiday resort in Portugal, while her parents ate dinner in a nearby restaurant. In his article, Aaronovitch explores both the outpouring of grief and the intense media interest the case has generated. Given that the website set up for Madeleine has already experienced over 60 million hits, it's safe to say that there are a lot of people out there who feel very strongly about this little girl. And quite a few of them didn't appreciate having their motives questioned by some pesky journalist.
On the other hand, there is apparently another group which has apparently been suffering in silence. Pissed off because at least 40 other children have gone missing in the UK since Madeleine's disappearance without a call to arms for their safe return from David Beckham or Gordon Brown, these folks were more than happy to hear Aaronovitch hint at the fact that Madeleine is a big deal because she's pretty and white.
So, these two groups squared off in the Have Your Say section at the end of the article. Fascinating. The really cool part isn't when they diss Aaronovitch, but when they start dissing each other. To be fair, they also give positive feedback to the commenters that they agree with. But still, I go there for the dirt, not the props. As this was an article in the Times Online, it was all pretty civilized. If you want real nastiness, however, check out the Reader Comments at TMZ.com
Given that TMZ is a gossip site, let's just say that the readers posting comments there aren't quite as reserved as the readers at Times Online. Far from it. At TMZ the abuse comes fast and furious. Even the N-word gets tossed around with abandon. In fact, the comments become racial fairly quickly. I'm not sure why, but having read my fair share of them, I'd say that there's a lot of not-too-pent-up racism flourishing out here in Web 2.0...
In fact, it is pretty bad out here in cyberspace. CBSNews.com had to do away with reader comments in stories dealing with Barack Obama because of the racist content. If you want to get a mild idea of what I'm talking about here, here is a link to a blog posting from the Chicago Tribune discussing CBS' decision, followed by readers' comments.
I'm sure all of this means something. As for why I bother to read this stuff, I have a pretty good idea, but I'll have to get back to you about it later.
05 April 2007
In which our heroine rediscovers the love of her life and makes an impulsive purchase...
With all due respect to George Smiley, whom I so deeply love, I have just reconnected with my one true love: Don Quixote.
When Edith Grossman's translation was released in 2003, it was instantly hailed as THE definitive English translation. I was in Berlin at the time, knee-deep in my field work, and though I read the reviews in the New Yorker, the Guardian, and a billion other publications, simply had no time to curl up with my own copy. So it was also added to that list of books I would read when I finally finished my *@#!!% Ph.D.
Well, somehow after I finished my studies, I couldn't find the list, and I just read a bunch of random stuff: Austerlitz, The Medici: Godfathers of the Renaissance, The Plot Against America, Bleak House, The Man who Smiled, Snow, Blindness, The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loann, and some freaky Ruth Rendell thrillers, which put me right off dating.
Earlier this week I finished The Wonga Coup, which is a great read about the failed coup in Equatorial Guinea in 2004. (It's the one in which Maggie Thatcher's son was implicated.) After I finished that book I felt the need to retreat to classic literature and allowed myself to be inspired by the shelves in the bookshop around the corner from my office. And there, as i wandered through the C's I found it. Thank goodness Cervantes wrote this and not some guy named Saramago, because I was tired and ready to go home. Beyond the thrill of remembering that this was a book from my list, the wonderful cover and soothing internal design were like icing on the proverbial cake. I was so excited that I couldn't even wait to order it from Amazon. I paid full price!
I'd read Don Quixote while I was at Carolina. I took a Spanish class during summer school that met for three hours every day for six weeks and Don Quixote was what we read, discussed, and wrote about--inside and out. I'm guessing though, that reading Don Quixote at 21 is a completely different exercise from reading it at 46. Well in my case at least; at 21 I was an optimist and now I'm.... Gosh, I'm not sure what I am. Let's just say that the world makes me very sad and very happy at the same time.
In any case, I think it's the perfect time to curl up with one of literature's most compelling characters. But as soon as my stuff arrives from Berlin (and New York, and Rocky Mount) I'll reread all of my George Smiley novels. Wouldn't want to hurt his feelings...
When Edith Grossman's translation was released in 2003, it was instantly hailed as THE definitive English translation. I was in Berlin at the time, knee-deep in my field work, and though I read the reviews in the New Yorker, the Guardian, and a billion other publications, simply had no time to curl up with my own copy. So it was also added to that list of books I would read when I finally finished my *@#!!% Ph.D.
Well, somehow after I finished my studies, I couldn't find the list, and I just read a bunch of random stuff: Austerlitz, The Medici: Godfathers of the Renaissance, The Plot Against America, Bleak House, The Man who Smiled, Snow, Blindness, The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loann, and some freaky Ruth Rendell thrillers, which put me right off dating.
Earlier this week I finished The Wonga Coup, which is a great read about the failed coup in Equatorial Guinea in 2004. (It's the one in which Maggie Thatcher's son was implicated.) After I finished that book I felt the need to retreat to classic literature and allowed myself to be inspired by the shelves in the bookshop around the corner from my office. And there, as i wandered through the C's I found it. Thank goodness Cervantes wrote this and not some guy named Saramago, because I was tired and ready to go home. Beyond the thrill of remembering that this was a book from my list, the wonderful cover and soothing internal design were like icing on the proverbial cake. I was so excited that I couldn't even wait to order it from Amazon. I paid full price!
I'd read Don Quixote while I was at Carolina. I took a Spanish class during summer school that met for three hours every day for six weeks and Don Quixote was what we read, discussed, and wrote about--inside and out. I'm guessing though, that reading Don Quixote at 21 is a completely different exercise from reading it at 46. Well in my case at least; at 21 I was an optimist and now I'm.... Gosh, I'm not sure what I am. Let's just say that the world makes me very sad and very happy at the same time.
In any case, I think it's the perfect time to curl up with one of literature's most compelling characters. But as soon as my stuff arrives from Berlin (and New York, and Rocky Mount) I'll reread all of my George Smiley novels. Wouldn't want to hurt his feelings...
17 March 2007
The Mr. Wrong Series: The Guy From Marcella's Group Therapy Session (Pt. 2)
Okay, so where were we?
Ah yes... I had agreed to meet him and we decided to do the deed on a Saturday afternoon at Eureka Joe, a wonderful coffee shop that USED to be on 5th Avenue (around 20th), but is no longer there.
I arrived first, and since there was the chance he wouldn't show up, I ordered my coffee and planted myself on a comfy couch with a book. About ten minutes later he walked in. We hadn't really described ourselves, I guess I figured Marcella had taken care of that when she was trying to convince us to hook up. In any case, he strolled over to the sofa and introduced himself. The fact that we were the only two black folks there may have made it a bit easier. He was wearing a tasteful black leather jacket** and jeans and seemed to be a very nice guy. I relaxed a bit.
He sat down on the sofa across from me and started talking. Since I wasn't sure if he knew the coffee shop, I pointed out that he would have to get his coffee at the counter as they didn't have table service. He said he'd get it later, then added:
"Does it bother you that I haven't ordered anything?"
I assured him that it didn't, which of course was not entirely true, but I didn't want to seem to weird about it. For the record though, we were there for almost three hours and he never ordered anything, while I drank a gallon of coffee to make up for him. He noticed this and said:
"I have money, don't worry. I just don't want anything to drink."
It wasn't like they only had coffee, there was a wide variety of beverages and snacks to choose from. He just wanted to talk. And so he did. About his mom (no longer living), his relationship with his siblings (strained), his job (excellent), and me (intriguing). At some points during his three-hour long introduction of himself, he actually started crying. This happened whenever he talked about his mother. He would also get really agitated when he talked about his siblings, and I was starting to get an idea of why he was in therapy.
Finally, I said that I needed to head home and he offered to walk me to the subway station. Once we arrived he asked if I'd like to have lunch with him the following week, as his office was quite near my own. Yeah, I know, but I said yes anyway. Then as I was about to descend into the subway, he politely asked if he could kiss me, to which I (equally) politely responded:
"No."
On Monday he called me at work and asked if I was free for lunch on Tuesday. I was, so we agreed on a time and a place. On Tuesday morning he called to ask if we could push it back an hour, and I said okay. At the appointed time he called and said he couldn't make it, but could we try again on Wednesday.
And so it went....
Wednesday arrived with apologetic phone calls, but no lunch. Thursday, Friday, and on into the next week. Finally, I suggested that he was simply too busy to be able to schedule lunch dates, so perhaps we should just forget it. He agreed that his schedule was indeed a bit crazy (he was, after all, an advertising executive), but why didn't we try something different. As I was new to NY and never ventured past Park Slope in Brooklyn or the East and West Village in Manhattan, he suggested that on the upcoming Saturday, I come to Harlem and he would show me around. Brunch, shopping, and a tour of his four-story brownstone (with four fireplaces).
This seemed reasonable. He had actually kept our first Saturday date and a day in Harlem sounded very cool. I agreed.
The Friday night before the big Saturday date, I was hanging out with one of my girlfriends and she wanted to go to another bar and I wanted to go home because I needed to get up early in order to meet my date in Harlem at 10:00 for breakfast. To which she replied:
"The guy who's been standing you up the past two weeks?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Check your voicemail at home."
"Why should I check my voicemail?"
"Because you'll feel like an idiot once you get home and he's stood you up for tomorrow morning and you missed the chance to have a nice evening out."
So I checked, and found the following message:
"Hi Inez, I'm so sorry, but something has come up for tomorrow and I won't be able to see you. I'll call you on Sunday."
How on earth did she know? Why on earth hadn't I suspected?
In any case, I didn't answer the phone when he called on Sunday. When he called me at work on Monday, I told him I was no longer interested and asked that he stop calling me. So he called back in an hour. And the hour after that, and the hour after that. He called countless times daily, and finally I had to slip the receptionist $20 to block his calls. After a week of talking to him every twenty minutes, she gave the money back and said it was my problem.
The last time he was put through to me I told him that the next time he called I would call the police. That seemed to do the trick.
I never did figure out the making/breaking dates game. If somebody out there can explain it, drop me a line.
Oh, and Marcella's take on all of this:
"God, you're picky. No wonder you're single."
___
**When I lived in Austin I met a very beautiful man, who happened to be in uniform. He asked me out, but when he showed up at my house to pick me up, he was wearing a crazy orange Michael Jackson leather jacket with about a billion zippers. Everywhere we went that night I ran into people I knew, who later asked: "That guy was fine, but what was up with that jacket?" Since then jackets have been a big deal. Shallow, but true...
Ah yes... I had agreed to meet him and we decided to do the deed on a Saturday afternoon at Eureka Joe, a wonderful coffee shop that USED to be on 5th Avenue (around 20th), but is no longer there.
I arrived first, and since there was the chance he wouldn't show up, I ordered my coffee and planted myself on a comfy couch with a book. About ten minutes later he walked in. We hadn't really described ourselves, I guess I figured Marcella had taken care of that when she was trying to convince us to hook up. In any case, he strolled over to the sofa and introduced himself. The fact that we were the only two black folks there may have made it a bit easier. He was wearing a tasteful black leather jacket** and jeans and seemed to be a very nice guy. I relaxed a bit.
He sat down on the sofa across from me and started talking. Since I wasn't sure if he knew the coffee shop, I pointed out that he would have to get his coffee at the counter as they didn't have table service. He said he'd get it later, then added:
"Does it bother you that I haven't ordered anything?"
I assured him that it didn't, which of course was not entirely true, but I didn't want to seem to weird about it. For the record though, we were there for almost three hours and he never ordered anything, while I drank a gallon of coffee to make up for him. He noticed this and said:
"I have money, don't worry. I just don't want anything to drink."
It wasn't like they only had coffee, there was a wide variety of beverages and snacks to choose from. He just wanted to talk. And so he did. About his mom (no longer living), his relationship with his siblings (strained), his job (excellent), and me (intriguing). At some points during his three-hour long introduction of himself, he actually started crying. This happened whenever he talked about his mother. He would also get really agitated when he talked about his siblings, and I was starting to get an idea of why he was in therapy.
Finally, I said that I needed to head home and he offered to walk me to the subway station. Once we arrived he asked if I'd like to have lunch with him the following week, as his office was quite near my own. Yeah, I know, but I said yes anyway. Then as I was about to descend into the subway, he politely asked if he could kiss me, to which I (equally) politely responded:
"No."
On Monday he called me at work and asked if I was free for lunch on Tuesday. I was, so we agreed on a time and a place. On Tuesday morning he called to ask if we could push it back an hour, and I said okay. At the appointed time he called and said he couldn't make it, but could we try again on Wednesday.
And so it went....
Wednesday arrived with apologetic phone calls, but no lunch. Thursday, Friday, and on into the next week. Finally, I suggested that he was simply too busy to be able to schedule lunch dates, so perhaps we should just forget it. He agreed that his schedule was indeed a bit crazy (he was, after all, an advertising executive), but why didn't we try something different. As I was new to NY and never ventured past Park Slope in Brooklyn or the East and West Village in Manhattan, he suggested that on the upcoming Saturday, I come to Harlem and he would show me around. Brunch, shopping, and a tour of his four-story brownstone (with four fireplaces).
This seemed reasonable. He had actually kept our first Saturday date and a day in Harlem sounded very cool. I agreed.
The Friday night before the big Saturday date, I was hanging out with one of my girlfriends and she wanted to go to another bar and I wanted to go home because I needed to get up early in order to meet my date in Harlem at 10:00 for breakfast. To which she replied:
"The guy who's been standing you up the past two weeks?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Check your voicemail at home."
"Why should I check my voicemail?"
"Because you'll feel like an idiot once you get home and he's stood you up for tomorrow morning and you missed the chance to have a nice evening out."
So I checked, and found the following message:
"Hi Inez, I'm so sorry, but something has come up for tomorrow and I won't be able to see you. I'll call you on Sunday."
How on earth did she know? Why on earth hadn't I suspected?
In any case, I didn't answer the phone when he called on Sunday. When he called me at work on Monday, I told him I was no longer interested and asked that he stop calling me. So he called back in an hour. And the hour after that, and the hour after that. He called countless times daily, and finally I had to slip the receptionist $20 to block his calls. After a week of talking to him every twenty minutes, she gave the money back and said it was my problem.
The last time he was put through to me I told him that the next time he called I would call the police. That seemed to do the trick.
I never did figure out the making/breaking dates game. If somebody out there can explain it, drop me a line.
Oh, and Marcella's take on all of this:
"God, you're picky. No wonder you're single."
___
**When I lived in Austin I met a very beautiful man, who happened to be in uniform. He asked me out, but when he showed up at my house to pick me up, he was wearing a crazy orange Michael Jackson leather jacket with about a billion zippers. Everywhere we went that night I ran into people I knew, who later asked: "That guy was fine, but what was up with that jacket?" Since then jackets have been a big deal. Shallow, but true...
18 February 2007
Any Marvin Gaye Fans out There?
If so, check out this BBC Radio documentary celebrating the 25th anniversary of Sexual Healing.
Okay, so now you know that I'm a radio geek. Whatever...
Listening to this documentary, I think there's a very interesting case to be made about UK versus US approaches to soul music. But I'll let you lot sort that out.
Happy Sunday, and remember: When you get that feeling...
Okay, so now you know that I'm a radio geek. Whatever...
Listening to this documentary, I think there's a very interesting case to be made about UK versus US approaches to soul music. But I'll let you lot sort that out.
Happy Sunday, and remember: When you get that feeling...
16 February 2007
24
Who didn't like the real-time perspective 24 offered when it premiered all those years ago? One of the characters would fly to LA from DC and it would take five episodes until you saw that character again, in order to allow for his/her flight. Mad cool. Not so cool (or perhaps DEFINITELY UNCOOL would be a better way to describe it) has been the increasing use of torture to procure information from the bad guys, who more often than not were"radical Islamists bent on destroying the American way." Not that this was ever entertaining, but after Abu Ghraib it struck me as seriously irresponsible.
So I was fairly dismayed when I read a recent piece in The New Yorker on Joel Surnow, the show's co-creator and executive producer. Not only was Surnow unrepentant about the torture, but the suspicions I had of the right-wing politics behind the show were confirmed in the article. But apparently I haven't been alone in my distaste for the nasty turn the show has taken. I mean for heaven's sake, how bad must the show's use of torture be, when a Brigadier General (also the dean of West Point) has to fly out to LA to suggest that they tone it down?
It seemed, however, that this was going to be a lost cause... until I read a piece at IMDB.com today, stating that 24's producer had agreed to cut the torture scenes. Lord bless the The New Yorker is about all I have to say to that. Though as a parting shot, I'm tempted to send Joel a little note letting him know that if he's that right-wing, that hair under his bottom lip can't really be referred to as a "soul patch."
Now if only the Vanity Fair piece on SAIC would work a similar sort of magic...
So I was fairly dismayed when I read a recent piece in The New Yorker on Joel Surnow, the show's co-creator and executive producer. Not only was Surnow unrepentant about the torture, but the suspicions I had of the right-wing politics behind the show were confirmed in the article. But apparently I haven't been alone in my distaste for the nasty turn the show has taken. I mean for heaven's sake, how bad must the show's use of torture be, when a Brigadier General (also the dean of West Point) has to fly out to LA to suggest that they tone it down?
It seemed, however, that this was going to be a lost cause... until I read a piece at IMDB.com today, stating that 24's producer had agreed to cut the torture scenes. Lord bless the The New Yorker is about all I have to say to that. Though as a parting shot, I'm tempted to send Joel a little note letting him know that if he's that right-wing, that hair under his bottom lip can't really be referred to as a "soul patch."
Now if only the Vanity Fair piece on SAIC would work a similar sort of magic...
14 February 2007
The Mr. Wrong Series: The Guy from Marcella's Group Therapy Session (Pt. 1)
I moved to NY from San Francisco. About a year or so after I got to NY one of my former colleagues from SF also moved to NY. I had her over one Saturday morning for brunch, and at some point the conversation turned to my non-existent love life. She thought it was a "shame" that I was single, and in fact, she knew someone from her group therapy session who would be perfect for me. Of course I was too polite to ask about the issues her group was struggling with. I didn't know Marcella that well, but what I knew about her was that she was a pretty cool woman. Okay, there was that bit about being Sicilian-American with murder in her family history. Apparently her grandmother appealed to her brother-in-law to kill her husband (his brother) because he was mistreating her. Upon successful completion of the act, she agreed to marry him and emigrate to the United States. But I'm not sure that would have been enough to send someone into therapy.
In any case, I reluctantly agreed to at least talk with him on the phone, and gave her permission to give him my number. I waited a few days and heard nothing, which to be honest was a bit of a relief. He apparently wasn't in group because he was a telephone stalker... or so I thought. Well after about a week the phone rang one night/morning at 1:30 am. I checked the caller id and didn't recognize the number, so I didn't answer it. Who on earth could be calling so late in the middle of the week? When I checked my voice mail later, the caller turned out to be the guy from group. Now of course the warning signals should have gone off right then. What kind of guy calls a woman he doesn't know, for the very first time, at 1:30 in the morning??
I didn't return his call, and was prepared to forget the whole thing, but he called again the next day at a more respectable hour. He apologized for calling so late the night before, explaining that he worked in advertising and had been up late working and didn't realize the time. Blessed/cursed with a forgiving nature, I accepted his apology. We chatted for about an hour, then made plans to meet on the following Saturday afternoon for coffee.
Thus began one of the strangest two-week encounters I have ever experienced.
Stay tuned for Part 2.
HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!
In any case, I reluctantly agreed to at least talk with him on the phone, and gave her permission to give him my number. I waited a few days and heard nothing, which to be honest was a bit of a relief. He apparently wasn't in group because he was a telephone stalker... or so I thought. Well after about a week the phone rang one night/morning at 1:30 am. I checked the caller id and didn't recognize the number, so I didn't answer it. Who on earth could be calling so late in the middle of the week? When I checked my voice mail later, the caller turned out to be the guy from group. Now of course the warning signals should have gone off right then. What kind of guy calls a woman he doesn't know, for the very first time, at 1:30 in the morning??
I didn't return his call, and was prepared to forget the whole thing, but he called again the next day at a more respectable hour. He apologized for calling so late the night before, explaining that he worked in advertising and had been up late working and didn't realize the time. Blessed/cursed with a forgiving nature, I accepted his apology. We chatted for about an hour, then made plans to meet on the following Saturday afternoon for coffee.
Thus began one of the strangest two-week encounters I have ever experienced.
Stay tuned for Part 2.
HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!
02 February 2007
Overheard at Ikea...
So I was at Ikea on Wednesday night. I went there to find a down comforter, but everything with feathers was being pulled from the shelves. When asked why, the sales clerk said it had to do with a safety issue. Bird flu feathers??
In any case, while I wandered around I witnessed the following exchange between an interracial couple (black woman/white man) shopping for furniture:
She: No, no, no. It doesn't have to match.
He: Well, I think it would be nice if it matched.
She: I'm telling you it doesn't have to match. Come on honey, WE don't match!
That made me smile all the way to the checkout line.
In any case, while I wandered around I witnessed the following exchange between an interracial couple (black woman/white man) shopping for furniture:
She: No, no, no. It doesn't have to match.
He: Well, I think it would be nice if it matched.
She: I'm telling you it doesn't have to match. Come on honey, WE don't match!
That made me smile all the way to the checkout line.
25 January 2007
And you thought you were having a bad day...
I know what you're thinking: After being away so long, I reconnect with my virtual self by writing about one of the most depressing films ever made? What's up with that, right? Well, the way I see it, it can only get more lighthearted after this... or not, we'll just have to see.
In any case, for your consideration I offer my take on Darwin's Nightmare. Yeah, I know it came out ages ago. In fact, I saw it in February 2006. How crazy is it though, that I'm only starting to recover from it in January 2007? But then again, perhaps it's not as crazy as it sounds once the facts have been considered.
Let's begin with the fact that I am a very sensitive person. I've been known to cry at McDonald's commercials. Remember the one in Eighties when the old guy takes a part-time job at Mickey D's and all the kids there are really nice to him and he comes home all smiley and proud of his new job? How sad that he couldn't just enjoy his retirement and hang out at home with his wife. But then again maybe she wanted some space. She probably wasn't used to having him around the house all day. She may have even cooked the books so that he would think that they needed the extra money. Who knows? I digress...
Okay, let's consider the particulars of the film. Imagine 107 minutes of absolutely EVERYTHING that's wrong with the world: environmental disaster, prostitution, street children, AIDS, corruption, exploitation, racism, sexism, hunger, poverty, gluttony, arms dealing, greed, murder, drug abuse, maggots, rotten fish, and the World Bank. Don't get me wrong, it's a brilliant film and one of the most extraodinary efforts by a filmmaker (Hubert Sauper) I have ever experienced.
It's just that I'm not sure this film was the best choice for a world-weary chick. Don't worry I can eat fish again, but given that this film was followed closely by Why we Fight, Syriana, and Cache/Hidden, I think that what was left of my idealism has eroded. I'm not going to go into details about the film, but if you've seen it I know you know what I'm talking about. Right Ina? Henry?? If you haven't seen it I'm not going to insist that you do so, cuz I know what you're in for, but I'll definitely respect your strength if you do so. Now that I think about it though, I do recall a sliver of hope there at the very end of the film obviously inserted so that we wouldn't all run out of the theater and fling ourselves off of the Brooklyn Bridge in despair... or not, maybe I just imagined it.
In any case, for your consideration I offer my take on Darwin's Nightmare. Yeah, I know it came out ages ago. In fact, I saw it in February 2006. How crazy is it though, that I'm only starting to recover from it in January 2007? But then again, perhaps it's not as crazy as it sounds once the facts have been considered.
Let's begin with the fact that I am a very sensitive person. I've been known to cry at McDonald's commercials. Remember the one in Eighties when the old guy takes a part-time job at Mickey D's and all the kids there are really nice to him and he comes home all smiley and proud of his new job? How sad that he couldn't just enjoy his retirement and hang out at home with his wife. But then again maybe she wanted some space. She probably wasn't used to having him around the house all day. She may have even cooked the books so that he would think that they needed the extra money. Who knows? I digress...
Okay, let's consider the particulars of the film. Imagine 107 minutes of absolutely EVERYTHING that's wrong with the world: environmental disaster, prostitution, street children, AIDS, corruption, exploitation, racism, sexism, hunger, poverty, gluttony, arms dealing, greed, murder, drug abuse, maggots, rotten fish, and the World Bank. Don't get me wrong, it's a brilliant film and one of the most extraodinary efforts by a filmmaker (Hubert Sauper) I have ever experienced.
It's just that I'm not sure this film was the best choice for a world-weary chick. Don't worry I can eat fish again, but given that this film was followed closely by Why we Fight, Syriana, and Cache/Hidden, I think that what was left of my idealism has eroded. I'm not going to go into details about the film, but if you've seen it I know you know what I'm talking about. Right Ina? Henry?? If you haven't seen it I'm not going to insist that you do so, cuz I know what you're in for, but I'll definitely respect your strength if you do so. Now that I think about it though, I do recall a sliver of hope there at the very end of the film obviously inserted so that we wouldn't all run out of the theater and fling ourselves off of the Brooklyn Bridge in despair... or not, maybe I just imagined it.
It's nice to be back!
Inez
21 January 2007
I'm Back...
I finished the Ph.D.
Now I have a new job in a new city and in two weeks I'll also have a new apartment. According to my calculations, DC is the 15th city I've lived in. I think I'm kinda ready to "settle down."
More about all of this newness later.
Now I have a new job in a new city and in two weeks I'll also have a new apartment. According to my calculations, DC is the 15th city I've lived in. I think I'm kinda ready to "settle down."
More about all of this newness later.
24 April 2005
"Separation" of Church and State
I wonder if Senator Bill Frist has actually ever read the Constitution. I'm inclined to think that he has not. In any case, the image below accompanied another brilliant piece by Frank Rich (and I'm not just saying that because he wrote me back when I wrote to compliment his work) in today's NYTimes. To access the article you need to register, but it's free and as long as Mr. Rich is there, worth it.
Barry Blitt, Courtesy of the The New York Times
Barry Blitt, Courtesy of the The New York Times
15 April 2005
In defense of my AMAZING culinary skills. . .
Wael, your memory is indeed faulty. CANNED lima beans?? First of all, I'm a southerner, and my grandmother would roll over in her grave if I did such a thing, though I will own up to Ranch dressing all over steamed broccoli. Steamed rice for sure, you gave me the steamer. Wonderful gift. One of many wonderful gifts as a matter of fact. The gifts that keep on giving. . .
But honestly, I ate out a lot in San Francisco. WE ate out a lot in San Francisco, Wael. My inner cook, which thrived in Austin, retreated a bit in SF, and was in FULL effect in Scotland. Which brings me to a story about a guy I used to work with. Last summer I waited tables in the restaurant in a 4-star hotel in Stirling. Great food came out of that kitchen to be sure. Horrors were to be encountered in the staff canteen, however. One night, while having my dinner in the canteen, the food and beverage manager for the hotel came in to have his dinner, too. Cool guy, we always had great conversations. In any case, on this particular evening he came in with 2 bags of crisps (that's potato chips for the Amis out there). He then took two slices of white bread, smeared butter all over them, and then placed the crisps on one piece of bread. He then covered that with the other piece of bread, creating a white-bread crisp sandwich, which he washed down with a Strawberry soda, while I looked on horrified. I told him it would be quicker to just shoot himself, which he found hilarious. And it's not like this guy doesn't know food. Whatever.
Finally Wael, the kitchen in my Post Street pad wasn't THAT tiny.
Coming soon: Bayern München 3 : 2 Chelsea
But honestly, I ate out a lot in San Francisco. WE ate out a lot in San Francisco, Wael. My inner cook, which thrived in Austin, retreated a bit in SF, and was in FULL effect in Scotland. Which brings me to a story about a guy I used to work with. Last summer I waited tables in the restaurant in a 4-star hotel in Stirling. Great food came out of that kitchen to be sure. Horrors were to be encountered in the staff canteen, however. One night, while having my dinner in the canteen, the food and beverage manager for the hotel came in to have his dinner, too. Cool guy, we always had great conversations. In any case, on this particular evening he came in with 2 bags of crisps (that's potato chips for the Amis out there). He then took two slices of white bread, smeared butter all over them, and then placed the crisps on one piece of bread. He then covered that with the other piece of bread, creating a white-bread crisp sandwich, which he washed down with a Strawberry soda, while I looked on horrified. I told him it would be quicker to just shoot himself, which he found hilarious. And it's not like this guy doesn't know food. Whatever.
Finally Wael, the kitchen in my Post Street pad wasn't THAT tiny.
Coming soon: Bayern München 3 : 2 Chelsea
10 April 2005
Just Say NO...Please
Listen, I'm no technophobe, but I'm stressed enough flying these days without having to listen to EVERYONE around me chattering away on their bloody cell phones. To that end, I have made the FCC aware of my feelings by submitting my comments on their website. According to Information Week, the majority of air travelers DO NOT support in-flight cell phone usage, but just to be on the safe side, I would encourage those of you who feel the same to let the FCC know before their May 26 deadline.
Now I realise that giving you the web address means that those of you who would like to be able to hear all kinds of inane conversations taking place around you, while you're jammed in that uncomfortable seat, peeping the guy across the aisle who's on his fourth gin and tonic and becoming loud and aggressive, will also want to comment. I can't stop you from using the link, but I'll stop speaking to you for a while if you do...
Now I realise that giving you the web address means that those of you who would like to be able to hear all kinds of inane conversations taking place around you, while you're jammed in that uncomfortable seat, peeping the guy across the aisle who's on his fourth gin and tonic and becoming loud and aggressive, will also want to comment. I can't stop you from using the link, but I'll stop speaking to you for a while if you do...
Martin Luther King dot Org
Last Monday, April 4 to be exact, I wanted to post something about it being the anniversary of the day Dr. King was assassinated, as I did for Malcolm X on February 21. I wanted to find a photo to post that wasn't too common, perhaps a childhood photo like the one I found for Malcolm X. In any case, I typed "Martin Luther King" into Google, and the third site on the list of thousands of sites featuring Martin Luther King, was www.martinlutherking.org.
Well I figured this had to be a good one, it ranked above the King Center (which I nevertheless tried first, but which took too long to open). Before you click on the link to check it out for yourselves, however, let me save you the trouble. The site is connected to Storm Front, the hate group. But I didn't know that. When I opened the site, there was a nice portrait of Dr. King, along with a banner inviting school children to take a quiz on Dr. King's life. To the right of his portrait were several categories about his life, which you could click on for further information, including information about sermons, etc. To the left of his portrait, however, was an alleged quote from Time Magazine, which included reference to Dr. King's taped extra-marital sexual activities.
As they say in Scotland, I had trouble getting my head around that.
I simply couldn't understand how the quiz for schoolkids, the sermons, and the quote from Time were related. So I scrolled down the page and saw a link about repealing the King Holiday, and then I was really confused. But because I'm a bit thick sometimes, I was still trying to put all of this in the context of a site owned by some King supporters and archivists. Okay, so I'm REALLY thick. Whatever. I kept scrolling and ended up at the bottom of the page where there was a link to a forum to discuss Dr. King; the forum was hosted by Storm Front. Needless to say I wasn't in the mood for doing the post after that.
So there you have it. A racist hate group owns MartinLutherKing.org.
And the only publishable thing I can think to say to that is, I hope that the Black Panthers own KKK.org...
Well I figured this had to be a good one, it ranked above the King Center (which I nevertheless tried first, but which took too long to open). Before you click on the link to check it out for yourselves, however, let me save you the trouble. The site is connected to Storm Front, the hate group. But I didn't know that. When I opened the site, there was a nice portrait of Dr. King, along with a banner inviting school children to take a quiz on Dr. King's life. To the right of his portrait were several categories about his life, which you could click on for further information, including information about sermons, etc. To the left of his portrait, however, was an alleged quote from Time Magazine, which included reference to Dr. King's taped extra-marital sexual activities.
As they say in Scotland, I had trouble getting my head around that.
I simply couldn't understand how the quiz for schoolkids, the sermons, and the quote from Time were related. So I scrolled down the page and saw a link about repealing the King Holiday, and then I was really confused. But because I'm a bit thick sometimes, I was still trying to put all of this in the context of a site owned by some King supporters and archivists. Okay, so I'm REALLY thick. Whatever. I kept scrolling and ended up at the bottom of the page where there was a link to a forum to discuss Dr. King; the forum was hosted by Storm Front. Needless to say I wasn't in the mood for doing the post after that.
So there you have it. A racist hate group owns MartinLutherKing.org.
And the only publishable thing I can think to say to that is, I hope that the Black Panthers own KKK.org...
07 April 2005
Lemon and Saffron Risotto
Rumor has it that single people don't cook. Further to that, it is offered as fact that women don't like cooking unless they're cooking for a partner. Don't believe it. I love to cook, and there's no one in the house except me. This doesn't mean, however, that I don't like cooking for others. I do, but I also LOVE taking care of myself.
So here, for your consideration, is one of my favourite recipes. It's inexpensive and tastes wonderful. I usually serve it with steamed sugar snap peas, but I can't find any here, so I've substituted a Feldsalat. The key to this recipe is the vegetable stock. If you don't have time to make your own stock, buy a low-sodium version. Otherwise it will be too salty. I usually make my own vegtable stock (the recipe is also below) and freeze it in 1-litre containers. The recipes are taken from Zest, a fabulous cookbook by Michele Cranston. What I love about the book is that the recipes are arranged by flavours: savour, tang, seasoned, piquant, zesty, aromatic, fragant, and ambrosial. Yum! Well, that and the fact that there's a photo of each dish, so you have some idea of whether or not your creation is anywhere close to what was intended.
In any case, if you try it I'm sure you'll love it (just check out the photos below). Or should you find yourself in Berlin, I'll be happy to make it for you!
Lemon and saffron risotto
1 litre (4 cups) vegetable stock (recipe below)
50 g (1 3/4 oz) butter
1 onion, finely diced
15 saffron threads
275 g (1 1/4 cups) arborio risotto rice
2 tablespoons lemon juice
80 g (2 3/4 oz) grated Parmesan cheese
Heat the stock in a large saucepan over a high heat. When it is almost boiling, reduce the heat to a simmer. Melt the butter in a large heavy-based saucepan over a medium heat. Add the onion and saffron and cook until the onion is soft and transparent. Add the rice and stir until the grains are glossy and well coated in the buttery saffron. Add 250 ml (1 cup) of hot stock and stir until it is absorbed. Continue to add the stock until it is all absorbed and the rice is tender. Add the lemon juice and Parmesan to the risotto and season with sea salt and freshly ground black pepper. Spoon into warm bowls.
Vegetable Stock
2 onions, roughly chopped
2 leeks, sliced
2 tablespoons olive oil
3 carrots, sliced
3 celery stalks, sliced
2 parsnips, sliced
150 g (1 bunch) flat-leaf (Italian) parsley
2 garlic cloves
6 peppercorns
4 sprigs thyme
Heat a large saucepan over high heat and add the onions, leeks and olive oil.
Stir until the onions begin to soften, then add the carrots, celery, parsnips and 3 litres (12 cups) of cold water. Add the remaining ingredients and bring to a simmering heat. Continue to simmer for 3 hours. Remove from the heat and strain into a large bowl. Using the back of a large spoon, press the vegetables into the strainer to draw out most of the flavour.
Before
After
So here, for your consideration, is one of my favourite recipes. It's inexpensive and tastes wonderful. I usually serve it with steamed sugar snap peas, but I can't find any here, so I've substituted a Feldsalat. The key to this recipe is the vegetable stock. If you don't have time to make your own stock, buy a low-sodium version. Otherwise it will be too salty. I usually make my own vegtable stock (the recipe is also below) and freeze it in 1-litre containers. The recipes are taken from Zest, a fabulous cookbook by Michele Cranston. What I love about the book is that the recipes are arranged by flavours: savour, tang, seasoned, piquant, zesty, aromatic, fragant, and ambrosial. Yum! Well, that and the fact that there's a photo of each dish, so you have some idea of whether or not your creation is anywhere close to what was intended.
In any case, if you try it I'm sure you'll love it (just check out the photos below). Or should you find yourself in Berlin, I'll be happy to make it for you!
Lemon and saffron risotto
1 litre (4 cups) vegetable stock (recipe below)
50 g (1 3/4 oz) butter
1 onion, finely diced
15 saffron threads
275 g (1 1/4 cups) arborio risotto rice
2 tablespoons lemon juice
80 g (2 3/4 oz) grated Parmesan cheese
Heat the stock in a large saucepan over a high heat. When it is almost boiling, reduce the heat to a simmer. Melt the butter in a large heavy-based saucepan over a medium heat. Add the onion and saffron and cook until the onion is soft and transparent. Add the rice and stir until the grains are glossy and well coated in the buttery saffron. Add 250 ml (1 cup) of hot stock and stir until it is absorbed. Continue to add the stock until it is all absorbed and the rice is tender. Add the lemon juice and Parmesan to the risotto and season with sea salt and freshly ground black pepper. Spoon into warm bowls.
Vegetable Stock
2 onions, roughly chopped
2 leeks, sliced
2 tablespoons olive oil
3 carrots, sliced
3 celery stalks, sliced
2 parsnips, sliced
150 g (1 bunch) flat-leaf (Italian) parsley
2 garlic cloves
6 peppercorns
4 sprigs thyme
Heat a large saucepan over high heat and add the onions, leeks and olive oil.
Stir until the onions begin to soften, then add the carrots, celery, parsnips and 3 litres (12 cups) of cold water. Add the remaining ingredients and bring to a simmering heat. Continue to simmer for 3 hours. Remove from the heat and strain into a large bowl. Using the back of a large spoon, press the vegetables into the strainer to draw out most of the flavour.
Before
After
05 April 2005
Did I say Carolina by 3?
Okay, so I was off by two points. Man oh man, how sweet it is, as Jackie Gleason used to say. No, he didn't say the "man oh man" bit, I said that. He said the "How sweet it is" bit. IN ANY CASE, I woke up this morning almost frightened to log on and check the score. But there it was. A CAROLINA VICTORY. And my prediction wasn't bad, either.
The last time we won the National Championship I was living in San Francisco, and was lucky enough to have friends who were from North Carolina and who hosted a party the night of the finals. We put money into a pot which allowed us to bet on the sum of the final score. I don't remember anymore what my individual scores were, but my sum won and I got the pot. Eighty bucks I think. And a Carolina victory. That was truly sweet.
Last night I couldn't find my T-shirt from that 1993 victory, but I did go to sleep in my Carolina Alumni sweatshirt. Actually I only just realised that it was my Carolina sweatshirt. I wore it to bed because it's a bit chilly in my apartment and since it's April, they've already turned off the heat. That said, I'm sure that on a sub-conscious level I knew what I was wearing because it could just as well have been my Pink Panther sweatshirt, but it wasn't.
Okay. And to my brother who was at the game, I sincerely hope my NEW shirt is in the post...
Once again the photos are courtesy of the Los Angeles Times.
Coming Soon: How I tried to get photos of Martin Luther King, but ended up with hate material from Storm Front instead.
The last time we won the National Championship I was living in San Francisco, and was lucky enough to have friends who were from North Carolina and who hosted a party the night of the finals. We put money into a pot which allowed us to bet on the sum of the final score. I don't remember anymore what my individual scores were, but my sum won and I got the pot. Eighty bucks I think. And a Carolina victory. That was truly sweet.
Last night I couldn't find my T-shirt from that 1993 victory, but I did go to sleep in my Carolina Alumni sweatshirt. Actually I only just realised that it was my Carolina sweatshirt. I wore it to bed because it's a bit chilly in my apartment and since it's April, they've already turned off the heat. That said, I'm sure that on a sub-conscious level I knew what I was wearing because it could just as well have been my Pink Panther sweatshirt, but it wasn't.
Okay. And to my brother who was at the game, I sincerely hope my NEW shirt is in the post...
Once again the photos are courtesy of the Los Angeles Times.
Coming Soon: How I tried to get photos of Martin Luther King, but ended up with hate material from Storm Front instead.
03 April 2005
Carolina by 3 over Illinois
Although the world (at least according to me) doesn't make a lot of sense these days, college basketball still does. Of course that's because I'm a Carolina alum whose nerves have been stretched to the limits during the NCAA tournament. Compounding my misery is the fact that no one I know in Berlin cares about college basketball, though I've spotted a few hip hoppers wearing Carolina baseball caps. I asked one kid about it and he said that his friend got it for him when he was in the States, that he didn't know anything about the University or the teams, but that the light blue really matched his eyes.
Okay, whatever. We've made it to the finals and that means I will spend Monday night tossing and turning (much like I did on the night of the presidential election when BBC Radio led me to believe that Kerry had a chance before I drifted off to sleep).
Like I said, whatever.
My brother John, who is a basketball coach at Texas Southern University, is at the Final Four and you'd think he'd get his big sister a T-shirt or something. Particularly as I introduced him to Carolina players when I was a student and he was a little kid. We'll see..
In any case, it promises to be a great matchup and I guess I'll have to be content with the excellent coverage from the LA Times, which is where I swiped the photos.
Go Heels!!!
Carolina's SEAN MAY
Illinois' LUTHER HEAD
Okay, whatever. We've made it to the finals and that means I will spend Monday night tossing and turning (much like I did on the night of the presidential election when BBC Radio led me to believe that Kerry had a chance before I drifted off to sleep).
Like I said, whatever.
My brother John, who is a basketball coach at Texas Southern University, is at the Final Four and you'd think he'd get his big sister a T-shirt or something. Particularly as I introduced him to Carolina players when I was a student and he was a little kid. We'll see..
In any case, it promises to be a great matchup and I guess I'll have to be content with the excellent coverage from the LA Times, which is where I swiped the photos.
Go Heels!!!
Carolina's SEAN MAY
Illinois' LUTHER HEAD
01 April 2005
A van Gogh Christmas...
I had just moved to Berlin and into my new apartment. No furniture, no TV (still no TV as a matter of fact), no internet. My boxes had arrived from Scotland on December 23, so I did have music. There's so much I could say about time between Christmas and New Year's, but I won't. The pictures speak for themselves. In retrospect, however, I think this probably looks more pathetic than it actually was...
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