Mental Lapses

3.14

2010-03-14T22:34:00.002-07:00

Otherwise known as Pi(e) Day.

In honor of the occasion, I made two pies (the first two pies of my life that did not involve store-bought graham-cracker crusts and tubs of cool-whip):

Steak and Ale Pie from Cookstr.com

In a bowl, combine:

1½ lb beef chuck, trimmed and cut into ¾ in pieces

salt and freshly ground black pepper

3 tbsp all-purpose flour

Shake the excess flour off the beef. Heat 2T vegetable oil in a non-stick skillet, and brown the meat in batches. Set aside. Add:

1 T. vegetable oil

1 medium yellow onion, chopped

and saute until soft. Add:

4 oz. mushrooms, sliced (the original recipe called for white, but I used crimini)

1 clove of garlic, chopped

1 shallot, chopped (not in the original, but I can't imagine a dish like this without shallots)

Combine everything in a saucepan, and add:

¾ cup beef stock

¾ cup dark ale (I used an oatmeal stout; seemed fine to me)

1 tbsp Worcestershire sauce

1 tbsp tomato paste (didn't have this, so I left it out and compensated with some extra W. sauce; would probably be a good addition, though)

½ tsp dried thyme

1 bay leaf

Simmer for an hour or so, until the beef is tender. Pour into a 9" pie plate. Place a pastry lid on the pie plate, and bake for 25 to 30 minutes at 350, until the crust is golden brown.

At this point, the recipe called for frozen puff pastry. I don't keep puff pastry on hand, so I just used a regular pie crust. It worked -- really well, actually. If you want to do it the 'right' way, click on the link and read their instructions (the 'right' way also involves reserving some of the gravy, which I forgot to do).

Verdict: VERY tasty.

*****

Vinegar Pie from Gourmet.com via TheKitchn.com

Par-bake a pie crust. I think that's what you call it. You make your piecrust and pre-bake it; this way the crust doesn't go all mushy on you when you put the custard in. I cooked mine for too long, so it came out a little crunchy under the filling.

Whisk together in a mixing bowl:

2 large eggs

1/4 C. sugar

In a saucepan, combine:

3/4 C. sugar

1 tablespoon all-purpose flour

1 cup cold water

2 tablespoons cider vinegar

Heat until the sugar is dissolved. Add to the egg mixture in a slow stream (from a great height, if possible -- it's more impressive that way), whisking constantly.

At this point, you can do what I did and pour it straight into the pie crust. Or you can do what the folks at Gourmet Magazine say to do, and cook it for 12 minutes first. It seemed to come out fine without the pre-cooking.

However you decide to proceed, bake it for 20 minutes at 350, 0r until the mixture is set. Dust evenly with cinnamon before serving.

Verdict: Good, but not stellar. On the other hand, I hate to criticize a recipe when I didn't follow it exactly, so we may give this one another try sometime in the future.

A pair of Haiku (haikus?): In Honor of the Olympics

2010-03-06T13:52:00.001-07:00

The greeks played naked,

but only in the summer.

That was a good plan.

Sibling rivalry,

but intercontinental.

Hockey is like that.

Pensees

2009-12-17T21:57:00.000-07:00

Environmental activism is the religion of the areligious, the opiate of the atheists. Complete with scientist-priests, the Darwinian origins myth, an eschatology in pessimistic and optimistic flavors, and even quasi-levitical codes (thou shalt decrease thy carbon footprint), it offers a way for modern rationalists to attempt to assuage their guilt.

****

Women are pictures. The church is a woman, and so women portray the church. Similarly: If Man's relation to Nature is one of loving dominion, like the relationship between husband and wife, then it is important for wives to portray the true relationship of Nature to Man as they relate to their husbands. i.e. not adversarial, and congenial to knowledge.

*****

The problem with classical philosophy is that it isn't true preparation for death. If death is a permanent sundering of soul and body, it makes perfect sense to detach oneself from bodily existence. But 'credo in carnis resurrectionem.' . . . . The reason Christian martyrdom is so powerful is that we, like the widow with her two mites, lay down what we value highly -- the life of the body.

Back in the olden times . . .

2009-12-07T14:35:00.003-07:00

. . . when we still asked Congress to declare war:

Mr. Vice President, Mr. Speaker, Members of the Senate, and of the House of Representatives:

Yesterday, December 7th, 1941 -- a date which will live in infamy -- the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan.

The United States was at peace with that nation and, at the solicitation of Japan, was still in conversation with its government and its emperor looking toward the maintenance of peace in the Pacific.

Indeed, one hour after Japanese air squadrons had commenced bombing in the American island of Oahu, the Japanese ambassador to the United States and his colleague delivered to our Secretary of State a formal reply to a recent American message. And while this reply stated that it seemed useless to continue the existing diplomatic negotiations, it contained no threat or hint of war or of armed attack.

It will be recorded that the distance of Hawaii from Japan makes it obvious that the attack was deliberately planned many days or even weeks ago. During the intervening time, the Japanese government has deliberately sought to deceive the United States by false statements and expressions of hope for continued peace.

The attack yesterday on the Hawaiian islands has caused severe damage to American naval and military forces. I regret to tell you that very many American lives have been lost. In addition, American ships have been reported torpedoed on the high seas between San Francisco and Honolulu.

Yesterday, the Japanese government also launched an attack against Malaya.

Last night, Japanese forces attacked Hong Kong.

Last night, Japanese forces attacked Guam.

Last night, Japanese forces attacked the Philippine Islands.

Last night, the Japanese attacked Wake Island.

And this morning, the Japanese attacked Midway Island.

Japan has, therefore, undertaken a surprise offensive extending throughout the Pacific area. The facts of yesterday and today speak for themselves. The people of the United States have already formed their opinions and well understand the implications to the very life and safety of our nation.

As commander in chief of the Army and Navy, I have directed that all measures be taken for our defense. But always will our whole nation remember the character of the onslaught against us.

No matter how long it may take us to overcome this premeditated invasion, the American people in their righteous might will win through to absolute victory.

I believe that I interpret the will of the Congress and of the people when I assert that we will not only defend ourselves to the uttermost, but will make it very certain that this form of treachery shall never again endanger us.

Hostilities exist. There is no blinking at the fact that our people, our territory, and our interests are in grave danger.

With confidence in our armed forces, with the unbounding determination of our people, we will gain the inevitable triumph -- so help us God.

I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7th, 1941, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese empire.

Epic

2009-11-21T01:08:00.003-07:00

Some background: the assignment was to write a creative sketch in the style of Homer, with prize going to the best epic simile.

Further background: We're singing "Glory to God in the Highest" from Handel's Messiah in choir, and the basses (no doubt out of habit formed by singing along with the CD) keep jumping in where they shouldn't. Dr. Erb is our choir director.

Sing, goddess! Sing for Erb with all your might,

for in his sight, yea even you are merely a soprano,

brought down with countless souls unto the depths of

degradation when you flat a soaring E. Sing the day

when Handel's music last proclaimed

it's mighty voice in the great Andrean ranks.

As the puff of windy breath, when sweat rolls down

a migrant worker's back on a scorching August day

while he walks behind his mower, refreshes him

and turns his thoughts from beer and la-z-boy

recliners, then, sudden, tosses back his trucker hat

and trees it in the whipping branches

while the sky to graphite turns and birds return

to gather in the eaves, away from threatened rain

and thunder, it blasts a sudden chill into

his marrow and flashes from the firmament

appear to smite him in his supposed innocent pleasure,

So Erb appeared unto the basses when they

unlicensed sang.

Reformation

2009-10-31T17:23:00.002-07:00

This paradoxical figure (Luther) revived the Christian consciousness of Europe . . . . Religion became again a dominant factor even in politics for another century and a half. Men cared enough for the faith to die for it and to kill for it. If there is any sense remaining of Christian civilization in the West, this man Luther in no small measure deserves the credit.

~Roland Bainton, Here I Stand

Mutatis mutandis

2009-10-03T00:00:00.004-07:00

In researching a short paper on The Tempest, I came across an interesting example of translations. In act V scene 1, as Prospero the magus is about to renounce his power, he describes it in the following terms:

Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves
And ye that on the sands with printless foot
Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him
When he comes back; you demi-puppets that
By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make,
Whereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime
Is to make midnight mushrumps, that rejoice
To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid
(Weak masters though ye be) I have bedimmed
The noontide sun, called forth the mutinous winds,
And 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault
Set roaring war; to the dread rattling thunder
Have I given fire and rifted Jove's stout oak
With his own bolt; the strong-based promontory
Have I made shake, and by the spurs plucked up
The pine and cedar; graves had my command
Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let 'em forth
By my so potent art.
(The Tempest 5.1.33-50)

This is taken from a translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses by Arthur Golding (1567):

Ye airs and winds, ye elves of hills, of brooks, of woods alone,
Of standing lakes, and of the night, approach ye everychone!
Through help of whom, the crooked banks much wondering at the thing,
I have compelled streams to run clean back ward to their spring.
By charms I make the calm seas rough and make the rough seas plain,
And cover all the sky with clouds and chase them thence again.
By charms I raise and lay the winds, and burst the viper's jaw,
And from the bowels of the earth both stones and trees do draw,
Whole woods and forests I remove; I make the mountains shake,
And even the earth itself to groan and fearfully to quake.
I call up dead men from their graves.
(Metamorphoses, 7.265-275)

Golding was translating the following passage from Ovid:

auraeque et venti montesque amnesque lacusque,
dique omnes nemorum, dique omnes noctis adeste,
quorum ope, cum volui, ripis mirantibus amnes
in fontes rediere suos, concussaque sisto,
stantia concutio cantu freta, nubila pello
nubilaque induco, ventos abigoque vocoque,
vipereas rumpo verbis et carmine fauces,
vivaque saxa sua convulsaque robora terra
et silvas moveo iubeoque tremescere montis
et mugire solum manesque exire sepulcris!
(Metamorphoses 7.197-206)

Compare those passages with the Oxford World Classics edition:

Ye winds and airs, ye mountains, lakes and streams
And all ye forest gods and gods of night,
Be with me now! By your enabling power,
At my behest, broad rivers to their source
Flow back, their banks aghast; my magic song
Rouses the quiet, calms the angry seas;
I bring the clouds and make the clouds withdraw,
I call the winds and quell them; by my art
I sunder serpents' throats; the living rocks
And mighty oaks from out their soil I tear;
I move the forests, bid the mountains quake,
The deep earth groan and ghosts rise from their tombs.
(Metamorphoses 7.263-274)

Draw your own conclusions if you wish, but I think it just makes the point that it takes a poet to translate poetry. And even then, the Tempest is not by Ovid; it is clearly Shakespeare. A great translator re-makes the story in the image of his own language; the Tempest is not Ovid, but you can see the seed in the fruit.

(It makes the old Authorized Version of Colossians pretty cool: "Giving thanks unto the Father, . . . Who hath delivered us from the power of darkness, and hath translated us into the kingdom of his dear Son:" Maybe that's the best metaphor we have for resurrection; somehow, the old will be there but it will be completely remade.)

For Dr. Stokes

2009-09-14T14:38:00.002-07:00

A perfect circle,

compass, straight-edge, points, and lines.

I love thee, Euclid.

An old declamation

2009-08-27T09:15:00.003-07:00

I was sorting through some files, and came across this old declamation. I don't remember what the assignment was, but it seems like something fun to post. For those of you who don't know, Helen is my cousin.

When the world was young, O best beloved, everyone whas short. The giraffe had not yet had his neck stretched, and the elephant had not got his trunk. And there was a child named Helen, who delighted in everything fiercely gleaming and glistening, and everything loudly squealing and wailing, and everything brightly green or plaid. And she wandered through the wide rolling earth until she cameto the lovely land of Scotland where the twirling swirling mists float over the hills, and there she made her home on the rugged shores of the rocky-rolling-roiling firth of Forth.

And then, O best beloved, when the world was a little older and Helen was quite settled in her home on the rugged shores, the Creator sent out a notice to all the inhabitants of the wide rolling earth telling them that on Wednesay fortnight he would give them all more height. But as everyone knows, the Scottish mails are notoriously late when it comes to delivering delicate missives or official notices, and Helen did not hear about the great gathering of the inhabitants of the wide rolling earth until it was Monday evening. So, being a person of infinite-resource-and-sagacity, she packed her gleaming throwing stars and her wailing bagpipes and threw her bright plaid shawl across her shoulders and left her home on the shores of the rocky-rolling-roiling firth of Forth and hurried to catch the last ship across the English Channel.

But when she arrived at the ship, she got the last ticket, and the boatman told her (o best beloved, you will weep to hear it) that there was no room for any luggage. For, you see, there were so many people who had just gotten the notice (owing, of course, to the notorious lateness of the Scottish mail) that the ship was very nearly in danger of sinking already from the great weight of the passengers. It was the last boat before Wednesday, and none of them wanted to be late when the creator gave out the height (indeed, some of them were very greedy and asked for double portions, but we won’t name any names here). But Helen looked at her glistening knives and her squealing pipes and her warm bright shawl and turned to the boatman and said that she would rather not leave her beautiful things behind, thank you very much (for she was a polite girl) and turned around and went back to her home on the rugged shores of the rocky-rolling-roiling firth of Forth. There she lived quite delightfully, content to sharpen her weapons and play her pipes in the twirling swirling mists.

And that, O best beloved, is why Helen is short to this day

Why attend New Saint Andrews College?

2009-08-26T10:37:00.001-07:00

This is why.

Testing

2009-08-12T23:24:00.001-07:00

I’m testing my gluenow.com account by sending you this link: http://models.com/feed/?p=3747 (It’s a photo spread of famous models without makeup or retouching.)

Here’s to seeing how it works!

One Trillion Dollars Visualized

2009-07-28T12:23:00.001-07:00

A little perspective on all these zeroes . . .

End-of-week wrapup

2009-07-16T12:34:00.005-07:00

Yes, folks, it's the end of the week for me. I only have internet access when I'm at work (thanks to a dead power cord and my penchant for taking things apart, I don't have a laptop anymore) and I'm only at work until 2pm today. So here's some fun to keep you going: 1 video, 1 article, and 1 blog to follow. If you ration yourself, this should last all weekend.

The video:

A russian version of Winnie the Pooh. No, not Disney with Russian dub or subtitles. A Russian version, which is ever so much cuter than the other ones.

The article:

Tom Wright has a terrific piece on the recent antics by American Episcopalians. (HT The Gadfly). You should read the whole thing for yourself, but here are a few of the gems:

The appeal to justice as a way of cutting the ethical knot in favour of including active homosexuals in Christian ministry simply begs the question. Nobody has a right to be ordained: it is always a gift of sheer and unmerited grace.

We must insist, too, on the distinction between inclination and desire on the one hand and activity on the other — a distinction regularly obscured by references to “homosexual clergy” and so on. We all have all kinds of deep-rooted inclinations and desires. The question is, what shall we do with them? One of the great Prayer Book collects asks God that we may “love the thing which thou commandest, and desire that which thou dost promise”. That is always tough, for all of us. Much easier to ask God to command what we already love, and promise what we already desire. But much less like the challenge of the Gospel.

Contrary to some who have recently adopted the phrase, there is already a “fellowship of confessing Anglicans”. It is called the Anglican Communion. The Episcopal Church is now distancing itself from that fellowship

The blog to follow: How Books Got Their Titles.

For example, under "While England Slept by Winston Churchill" you will discover that

Churchill suggested The Years of the Locust, but the cable operator garbled the message and it arrived as The Years of the Lotus. Putnam’s were puzzled. They knew that the lotus was a plant famous for its soporific properties, and, in an attempt to give a sense of this, settled on While England Slept.

Dorothy Sayers on so-called "Women's Work"

2009-07-15T11:45:00.004-07:00

Just finished two essays by Dorothy Sayers, collected in the little volume "Are Women Human?" No real response yet, other than to say I liked this line of argument :

Let us accept the idea that women should stick to their own jobs -- the jobs they did so well in the good old days before they started talking about votes and women's rights. Let us return to the Middle Ages and ask what we should get then in return for certain political and educational privileges which we should have to abandon.

It is a formidable list of jobs: the whole of the spinning industry, the whole of the dyeing industry, the whole of the weaving industry. The whole catering industry and -- which would not please Lady Astor, perhaps -- the whole of the nation's brewing and distilling. All the preserving, pickling, and bottling industry, all the bacon-curing. And (since in those days a man was often absent from home for months together on war or business) a very large share in the management of landed estates. Here are the women's jobs -- and what has become of them? They are all being handled by men. It is all very well to say that woman's place is the home -- but modern civilization has taken all these pleasant and profitable activities out of the home, where the women looked after them, and handed them over to big industry, to be directed and organised by men at the head of large factories. Even the dairy-maid in her simple bonnet has gone, to be replaced by a male mechanic in charge of a mechanical milking plant.

. . .

I am not complaining that the brewing and baking were taken over by the men. If they can brew and bake as well as women or better, then by all means let them do it. But they cannot have it both ways. If they are going to adopt the very sound principle that the job should be done by the person who does it best, then that rule must be applied universally. If the women make better office-workers than men, they must have the office work. If any individual women is able to make a first-class lawyer, doctor, architect, or engineer, then she must be allowed to try her hand at it. Once lay down the rule that the job comes first and you throw that job open to every individual, man or woman, fat or thin, tall or short, ugly or beautiful, who is able to do that job better than the rest of the world.

Pop v. Coke

2009-07-10T23:08:00.006-07:00

Someone did an informal study showing the geographic distribution of generic names for soft drinks (pop, coke, soda), broken down by county. Here are the results:

Two interesting notes: 1) There are a handful of counties where "other" predominates. Who calls soda "other"? Actually, if you to know the specific answers, just go to www.popvsoda.com and look at the individual state results. It's only slightly more edifying that reading YouTube comments. 2) The most colorful want (i.e conflicted) states appear to be Nevada and South Carolina, with New Mexico running third. Nevada and New Mexico make sense ... western states are more likely to have an amalgam of cultures, and so differences will about. But S. Carolina? Apparently, it's the convergence point of New Englander "Soda," Southern "Coke," and Yankee "Pop." The real mind boggler is Missouri. What's with that pocket of "Soda" speakers on the Mississipi river?

In a age of free, what can you sell?

2009-07-10T15:23:00.003-07:00

People have been making a big fuss about Chris Anderson's new book, Free. Malcolm Gladwell thinks it's bunk. Chris Anderson, understandably, likes it. My friends have been cheerfully exchanging links on the issue, and I found this one from KK particularly interesting. (HT David Hoos)

The internet is a copy machine. At its most foundational level, it copies every action, every character, every thought we make while we ride upon it. . . . The digital economy is thus run on a river of copies. Unlike the mass-produced reproductions of the machine age, these copies are not just cheap, they are free.

When copies are super abundant, they become worthless.

When copies are super abundant, stuff which can't be copied becomes scarce and valuable.

When copies are free, you need to sell things which can not be copied.

Well, what can't be copied?

KK goes on to list 8 "generatives" that can't be sold, including Immediacy, Personalization, Authenticity, and Findablity. My personal favorite, though, given my philosophical leanings, was Embodiment.

At its core the digital copy is without a body. You can take a free copy of a work and throw it on a screen. But perhaps you'd like to see it in hi-res on a huge screen? Maybe in 3D? PDFs are fine, but sometimes it is delicious to have the same words printed on bright white cottony paper, bound in leather. Feels so good. What about dwelling in your favorite (free) game with 35 others in the same room? There is no end to greater embodiment. Sure, the hi-res of today -- which may draw ticket holders to a big theater -- may migrate to your home theater tomorrow, but there will always be new insanely great display technology that consumers won't have. Laser projection, holographic display, the holodeck itself! And nothing gets embodied as much as music in a live performance, with real bodies. The music is free; the bodily performance expensive.

I buy my cd's used, or I get online versions of music from Lala.com. On the other hand, I paid $65 a ticket to go stand in line all day in Vancouver so that I can stand in a crowd of sweaty people all evening listening to U2 play in concert. He's right -- the live performance, with me standing less that 20 yards from The Edge himself, is that for which I'm willing to shell out REAL money.

Sneaky Disney

2009-07-06T12:52:00.005-07:00

I watched Disney's "Bolt" at a friend's house this weekend, and was struck by some very sneaky work in the opening credits (no, not hiding obscenities in the animation). Take a look:

Notice anything? Yep, that *was* Steamboat Willie as the LOGO for "Walt Disney Animation Studios." (now a division of the Walt Disney Company, created after restructuring in '07). Now, I'm not a lawyer and I certainly don't have specialized knowledge in copyright issues, but this seems to open the way for Disney to trademark Steamboat Willie instead of relying on copyright protections.

A proposition is not the same thing as a proposal

2009-06-22T21:54:00.003-07:00

So there's this guy who, every so often, comes into the restaurant where I work. He's a friend of the owners, and he gets his food for free, but he doesn't really speak english. This makes it hard when I'm taking the orders, but I smile and use my 3 words of spanish and we usually get his order right.

But tonight, as I was picking up the indoor seating area, he had other things on his mind besides food. In his fractured english, he asked if I lived with my Mama and Papa. No, I said, they are in Albuquerque.

You all by yourself? No, I live with a roommate, a friend. Here.

You have babies at your house? No, I only have one sister, all grown up.

But you. You have babies? I laugh, No!

But por que no? Oh, I laugh again, Lots of reasons ... ....

He looks at me and smiles "Una noche!"

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies

2009-05-15T15:48:00.005-07:00

I borrowed a copy of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, by Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith, from Claire, and read it in the two days before she heads back to Canada. Here are a couple of quick thoughts:

It's about as true to the original Pride and Prejudice as the Bollywood production Bride and Prejudice, and should be taken in approximately the same spirit. That is, you don't read it because it's a classic. Really, it's just rather pulpy summer fiction, dressed in regency garments and fighting ninjas.

I almost didn't finish it because of a couple instances of very graphic violence. I'm actually better able to accept violence in a movie than in a book, because a movie doesn't involve me as personally or actively in creating the image. A movie does all the work for me of picturing the carnage; but a book requires me to create the image myself. As Emerson Cod once said, "When you say 'monkey in a bellhop suit driving a delivery truck, I have to SEE a monkey in a bellhop suit driving a delivery truck."

It's most entertaining to see how Seth Grahame-Smith is able to insert small tweaks that change the meaning of the whole dialogue: the best example is during Elizabeth's visit to Lady Catherine, when she is talking to Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy. In the original, she is playign the piano, and says something like "my fingers await your command." In the Zombies edition, she is practicing handstands on her fingertips, but the original dialogue remains exactly the same.

Overall, an entertaining read, but I probably won't bother buying it. See if your local library has a copy.

I see my coat after walking home in the rain

2009-05-13T20:00:00.001-07:00

{written on spring break}

My jacket is crunchy. It sat up all night, sprawled on a kitchen chair, sobering up after an overindulgence in sky-water. It walked me home from the movie, saw me safely inside the door, and collapsed.

I'm a little surprised; it's such a fastidious little spring coat, all buttons and belts and collar. Nothing sexy about it, and nothing really wild -- unless you count a little gold embroidery on the cuffs as wild (in which case, dear, we need to have a talk about what wild is). But there it is, slumped next to the table, blinking in the sunlight and asking me to walk a little more quietly.

Magic

2009-05-11T19:12:00.000-07:00

{I wrote this a while back, and just got around to posting it here}

Seed of grass, tears of sky, marrow of earth. Feed the elves, don't forget to feed the elves--they're in the coffee mug, over there in the corner. Double, bubble, toil, but oh what goodness when we cook the elves . . . just not yet, not yet. They still have work to do. Patience. Combine water, salt, and flour until you have a loose batter, then add the elves. More flour. Now it's time to knead.

Roll and press, roll and press. Standing at a counter like all the wheat-magicians before me, waving my hands in the same incantation. Stretch and fold, press. Rocking a little on my heels, I sway, entranced by the bread. Press. Dust. Roll, scrape, stretch, fold, press. Repeat. And repeat again.

Finally, it is time for the yeast-elves to work. I sit down, and wait for my minions to do their best. Ever so slowly, they push at the mixture, building it from the inside, until I decide that it has risen high enough. This isn't Dubai, you know. It's more like Babel. I push the towering structure down, dividing and remaking the masses into two -- this loaf is sheep, that one is goats. The top is stretched tight, and it'll only get worse if I don't make a cut now. So I do. A giant cross on the top of each loaf, to ward off evil.

Yes, to ward off evil. What do you think I am, a witch?

Summarizing Boethius late at night . . .

2009-04-10T23:06:00.003-07:00

{Boethius' Consolation of Philosophy, summarized in a very non-academic fashion while working on a paper.}

In the beginning, B is sitting in jail, wearing eyeliner and crying and sad and writing weepy poetry.

This chick shows up and kicks out all the muses, but B doesn't realize who she is. Then he figures out that she's Lady Philosophy, and she asks him what's wrong.

And B is all "My life used to be awesome. Now I'm in jail. Why did I even try being good? It's not worth it. I'm gonna go eat some worms. "

And P is all "Sheesh, you need help. Ok, basics: who are you?"

And B is all "I'm a rational mortal animal. Basically I can think and die."

P: And . . .

B: . . .

P: . . .

B: nothing.

P: "Dang, you're worse off than I thought. Let's talk.

First off, whaddidya expect from Fortune?

Second: virtue is it's own reward, all right?

Third: really, it sucks to be evil. Doesn't look like it at first glance, but if you think about it, it seriously sucks.

Fourth: yes, really, it's possible to be virtuous. Yep, God is sovereign, but free will is totally possible.

Finally: so get out and pray, already. Be virtuous. Quit your silly staring at the ground and be a man. Go, fight, win!"

The End.

Amoretti

2009-03-01T21:10:00.000-07:00

Amoretti Designs has a new "fortnightly purse" out, and I want one of those Wodehouse tea-towels. I actually want one of the mugs, too, but none of the UK retailers will ship to America.

Brussels sprouts? Brussels sprouts!

2009-02-16T19:43:00.004-07:00

I've never eaten Brussels Sprouts before. They were on of the few vegetable exceptions my mother made, along with eggplant (a bad experience in her youth, no doubt). We ate asparagus, spinach, mushrooms, onions, zuchinni, butternut squash, and all the normal stuff like carrots and tomatoes and broccoli. But never brussels sprouts.

Of course, it's sort of cultural to hate the little things. They look like, I dunno, fairy lettuces or something. The Borrowers probably ate them, but that doesn't mean they're human food. In all the kid books and movies, the longsuffering child is forced to eat the dreaded sprouts. So I was bound to hate them.

But Mark Bittman has me convinced otherwise. He posted a recipe for roasted sprouts and garlic. Magic words, those: "roasted, with garlic." I had to give it a shot. And it was fantastic! Paired with a poached egg, they made a marvelous dinner, and a fabulously easy one at that. Once the pan goes in the oven, just wash the rest of the dishes and put a pot of water on to boil for your egg.

I give you the fabulous recipe:

Roasted Brussels Sprouts

With Garlic

Yield 4 servings

Time About 45 minutes

[Bittman writes:] I cannot remember when I intentionally began to almost-burn Brussels sprouts by roasting them until they were really, really dark. But cooked this way, the crisp outside leaves and tender, almost artichoke-like interior cannot be beat.

Ingredients

1 pint brussels sprouts (about a pound)

4 to 6 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, to coat bottom of pan

5 cloves garlic

Salt and pepper to taste

1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar

Method

1. Heat oven to 450 degrees. Trim bottom of brussels sprouts, and slice each in half top to bottom. Heat oil in cast-iron pan over medium-high heat until it shimmers; put sprouts cut side down in one layer in pan. Put in garlic, and sprinkle with salt and pepper.

2. Cook, undisturbed, until sprouts begin to brown on bottom, and transfer to oven. Cook, shaking pan occasionally, until sprouts are quite brown and tender, about 1/2 hour.

3. Taste, and add more salt and pepper if necessary. Stir in balsamic vinegar, and serve hot or warm.

grex, gregis. n.

2008-10-24T01:26:00.004-07:00

Everyone knows that a bunch of crows is a murder and that owls gather in parliaments, but did you know that . . .

turkeys come in rafters?
rhinoceros (-oi?) come in crashes?
hippopotami come in bloats?
giraffes congregate in towers?
a group of rattlesnakes is a rumba?
....
or that Dori nearly died in a smack of jellyfish?

Things to do before I die, part 2.

2008-10-20T06:00:00.001-07:00

Last time we addressed this subject, I wanted to fly. This time, I just want to stay on the trail:

Known as the “Number One Precipitous Mountain under Heaven”, Mount Huashan proudly lives up to its reputation through its incredibly dangerous hiking trail. That’s what you have to keep in mind if you plan to tackle this beast: Huashan Trail is not about mountain-climbing but hiking. As such, you don’t get to use special equipment that could save your life - it’s just you, the mountain and if you think ahead, a pair of gloves.

Doesn't it sound like a blast?

Copiousness

2008-10-18T00:33:00.003-07:00

co·pi·ous \kō-pē-əs\: adjective
1a: yielding something abundantly b: plentiful in number 2a: full of thought, information, or matter b: profuse or exuberant in words, expression, or style 3: present in large quantity: taking place on a large scale

To fill yourself with matter, to provide the substance which may in future be yielded abundantly, may I suggest the following website: www.veryshortlist.com.

Every weekday, a 300-word-max email will be delivered to your inbox enlightening you on some aspect of our life, or bringing some obscure piece of art to light. My favorite so far: this page of paper cut-out models.

Dragon-spawn

2008-10-03T23:49:00.004-07:00

A few bits from a paper I just wrote on Euripides' Bacchae. Maybe you'll be interested.

~~~~~

Commentators have remarked on Pentheus’s early interest in Dionysian ritual, even as he voices opposition to Dionysus and imprisons the Maenads. This conflict makes sense if we understand Pentheus’s relationship to the history of the city. Cadmus, the founder of Thebes, killed a dragon and scattered its teeth into the earth. Echion, Pentheus's father, was born from the teeth, so Pentheus is, in a manner of speaking, part dragon. But Pentheus's mother, Agave, is the daughter of Cadmus Dragon-killer. Half-dragon, half-dragonslayer -- Pentheus is a divided man. In reality, Pentheus has always been part-Dionysian, which is why he succumbs to Dionysus. Peter Leithart notes that the temptation “only works . . . because Pentheus is already inclined to follow Dionysus’ instructions.” And Pentheus’s tendencies are forshadowed in the epithet “dragon-born.”

One passage that seems unfair is the curse pronounced on Cadmus at the end of the play. Dionysus praises Cadmus at the beginning of the play for making a shrine to Semele; Cadmus has been telling the city that Dionysus is indeed the son of Zeus, and Cadmus is one of the few men in the city to acknowledge him as a god. By normal standards, Cadmus has been faithful to his grandson the god. But he must be punished for two reasons. First, he is still the dragon-killer. Fundamentally, he is still opposed to the gods, and he is responsible in a way for his grandson: the messenger who relates Pentheus’s death arrives mourning, “This house founded by Cadmus, the stranger from Sidon who sowed the dragon seed in the land of the snake.”
In addition, Cadmus’s transformation into a snake represents the fate of the city itself. As founder of Thebes, Cadmus can be seen as a type of the whole city, and at the end of the story Dionysus reigns in the city. Thebes has become a Dionysian, and Cadmus has become the god’s symbol. But Cadmus is now more than a symbol – in a manner reminiscent of Oddyseus’ penance as an “evangelist” of Poseidon, Cadmus is sent out into the world to continue Dionysus’ work. He will lead barbarians, easterners like Dionysus himself, into Greece – and he will bring them in war (Ares’ domain, now usurped by Dionysus).

The Palouse

2008-09-17T19:53:00.003-07:00

I was born in the desert, where nothing seems subtle (but it is, if you take the time to get acquainted). You can see the weather from miles away – I knew at lunchtime if the evening would be rainy or clear. The mountains are abrupt, like beginning salesmen; they appear in the middle of nowhere, without so much as a hello or a foothill. The sunsets came out of my Crayola box – Fire Orange and Hot Pink and Midnight Purple. Those colors aren't supposed to show up in real life.

But I didn't appreciate it at the time; I pined for Ireland. The idea of green hills, rolling upward and onward into a gently raining sky was entrancing. To a child of the dry sagebrush, lush grass and cool rain seemed like heaven.

I haven't ever been to Ireland, but I've found the land I dreamed of anyway. In a little corner of the northwest, where Idaho bumps into Washington and Oregon, there are rolling hills so green with wheat that it takes my breath away every day. You only have to drive five minutes in any direction to arrive at the edge of town, and another five minutes will take you to where you can only see fields.

---
I wrote this this summer, and haven't had time to polish it or put an ending on; still, it's time for something other than sports or politics to make an appearance in this space, so here you are.

My favorite bit of choir this year . . .

2008-09-09T21:08:00.002-07:00

. . . was this afternoon when Dr. Erb came out wearing his cheesehead and faux-started the warmups with us chanting "go, Pack, go."

Brett Favre is Egotistical (Scum)

2008-08-05T07:02:00.002-07:00

I never thought I'd live to see the day when I would title anything I wrote "Brett Favre is Scum." But when a man quits his job, is asked back, and refuses, he should stay home. He should honor his word. He shouldn't appeal to the regulatory commission to force his old employer to hire him back.

I loved watching him play. I've never seen a Green Bay game that Brett Favre didn't start, and I cried when I heard that he was retiring. I couldn't imagine the team without him. But I, like the rest of the fans, decided that it was time to move on. We knew that day would come.

That is what makes me so mad. He strung the Packers along until after training camp started. He let them go ahead with Aaron Rodgers; he let them prepare all summer for their first year without him. And then, in a display of ego to beat Terrell Owens, he demanded to be brought back.

I loved Brett Favre. I don't want him to be a Jordan-esque grasper, unable to leave but unable to play in his final years. He should have stayed home. He should go home now.

Primary confessions

2008-06-08T01:39:00.002-07:00

Ladies and gentlemen, I stand before you (well, type before you) an ashamed woman. I, vice-president of Student Citizens for Latah County and staunch political activist of sorts, . . . Last week I did . . . no. I can't say it. It's too embarrasing. Please excuse me.

*****

Okay. I'm back. What I was trying to say before is that . . .

. . .

ididn'tvoteintheprimaryelection

There. Can you forgive me? It wasn't that I didn't try -- I just got my application for an absentee ballot in too late, and so they never mailed me one.

Mea culpa!

Obama is a jedi?

2008-05-31T17:07:00.001-07:00

Wow. I never knew it was actually possible, but jedi mind tricks must work in real life. This is proof!

Clinton/Obama campaign ad

2008-05-29T11:46:00.003-07:00

Hilarious! (HT: Right-Mind)

On Parables

2008-05-25T17:43:00.003-07:00

Dr. Leithart's exhortation this morning was amazing:

As much as pragmatic Americans might wish it to be otherwise, the Bible is not an answer-book. It includes advice, and laws, and rules, but a lot of it consists of puzzling prophecy, ancient history, obscure parables and apparently abstract theology. What are we supposed to get from that? We ask for an answer key, and God gives us poetry. Can’t we just skip the story and get to the moral?
No we can’t.

God gave us the Bible to guide us, but also – more fundamentally – to form us. By studying the Bible, hearing it, reading it, learning from it, we are being remade.

One of the ways the Bible remakes us is by giving us clues about God’s character and work. Parables aren’t moralistic tales. They’re allegories of God’s work in the world, the mysteries of His kingdom. By learning the parables, we learn to anticipate God’s next move.

We anticipate that when wheat is sown, weeds will be sown as well. We anticipate that we’ll have to wait for harvest for everything to be sorted out. We learn that the tree that counts doesn’t even look like a tree, but more like a bush, or a cross. We learn that God’s kingdom moves ahead through agents that we recoil from – prostitutes, tax-gatherers, sinners – as God sanctifies the world using the unclean.
But by learning the parables, living in the parables, and living out the parables, we come to know the ways of God. God is the choreographer and lead partner of our history and of our lives, and by learning the rhythm of the parables, we learn to keep in step with our dance partner.

Be Careful or Be Roadkill

2008-05-15T00:21:00.005-07:00

I have a car.* I say it with the half-reverent half-gleeful tones of Meg Ryan saying "I have mail!" I have a car. I hear not a sound on the city streets, just the beat of my own heart (well, that and the radio).

I went for a drive into the mountains after work tonight, and was astonished again by how amazing this little corner of the world is. I live in a city that, while not large, is too big to make it onto Garrison Keilor's talent show. It's surrounded by rolling wheat fields, and mountains -- real ones, with pine trees and air that feels colder the longer you drive -- are only minutes away. If you need something from a real city, it's only an hour's drive away.

Of course, it's still the kind of place where they name the 7-mile long bit of road "Four Mile Road." But I saw the most beautiful doe on the side of the road, right before she ran across the road and jumped the fence on the other side. And when I came back into town, driving along F street, I saw two racoons. Racoons, people! I only saw one at first, running across the road, and thought it was a cat. But as I slowed down for it, the tail looked odd. So I whipped a u-turn, pulled onto the wrong side of the road, and stared: it really was a 'coon, sitting in the middle of someone's yard! And as I turned around again, I saw it run off after another one towards the creek.

*Only for the summer, and it's not really mine. But I still get to drive it.

The Check is in The Mail

2008-05-10T16:25:00.002-07:00

(maybe. we can't guarantee anything. it's not our money anyway.)

In case you were confused about the rebate checks which are rumored to be arriving in the next few weeks, here's a simple explanation from Dave Barry.

Q. What is an Economic Stimulus Payment?
A. It is money that the federal government will send to taxpayers.
Q. Where will the government get this money?
A. From taxpayers.
Q. So the government is giving me back my own money?
A. Only a smidgen.
Q. What is the purpose of this payment?
A. The plan is that you will use the money to purchase a high-definition TV set, thus stimulating the economy.
Q. But isn't that stimulating the economy of China?
A. Shut up.

Life in Wonka-Land

2008-04-28T23:58:00.003-07:00

It's magical. Full of chocolate-covered coffee beans, strange posters of Bob Dylan's hair, snow and 70 degree weather in the same April day. It's deadly.

I don't even know why I'm taking 5 minutes to type this out, because life suddenly took a vicious turn, and I'm swirling into the mouth of Charybdis (but she will vomit me out onto the beach in 3 days. At least, that's what I hope).

My hours just got bumped up again at work, and I have a Greek test on Friday and a theology paper and a theology presentation and a history presentation. And next week is Finals.

Goodbye sleep!

(But I still have four limbs and two opposable thumbs. What more could I ask for?)

200 down, 79,800 to go.

2008-04-04T01:28:00.006-07:00

Our declamation assignments for the past two weeks were to write the first and last 100 words of the novel we will eventually write. See if you can guess what happens in the middle of mine:

He was wet. They had heard the thunder the night before, watched the
lightning come closer and closer, and cursed their flimsy ponchos. The
deluge began before dawn. Now, staring up at the sky, he watched the clouds turning an eerie shade of mint green. It was time to get inside. He looked around. It was a grubby neighborhood, the kind that collects in big cities like dust-bunnies under the bed. The carpet of bottle-tops on the lawn proclaimed the residents' overwhelming preference for Bud Light, with a few votes for Corona. He walked up to 904 and knocked.
"Hello?"

*****

Eventually, Julia heard voices. They were distant, muffled by the rubble. Then shouting: "More . . . . here. . ." They had found Granny. What if HE was with them? The fallen rafters sagged. She twisted further under the trunk, using it as shelter from the debris. The rafters moved again, and light filtered down into the mess. That was when she saw Bill, crumpled at the base of the tree, obviously dead.

So he hadn't made it back to the house. He wasn't waiting. As the relief finally took hold of her mind, the world flickered. Before she fainted, she saw a boot and someone asked "Are you all right?"

"Yes," she said, "I am."

Network Television's 3-Step Guide to Getting Rid of Unwanted Candidates

2008-03-25T19:06:00.004-07:00

Hilary's Bosnia Blunder (or, How CBS Gave Mrs. Clinton the Shove)

It certainly seems like CBS has decided to throw their lot in with Obama once and for all. Of course, they could prove me wrong by running back-to-back devastatingly-worded exposès of the senator from Illinois, but global cooling hasn't reached all the way down There yet.

The Guide

Step Zero: Ammunition

Step One: Friendly Fire

Step Two: Shooting the Wounded

HT: Right Mind

Rundown of Break:

2008-03-13T18:44:00.003-07:00

Spring break. For many, a time to show some assets on the beaches of far-off exotic places like Cancun or Florida. For me, a time to help remodel the restaurant, get a Country Redwood spray tan courtesy of the deck stain, and drag myself home exhausted every night. That doesn't leave a whole ton of energy for anything, so I've been watching YouTube. A lot. Here are my recent discoveries:

How To Tie A Bow Tie
because I've always wondered . . .

Feist -- 1 2 3 4
it's so fun!

Will Ferrell in "The Producers"
I watched the old version, and started finding all the clips I could. The new one looks terrible, except for this bit

Brush Up Your Shakespeare
watching The Producers also started me on a broadway kick, but I couldn't find a better version of this song than from the movie

Stephen Colbert pays tribute to Brett Favre
in my grief, this was a shining beacon of solace

Mel Brooks makes me laugh!

2008-03-04T14:04:00.002-07:00

I watched The Producers for the first time on Sunday, and this is my absolute favorite scene. =D

Airborne to Refund Consumers

2008-03-03T23:06:00.002-07:00

According to this ABC news article,

People who have taken the herbal formula Airborne with the hope of curing or fending off the common cold are eligible for refunds from the company.
Airborne will pay $23.3. million to settle a class action lawsuit over false advertising. Legal battles beginning in 2006 called into question the product's claims as a "miracle cold buster.

You can file a claim here.

Current Frivolity

2008-02-26T21:28:00.002-07:00

What I'm reading
(that isn't for school)

Just finished this, actually.

(been reading this one off-and-on since Thanksgiving '06)

My darling sister just mailed this to me

This was the most surprising present this Christmas. Did you know that C.S. Lewis actually corresponded in LATIN? He did.

I'm also reading incidental stuff on Dante when I get a chance, but that's not often.

Legal Counterfeit

2008-02-25T01:07:00.003-07:00

I was looking at the information about the State Quarter plan a while back, and noticed something utterly ridiculous. It's not technically "legal plunder," but still.

Apparently, one way the government makes money is by "selling" the money they print for face value, when it only costs a few cents to make. It's all done through a process called "Seigniorage." According to the 50 State Quarters web page,

Taxpayers will be delighted to know that the 50 new State Quarters program is much more than just self-supporting. Thanks to the sale of State Quarter Proof Sets, and something known as seigniorage, hundreds of millions of dollars in profits flow into the Treasury annually!

And Seigniorage is

Revenue or a profit taken by the government from the minting of coins, usually the difference between the cost of coin production (metal, labor, etc.) and the face value of the coin. The profit is realized when the government "sells" the coins at face value to the Federal Reserve Banks (FRBs). For example, it costs about 4.5 cents to make a quarter, and when the quarter enters circulation via the FRBs, the government earns 20.5 cents.

The government makes PROFIT from printing money! How in the world is this possible? Honestly, doesn't it seem like legalized counterfeiting? If I spend ten bucks at Office Max and print off a bunch of hundreds, and then get you to make change for me, I just "sold" you my money and made a huge profit. Just make the newly-printed money actually worth something, and you have the US Government.

And no, I'm not supporting Ron Paul. But this is just ridiculous.

Near-Death Experience

2008-02-08T02:29:00.000-07:00

It was a dark and stormy night. The wind howled in the trees. Actually, it was a warm afternoon in the mountains last October, but spiritually-ecumenically-gramatically the wind was howling. I and three friends were on an expedition down to the creek, but we might have been in Herodotus.

On our way, we disturbed a mouse, chasing it in circles before it climbed into a hole and disappeared. This, we learned later, was a symbolic mini-narrative. Keep it in mind.

We went down to the creek, and made several ill-omened attempts to move upstream. Forgetting the lessons of history, we decided that water should be crossed and broke two log bridges. We were intrigued, not threatened, by the animal remains we found and even, horror of horrors, disturbed the bones. We should have expected trouble.

Finally, we made it as far as possible. We had to cross a waterfall, and the only apparent way was a decaying tree of dubious stability forming a bridge. While we searched for alternatives, we heard a noise behind us. It was definitely a bellow. Actually, bellows, plural, coming from the herd of restless bovine 50 feet away. 40. More like 35. They were moving our way, they had very long, pointy horns, and they were peevish. We rushed to the log bridge. The other three crossed first and called back, "It's the easiest crossing you’ll ever make!"

It DID seem easy. But then I reached the far side, sat down, and tried to jump. Suddenly, I was hanging backward head down six feet above a very shallow and rocky creek. The cows kept coming. I was holding the tree like what it was: the only solid object between me and paralysis. Eventually, my friends managed to catch my jeans and lever me up. I was safe, I thought.

The cows apparently did not share our water-shyness, and started to ford the stream.

We dashed up the hill to the road, clambered over the fence in record time and congratulated ourselves on a near escape. But the cows knew what they were doing. While we pulled out our cameras to document the occasion, they made for the gap only they knew about and piled into the road between us and the gate. We had escaped from the frying pan into the bigger frying pan.

We were stuck, facing down a herd of contentious cattle. Then we noticed the drainage culvert which ran under the fence. Humbling ourselves, we climbed into the hole and, like the mouse, disappeared from the story.

O Fair ::cough:: New Mexico

2008-01-30T00:02:00.000-07:00

2008 is the last year of the Mint's "50 State Quarters" program, and we're finally getting around to New Mexico. According to the official page of the New Mexico Quarter:

The New Mexico Coin Commission, appointed by Governor Bill Richardson, solicited and reviewed approximately 1,000 concept submissions from state citizens . . . On April 24, 2007, Governor Richardson announced his recommendation of the "Zia Symbol over Topographical State Outline" design.
The Department of the Treasury approved the design on May 25, 2007. The other three designs considered were "Zia Symbol over Textured State Outline," "Textured Zia Symbol over State Outline," and "Zia Symbol over Textured State Outline," with the Zia symbol marking the location of the capital, Santa Fe.

We're so creative down there.

Incidentally, our state motto is also "Crescit Eundo", which literally means "It grows by going" and is generally rendered "It grows as it goes."

My new motto:

2008-01-29T17:45:00.000-07:00

Sophomore year will never get me down!

Heavenly Reality

2008-01-26T17:35:00.000-07:00

To celebrate my birthday (a couple days early), I went to lunch at West of Paris today with a few friends. I never cease to be astonished by the results of fine food, classic atmosphere and good company.

When you step in the front door, you forget that you are in the middle of nowhere, Idaho. The dirty slush on the concrete sidewalks outside become just a bad dream. Time stops.

Abby and I shared a cheese plate to start, which was incredible. Chef Foucachon came out and told us all about the cheeses, cut them for us, and told us in what order we should eat them. It went from a soft goat cheese through something I can't remember and a Gruyere to an amazingly creamy and tangy cheese with a layer of ash in the middle (not a typo: ash), and finished up with Boursin and Roquefort.* The only two I didn't care for very much were the first and the last. I've just never liked blue cheese. I freely confess that it is my fault, that I ought to develop a taste for it sometime in the future, but I still don't like it. The goat cheese, on the other hand, was very mild and creamy and not what I expected at all.

Then we split a chicken-curry crepe (I didn't have my camera to take pictures, so you'll have to use your imagination). I love curry, I love crepes, and so it was a perfect marriage of flavors. We each had a Turinois for desert -- a chestnut-Grand Marnier-hazelnut-chocolate mousse dessert with a sauce of crushed raspberries. Have I ever mentioned that my favorite fruit in the world is raspberry? It is.

The capstone of the whole meal, however, actually arrived right after we placed our order. I had no clue what kind of wine would be best with the cheese and crepe, but I knew that I had to get a glass of wine with my meal. It's not a celebration otherwise, and if one is at a French restaurant (which will certainly have the best wines) one must have wine. So I asked for a glass of whatever wine the Chef recommended, and he came out with a bottle of Beaujolais Nouveau. Apparently they don't normally sell it by the glass, but he said that they would open it for us.

I remember reading some article about Beaujolais Nouveau last year, so I was quite excited to try it. It was delicious! I'm not a wine-expert, by any means, but I knew it was good. I can say that it was very light and almost crisp, but at the same time a very (how-do-you-say?) real wine. It didn't taste thin at all, which is what I usually dislike in chilled wines. Along with the cheese, it made my afternoon.

When we stepped back out into the Moscow afternoon air, it was like stepping off a cloud and plummeting back to earth. We had enjoyed a dose of un-reality (or heavenly reality, I wonder?), and had to go back to the business of everyday life. But it was fun while it lasted.

*I don't know if correct grammar allows for the capitalization of cheese names, but it should.

Thistlefield

2008-01-20T00:46:00.000-07:00

Cloverfield. A movie whose entire "hype" premise was the dearth of information released, and it worked. A lot of people got really excited over what was, essentially, nothing. "Oh my gosh! It's amazing! I have no clue where it's gonna go . . . it could be, like, anything! What is it? I'm totally gonna analyze the trailer frame by frame to dig as much information out as possible!" So, if you are still excited about the movie, listen closely:

It was horrible.

There, have you changed your mind? Because I can't provide any arguments for you without ruining all the closely-kept secrets of J J Abrams and crew, and then you would hate me and the movie. So take my word, don't go, and read the following. But consider yourself warned about the spoilers.

************

Plot Synopsis: A group of friends is throwing a going-away party for their best friend who is leaving for Japan. He fights with his love interest at the party, she leaves, and while his friends are counseling him on the fire escape disaster strikes. When everyone in Manhattan is told to evacuate (something attacked from the sea), he gets a phone call from said love interest and decides to go back and rescue her. The friends, like all good friends, go with him and are slowly picked off by the rampaging monster until noone is left. The end. (Of course, we know all of this from the videotape his best friend was making at the party and kept running all night long).

Things I will grant before I criticize:

1. I watched it with a horrible audience.
There was a row of 13-year-old boys in front of us who had been chugging Red Bull all night long, two rows of high-school girls in front of them who started groaning and complaining loudly when the color bars showed at the beginning because they didn't realize that it was part of the movie, and an overly-critical and very audible couple behind us who kept making wisecracks about how well the camera was holding up.

2. It really did make me sick, which probably colored my impression of it.
I inherited my mother's stomach. I can read for hours in the car, ride any kind of ship or boat, and eat a funnel cake and pizza right before I go on the Tilt-A-Whirl. But the sheer visual mayhem was the sort of torture you would expect Sidney Bristow to endure in a remote Kazakh prison, not something for the modern movie-going public to see in a friendly neighborhood multi-plex. Just thinking about it gives me an eyeache and makes me queasy.

3. It was impressive.
There were a ton of special effects, and the 9-11 imagery was actually some of the best stuff in the whole movie. I know there was a lot of criticism of those shots in the weeks leading up to the release, but I felt like they successfully evoked the feelings that Manhattan was under attack, and that these were people who had seen something like this before. They lent verisimilitude, actually, especially because they generally imitated those real hand-held shots of the first plane crashing into the Twin Towers. And the lack of a soundtrack was really effective, because it cut out any clues as to what would happen next. It was much less corny than it could have been.

That said, I've got three main reasons for intensely disliking this movie.

First, internal consistency. "Hud," the best friend holding the camera, is a bad photographer; at the party, he can hardly keep all of someone's face in the shot for more than 3 seconds unless he is standing perfectly still. He doesn't even pay the attention to tracking that a normal person does when they hold a video camera. And all of that would be fine except for the times when he becomes a remarkably masterful cameraman, like in the stairwell. He is suddenly able to not only fade in and out with great timing while keeping the lens directly focused on the floor numbers, but he is also able to keep it from bouncing too wildly as he climbs. Huh.

Second, scariness. Or lack thereof. The scariest part was when they didn't know what the monster was, or even what was happening. As soon as they showed the whole monster, which was very very early on, it lost any element of suspense and became simply horrible. They didn't even save some aspects of it, like the little mini-monsters dropping off it, for later in the movie. On top of that, "Hud" kept making inane comments at the tensest moments, which completely deflated the fear. I can grant that this may be part of his character, and we all know folks who would crack a joke at a funeral, but it didn't help the movie to be any scarier.

Third, bad story writing. I never felt like I really could become attached to the characters -- especially "Beth," the girl he went back for. She seemed like a selfish, whiny person at the beginning, and you almost never saw her until close to the end, but she's the whole reason this pack of twenty-something civilians is wandering a war-zone Manhattan. We only see things from one perspective (interesting on a epistemological level, but not as a movie-goer). Even the hand-held camera isn't showing us "everything Hud sees" -- it shows us "everything Hud remembers to point the camera at, which usually excludes eyes, chins, or both." Even though one girl escapes, we never find out what happens to her. We don't know what happened afterward, except that the tape was found in "the area formerly known as Central Park." There's no resolution.

All in all, a waste of money. But if you still want to see it after this, you only have 3 options: die here, die in the tunnels, or die up top. Take your pick.

Culinary Vagaries (or, why you need a lid on the pot)

2008-01-16T00:10:00.000-07:00

My lovely parents gave me "The Supper of the Lamb" by Robert Farrar Capon for Christmas this year, and I have thoroughly enjoyed it. In fact, I read it within 24 hours of opening the package, and the chapter on knives has a permanent place in my heart.

In fact, I loved it so much that I resolved to implement what I could from the book as soon as I returned to school. I got a chicken, pre-cooked as a concession to my busy schedule, and took all the meat off the bones. That done, I turned to the recipe for white stock, one of the basic things Father Capon says one must always have on hand. I carefully put a bay leaf, the chicken bones, some carrots and onion, and a little bit of salt and pepper in a quart of water. The pot went over the heat, with the lid on. But there I made a fatal error -- I did not smack the ill-fitting lid down tightly before I went out to the table to study my greek homework. And half an hour later, my roommate walked into the kitchen and asked "Was somebody cooking something?" The kitchen was filled with smoke, and my slowly blackening saucepan contained the charred bones of my stock. It was completely beyond rescue. Ah, well, such is the life of an elf.

Still, my enthusiasm for the book remains undiminished. Yes, Father Capon does marvelous things with an onion (oh, you will never again read "peel and chop an onion" without a brief moment of silence). He makes you long for stock, bread, lettuce, roasts, wine and butter. But the following are my favorite quotes.

I love the first because it is so anti-feminist. Part of the joy of reading Father Capon is his refusal to see managing a home as something women must settle for; femininity is glorious and exalted, a mystery of power in weakness and skill instead of force:

Properly edged and skillfully used, a cleaver will prepare whole meals without the assistance of another knife. But it does more. It bolsters your ego as a cook. Parting chickens with aplomb, you begin to believe you really might make it. And so does everyone else. A woman with cleaver in mid-swing is no mere woman. She breaks upon the eye of the beholder as an epiphany of power, as misterss of a house in which only trifles may be trifled with -- and in which she defines the trifles. A man who has seen women only as gentle arrangers of flowers has not seen all that women have to offer. Unsuspected majesties await him. . . .
You will also be provided with an instant rejoinder to anyone who presumes to lecture you on housewifery as an abject capitulation to the feminine mystique. Simply let him see you presiding over your kitchen with steel in one hand and butcher knife in the other. Execute six well-drawn strokes and his words will turn to ashes in his mouth. He was ready for a maladjusted prisoner of the pantry; you have showed him instead one of the priestly archetypes of the race. Mystique indeed! He has hardly scratched the surface.

On dieting:

A calorie is not a thing; it is a measurement. In itself, it does not exist. . . . Only things, you see, are capable of being eaten or burned, loved or loathed; no one ever yet got his teething into a calorie. . . . How sad then, to see real beings -- Harry and all his fellow calorie counters -- living their lives in abject terror of things that do not even go bump in the night. What a crime, not only against hospitality, but against being to hear him turn down homemade noodles in favor of idols and abstractions -- to watch himself prefer nothing to something. . . . Food does not exist merely for the sake of its nutritional value. To see it so is only to knuckle under still further to the desubstantialization of man, to regard not what things are, but what they mean to us -- to become, in short, solemn idolaters spiritualizing what should be loved as matter. A man's daily meal ought to be an exultation over the smack of desirability which lies at the roots of creation. To break real bread is to break the loveless hold of hell upon the world, and, by just that much, to set the secular free.

From the end of the book:

Why do we marry, why take friends and lovers, give our selves to music, painting, chemistry, or cooking? Out of simple delight in the resident goodness of creation, of course, but out of more that that, too. Half of earth's gorgeousness lies hidden in the glimpsed city it longs to become. For all its rooted loveliness, the world has no continuing city here; it is an outlandish place, a foreign home, a session in via to a better version of itself--and it is our glory to see it so and thirst until Jerusalem comes home at last. We were given appetites, not to consume the world and forget it, but to taste its goodness and hunger to make it great.

Twitch, Twitch.

2008-01-14T21:48:00.000-07:00

Here I sit, an awkward slice of bologna in the human sandwich of this Boeing 757. On my left, the middle aged business man with bushy eyebrows and a five o'clock shadow sleeps against the window, his hands folded in his lap. On my right is the Twitching Creature from Calcutta.

He must be asleep, I tell myself, because his eyes are closed. But he keeps lunging his shoulders into the aisle, contorting his head and shoulders before drooping limply forward. Then he starts jerking and bouncing his knees violently, shaking the whole row. I wonder what he'll do when we take off . . .

{Later}

The Twitching Calcuttan is slowly encroaching on my space, that sacred area between the armrests on the seat and the luggage-rack bars under the row in front of us. Elbow-wise and bouncing-knee-wise, he is taking over, and while my normal policy of elbow-room sharing dictates accomodation, I find myself tempted to administer a swift jab to the offending arm and then resist any attempts by this dozing moron to take any further space whatsoever. I want to "accidentally" poke him with my pen. Goodness! Am I losing all compassion?

[Editorial note: He revived when the beverage service came around, and remained moodily awake for the rest of the flight.]

The Battle of Franklin, told by Ambrose Bierce

2007-12-18T22:32:00.000-07:00

George Grant, in the post shared in the box over to your right, links to this story by Ambrose Bierce. It recounts his view of the Civil War battle of Franklin (which may be of interest to some of you out there).

As a member of Colonel Post's staff, I was naturally favored with a good view of the performance. We formed in line of battle at a distance of perhaps a half-mile from the bridge-head, but that unending column of gray and steel gave us no more attention than if we had been a crowd of farmer-folk. Why should it? It had only to face to the left to be itself a line of battle. Meantime it had more urgent business on hand than brushing away a small brigade whose only offense was curiosity; it was making for Spring Hill with all its legs and wheels. Hour after hour we watched that unceasing flow of infantry and artillery toward the rear of our army. It was an unnerving spectacle, yet we never for a moment doubted that, acting on the intelligence supplied by our succession of couriers, our entire force was moving rapidly to the point of contact. The battle of Spring Hill was obviously decreed.

Notice the South's tendency to name battles after nearby towns (Franklin), while the North reckoned their battles by landmarks (Spring Hill).

This is going on my list of things to do before I die . . .

2007-12-01T21:41:00.001-07:00

Christmas Music

2007-11-28T01:50:00.000-07:00

Memory may not be recalled as easily by sound as it is by smell, but there's something about finally turning on the Christmas music that says "it's Advent" like nothing else I know. Here are my indispensable Christmas Albums (in no particular order)

Matt Damon Imitates Matthew McConaughey

2007-11-27T21:14:00.001-07:00

One of my favorite videos this year. =D

And we're off!

2007-11-27T20:59:00.001-07:00

The walls have been scrubbed, the kitchen is repainted, the carpet is vacuumed and the drapes are cleaner than ever. Welcome home! In a metaphorical sense, of course. Actually, I rediscovered this place not too long ago, and just got around to chasing the spiders out of the corners to make it inhabitable.

No, it's not going to be anything super fancy. See that sidebar that says "Greetings and Salutations"? It's all true -- I have no original thoughts. But every so often I get this urge to fool around on the internet, so here is my blog. Have fun!