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15 JunSummer Moonshine (as well as cooking, reading, and daylight)…

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One of the things that is most distressing to me about summer is it makes me fall in love with Durham and the South as a whole all over again, right when I am about to give up on them.  I am personally most happy with the weather when it is 80-100 degrees and humid.   In fact there has been a noticeable rise in the amount of time I spend outside hiking, reading, cleaning windows and the like since June arrived and summer came.

Matterhorn: A Novel of the Vietnam War by Karl Marlantes

I spent the first weekend of 90+ days almost entirely in the sun (with heavy sunscreen and bug spray), reading a book that I urge all of you to RUN to the store to pick up – Matterhorn. I think may be the best book on the Vietnam  War (not the politics or impact  at home but simply the soldiers on the ground fighting).  It completely negates Tim O’Brien’s generalization that you can’t tell a true war story of Vietnam.  Though I love reading The Things they Carried,  this book focused less on psychological abstractions, dealing instead with the horrors, bonding, difficulty and love these Marines developed and felt for each other as they fought against an unseen enemy, the terrain, and ambitious officers who misunderstood what was happening on the ground in a realistic way.  It focuses on the whole person as opposed to just the internal struggles.  I am not sure that someone who had not lived with people under these circumstances could have written the book, and there is a reason it is resonating with many. This book feels true, the characters are alive, and all I could think when I finished it was I wish it were longer – which was odd as it comes in at around 600 pages.  (On a personal side note, the Marines play Acey-Ducey, a version of Backgammon invented by members of the U.S. Navy and a game I grew up playing having been taught by my grandmother and mother, except for a short mention in Hoyle’s Rules of Games, I have never seen mention of this game in print, and seeing it here made me very happy as it is one of my favorites).  I really think everyone who enjoys literature or history should read this book.

One of my absolute favorite parts of  this summer has been the produce.  I have been hitting up the farmer’s market in both Durham and the Western Mountains of NC.  Thus I have had an abundance of fresh greens, blackberries, corn, kale, home made sausage, eggs and other treats.   The fresh pulled peas and patty pan squashes have been particularly good – but thus far the absolute best have been the local strawberries.  They look like a painter’s rendering of the fruit, as opposed to what is normally at the grocery story, and taste as good, if not better, than they look.  A few weeks ago I took a carton of them, a book, and my hammock and enjoyed the smell heat, humidity, and the smell of the earth and concrete after a rain, and all seem clean again.

Friday, when two friends joined me in the mountains, I took full advantage of this bounty.  (To be honest, I took advantage of it to a point all weekend, even using local eggs and bakery muesli bread for french toast made with almond milk).   Everything on the plate, with one exception, was bought from the farmer’s market in Durham, the Co-op, or was already stocked in the mountain pantry.

Therefore I took the bone-in pork chops and marinated them in enough apple cider vinegar to cover half of each chop at least.  I added to the marinade 3/4 of a mango and half a vidalia onion.  After marinating for 1.5 hours (rotating once) I pan sauteed them until brown on each side, checked them for done-ness and put them into the oven at 350 to finish them off – the entire time they cooked in the marinade. They tasted like a cross between mangoes and apples without being overly sweet.

I served them with zucchini blossoms (with baby zucchini attached) which I flash fried after dipping them in 3/4 cup beer and 2/3 cup floor (sprinkled with pepper). I heated oil up until dropping from the mixture fried up when dripped onto the oil as a test (1bout 175 Degrees)  and put the blossoms in 2-4 at a time depending on size, the frying was almost instantaneous, and the blossoms were a treat – a slightly peppery zucchini with a crunch.  I also served up fresh kale which I sauteed in chicken broth and the rest of the onion.

For appetizers (as one guest did not arrive until after nine) I let my friend buy cheeses and a locally made sausage.  Knowing I would not eat the cheese, I looked something for me to eat and share. Therefore, I boiled shrimp, freshly caught outside Charleston, SC and driven up to the mountains, the shrimp were so fresh they were still blue in places and the contained a sweet roe given them a unique flavor.  I dropped in lemon juice and Coach’s low country boil, which I bought at the framer’s market co-op.  After boiling and refrigerating I served with home made cocktail sauce.

For desert there were fresh peaches and black berries – the best fruit of early summer.  Most exciting of all, except for the pork chops enough was left of everything else that I can heat, reheat, and continue to eat it for a few more days!  Especially when combined with the patty pan squash, and fresh zucchini I sauteed the next night (all that was missing was the peppery okra, which I have not yet seen good quality of).

With amazing produce like this (and the dishes that can be done with them), heat, thunderstorms, long days, and the stillness of the world due to heat combined with the activity of  the cool hours, I am glad summer has just started and winter is no where in sight.  Now on to reading a Jeeves and Wooster book…

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23 MayEating, Drinking and Reading in Portland OR

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For the past week I was in Portland, OR to explore some possible business ideas I have, – I will write more about my class on coffee, speciality coffee, the business of these bars  and thoughts there at a later date as the ideas become clearer in my head.  Suffice it to say I learned a lot about coffee and found I like well prepared brewed coffees a lot, a fact I had forgotten as they are so rarely found.  Portland reminded me of a super-sized Durham in good ways (food and books) and bad (too many hipsters, a need to assert the progressive agenda even when there is no need to politicize things, dirt and grungy hipsters) but the good outweighed the bad and the public transportation counterbalanced to an extent the extreme amounts of homelessness, the eco friendly-ness and affordability counterbalanced some of the sense that the town was on the verge of changing into an overgrown hipster college scene, and relaxed vibe and welcoming atmosphere helped compete with the rainy cold weather.  (In a side note I realized why grunge was so dark in color on the whole – due to the weather most people don’t wear much color unless they are making a statement by wearing BOLD colors, needless to say, I stuck out like sore thumb.  I did enjoy that the women treated umbrellas as a way to show unique fashion accessories with bold designs and colors, my umbrella from the Freer depicting Whistler’s Peacock room did not stick out!)

I arrived midday sunday and Sunday afternoon was supposed to be my day to wander around the city – go to the galleries that were open – and check out places.  I did a little of that, but having landed at 11:40 PST and gotten up at 4 AM EST (and not really having slept well) I was exhausted, so I wound up grabbing lunch from a food cart serving to order Thai on the cheap and on the street.  .  (In a side note – Portland has a fabulous light rail and for$2.30 I took a train from the airport almost to my hotel’s door – along with hipsters with dogs, other travelers, and a collection of pot smoking hippies who were so high and had been smoking so long that they recollected in many ways Cheech and Chong, even as they gave me a warm welcome and pointed out interesting land marks in the surrounding area).  This particular cart was decent – nothing to write home about but also just as good as most generic Thai places.  The others I tried were better.

Following a nap,  (and the information that my room had been complementarily upgraded to a suite) I went to a place that is synonymous with Portland for book lovers – Powell’s City of Books.  Even being exhausted, sore, and overwhelmed by the number of hung-over tattooed people in what can only be described as authentic 90s grunge (down to men in tights and skirts with stretched ears walking chihuahuas) Powell’s overwhelmed me.  It is a bookstore that is four stories and 68,000 square feet of new, used, and rare books.  It had copies of books I have been looking for for awhile and other new ones displayed that I had not heard of and otherwise may not have been exposed to.  At the same time – it is so big as too be confusing, and it is not clean.  It is a warehouse and outside of the main entrance and rare book room, does little to create the ambiance typical of a bookstore.  For me at least I did not feel (or observe) people relaxing into the book and store in the way I am used to seeing in local (or even chain bookstores).    At the same time I saw volumes of books I had not seen anywhere but libraries, and used books at prices so reasonable as to prevent my ignoring them.  The rare book room was a rare treat, and the drama section almost had me in tears as it had copies of every play I have wanted to read in years – unfortunately suitcases only have so much room – and my budget for the trip did not include many books.

I did find this ambiance the next day when I stopped into Cameron’s books while visiting the downtown Stumptown location and the food carts (I do love that idea and am so glad that Durham now has a Korean Taco Truck which is phenomenal, mobile Taco trucks, an empanada truck, mobile cupcakes, and OnlyBurger and the Indian mobile station outside Sam’s Quick Stop though I have not tried those two).  At Cameron’s I found a used book I have been looking for for months at half the price used sellers on Amazon had it. They had books on poetry that I had not seen, and better archives full of magazines going back to the turn of the 20th century that one can request to examine.  This was still a pleasure to explore – in a manageable setting!

Monday after class I wandered back into the Pearl district to try Adina, a Nuevo Peruvian restaurant I have been reading about for a while.  It lived up to expectations – with dishes that complemented sweet and heat in novel but exciting ways.  For example I tried an empanada from the owner’s family recipe that had olives and raisins mixed in with the beef and was coated with key limejuice and light powered sugar.  The tang of the olive, its salty acidity, contrasted perfectly with the sweet acid of the key lime in a perfect way.  In a similar way the pork loin dish I had was served with a pepper-based sauce and over butternut ravioli combining the traditional with the new – the sweat of the peppers and their heat – were incredibly well balanced by the butternut squash.  This was a dish in which a bit of each element must be eaten together to get the full sensation, and although not the way I normally eat it was exciting to try. I followed this with a trip to a wine bar, where the bartenders had a tasting of Oregon wines three for ten dollars.  The wines (with one exception) were good and the bartender went out of her way to talk about the grapes, wine and vineyard   – really informative and helpful  - and impressive as she was able to do this while kicking out three very drunk patrons at closing time.

On my last night two fellows from the class and I went, on our teachers’ recommendations to Le Pigeon.  A true full body restaurant where tongue, sweetbreads, cheeks and foie gras are all served frequently, the food is phenomenal.  The chef, as much as possible, uses local foods, and cross pollinates regions and cultures.  I saw shrimp cooked ceviche style and personally had coarsely ground grits that were mixed in with a few kernels of full corn.  Everyone of us was pleased with our meals (I had a bone marrow and caramelized onion sandwich appetizer with a sweetbread over grits entre, my seat mates had a foie gras appetizer, halibut, and foie gras cream puffs in one case and a scallop appetizer, with the pork entre, and a crème brule served with pots de crème decaf espresso).  Just as a amazing was the size – the restaurant seats 40 around four large tables and 10 bar seats.  The bar seats face the chef’s kitchen where all food is prepared in front of you.  The space the chefs stood and worked in was not much bigger then my couch – perhaps thee couches (one for counter space and one for cooking space) was the kitchen in toto although there is a prep area down stairs.  All I can say was that the whole experience was a treat in itself, the bookshelf lined back wall was gorgeous and meeting the owner/chef was an added bonus.

Even my streetcart breakfast was delicious and nutritious – having stopped in an at bloop oatmeal.   There I had apple cider oatmeal – made with almond milk!!! – that was essentially apples, maple syrup, agave honey, almond milk and oats sautéed together with the apples and syrup and milk sautéing first.  The oats followed and were undercooked compared to a mush oatmeal, and the honey was drizzled on top.  It was phenomenally good to eat as I walked across the river on a morning when the temperature was not yet 50 and the air and sky blue.  I may start making all my oatmeal that way, as I preferred it to the mushy kind.

All in all I see why Portland is considered a great foodie town – there are so many options – and I have thoroughly enjoyed the architecture and the causal politeness of the people – but I am sure I could not live here presently.  I am not hip enough, though do enjoy the vibe, and hope to come back one day when I am not in class full time and truly explore the city.   Hopefully in the middle of summer – as the four seasons in one day thing was a bit much 40-68 is a big range as is down pour –sun – hail in 15 minutes – all of which I experienced first hand.  Even better – on one of the few nights I was not hitting a food cart of dinner at a nice restaurant with classmates, I met my cousin’s wife for drinks.  I had not seen her since their wedding and it was nice to catch up and here how she was, how he is as he is currently in Iraq, and just really chat.  I am excited to hear how her next year of school goes and where she winds up teaching. I can’t thank her enough for driving down and meeting me.

The biggest downside though had to be coming home to Algy and Peebes.  Algy had been in an altercation with another dog at the Vet (I don’t blame them as it was a very quick fight and I know they love Algy and comped me his treatment) – apparently both are bad at stopping play and Algy did not realize that the other dog was threatening him.  Algy has a cut tail, some bruising and cuts on the skin and face, and stitches in his ear.  Therefore he has antibiotics, pain meds, and an Elizabethan Collar (his third).  He is quite pathetic as he cannot perceive depth in the thing, and cannot get comfortable.  Hopefully the stitches can come out end of next week and all will be better!  Cheers – off to watch the Lost finale, hope the thunderstorms don’t wreck that plan for me.

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10 MayMeatloaf, family, and thanks

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Twice this spring, my refrigerator has been filled with tomato with meat sauce and meatloaf, and other dinners made by scratch, along with store bought soups and other easy dishes, all provided by my mother.  She did this when she came up to visit, once for the Duke-UNC game when she cooked for me for four days and otherwise took care of me while I was sleeping off the first of what turned out to be many brought with a recurring bronchial infections (or pneumonia) triggered by asthma from pollen and Cairo.  The second time was more recently, while I was recovering from hand surgery and doped up on painkillers without the use of my left arm and hand almost completely for two-three weeks.  Even though she only stayed a few days – she left me enough food to last 2 and half weeks – when interspersed with the occasional prepared meal from Whole Foods.

Both of my parents, in fact my whole family, have really been supportive of me in many ways throughout this difficult year.  From my first expressions of unhappiness, to exploration of other alternative career options they have been there emotionally, financially, and even willing to edit or (in most cases) read this blog, when many others have not been the best about returning calls or checking in.[1] From pure sustenance support to emotional, hardly a day goes by without a parent (or two) and often my brothers checking in, at other times in my life, and even sometimes during this one, it would be overkill, but right now, it feels right.  The physical embodiment of this is the meatloaf and pasta with meat sauce.

To me, when the weather is cold, there is not much better then meatloaf, and as the weather warms up meatballs provide some of the same pleasure and are especially enjoyable as they can be paired with fresh vegetables stewed into a delicious sauce.  There is a satisfaction that comes from meshing together by hand the ground meat, onions and mushrooms, breadcrumbs and egg as well as the tomatoes and other ingredient that can go into meatloaf to personalize it and differentiate it from a huge meatball.  (There is a similar pleasure to be gained from making meatballs, another dish I have personally made frequently in the past few months – there is a pleasure that comes from the contrast of the meatball and the tangy, but sweet acid of homemade tomato sauce that cannot be beat – but that is a story and recipe for another day, one when I think more about college, something making meatballs always reminds me of.)   To be perfectly honest though, the quality of the food my mother prepared varied, the thought and feeling and gratitude I had for did not.

The first time she was here, my mother went conservative on her meatloaf and pasta with meat sauce.  In both cases she used a mix of veal, pork, and beef for the meat base.  Then she made a standard meatloaf with mushrooms, canned tomatoes, garlic, onion, some mushrooms, fresh basil and parsley, a small amount of breadcrumbs and an egg.  For the meat sauce she used canted tomatoes cooked with peppers, onions and garlic, throwing in herbs.  She stewed them together with the ground meat and let it cook for at least an hour, creating a more complex version of the sauce I grew up with.   In contrast to this when she came up in April – she made the meatloaf with beef and added a habanera pepper and it just did not work well, it as edible and even appetizing but I grew somewhat tired of it.  And the sauce did not simmer down right – needing either more tomatoes or tomato paste, which is anathema to my mother.  But both were soft and perfect for someone who has only one hand for a short a mount of time, and I cannot thank her enough for taking the time to create dishes for me to eat, and try to experiment for me.  That, more then words, shows emotion, and means a lot so thank you.

[1] (Not that I can completely blame them, as I can be bad at staying in touch, though as I have said before that does not mean I am not thinking of you.  In fact in some ways this blog is meant to give a SMALL insight into what is going with me, much is not shared publicly and needs to be told via personal message, but some is put this way to give clues).

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28 AprWicked at DPAC and Earnest at Playmakers totally diffrent yet…

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Sometimes life provides natural counter balances that are not at first blush obvious, but when seen from a slightly different angle work well together. This month I saw two theatrical productions, which on the surface have nothing to do with each other (except for constantly being alluded to by theater types), but after reflection some similarities appear that may explain some of the appeal to me of both. On St. Patrick’s day, I saw a classic of British (and World) theater at PlayMakers Rep, The Importance of Being Earnest, and last Thursday I saw a classic of current popular musicals, complete with allusions to the source material (book and movie) and pop culture references from Evita to preppy coloring – Wicked.  On the surface, outside of some arch allusions in both, not much is similar in either. True both are theater – but one relies on language alone while the other needs sets and music to convey its point – being less about the actual acting and more about audience expectations of grand theatricality. I came to each show with completely different expectations based upon my varying familiarity with each. For Earnest, I wanted to watch the actors and revel in the language looking for ways to play with the inherent comedy of the show. Having seen multiple theatrical (and film) versions of the show I was curious as to how it would be reinterpreted and thrilled to hear some of the great wit aloud and discover (or rediscover) meanings, humor, and allusions forgotten since the last visit. This is one of my favorite pieces of stage writing in English and I never tire of it. I was not disappointed by a minute of the production, acting, or staging. I came to Wicked in a very different position. I had read F. Baum’s The Wizard of Oz while still in elementary school, but did not treasure it as I did other “classics of Children’s Literature” like Alice’s Adventure’s in Wonderland (maybe my Arts and Crafts era interest started young), Little Women, Little House on the Prairie, 1001 Arabian Nights, The Hobbit, A Wrinkle in Time or A Little Princess. In fact I read it more to see what I was missing as I never loved the movie the Wizard of Oz – I did dress up as part of it for Halloween one year – but I never loved it. Currently, I have little to no interest in watching it. I do like the vibrancy of the sets though – they are fun. I also tried to read the source material Wicked by Maguire, but could not get through it. I had passed up the opportunity to see it before – thinking it was just a pop musical – but they became addicted to the soundtrack. I think that Kristen Chenoweth and Inidna Menzel shine as Glenda and Elpheba, and some of the songs are just infectious. Yet I enjoyed both productions – for similar reasons. I adored my familiarity with the stories, humor and where applicable songs in each as a given. But more then that in both cases I was blown by the costume and scenery changes. Wicked’s set is complex and loud – at times fluorescent green – and the costumes allow you to notice both the chorus and the principals, in unique ways (particularly in a scene taking place at a dance club when all are in White and Black except the principals). The Sets and Costumes reminded me of Tim Burton, Victorian Fashions (even though the Wizard of Oz is Ironically American) and the Arts and Craft Movement. In short they were fascinating. Similarly, the set and costume designers for Earnest, recreated Victorian period detail, while also creating a three story set that spun, with different door frames and windows on a lazy susan like staircase to indicate if they were in the country, the city, or the library, it was ingenious, and was completed with accurate depictions of late Victorian era clothing. I also enjoyed that both played with words and meaning, in a way that maybe not everyone watching Wicked caught, but that for those paying attention, the actors played up well. They seemed to know they were in a campy show, and enjoyed playing to the crowd, while also trying to convey true emotion in a cartoon show, a feat in which the principles mostly succeeded with the exception of Fiyero, who was way to bouncy and fey to be the romantic interest of the leading women. Similarly, the actors in Earnest were all phenomenal, and what could have turned into a campy trick, having Ray Dooley, a man, play the formidable Lady Bracknell, instead was incredible. He played it straight, and allowed her lines, which are incredibly funny without her being aware of it to create the humor rather then the upending of gender norms. Did I think Wicked was too long; yes it may not have needed the second act. But that complaint was overshadowed by the chills the set and costumes gave me, and hearing live, and well done, some of my favorite songs from contemporary musical theory. In short go see it, besides Spring Awakening (which is the best musical I have seen in years), it is the best thing I have seen at Durham Performing Arts this uear, and I am thrilled that they are predicting sold out crowds for the entire month. In this current traveling production of Wicked, the acting is well done and it is fun, poppy and contemporary with a strong message on the value of how perception shapes reality.  But, somehow, I doubt it has the legs to last centuries, as does the genius of Wilde’s Earnest.

"Wicked" The Musical Previews In Melbourne

"Wicked" The Musical Previews In Melbourne

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14 AprIs it just me or…

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Is this great?

One of my favorite videos combined with Sue Slyvester – thus far one of the great characters on tv – shot for shot.

Of course the original by Madonna at the height of one her most iconographic phases can be found here.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GuJQSAiODqI (unfortunately embeding is not permitted on this version of the video at this moment).

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08 AprPeople – decorum please!

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I don’t normally watch Kieth Olbermann or the punditry shows as I find the yelling annoying, the one sided reporting self-serving, and that these shows in general exist in an echo chamber devoid of most reality.  A reality where talking points are facts, and what actually is going on matters less then sound bites and spin (and one where, in general, long term consequences and repercussions don’t matter at all).  [1]

My news programing tends to be the POTUS channel on SIRRUS/XM the NY Times, the Washington Post, NPR, the BBC, PBS, The Daily Beast, legal and education blogs, food blogs, book/art/theater reviews, and of course, Morning Joe on MSNBC.  That said on Sundays over tea and eggs, I like to have Sunday talk on while reading the NY Times Sunday paper (a routine  which would be changed if I had a church in Durham I felt right in regularly).  Thus I do not miss the echo chamber completely or to the extent it is not only on MSNBC and Fox prime time.

I see the rise of talking points as a form of catering to the extremes -- of both sides.  It causes anger and blood pressure to rise by  discussing issues through code words and buzz moments rather than facts and honest debate.  I know none of what I am saying is novel but we need to remember it.  Particularly when so many hold irrational beliefs (the president is Muslim -- no, bu if so who cares?).

I blame the threats of violence on democratically elected representatives on this, and find illusions to guns and loading immoral at this time of outrage.

All of that being a long introduction to a Olbermann special comment from last night, April 7.  This comment focuses on the Republican candidate for Congress in my parents and brothers district, a seat held by Democrat Ron Klein, who is running for reelection.  This man, Allen West should be taken with much salt. after having  been court martialed and then admitting to torturing and threatening violence on an Iraqi policeman.  He was fined, but allowed to resign with benefits.  In any case his actions were wrong, he was punished, and why  anyone would vote for him is beyond me.  His pamphlets cater to the tea partiers without saying much in terms of what he would offer, as opposed to what he would reject, and are long odes to militant patriotism, a virulent form that I cannot understand even though I believe deeply in all that this country stands for and has to offer.  All of that though I could live with as part of this year of anger and voter rebellion.  What happened two days ago I cannot.

Two days ago, West, like others before him used language that alluded to violence when speaking of his political opponent.  That caused Olbermann to do this “special comment” on the situation.

For the MSNBC version click here.

(While having Olbermann  condemn him and Palin support him may aide West with some no rational person should vote for a man who  claims to want to make his opponents to scared to go outside -- that is not part of our traditions peaceful transitions of power dating to Jefferson or nonviolent protesting against the majority).  See also the Washington Post blog and this from the Sun-Sentinel on the back and forth between West and the Democratic Party Head for Broward County.

People have a right to be angry -- to question all decisions and to honest debate.  But language like this harms more then just this race, it harms the institutions of government themselves and prevents that honest debate from occuring.  I have a masters in history and have been long interested in how some successful political groups achieved change though nonviolent actions which forced their opposition to either change or be brutal.  In this case, people are scared, angry, and acting brutish.  Yet they seem to be just rebelling without solutions -- egged on in this behavior by people like West, Palin, Fox News, Olbermann and many at MSNBC.  Until the news and our leaders act like Senator Coburn, and admit you can disagree without being disagreeable we are in for a period of time where the minority of crazies, from both sides continue to stir things up, terrorizing us all and causing odd headlines like this and some great TV like this and this.

A great example of how handling extremists with decorum can cause extremists to look idiotic can be seen here.  Two pundits I don’t usually enjoy watching were on Morning Joe yesterday (April 7, 2010) discussing the behavior of Afghan President Karzai.  Arriana Huffington who never seems to contribute except though bluster, talking points and attack, went after Rudy Giuliani, whom I disagree with a lot politically, and who is often needlessly confrontational.  In this case he called her  attack as personal and irrelevant, and was able to get the hosts and others at the table to agree.  They may or may not have agreed with his stance on Karazi , but they did believe she crossed a line and needed to combat her position, which appeared  to rely on more then talking points with facts not attacks and sound bites.  She was unable to do so and sounded, at least to me, like she was lost in  a shrill, liberal echo chamber of one.

In this spirit, those of us who aren’t for violence, but want honest discussions must speak up.  Read about what is actually going on and have real debates.  I may not agree with you, just as I am not sure how I feel about the health bill, but if you have an explanation for your position, based on facts, I will respect it. Hell you may then even persuade me -- shouting and threatening people definitely will not cause me to join your stance.  Decorum, like honey, often has greater rewards.

[1] For more on my thoughts on the lack of decorum in our society see -- http://www.peebesalgy.com/blog/2009/10/30/does-yelling-lead-to-boredom-and-stupidity/ and http://www.peebesalgy.com/blog/2010/01/27/omg-the-prez-is-speaking-now/.

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01 AprThe House of the Mosque, my grandfather, and Iran.

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“That book puts me in mind of my dog Sherpa,” said my grandfather over a dinner of local beef and sautéed spinach and mushrooms.   The book in question was The House of The Mosque, which I lent my 92-year-old (soon to be 93) grandfather this weekend. He sat there quietly Saturday afternoon – after looking at Egypt pictures – and with Algy on his lap he ignoring the first two games of the Elite Eight in order to read (or skim) the book.

My grandfather lived in Iran from 1972 until December 1976[1], he spent his first two years there with the United States Department of State, and upon his retirement he ran the Iran-America Cultural Society in Isfahan.  Along with the Society was an American School – and by the time he left Isfahan in 1976 there were thousands of Americans there – many working for companies involved in weaponry.   I had lent him the book, with some trepidation on my part, as there were things in it that I knew he would not like, as he worked for years for the American Government, and I also knew that he had been given recently many books about Iran but that he had not yet read one.  In this case he started to read it, and maybe because it’s a well-written novel, he did not hide it on a shelf or forget about it as he often does.  (Can you tell I come from a family of bibliophiles on both sides?) The book brought up memories of that era – and while he did not agree with all that the author wrote, he found it interesting and for the rest of the night told active stories about the time.

Sherpa, it turns out, whom I remember as a fun warm dog that was always around my grandparent’s place in Clearwater, was a second generation Tibetan Terrier, given to them by a friend in the corporate world who came to visit Isfahan.  One night, the dog would not stop barking – waking up my grandparents – who called the police.  Sherpa chased two people off the property – the police determined that they had scaled a steep fence to get in and out.

At the time, my grandparents wrote it off as robbery.  Although they lived in Iran, they lived in a bubble, even though my grandfather through his security work at the embassy had close ties with the CIA.  They worked with thousands of people who supported the west, or were American themselves.  Youths turned out in droves to attend shows put on by the cultural center, including one where my grandfather put on a wig and played an American Jazz set (to this day my grandfather plays the piano, he put himself through college playing piano and trumpet throughout Northern New York and on cruise ships that took him to Europe and back in the 1930s – on one of these trips he took a detour into Germany where he was run out of the country for taking to many pictures of what the Nazi’s were doing there as they were, rightly, skeptical of his motives).  After this set he went backstage, took off the wig, and returned to the audience to see other parts of the program – according to him, no one suspected that he had been the one playing.

After reading the book though, and of course the developments in Iran over the last 30 years he now questions if instead the two men were coming to his house to target him.  At the time he was there, Isfahan did not have a formal American consulate – even though many Americans lived in the area.  This was partly due to the quick growth of the American population – in 1969 according to him, only 16 Americans lived in the area, by 1976 there were thousands.  There had been a consulate in the 50s, but due to the decline in population it no longer was needed.  As the director of the society (which also had branches in Tehran and Washington which also ran schools), and a former high ranking embassy official, he was treated as the defacto formal American consulate, which may well have made him and his wife a target for some of the extremists rising at the time.

According to my grandfather, the CIA and others misjudged the power of the extremist.  They were not focused on, or aware of the rise of the religious right in the country, and were focusing instead on threats from other regions – such as the Soviets.  The House of the Mosque touches on these groups when the children of the family join the communist youth undergrounds both before and after the revolution.

Perhaps his biggest complaint with the book was the portrayal of the Shah as an American stooge.  To his knowledge this was not the case.  Even after the Shah was deposed and reinstated by the Americans, the Americans were not providing him weapons or running him through the CIA.  All of this changed when Nixon came to power and the two brought over the weapons dealers who put factories for munitions in areas like Isfahan, but prior to that, from his first visit to Iran in 1963 until Nixon the Shah was independent, and he believed his CIA colleagues would not have been able to hide the truth if they were running the country.  While there may have been a perception that the Shah was an American pigeon prior to that – my grandfather at least, denies it.

But he does it admit that the Shah did not help himself.  First of all his extended family and a few ministers lived exceptionally opulently – my grandfather described one party he attended with free flowing liquor, hired prostitutes, and a scene that made his hair curl, with no hint that all of this was verboten in a Muslim nation.  Additionally, the Shah could not delegate, and as such every decision, no matter how minor, went through him.   There were piles of goods at port, as portages papers and releases could not be completed, and even the American Commissary suffered because of it.

At the same time, he felt that the Shah was attempting to do much good, some of which is highlighted in the book.  The Shah alienated the ayatollahs and may have radicalized them through some of his modernization attempts. Part of his work – according to my grandfather – was to cut up some of the large landowners who were stifling economic growth, these changes threatened most the power families who controlled the religious institutions, and therefore many of the ayatollahs lost land and prestige due to these reforms.  At the same time, the Shah set up scholarships sending thousands of Iranians to school in the West.  They also attempted historic preservation and to strengthen cultural traditions while opening the world technology, acts which are alluded to the in book, through the work of Farah, the Shah’s wife who worked on the preservation of the town and cultural sites and opened the local cinema.  According to the book, people emulated her, and women flocked to get her hairstyle even if no one noticed it due to the requirement of Chador.

My grandfather noticed some of this discrepancy between tradition and westernization when traveling from Tehran to other areas. In Tehran, people did not dress in Chador, but just 10 km outside they did.  It went from secular to more traditional in minutes, with no warning, and perhaps, we should have paid attention to the areas outside more as they grew in power.

At one point while reading, my grandfather turned to me and asked if I had noted the story about going to Qom.  I had, as it is a key section when the patriarch heads to a religious town, famous for training fundamentalist Imams, regarding the marriage of the daughter of the family.  I had grown up hearing stories about my grandmother, and on one occasion my mother, being hidden in the car, lying down on the floor to cover any exposed blonde hairs as they drove through parts of Iran.  The area they did this in was Qom, a place where my grandfather never stopped, but whose reputation was so poor that he sought to protect his family when driving through, which he frequently did while living in Isfahan.

Even so – he was so surrounded by a Western circle that he was not aware of the growing power of the town. He now assumes that the reputation it had then for being radical was correct, but he was blindsided by the power of the revolution, and did not know that so many had been caught up into a more tradition fervor.

His focus instead was on promoting Western culture and the cultural exchange.  But, as he did so, people opened up to him and he learned many things he may not have wished to have known.  For example, when meeting with the president of the Iranian Red Cross, who lived in Isfahan, in order to arrange for a venue for a jazz musician who was touring as part of he American Cultural exchange program, the man started telling him about family life.  The Red Cross trained nurses for work throughout the country – but paid for the women in nursing school to spend their vacations on campus rather then returning home.  Their brothers or other male family members for this was simple – sexually assaulted the reason when the family was reunited over breaks.  It was unsafe, and the best way they knew to project the women form incest was to remove them from the family.

This, like the fact that 85% of Egyptian women are circumcised, was an open secret, but one, which was never discussed.  Women, even upper class women, were subject to incest and abuse, and most likely still are.  Prevention of this type of crime against humanity does not seem to have been high on the priorities of the Revolution, who first gained power, then sought and destroyed dissenters, and finally used the people as cannon fodder against Iraq.

In all, my grandfather and the author would agree – that this was waste of life, and that the regime seemed bent on destroying much that was good that was there.  They may dispute some things that happened before – but would agree that a different past and future would have been much better for the Iranian people and the world.  I, on the other hand, look forward to hearing more reminciances as/if he completes the book.

[1] I may have some of these dates and details off. I have asked my father and grandfather to review what I have written – and will update when they do so.  In the meantime, know that I wrote all of this a few days after my grandfather told these pieces, and I did my best to recollect what he said.

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30 MarReflections on personal interactions with Copts, Bedouins, books, and others

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Imagine this – you are sick, in a foreign country, confused as your ride to the tour bus does not appear to be present and it’s after midnight.  Across from you, a man starts to speak, and for once you pay attention, rather then pretend to ignore a strange man speaking to you at night.   He tells you about his work and his family, but then asks – what do you know, in America, about the treatment of my people?

What he actually asked was what was said in America about the treatment of Coptic Christians.  Did we know that six were killed leaving church while celebrating Christmas?  Did we know that violence was escalating against this minority that represents about 10% of the population but is often treated as a scapegoat? [1] I tried to reply politely but honestly, therefore Id did not want to say America ignores much of the rest of the world and I have not seen one news report on the killings around Coptic Christmas, so I relied on Obama and the Cairo speech. I recalled seeing a news story that Obama was putting pressure on Egypt to stop the persecution of Copts, but the man scoffed, much as a cynical American might – those are just words.

This was but one of many conversations, most of which were brief, I had (or overheard) in which people expressed frustration with the current political state in Egypt.  (In many of these conversation, people also expressed frustration with the “crazy” behavior of Egyptians – the middle class treat the lower classes with disdain, but do not seem to offer fixes that might provide better lives or promote industry instead they complain often while acting just as “crazily””).  Almost all of these conversations had a theme – things are screwed up here, and may get worse, and while we like Obama it not enough something needs to change.  . I agree – and feel I have moral duty to stress some of the issues this man faces as Copt, and that the regime has brought to the region as while.

For example, both my guides in Aswan and Luxor went out of their way to discuss politics.  The guide in Aswan, a good natured man who was sort of bumbling, asked me whom I voted for – in all elections I could vote.  This lead to a short discussion on president Bush, but all was quickly curtailed by the British couple in the back seats, and exhaustion; before the conversation ended the guide turned to me and with an ironic smile informed me that “I voted for Mubarak.”

My other guide, in Luxor, brought up politics in a more round about way.  As we sat in a café where he took me while observing I needed rest due to my asthma, he told me about his family and village.  He was obviously a religious man, and was excited about getting married for the first time in May and having his wife, who arrived in his village in late February join him and his mother and brother in their house (each had a floor).  He was describing to me how tolerant his village was, by explaining how many Western women lived there as wives to some of the men because, “we are all entitled to have fun when young.”  These women are incorporated into the village, some forming long-term marriages with children and conversion – others only there for a few years, but all become part of the culture.  His town also had a pair of German women living in it as artists – and many who work the land.  Many have their own plots of land.

The people of his village benefit from being on the irrigation canals and near the Medina Habu and the Ramsessum, which provide preservation projects (they are moving one of the canals to prevent it going under the temples), excavation workers and tourists, but fortunately have thus far not been built upon.   But he also pointed out to me what happens to those not as fortunate.    In the more desert areas, between the Valley of the Kings and other archeological sites, many people had constructed houses and built up shops to attract the tourists.  According to my guide some had been in these houses for many generations – possibly back to time immemorial people had lived on this desert and walked to the nearby canals for water and farming.  Recently, the government determined, though archeologists, that the humans were harming potential excavation sites – thus all were forced to move (though a few Alabaster shops and some hold outs remain) and force d into a government village – which no one seems to like.

What was perhaps the most striking conversation I mostly overheard had to do with the tourism industry and the lack of trickle down effects or even preservation associated with it.  The Egyptian in the conversation was bemoaning the expense of going to any of the major sites associated with Pharonic Egypt (although not exorbitant by our standards (most are under $30) they seem high while in Egypt and the sites do attract a fair number of visitors).   He pointed out what poor shape the Egyptian Museum was in, how the Government Guards at any monument did not protect the antiquities (or stop harassment by solicitors) but instead just seemed to be there, often spending up to six months away from their families – being paid well to just stand, and according to him, have affairs.  He then asked where the money was going if not to preservation or paying the poor guide type workers.

His only answer was the regime; to him the governmental officals seemed intent on lining their own pocket using the tourist collecting to do so. To add insult to injury – governmental officials proposed setting up a train near the pyramids taking people to the most popular panoramic setting (not the one we went to) and attempting to forbid the carriage and camel rides – thus putting many locals out of business, while further enriching themselves.  His anger, like that of my guide in Luxor who was subtly pointing to the fact that men were staying with the Western Women for money, was almost palpable.

After listening to all of this – I had a few conversations with my host about the political situation – who pointed me to a book (Inside Egypt:” The land of the Pharaohs on the Brink of a Revolution by John Bradley), which I picked up and started while at the AUC library.  This book – which had in tally been banned by the government – attempts to explore many different factions of Egyptian life including the frustration of Copts and Bedouins, the power of the Muslim Brotherhood (as well as the potential exploitation of the group, as the government skillfully uses fear of it to get the West to aid the regime, the rise of a more conservative Islam as more people become influenced by Saudi Arabia, and a sense that most Egyptians don’t fit in any of these categories but are moderate welcoming people with no outlets, frustration, and a sense that Mubarak and his regime have created a percent structure that they are powerless against.    While I did not agree with all of his conclusions (for example I walked all over Luxor and never felt like I was walking through an area of male prostitutes for men or women – though my guide did touch on the women shacking up with men who use them for money), I did find the book insightful – and scary.  He does not assert all hope for a moderate Egypt is gone – but he does lament the loss of the cultured Egypt lost with the rise of the military dictatorship, and while many of the people I met were open and welcoming – the beauty that used to be Cairo and the way the government has let the city and its monuments be treated speak to the truth of his claim.  All that I really know after visiting, speaking with people, and thinking about it a while is that this s a complex culture one that wants to be vibrant and relevant but that’s own government is preventing a true flowering economically or culturally – and people are frustrated and searching.  They act out against each other, Copts being attacked by Bedouins, Bedouins being persecuted and uprooted from traditional practices by a government who barely recognizes their humanity, people being brutally arrested and tortured and accepting it as part of a rough reality (that the United States has used to its advantaged in cases of Extraordinary Rendition to our shame), and yet they search for anything that gives them a chance – be it sloth, Islam, education or fleeing.

This is a country straddling modernity and the past.  One where, despite recent laws to the contrary, a majority or women are still circumcised, but one that has tourists pouring in to explore its ancient and Biblical sites, and is exposed to Western ideology.  Its past of inclusion, creating an area where Christians and Muslims lived together, Cairo was clean and beautiful and full of intellectuals, and a more mystical form of Sunni Islam was practiced is all but forgotten.  Maybe if we stop treating the country as we wants to see it – a democratic partner in the war on extremism who is tolerant of Israel – but instead talks of Egypt as it is both good and bad (most of the 9/11 terrorists have ties to the country, and extreme Islam is gaining a strong foothold here, in contrast to the more open mystical version traditionally practiced in the country).  While we encourages practices that will promote a real middle class and growth a future extremist state will not appear and Egypt will return to its more tolerant practices From what I saw of its people this is what they want – they want the US to not encourage the worst of Mubarak and the regime, but hope that Obama will shed light on the persecution and poor practices – allowing for host discussion and the potential for change without destroying what is left of the traditional openness of the culture., preserving a beautiful country, culture, and historical specimens for the future.

[1] Since leaving Egypt there has been at least one more attack on Coptic Christians I have seen in the press, and a great piece on Public Television’s News Hour on this while I was laid up – the full piece can be accessed here http://www.pbs.org/wnet/religionandethics/episodes/february-26-2010/egypts-coptic-tensions/5786/.

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25 MarThe House of the Mosque by Kader Abdolah

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Book Cover for the UK version House of the Mosque

While wandering around a bookstore in Cairo bookstore – a brightly colored book with an intriguing title caught my eye.  After reading the blurbs and summaries I was undecided, and as is often the case in situations like that I turned to the first page – and was immediately hooked.  I can honestly say I loved this book – and that it deserves all the praise it has garnered.  According to one poll conducted in 2007, it was voted the second best Danish book ever  (for more on this – and an interview with the author see here and here) – a fact that is remarkable as it was published in 2005 and is written by a man who is not a native Danish speaker.

The book, entitled The House of the Mosque by Kader Abdolah, a 2010 British translation of the 2005 Dutch novel is not yet released in the United States in August as a paperback (though Amazon claims you can buy a Kindle copy now).  For me, this is a book I want to own the real version of – one to posses and put on the shelf, not simply read and discard as you do on an e-reader.  The cover is perfect, and I hope it is not changed when released stateside as it depicts the house and the family as we first meet them, alive and colorful filled with life.

By way of some minor background –this book is written by a man who escaped Iran after participating in underground political groups after the revolution and whose pen name honors two friends of his who lost their lives as a consequence of the Iranian Revolution.   The book takes place in Iran in the decade leading up to the revolution, and then speeds up and presumably ending after the Iran Iraq war – but no specific date is given for the conclusion.   Even so, the book is both political and not, it is historically accurate and not, it is filled with myth and fable while still being brutally almost cruelly honest when it comes to creating the confusion that comes with change, and it is descriptive and evocative of the characters and place and still eaves many things a mystery, leaving many details up to the imagination.

Like other epic books before it set in times of great historical drama (e.g. War and Peace, Les Miserables, A Tale of Two Cities) this book focuses on one large complicated family.  Unlike them though it does not shy away from playing with language and themes – it is part historical novel, part fact, part fiction, and part fable.  Yet the elements blend together creating an image of characters, though in some cases are not fully developed, that is alive and can live on in the reader’s mind outside the book.

The family is almost like royalty in the town of Senjen (a more rural town then is typically portrayed in books about modern Iran) for they are the historical custodians of the Friday Mosque as well as the most powerful merchant on the Carpet Bazaar.  Given these facts and their successful international clients, the business patriarch controls much of the actions of the Bazaar, and therefore the town.  This is a traditional town – one where the mosque has encouraged people not to have radios or televisions.   The women are cloistered in the home and chador, but respected by the men of the family (though not always the men outside it) and while in many ways their lives are not the focus of the book, you do get glimpses of what it would be like here and there.   The traditional nature of the family, and the patriarch, is reinforced in one of the opening scenes in which the young son of the family requests that the patriarch, Aqa Jaan, and iman buy a television to watch the moon landing because it is their duty to be aware of what is happening in the outside world.  In many ways this is the story of how the outside world forced the family to become aware of the drastic changes in the area outside Senjen – and what changed (everything) and what did not (the house) due to the this intrusion.

Interestingly these changes, from a time of family and hope to one of gradual terror  and then leading finally to a time of stability which is not like the past but has moments that reflect that era and hope for a better future, are reflected not just in plot points.  The author (and translator) has a light touch, vividly describing a family and house, showing a life filled with magic, giving it a imaginative fictive quality that works well for the myth lover in me, and may not work for everyone, and is so reflective of the Persian culture.  The book touches on poetry, 1001 Arabian Nights, the Koran (though verses are often rearranged to suit the needs of the author), and other forms of literary and cultural life in modern and ancient Persia, including Zoroastrian and religions that preceded it.  The pride in the rich history of the area is evident throughout much of the book as well as a love for the beauty of gardens, carpets, and other traditional adornments of Iranian homes and land.  The family is thus enveloped in a world that has a semi-mystical quality to it; the magic of the culture invigorates the family and as importantly the house with richness and speaks to the imaginative qualities of both author and reader.

Each chapter focuses on a different story – and though they all fit together to form a greater narrative told, which is apparently chronological, many of the stories also stand on their own.   Although there is a central patriarch, Aqa Jann, many of the chapters focus on other members of the family, creating a sense of generational shifts, and to a lesser extent shifts in perspectives between genders.   Many of the stories focus on the role of the men of the family, be it as patriarchal, religious, or rebellious.  This family, who has controlled the mosque for the generations preceding the revolution takes their prominence seriously – the men study religion and become the iman of the mosque, or are groomed so as to run the carpets business.  Those who do not do either seek to otherwise secularly reflect the culture – through poetry, writing, or documentary filmmaking.

As time goes on, the Shah becomes more restrictive and the country more outwardly Islamist, the prose becomes tauter, less poetic.   The family, like most Iranians did not like the Shah and hoped that his overthrow would lead to change – some wished for more freedom, others wished for a more Islamist era, but all wished for change.  Yet the when the revolution comes, the family, feels betrayed and lost, the patriarch stumbles and literally cries on the street as guards kill a crippled child, after which he and the family realize the totality of the change in their world.

By the time of the revolution, the family is no longer in true power, and wave of denouncements of neighbors and family members as being against the revolution begin giving rise to torture and killings.  A wife of the family becomes the warden for the women’s prison and refuses to aid family members arrested, another member becomes a leader of the resistance movement, while an imam related to the family becomes, as mentioned before, a close aide-de-camp to Khomeini. This way gives a sense of the divisions that must have split many families and generations during this period.   At this point, the prose becomes so sharp it evokes this sense of loss and confusion.  This is especially true when compared with the looser style used initially.   Yet this terror is necessary – the beauty of the earlier world being disrupted, the family pulled apart, and all seems lost.  The house itself has been protected by the crows who live in the mosque’s minarets, yet as the revolution progress the crows leave and the mosque is removed from the family’s control – they are beaten by others and by members of the extended family until all seems lost except for the patriarch, his wife and the house.

Yet, the book ends on a few hopeful notes.  For example there is an autobiographical letter written by one character to the patriarch reads like what the author himself would like to say.  Other later scenes in the house and in the rural villages and gardens of Iran show the growth and revitalization of some who have survived but  who have not given in to the extreme version of life that the regime dictated.  The image of Aqa Jaan visiting his friend in the rural garden turned where members of the family, living and dead, find redemption and healing offers a strong conclusion, one that allows the past to be mourned, and allows for hope.   These scenes give rise to a sense that all is not lost and that the beauty and cultural may revive.  The author uses, exploits, and explains what he claims to be a Persian tradition of not ending the story – but instead taking leave of it, as the story may be over “but the crow still has not reached its nest”.  Thus the fable continues in our life and imagination – the house goes on, the characters that are alive live, and we are free to imagine them changing and growing as life continues to change over time.

Sometimes books just work – the language, plot, and themes come together and speak to you. For me this is one of those books  – I would hope it is for you too – but that is your call read it and decide that for yourself.

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21 MarCurrently Reading

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Rereading Walking the Bible: A Journey by Land Through the Five Books of Moses By Bruce Feiler.  I was inspired to reread this book about an American Jewish’s man quest to retrace the first five books of the Bible with an Israeli Archeologist after visiting Egypt.  I have long enjoyed his books – having read almost all of them – and I saw sights in Egypt that were attributed to Biblical history (for example we saw the well that is supposedly over the spot where Moses landed in his basket in Coptic Cairo and signs for a tree under which Joseph and Mary took shelter with the Baby Jesus while fleeing Herod). Having seen all that Ramses II built and remembering that he was mythological tied to Moses, I wanted to refresh myself on some of this work.  It is well written and interesting for anyone interested in exploring the historical origins of the stories – as well as their spiritual truth. (Fielder revisits Egypt in some of his other works – notably Abraham and Where God Was Born).

The Alexandria Quartet – by Lawrence Durrell.  I was recommended these by my mother.  They focus on the city just after World War II before the military regime, and are supposed to well epitomize the city and culture of the country at that time.

Union Atlantic – by Adam Haslett.  I picked this up at the Regulator and was immediately impressed by the reviews.  I will give you an update when I know more – but it is supposed to be about the spiraling financial crisis.  I have seen reviews that are outstanding – I am hoping it lives up to the hype.

The Big Short : Inside the Doomsday Machine by Michael Lewis – what can I say, I love Liar’s Poker and MoneyBall.

I just finished The Fourth Star: Four Generals and The Epic Struggle for the Future of the United States Army by David Cloud and Greg Jaffe.  This book describes the careers of  Generals Abizaid,  Casey, Chiarelli and Petraeus, none of whom were soldiers who fell in line easily – all in their own way set unique career paths and used the Army to explore interests, militarily and personally.  As such, when they came to power they were, to varying extents, willing to bring their unique life experiences to the table.  Sometimes this worked for them, sometimes it did not, and sometimes politics got in the way of them all – but it provides an interesting picture of the men who ran/run the Army today and I think should be read by people interested not just in the current and recent war policies but also those who think that the Army is monolithic and only creates one type of person who thinks in a box.  While it is a bureaucracy, it is also filled with individuals, and this book presents a portrait of four of them.  I really enjoyed this book and found it informative on many different levels.

Moby Dick by Melville – What can I say – it’s my white whale – literally.

Anna Karenina by Tolstoy -  I started rereading this in Egypt and was struck again by the life in these characters.

As well as a pile of others that need to be started – if they are any good reviews will go up when done  (think Postcards from a Dead Girl, and a bunch of plays by Oscar Wilde and Sophocles the sets of which I have not read in years) as well as one that I am not in love with and keep trying to finish as so many others seem to love them…Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand and The Elegance of the Hedgehog – neither of which I am that interested in after giving them a decent shot.

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14 MarSpring Awakening

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Last week, I was fortunate to see the national tour of Spring Awakening at DPAC.   I went knowing only that it was about teenage sexual awakening in Germany in the 1890s, the music was pop rock by Duncan Sheik, and that it won the Tony for best new musical in 2007 – and started the career of two cast members on Glee.  I was honestly therefore not expecting much  – figuring it won the Tony for taking on controversial subject matter and being provocative.  I was wrong – it was wonderful.

I loved the set; it was so simple – audience seats on either side of the stage  (with characters mingled in with the audience) and a walled background that could be from café of this era.  But the lighting would highlight a specific item on the wall to emphasize the theme of the scene – be it a painting of a coffin for a funeral, or a horse running when a girl expresses a desire to be free and feel.   A band sits on stage and performs, but otherwise any other set changes needs – such as seats, are brought by the characters on for the scene and then danced off.

I enjoyed the music so much I bought the soundtrack.  Although completely anachronistic to the time, it captured the anger and energy of being a teenager and confused about yourself, hiding things form yourself and your family all the while being confused about everything – but thinking you knows it all.  (That being said, I did find the song about incest a bit much).  I also loved that the music played more as inner monologue then not – emphasized by the singing into wireless microphones, that looked useless and like and a toy from the 1980s.  Very rarely if at all did a ballad truly felt like it was being song to another character.  Even the group pieces played as if group thought rather then show advancement as is more typical.

I honestly sat there captivated by the entire production – the actors were honest and believable, the script worked for me, and I felt moved.  Recently, I have seen or re-seen quite a few shows – but this was the first time in years I really could not find something to complain about, and it was not a simple musical that was pure froth (like say Mama Mia) or epic in scope (the Color Purple/Phantom of the Opera).  It made me think about life, teenagers, history (I started considering how this culture just a few years later had WWI on its hands followed by the decadence of the Weimer era and then fascism – this was a culture one generation away from massive change from within and two from change being forced upon it by world condemnation).  The producers and directors wanted you to explore this – and all so to see parallels to today (abstinence only education, fears of abortion, not fully exploring sex in education) without only a somewhat preachy analogy – instead they mostly let the plot work for itself.  The audience can relate to or often is a teenager and they can simply relate to the somewhat stock characters and make the jumps on their own.  The director and producers have let the universality of these debates speak for themselves – all through the lens of parental oppression (for both good and ill – though mostly ill here)- for the benefit of the production overall.

All in all I thoroughly enjoyed it – and understood why it won the Tony, why it was compared to Rent (though I think it may have more staying power as Rent may date itself, and it may become more about that time place, and generation then about the universality of the themes).  There were a lot of young people in the audience  – more then normal – and I could see this appealing to the Holden Caulfield in them (even though I am not a Catcher fan).  At the same time the nudity and acted masturbation, did not offend the elderly members sitting near me – nor did the gay kiss (although to be fair the audience was pre-warned about all of these mature acts).

I enjoyed it so much – that I went to find an English Translation of the original play.  Finding one by the contemporary author Jonathan Franzem (who I often find is provocative just to be so), I bought it, only to find out he blasted the musical as insipid and that it destroyed all the humor of the play.  I found myself wondering if he saw the same musical I did – yes some things were different – and some themes slightly changed (there is a rape in the play and no incest really) from the original play – but much remained the same, and script could work, in my mind, either as he claimed or as the producers. (Additionally, it is an adaptation for contemporary audiences and playing with slightly different themes then the 1890s verison and for good reason – its a different time – if the play were acted today I am sure directors would make changes for a contemporary audience as they do when performing Shakespeare or Oscar Wilde, where some scenes, lines and characters are played more vibrantly to appeal to modernity).  To me – that is the magic of scripts – they lay a foundation, but in the hands of a good director a scene can go two different ways.  For example, as in both the play and the musical – a girl may ask to be beaten in both.  In one it may be clear that she is masochistic, in the other she simple is numb and wants to experience something – the script can set up both interpretations (as it does here) and a director can choose how to go.  In this case, I found the choice of the director completely relatable for our age, and the ones advocated by Franzen less moving.  That may be my taste –, one, which I look forward to having a director change one day by doing a completely novel reinterpretation of the play, or musical, that challenges all my current assumptions.

61st Annual Tony Awards At Radio City Music Hall - Show

In the meantime – I encourage you to see Spring Awakening – the kids on the tour right now are young (24 and under) but acting their hearts out, many of them in their first professional role. It really is a show that stuck with me – and will hopefully stick with you as well!

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13 MarIslamic Cairo – the part I expected least of yet may have liked most…

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After leaving Luxor Temple, it was time to return to Cairo – a fact I was honestly dreading for health reasons.   Yet, in some ways my favorite day of the trip was still to come.

The next day, my friend and I woke up determined to explore Islamic Cairo, and if time the Citadel (we did not make it this far).   On paper this sounded simple – getting a ride to the gates to the Fatimid district – and walking down the Palace Walk through an area filled with medieval architecture, mosques, madras, and houses that is mostly walled in and closed to cars.  After which you hit the main market areas, cross over into the Kahn – Al – Kalhkai (or more touristy Bazaar) and then again explore the tent makers market on the way stopping at my friend’s favorite shops and mosques as we headed to the citadel.   In actuality, we found new buildings to explore that neither of us had ever seen before and became so sidetracked by my friends dealers that we did not make it to the more traditional tourist stops – a trade which I think is well worth it.

After yet another nerve wrenching taxi ride, we entered through the Bab Al-Futuh Gate, which was built in 1087 and entered a mosque adjacent to  right after entering.  The mosque was simple and peaceful, and after depositing our shoes and covering our heads, we rested in the courtyard while planning our next move.

We headed through the medieval street- just wide enough for a car and donkey cart, filled with merchants selling all wares from everyday teapots and goods to touristy brass shaped like a pharaoh filled with people going about their life and children getting treats as they left for home (apparently it is very fun to try to speak English to Americans and they run up and shout hello or tell you there name and ask you yours).    We reached our first destination Bayt al-Suhaymi “the Blue House”, which was an Ottoman Merchant’s house built mostly during the 16th and 17th Century.

First Interior Courtyard Bayt al-Suhaymi "the Blue House"

Exterior Screened Windows - Bayt al-Suhaymi "the Blue House" - women could stand and open the nooks (as seen here) and not be viewed by public

The state purchased the house a few decades ago – and it is been restored well, and is the only one of its kind open to the public.  There are multiple interior courtyards, intricately detailed wood screens covering windows from which a woman could be observed on the street, but which allow her to peek out unobserved and allow fresh cool air to filter through out the house, intricate inlay and rooms whose paneling and detailing can only go to show that the house was designed to impress other merchants.  At the same time, there is shrine in the interior courtyard, and the master bedroom and bath, which are lit only by colored glass in the ceiling making the rooms, look like fairy castles.   Similarly, the family dining area is decked out in blue tiles from Turkey, and is breathtakingly gorgeous, and lends the house the nickname the blue house.

View from 2nd floor into rear couryard Bayt al-Suhaymi "the Blue House".

Cofee set in front of sitting area

The house is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been in my life – even without much of the furniture.  Some of the first floor rooms, which I presume were used for familial purposes as well as to impress other traders, had people meditating in them; another room with red, blue and gold wood inlay panels on all of the walls clearly is where pious members of the staff chose to pray.   Even the rooms with out paneling, but with screened wooden windows and stained glass panels on the high walls above them became filled with interesting light and shadow patterns bringing the room to life.  The only downside were the stairs – uniformly dark and narrow, often up against rooms that were two stories with light coming in from ceiling cupolas and the windows.

Door, the blue room that gives the house its name. The blue tiles come from Turkey. Bayt al-Suhaymi "the Blue House"


One side of fireplace/cubbyholes. The blue room in Bayt al-Suhaymi "the Blue House"

Shoes and water vessel in the blueroom cubbys

After leaving there we continued down the Palace Walk (Shari’ el-Muizz) towards the Markets, stopping into a craft booth, where I bought an amazing candle shade in the shape of a person – which was sadly destroyed when I knocked off a table while unpacking.  After avoiding a merchant proudly displaying an image of Obama as the new Tutankhamen of the world, we wandered into the Sultan Qala’un Complex.

Exterior from the Palace Walk of the Sultan Qala’un C

Looking up the Palace Walk from the Exterior from the Palace Walk of the Sultan Qala’un Complex Madrassa entrance

This is a large complex, not all of which remains – but we saw the Madrassa, the Mosque and Mausoleum and the exterior of the hospital.  The doors to the Madrassa had never before been open when my friend was there – and we were both impressed with the intricacy of the mosque section and the beautiful inlaid room where the theological teaching occurred. This room was dark – lit only by stained glass – and had an elevated center for the teacher – but was cool and you could easily imagine a group of boys studying there.  When your eyes adjusted, the paneling and woodwork along the high walls was reveled, giving a whole new dimension to the room.

Mosque inside the Madrassa - Sultan Qala’un Complex

Madrassa room - Sultan Qala’un Complex

The mosque and madrassa were entered through a separate gate down a hallway lit by candles.   The Mosque is on the left, and the interior orientation is not identical to the exterior – inside the walls are thickened in areas so that the interior orients towards Mecca rather than the street.  The Mausoleum itself is breathtaking.  Every panel, every speck of wall and ceiling is decorated.  There is wood, inlay, intricate carving, different paint patterns, and decoration made out of words repeated into geometric patterns made out of lanterns.  The room is both somber and uplifting – with your eye constantly drawn both to the black sarcophagus elevated (and fended in) in the center and the height of the room – as if the sprit of the body was being pulled upwards toward the heavens in a room designed to honor both the man and his God.    The décor is so intricate and the space so detailed, that it was next to impossible for my brain to take it – or my camera to capture – but it was one of the more spectacular interiors I have seen.

The attached mosque was more subtle but still intricate.  Its outdoor courtyard and fountain were calming, and the marble and patterns where the Inman would be were decorative, rich, and yet simple (epically compared with the mausoleum) allowing the focus to be more on the holy nature of the work.  Inside the courtyard was a brick – with the date of construction artfully inscribed on it – causing my friend to remark on how this one of the things she loved about the culture that words could be portrayed so artfully as to give them multiple meanings and cause you to rethink them.

IMausoleum - Sultan Qala’un Complex - these pictures really don't capture it.

Interior Mausoleum - Sultan Qala’un Complex - these pictures really don't capture it.

After leaving the mosque we headed toward the Kahn, but before getting there, were greeted, enthusiastically by my host’s favorite dealer at the bazaar – Mustafa the antiques king of the street.  His shop was overloaded with goods brought from traders who go to houses to buy their pieces, and honestly I think he could gladly find you anything.  In his possession ranged good from ink boxes of Sultans to Buddha’s and tin signs for coca-cola.  Yet if you looked closely there were remarkable treasures to find, and he happily provided us a three-course lunch of soup, vegetable and a Bedouin chicken over rice right there in his booth while we looked.  I loved the soup made with a green herb, the lentil and pasta, and other foods, it was probably as close to authentic Egyptian as you get (if you don’t count the koshary we ate at the legal aid center where my host helps Iraqi refugees).

Allah - the word makes up the geometric pattern decorating this wall. Interior Mausoleum of Sultan Qala’un -

Mosque lectern from courtyard - Mausoleum and Mosque of Sultan Qala’un Complex

After spending what must have been three hours in his booth and purchasing a variety of pieces, we crossed through the Kahn stopping in spice markets and perfume stalls and avoided the touristy hagglers to go over to the tent makers market.  There we found a woman my friend knows who sell head scarves, of good quality but much cheaper then found in the upscale hotels.  She, a trained lawyer who like many other lawyers cannot make her living in law as the system is currently set up in Egypt, and her father served us hibiscus tea while we tried on a variety of scarves.  After collection our possessions – we headed back through the Kahn and over towards the Sultan Qala’un Complex, and the whole area was light by orange, green, red and blue lights – both accentuating the architecture and replicating in large the light through stained glass lanterns.  It was totally different then when seen by daylight, and emphasized the planning that went ot the creation of these medieval buildings, while imbuing them with a life of their own not seen even at the busiest parts of the day.

Close up of Mosque behind the screen - Mausoleum and Mosque Sultan Qala’un Complex -

Antiques Booth

The next day can only be described as a day of almost but not quite.  For states we headed to American University in Cairo – where my friend needed to do some enrollment work.  This is a new campus set outside the main city by about 30 minutes, and all of the buildings are modernist plays on traditional Islamic architecture.  As such it a fascinating place to look around –which was fortunate as my host was getting the run around.  I looked around, and explored the library – where I picked up a cookbook (shocking right), a book on politics in Egypt which I found fascinating, and a book, just released in England but I have not seen here yet,  told by an Iranian refugee in the Netherlands who writes of one extended family during the period leading up the Iranian Revolution – infusing the story with elements of the Koran and Persian Fairytales that make it  fascinating and hard to  put down even if in places it reads a s series of short stories.   After this excursion we headed to Cairo – to pick up our supplies from the market (and some last minute gifts for my family).  We hoped to make a church service at my host’s ex-pat church, and then head to an American style Diner before I headed out on my plane.  Instead- shocker of shockers -between a traffic jam before the market and torrential downpours when we arrived – we missed church and wound up at the diner instead.

After the diner – we headed through the puddles (Cairo has no storm drains, causing the water to just stand) to the subway where we got a ride back to her place.  After a hurried shower and packing, I caught a cab to the airport – but a ride that should have been ½ hour took over two due to traffic jams caused by the puddles left by the earlier downpours.  Fortunately- my entire plane was so delayed, so instead of leaving at midnight we left closer to 2:30 am.  Thank you Delta.  But of course we landed at JFK – after my connection had left, in the middle of blizzard in New York. My brain – still suffering form bronchitis, could not handle it when Delta informed me that the earliest I would likely get out was Sunday – so I plodded myself to a new terminal, where a nice agent rebooked me.  I was one of the first six flights out of JFK that day, and after a two hour delay in Atlanta looking for flight attendant to take our flight, Delta got me home (I am still so thankful for this I cannot tell you) about – I was in my house at 10 pm, over 33 hours after I had started traveling, and I finally let may bronchitis take hold – not moving for most of the rest of the week.   Focusing instead on getting well (as I am still doing) and reading the above mentioned books.

Sultan Qala’un Complex -at night. The hospital is on the right, the Mausoleum under the dome, and the Madrassa under the minaret. (I believe).

Entrance to Mosque and Mausoleum - Sultan Qala’un Complex -at night. The Mausoleum is on the right side the Mosque on the left at the end of the hallway entrance.

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09 MarMore Hieroglyphs

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After the Egyptian Museum, my asthma related bronchitis was causing me to fear that I may discover the inside of an Egyptian hospital – fortunately we had planned to get out of town and hitting Upper Egypt (i.e. heading south down the Nile), where the air is much cleaner.  Almost immediately – I began to slowly improve, though to be honest yesterday (two weeks later) was the first day I have felt anything close to normal – and I am still coughing and low on energy and not nearly recovered fully.

Our first stop was Aswan, where we stayed on Elephantine Island, and after a disastrous screw up at the Hotel; I headed out to Abu Simbel at 12:30 Am.   Essentially the hotel had told us we could book my tour when we arrived that night and then had now possible way for me to do that.  Nor did they inform us that due the “festival of the Sun” I would have to leave at 12:30 Am as opposed to the normal departure time of 4 am.  After some struggling it worked out – with my friend wrangling us free dinner and good service for the rest of our trip while I overpaid but got a position on a tour – as the third person meaning I had very personalized service.  Like many other thing on the trip – after a frustrating beginning, it worked out well!

Abu Simbel is a composed of two mortuary temples – one of Ramses II and one dedicated it to his favorite wife Nefatari, which is remarkable in and of it self as few women had their own temples, and even fewer were depicted as the equal of the Pharaoh which Nefetari was.  The temples were almost destroyed when Egypt dammed the Nile near Aswan – a high dam which according to my guide produces enough electricity a day to power the whole country and saved the country from floods, famine and Crocodiles.   In order to save the temple complex and the other Nubian temples, they were moved by UNESCO to higher ground – an engineering feat in and of itself, where today they stand approximately 70km from Sudan.

Abu Simbel - first sings of dawn

Abu Simbel - just before sunrise

After a long drive through the Sinai at night – we arrived at Abu Simbel in the dark.    For two hours I stood and watched the light change as the sun began to prepare to rise and the monuments began to be illuminated by the pink light of dawn.   I was pushed and prodded by more locals and Indian and Asian tourists, who were only there for the festival, while those there for the day waited patiently in line.  We were all hoping to see the sunrise – as we were fortunate enough to be there on February 22.  On that day, as well as October 22, the sunrise goes directly through the temple into the inner sanctum, illuminating three of the four gods depicted there (the fourth was the god of Darkness, Path, the other three figures are Horus, a deified Ramses and Amun-Ra (also called Amen)).

Festival Particpant just after sunrise

Rameses II as Osris inside his temple at sunrise.

At sunrise, the festival started in earnest. In front of the temple Nubian dancers performed, while in front of Nefatari’s temple what appeared to be Sufi Dancer paraded.  In the mean time, guards moved the crowd through at breakneck pace so that all of us, from 70+ tour buses could see the effect.  Although I can honestly say that I have never been more pushed and prodded in my life, and I feared I was about to be run over by three different Hindu women, the inside of the temple fascinated me and the light striking the faces was something breathtaking.    After the crowds left, I was able to spend an hour exploring both temples – which were mostly deserted as most people fled after the sun effects were done, and the amount of detail preserved in the Stila, Ossirum, and offertory rooms is breathtaking.  The hallways have most of their paint, and every surface is carved and painted, from the ceilings to the walls.  It was awe inspiring to see, and impressive to think they were created with primitive tools thousands of years ago – and then moved more recently.  Unfortunately, I was not allowed to take pictures inside the temples – but I did sneak a few which are in the album.

Entry way to great temple as seen from inside Ossirum at Sunrise

Nefaria Flanked by Ramses II at her Mortauray temple

After sleeping back through the Sinai, and political discussions with a British couple and our guide– we arrived back in Aswan.   After sleeping and lunch on the Nile, my friend and I rented a Felucca and cruised around Elephantine Island.  I cannot describe how wonderful this was.  I was sick, tired, and cranky, my friend was also exhausted and wanted to get work done.  On the boat – we could relax, look at birds, see ruins, explore the city, and learn.  It was reinvigorating and fascinating – and our guide, who has four children and takes pride in educating all of them even the girls (again) truly seemed to love the water and the boat –even if his life was hard.  He offered to take us on a trip via a larger Felucca to Luxor – a trip that if I had had more time may have been worth very penny.    This trip reminded me of being on a pontoon boat or catamaran – but there was next to no wind or waves, and it was just relaxing, and a pleasing way to observe life on the Nile hundreds of years ago and how villagers use it today.  That said – picking our captain was aided by the fact that my friend lives in Cairo and is close to fluent – speaking the language helped us avoid touts and other ways of being taken, and I am not sure that picking someone off the street this ways is a great idea for those who don’t speak any Arabic to do without input from someone reputable.

Egret

Cows being led up hill outskirts of Aswan

Faluccas on Nile around Elephantine Island outskirts Aswan

After this relaxing trip – we fled to make our train.  I went on to Luxor while my friend went home, as I had prearranged a hotel and a tour for the following day.  The hotel was a charming bed and breakfast, Mara House, which honestly was one of the most special guest houses I have ever stayed in   you felt pampered while staying as a guest in suites decorated in rooms with luxurious canopied beds, inlaid tables, and other touches that made it felt charming and perfect.   After my first restful sleep in days, I woke, and felt almost like I could breathe.

My private guide met me, and we drove across the Nile through the green fields and farms that surround the West Bank- until we reached the Valley of the Kings.    While there, I toured three tombs, on a day that was near 100 degrees in the desert sun.   The three tombs I saw were in different stages of completion – one was mobbed and very detailed with antechambers and exemplary paintings paving the way through the afterlife, the coloring was outstanding.  One had a sketched room filled with miniature versions of 763 + gods, and an intricate and overwhelming sarcophagus with golden figures carved into the sides, top and bottom (as shown to me by a helpful attendant in the room) in a room showing the pharaoh and his mother and wife traveling into death, the third had intricate carvings and was midway in completion between the two – with an incredible depiction of the mythological dawn of the universes.

After leaving the Valley, we went to Hapetshut’s Temple, a true architectural wonder – but much of the décor has been destroyed over time.  Very few of the images remain, in carving or painting, but those that do remain are huge and disarming.   The first level tells of Hapetshut’s divine birth, the second shows images of festivals at the temple, and the third level had the inner sanctum, with images of Hapetshut, in the guise of man, dressed as Osiris, leading to the holy area.  In this section, remenats of Coptic Crosses can be found, and guides work hard to show images of Hapetshut honoring the guise in her female form, and other small details that may easily be overlooked.  But it was after we left that I was most impressed.

Horus God of Justice Flanking the Entrance to Haptsheut's Mortuary Temple

Pharoah Hapesthut as a man and the God Osris thrid leve, her temlpe

My guide took us to Medina Habu – the mortuary temple of Ramses III, which is remarkably intact.  You walk through pylons displaying his victory in wary, and images of Pharaoh trampling his enemies and slaves, walk through the viewing area, and the Osmium where he displayed his devotion to the Gods and showed his glory through history.  Later, this temple was used by Coptic Christians whose smoked destroyed much of the decor, but what even without the paint it is breathtaking – and unlike much of the area devoid of tourists.  The imagery shows Ramses III proving his victory by displaying the hands of his victims, when this was not believed he displayed their tongues, but still the people thought he could be showing Egyptian tongues, so finally he cut off the genitals and presented them.  As they were uncircumcised, the people believed the Egyptians had won the war.  Even though this was close to the era when Egypt came under the rule of Grecian Pharaohs, this temple looks almost Syrian or Babylonian in influence and very different then the hiegrolphyed exteriors of Luxor Temple and Abu Simbel.

Entry gate Medinet Habut

Pylons proclaiming heroic victory Medianet Habu

Goddess of War - Medianet Habu

After this tour, my guide walked me through the village.  As he lived in that town – sharing his house with his mother and brother and soon his wife, he was able to explain a lot about village life.  Much of it remains the same, with people working hard and farming from sunrise until well after 10 pm when the wife can finally relax, but others are in temporary marriages with western women for fun for a few years and the village treats them as locals.

Following this I went to the Luxor Museum, which in contrast to the Egyptian Museum, is tiny but beautifully organized and labeled.  Its first room is field with immaculate states that the ancient Egyptians buried when they were no longer used and thus have been protected for thousands of years and are immaculate.  Others are local to the area and depict slaves, daily life, architects tools and war.  From the museum I walked down the Nile at Sunset, ignoring the calls for Felucca or carriage rides and enjoyed being able to move freely and the beauty surrounding me.  I culminated the day with a breathtaking walk through Luxor Temple as the sunset – and at night while illuminated.  It gave a perspective on the architecture the work – and allowed it to seem alive, and vibrant.  The temple is in the middle of the city – and was actually covered by sand with a village on top – most of which has been removed, except for the mosque   which hosts a local religious leader’s remains and houses a huge Sufi style festival yearly.  The lights on the sphinx walkway, statutes, and carving interplaying with the city were remarkable – and the local men who worked there were happy to show sites you might otherwise overlook.   Watching the sunset over the water and the pylons was unique – reminding me of both Florida and the span of history at the same time.

Collonade, Luxor Temple

Faluccas on nile

Ramses II Luxor Temple

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05 MarIts the Great Pyramid Charlie Brown

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For me, the trip can be divided into three parts, each of which offered different things.  The first, as I have already described, was a visit to Coptic Cairo. The second became a journey into the land of hieroglyphs and pharaohs, and the third was a visit to the mosques and markets of Islamic Cairo.  What follows is a description of the first 1/2 of the second phase of the trip – sometime, in the near future, I will post more about what I saw on all three phases involving local and international politics in this land.

The Sun through the Cairo Haze and Dust

View of Citadel from Al-Azhar park

After visiting Coptic Cairo, and enjoying a lovely dinner (or late lunch) in a park overlooking a hazy vision of the Citadel of Saladin, I was exhausted, and my lungs were failing.  I passed out in my friend’s room, an interior room that was protected from hearing the call to prayer at 5am and from early morning light, and woke up feeling like death, even after downing children’s cough syrup with psuedafed the night before.  After a trip to the pharmacy, where I was forced to accept cough syrup and antibiotics, we headed out to Giza.

To get to the pyramids, we took a cab.  I had already realized that Egyptian drivers do not believe in lanes, speed limits,lights, signals, and have no qualms about stopping and reversing on the road without warning when they miss an exit or turn.  And that was just on the cab ride from the airport. I also knew that they used the horns as blinkers and warning devices to ensure that they could pass in between cars so with what felt like less than an inch of space between them, lights, similarly only need to be used to warn others – and should not be lit at all times.  I also knew, from dinner my first night that cab drivers could be jovial and liked to joke and show off their limited English.  Even so – this cab driver to the pyramids was exceptional.  He tried twice to corral us into using friends of his for camel or horse and buggy rides around the pyramids – once forcing my friend onto the phone with his friend, another time driving past the ticket entrance so we could meet his friends in person.  He insisted on playing lets learn the language game with my friend.  I was at this point feeling to awful to participate in any games so I sat there silently.   At the same time, he obviously liked having two cute Americans in the car, and pictured himself a baller – with his cab being pimped out with Henezy bottles (spelling in the original) stuffed animals, a tiger paw sticker, and, it may be my imagination, fake gold, that glittered an said “bling.”  It was quite awesome.

In any case we finally reached the pyramids – and through the haze on one side, and the clear on the other, I was overwhelmed at the mammoth size.  After our second Asthma break, and numerous requests for rides, we found a camel merchant we liked.

Our guide was a 42-year-old “modern Bedouin” who works for himself, unlike many of the operators who work for companies.  He owns two camels, Charlie Brown and Mickey Mouse, who live in his house with him, his wife, and four children, the youngest is a girl who is his princess and he takes pride in educating her and his three sons.  He also has sent his mother to Mecca twice.  He has decorated his camel bags, one saying Mickee Mase, in honor of Mickey, and he is so popular that his and Charlie Brown’s picture has made the New York times.  He is Bedouin, and happy to take guests on treks on camels through the desert, using packs and cooking over a fire, but he is modern and on facebook as well as email with guests from all over the world corresponding with him and sending him pictures.   (Unfortunately, my friend kept his email – but I would like to send him the picture).  He bought his camel Charlie Brown at Birqash, a camel market in a village northwest of Cairo and the most famous in the country – but today Camels are going for two – ten thousand dollars, a steeper price then when Charlie Brown was bought as Camel meat has become a favorite for eating in the region.

My Host with the pyramids, the camels Mickey Mouse and Charlie Brown and our guides in the background

He kindly picked us up at the second pyramid, and after some negation, and being jerked in every direction as the camels arose, we were off.   He took us up to a spot to see the three pyramids in a line, and then over to his secret spot – where he and his friend/assistant lit a fire and made us a mint tea.  While there his uncle joined us, his father, unfortunately rests in the nearby Muslim cemetery.  The tea was amazingly fresh and good, and the fire was relaxing  – even in near 90-degree heat in the desert.    The tea was cooked over an open fire, with Samira heating water and using that to clean out our cups, but it felt comfortable, and I can easily imagine going with friends a camel trip of a few days using a  spare camel to pack tents and food goods.  Our new friend invited us to dinner at his house to watch the light show, where we would presumably smoke shisha with him as well, and shared much of his philosophy on the government and tourism (which I will discuss later) but, at this point my death asthma ratcheted up and, our guide, who had already warped my head out of concern that the sun was increasing my sickness sprinted us down to the Sphinx.

The line of pyramids

After observing the Sphinx through the fence, I felt too out of it to go in, we sat down for a drink at a restaurant across the street.  Meaning only to get water and a coke, the owner took interest in my friend.  The next thing I knew I was sent over cinnamon tea, which is great for coughs, and a neon green tonic of the owner’s invention that honestly worked for a short time.  While I was being fixed up – my friend was given a tour of the property.  The owner, who lived for a while in England and has to be in his sixties, desires to throw her a birthday party there on the property his family has owned for generations – the block across the street form the Sphinx.  He has all three stories, and leases land to pizza hut and the like – but sits all day in his shop smoking shissha and watching the Koran being read on tv.  He asked me to stay out of air-conditioning and sent us home, where I promptly passed out until dinner, and then again immediately afterwards.

Sphinx at the Great Pyramid

The next day, I toured the Egyptian Museum by myself.  This museum needs some reorganization and care – it is mostly unlabelled, cluttered, and the patrons often touch the antiquities – and still it is overwhelming.  The shear amount of history contained in the walls is breathtaking.  Currently USAID is working with the museum to digitize its collection and undergo an inventory – I hope that modern curatorial techniques will also be used so that all items will be labeled and the museum will know that it does not have to display every object in its possession but can store and protect some as well.  I was particularly impressed with some of the colossal statues in the possession of the museum, the preserved boats, and the mummified crocodile.  I would love to go back – one day when they have store with a catalogue so that I can remember all that I saw.

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03 MarArthur Miller and All My Sons

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A few weeks ago, I saw All My Sons at Playmakers Rep.  For those who do not know, All My Sons is Arthur Miller’s first major play, and it won a Tony for its script.  It was set a few years after the end of World War II and first produced in that era as well – it focuses on two families who owned a factory together during the war that produced airplane parts – the parts failed and 21 pilots died.  One father went to jail, the other was eventually exonerated, though his partner’s son, as well as his own sons, suspect his culpability.  Additionally one of the sons of the acquitted man died, in the war, in mysterious circumstances after learning of the accidents.  The action takes place over the course of one revealing day in the lives of these families.

In this haunting production I was moved, but not as much as I expected to be given the reputation of the play for bringing much of its audience to tears.  I cannot fault the acting, Marianne Miller, who I did not love in Nicholas Nickleby, gave a fine performance as Ann Deaver, and the Keller family portrayed by Christian Conn, Paul O’Brien, and Ellen McLaughlin inhabited their roles thoroughly.  In fact only once or twice in the whole production could I see the actors “working,” and typically even in a good performance I see it three to five times when sitting in seats as good as I had for this production (second row dead center).  Additionally the set and costume design were phenomenal -the costumes getting the period look perfectly down to the lines at the back of stockings (I can’t help but think that the inspiration of Mad Men, being set only a few years later helped the look) and the set with its twist on a multilevel white house was genius.  The set consisted of astroturf, with minimal lawn furniture, a dead bent tree, a deck, the back door of a house opening into a view of the family kitchen.  The house then went flat and rose up two stories -with windows popped out even with the deck so that people could stand in them for effect when needed, evoking both hominess and comfort as well as a sense that all is simply a facade.  behind and surrounding the house were images, in black and white of 1950s ranch houses, the evocation of the rise of suburbia and the pictures neighborhoods, capable of hiding both many miseries and many pleasures, of the era of Richard Yeats’s Revolutionary Road was complete and intentional.  (For more on the book, not the movie, please see this Richard Ford piece from the New York Times).

At the same time – I did not love it and at times was actively annoyed by the play.  I came to one conclusion.  For all of the classical drama that Miller uses to set up and inform his tragic plays, he, particularly at that young age, could not get past his own didacticism.  I remember reading and watching Miller before, and thinking – he cannot let the audience make a moral leap on their own, he feels the need to preach, sometimes more then the Greeks who inform his work did before him.  I felt this more strongly in this play then ever, and for all the drama, and classically imbued tragedy, this preaching turned me off.  It ripped some of the emotional impact of the play away from me as it reminded me of moralizing and sermons.  Other playwrights of the era also dealt with a changing America, capitalism, and families (though few explored fathers and sons as Miller did so often and well), but Miller stands with a few others, in stature.  Like Tennessee Williams and later Albee, his works continue to move us and inspire, but unlike them both – their preachiness is always at, or just below the surface, making it difficult for me to fully suspend reality and see the plays as a reality unto themselves.  This of course is personal opinion, and many disagree, but for me, it is flaw that mars much of his otherwise brilliant work.

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28 FebEgypt in Images

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Below is a link to my album of pictures from Egypt. I have many stories from the trip I will be sharing over the coming few days, including an interaction with a Coptic pharmaceutical rep that intrigued me, tea with Bedouins beside the pyramids, and a full meal served inside of a merchant’s booth. But today I am sick – still recovering from the damage that the smog and dust storm did to my lungs and the images alone will have to do.

Egypt trip
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20 FebCoptic Cairo and the ill effects of pollution and a sandstorm

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Yesterday, I really saw Cairo in the daytime.  All I really have to say is HAZEY and SMOGGY, and covering a dust storm such that locals are limiting some things as well.  Apparently the local myth that living in Cairo is like  smoking a pack a day.  Needless to say my asthma is being awful – I have had the worst reaction most people have ever seen – and often feel like death.  I do now have a cough syrup, antibiotics and a bronchodilator – and hopefully it will be under control soon – and maybe I will be able to speak and breathe as if I were only partly inhibited rather than in a deep husky voice that can barely raise above a whisper.  It also means I seem to need a lot of sleep – which is a problem as this city never sleeps and most people don’t have dinner or go out until well after 8:30 or 9 p.m.

The first night we went to dinner at a Lebanese restaurant in Garden City, a sort of enclave of “gardens” designed by the British about a century ago We are staying in Zelmak which is on Gezira Island in the Nile, and is a ritzy part of town home to a lot of Ex-Pats.

Yesterday, after the 12-hour flight and dinner, I woke up this morning to the call to prayer at 5 am – which is haunting.   Being all screwed up time wise – 5am is about 10pm our time as Cairo is seven hours ahead, I decided to just read my book (on the Kindle), and to drift into and out of sleep at will.

After a late breakfast, we headed to Coptic Cairo.  We were worried that a lot of government and sections of old Islamist Cairo maybe closed, as it was fir day.   Therefore we went to the Coptic section – which is built on the ruins of the Babylon Roman Fort built by Emperor Trajan in 3AD.  It is really the oldest settled area of Cairo.   We went through the Coptic Museum which has artifacts from all over Egypt of Coptic Culture, the Hanging Church, which is built on the foundation of the Roman Water Tower and the nave is literally suspended over a passage – it is quite spectacular inside with marble work and intricate carvings as well as icons to St. George and other Coptic saints.  They even have a room that lets you peer down and see that it is suspended over a passage.  The current church structure dates to the 11th century, with its pulpit being about a century newer, but it has been upgraded over time.

We also wandered through the Cathedral of St. George, which is a round church due to the shape of the Roman Gate it is built on, and is the seat of the Greek Orthodox Patriarch of Alexandria.  It is lit only by a central chandelier and stained glass windows and quite striking.  I think I have great pictures of both to share.

We next went to see some relics of St. George where people little put on the chains they believe he was tortured in, in order to gain power from him.  We also went to the oldest synagogue in Cairo – Ben Ezra that is one of the most beautiful buildings I have ever been in.   Every inch was covered in Moorish patterns and designs, and they central area where the Torah Scroll was kept was white Marble with inlaid gold.  We had both read about the library attached to this monarchy and some scholarship that took place there in our history classes together.

Throughout all of this we were walking in and around the Coptic city – which is old, tiny roman era streets and buildings that had obviously stood in the Coptic region for centuries.    (As an aside the Coptic’s are about 10% of the population and split form the main church ins around AD 451 over the divinity of Christ. They seem very devout and touch and kiss the icons of religious figures often.)

After this we braved Cairo traffic to head to a park for lunch.  Every Egyptian seemed to be out and about as it was about 85, and the first warmish day all spring.  In fact this early heat wave may be worsening the smog.  We had a mezzo style lunch overlooking the part and looking back on the Citadel of Saladin (started 1176) and the Mosque of Muhammad Ali – (1830-1848).    Usually from there you can see them clearly; today they were all seen though haze and color and details were lacking but the architecture was still beautiful.

All said this is a fascinating are filled with very nice people who are friendly, good food, interesting sites, and an inability to breathe.

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17 FebMy adventures in bureacracy

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Over the past weekend, I have remembered exactly why I find bureaucracies inefficient and incompetent. For those who are planning to travel soon – here is a warning on the difficulties of renewing a passport. please learn from me and renew early!

(An upfront aside, the man who took my application in person and the two live people I have spoken to from the National Hotline were terrific. The people I have spoken to who do processing in the DC office were either unintelligible, incompetent, or both).

This all started so nicely, and hopefully it will conclude the same way. I was given miles for my 30th birthday to visit a friend currently living in Cairo. In February. I book the ticket through New York in the hopes of seeing some college friends, excitingly. My passport is set to expire in July so we assume it is fine, but then we realize that Egypt will not accept passports within six months of expiration.

Step 1: I trudge up to DC with another friend (who was visiting for my birthday but had to be in DC for work) and stay at her house two nights spending the Friday of the first DC blizzard rushing to the passport office to get the application complete. The people there are great and assure me it will be mailed to me and in my hands by Wednesday the 9th, the 12th at the latest.

Step 2: My brother (who was having his own drama all this time with the US Army) and I drive down to Fort Lee, VA in the blizzard, and then after a stop there to explore the base travel further through the Snow to Durham.

Step 3: The government closed for a week due to two blizzards. (which also meant little to no job postings – also fun).

Step 4: The passport agency reopened on the 12th, and at 8 am a man with an almost unintelligible Indian Accent called me and assured me there was no way for me to get it by the 16th. I asked about mail and he told me it was not happening and that I would have to pick it up in person.

Step 5: I asked if I could give authorization for someone to pick it up for me (so that I could then FedEx it to myself) and they said that would work. I arranged for a friend to send a courier through the snow and pick up the passport. With a faxed signed authorization from me.

Step 6. The Courier is denied for improper authorization, even after I was told it would work.

Step 7. I call the national hotline, and explain that I live five hours away and that the DC office cancelled my mail request against my wishes. The nice lady on the phone and I work out a FedEx request which is sent via urgent email traveling in 72 hours to the DC office.
The DC office closes at 4:30 that Friday, and is closed for a national holiday on Monday. Therefore I call back around 4:20, but do not get an answer on if it shipped out or not, nor did I get a call confirming that my package was delivered as I thought I had been told to expect.

Step 8: Last night I confirmed through FEDEX that they had no package coming to me. At which point, after looking at flight information, I knew I had to change the ticket as the only other ones that would leave later and get me to NYC, would have had me miss the dinner and seeing my friends – therefore it made more sense to leave from Durham to Cairo on Wednesday.

Step 9. I called the passport agency at opening. A nice man answered the national hotline that promised me that it was in DC and I could pick it up between 11 and 1 today in person.

Step 10. I explain I lived 4-5 hours away and that I already knew I could not make the flight I had for today I told them I had changed the flight to Wednesday. I therefore asked if I could have the package FedExed to me, especially given that even with driving I may not be there by 1. For the next 40 (and I am not exaggerating) minutes I was either on hold or confirming that 1) Fed Ex can do overnight delivery and be at my house prior to 4 pm (they did not seem to know about paying for morning delivery), that I had always wanted it mailed as I lived hours away, and that I was still on the phone, the man took my card information and said they were requesting an urgent response from the DC office and it was going out by email immediately to them.

Step 11. Someone from the DC office calls me to leave me a message informing me that I need to pick up the passport in person in DC today.

Step 12. I call the DC office back, it is the first time I have heard a number there for a person that is intelligible and not garbled. I inform them that I have always wanted the package mailed and twice requested it FedExed. I need it in my hand by 1 pm tomorrow guaranteed. She refuses to do that.

Step 13. I inform her that FedEx priority overnight guarantees delivery by 10:30 am. She again refuses to guarantee anything but informs me that all packages go out overnight through their office. I tell her that the man I spoke to earlier guaranteed delivery by 1, standard overnight only delivers by 3. She does not care.

Step 14. I call the national passport agency again who informs me that at this point they can do nothing and I need to deal with the person I spoke with in DC.

Step 15: I call DC to get the tracking number and confirm it went out priority overnight and not standard. They transfer me to two different people who are not the person I spoke with, finally one of them informs me that “Someone” will call me back with that information.

Step 16: “Someone” returns my call with a tracking number. Package is to arrive by 10:30 A.M.

Long and short of it – the Washington passport agency DID get me a tracking number and FedEx delivered it. I am on my way sitting in JFK.

Hopefully – I will next be writing you all from Egypt or about Egypt. I have some thoughts and recipies from the past few weeks but they may have to wait.

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07 FebThoughts on thinking and the movie Temple.

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How do you think?  I mean that literally – I recently asked a friend who is bilingual about translation and she did not believe she thought in language or words (at least she was not aware of thinking in English or French) others may think in pictures, plans, or even clear light-blub ideas.

I believe that I do some of all of the above – but often I think in stories, almost visions.  I relate everything to stories, sometimes to my detriment making things ore black and white and more personal to me, and sometimes to my benefit, making it easier to relate to others outside myself, easier to explain, and/or to see in nuances of gray.  As logical as I am, and I am very logical, when explaining a logical sequence of events in my mind I turn it into a logical storyboard.  At other times, especially when dreaming, my mind allows me to literally read my thoughts and explore the logic of the story.  I have woken up mid-dream both seeing and reading and action and reading the plot at the same time.  It may be unique but it is a fact.

I know this is how I think – and I firmly believe we all think differently.  Last night, I saw an amazing movie from HBO films, Temple Grandin, staring Claire Danes dealing with how we think, and how when we think in too different away it can impact our ability to relate.

Temple Grandin is an autistic American woman, in her sixties, who through the aid of a mother, aunt, teacher, and many others who did not give up was able to attend college, design humane cattle feed lots and slaughter houses, and become self-sufficient despite her autism and the fact that she came of age in an era when the only prescribed treatment was institutionalism.  She has become an outspoken autism advocate and been granted awards by PETA for her deigns in the treatment of cattle.

Here are two major caveats I am not trying to speak to Temple Grandin’s role in autism studies or the films’ portrayal of autism.  I believe everyone’s experience is to an extent unique and as such no film can truly capture the meaning or complexity of any human, let alone an autistic human’s experience.

That being clear – watch this movie.  First of all Claire Danes is masterful, I have often found her to be a good actress, but here she inhabits another person from speech to mannerism, and gives her a spark of intelligence and dignity that move her character into a realm of complexity.  Secondly, the supporting cast, particularly Julia Ormond, but also David Strathairn and Catherine O’Hara are outstanding and help to keep the story from diving into trite movie of the week territory which it could easily have done. Julia Ormond should be nominated for an Emmy for her portrayal which was poignant without moving into the simple realm of a mother fighting for her child and always accepting her fault, this mother struggles with them and tries at time to both give her child all but sometimes fails and just wants her to overcome and be normal.  Both her and Claire Danes give moving scenes, often without regard to the script.

But what was most fascinating about the movie, and I do not mean this as a slight to the acting which was phenomenal, was the attempt to portray the “different but not less” way that Temple’s mind works.  Temple thinks in images – therefore from the right perspective she can observe as a cow does, or she literally interprets key phrases – all of which the directors attempts to show you without demeaning her experience or yours.

The interjection of Temple’s thoughts helps to explain or show her social difficulties, and makes the character relatable and empathic in ways that she may not appear when meeting her in person.  It gives her a story – and makes the personality of one whose mind functions in a way that most of us cannot fathom approachable.   I, for one, find that most of us assume that others think as we do, and cannot relate to how others may perceive or explore the world.  I know that if we all thought in pictures, words, stories, language or thought bubbles we would be poorer in scientific and cultural output – and this film allows us to appreciate how those who think beyond the bounds of normality, whose thoughts are so unique that they cannot interact properly socially work to enrich our world in other, “different, but not less” ways.

This movie made me appreciative of the skill of great storytellers and actors, and wondrous at how the human experience, as unique as it is to each individual, can be wrought in manifestations that are unique and may seem trivial can work for the benefit of us all.  That being said, no matter how we think or live, want to know “where do they go” when life is over and people no longer inhibit their bodies.  Showing that we all share much even if we can’t always see it on the surface.

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30 JanGreat Snow 2010 – pics from East Campus and nieghborhood

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Hey. Quickly, here are some pics I took treaking around this morning in my Northface and black PJ bottoms. More snow is expected all day. This is enough for me for the season, maybe for good.  underneath the four to eight inches of now is a layer of ice, and walking in that and with ice pellets coming down was not for me.  Hope you enjoy this very rare scene, the most snow I personally have seen in Durham yet.

Crazed Benjamin Duke with BeardWinter BerriesWinter Berries

East Campus Rotunda

Covered Walkways

House

Snow shoveling

Winterized house

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27 JanOMG, the Prez is speaking now?

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Tonight, the President of the United States stands before the nation and the Congress, to give a State of the Union – as dictated by Article II Section 3 of the Constitution wherein the President must update Congress and may offer policies as well and by tradition, where in it is a Speech at the end of January.   You may not agree with him, his policies, or you may agree completely with him – but the fact of the matter is that he is the Chief Executive of our nation, and the Commander – in Chief.  The office alone is worthy of respect.

Similarly, the Congress, both the people’s chamber of the House and the State’s Chamber of the Senate, are elected officials their to do the business of the people.  They owe themselves, their constituents, and their offices the respect to act with decorum, or at a minimum act as if they are interested in the proceedings much like you would a t a family dinner.

Instead I am reading and hearing that many politicians of both parties will be updating their twitter feeds and facebook pages during the speech (Rep. Joe Wilson, shockingly, comes out a hero in this opting to hold an online live streaming interactive social media response on facebook – 30 minutes after the speech concludes).  House GOP minority leader will be live blogging via his website and twitter in order to fact check the State of the Union.   As stated in the press release ““President Obama’s rhetoric is often detached from reality, so it’s important there be a place Americans can go to get the facts about his job-killing agenda,” Boehner said. “We’ll also be using this live blog to discuss Republicans’ better solutions to the challenges working families and small business owners are facing.  House Republicans have had great success over the last year using the Internet and social media to connect with the American people.  This live blog will not only provide a place to find GOP better solutions, visitors can take advantage of the open commenting feature to exchange ideas with House Republicans and each other. Working together, we can hold Washington Democrats accountable.” Others, such as Senator Claire McCkasill may opt only to tweet during the conclusion and introduction – as she claims to have been called out by her mother on her lack of decorum during the September address to Congress.

It is true that more Republicans than Democrats are expected to be tweeting or facebooking during the speech.  This has to do with the fact that somehow the House Republicans dominate social media, an ironic fact given the last campaign where social media killed the Republican’s chance.  Even more ironic that the conservative party, that is supposedly pro-family values and shows of respect for the office of the President and military would be the ones more likely to be falling in the aspect of decors action.

I do not doubt that people, and the Congress, would love to pummel the President on questions, but the fact of the matter this is the State of Union.  Our current system does not have a Prime Minster Questions session.  If you really want to question the President about the address you are free to upload a video to Citizen Tube and see if your question is one he responds to next week in an online video session.  Nor is it the 1800s when fights in Congress, on one instance, ended in bloodshed, but then again that was a time of great national crisis when the nation was fraught economically, regionally, racially, and about to go to war with itself when tensions were high and people angry and hyperbolic.

Our country has prided itself on peaceful transitions of power, and shows of respect to the office – after which the opponents pummel each others’ policies in the press and responses, or by simply voting them down and having floor speeches flowered with high rhetoric.  Today – this will all be preempted by a live blog – being written, supposedly, by someone in the same room as the President who will be giving a speech.

I know that I get frustrated, and feel that people are ignoring me if they text or tweet during dinner with me.  In a movie theater or play a person on cell phone is not only distracting himself or herself, but they distract the others around them and show no respect for the other’s interest in watching the play.   This is compounded if it s a live action play as it also distracts and shows no respect for the actor or speaker.

These actions are giving the message that using this faux English, as almost dictated by Twitters 140 character limit, when speaking and texting over dinner makes sense.  Soon a Congressman will be live video chatting during the State of the Union saying, “OMG can u blv that the Prez would lie like that – his hair is SOOO dyied.”   I hate to think what the state of our decorum, respect, and most bitterly, language will be headed when we reach that stage.

So please – I urge you – even as it makes me sound really conservative, please use real words and pay attention to others around you.  Tweet when they are in the bathroom.  Thanks.

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25 JanA book for the serious single cook

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Cover - The Pleasures of Cooking For One by Judith Jones (Winner of the James Beard Foundation Lifetime Achievement Award)

Yesterday, I went to brunch at Parker and Otis, with a friend.  While I waited her for her to arrive – I puroused the many, many temptations of the gourmet/upscale/hippy market.  While there I found a remarkable cookbook (all links to the book and reviews are postscript), Judith Jones’s The Pleasures of Cooking for One.

Judith Jones, for those who don’t know her, has had one of the most enviable careers in contemporary American Publishing.  She started, as far as I can tell, at Random House, where supposedly she discovered the Diary of Anne Frank in a discard pile.  Int the 1950s she moved to Alfred A. Knopf, where she has since remained.  Her credits include editing Updike and other literary rockstars.

But her greatest accomplishments are with food.  She discovered and edited Julia Child, and as we all know mastering the art of french cooking changed American palettes and awareness of food.  She also edited many other luminaries of the culinary world (and I mean true cooks not celebrity chefs) like Scott Peacock, Edna Lewis (their co-authored book The Gift of Southern Cooking is one of my favorite cookbooks, as much about the philosophy and style of cooking as the recipes themselves – it gives you a why as to how the recipes are structured something often lacking, I modified its recipe for crabcakes when creating my own), and James Beard, whose foundation gave her a lifetime achievement award.  To top it off she summers in Northern Vermont where she raises her own grass-fed cattle (which she mentions eating in the book and how much better properly fed local and fresh cattle tastes) and collects her own apples.  Not a bad life.

In any case, I bought the book, and took it home and devoured it – reading most of it in a single sitting.  Not the recipes mind you, but the philosophy and stories surrounding them – only skimming the recipes for ideas and suggestions. I had not done this since Christmas when I read Second Helpings of Roast Chicken the follow up to Simon Hopkinson’s Roast Chicken and Other Stories, in which the author tells a story about the ingredient he is wiring about, such as a dish served at a restaurant or the sensation of watching it grow, buying, and/or cooking it.

One thing that both of these books have is a serious respect for food and cooking.  They are not for people who are slavish to recipes – using words like pinch, dash, to taste, – but for those who already enjoy cooking and have a sense of ingredients.  They are for people who truly enjoy both the preparation of consumption of food.  (In case you had not noticed, I have trouble following recipes from cookbooks – unless for baking- often using them as inspiration rather then slavishly following them, which is why so many of my own contain words like splash and dollop – as they are descriptive of the amount and ensure that the dish can be replicated, and varied easily)

In addition to the philosophy, Jones has theories about what you need in a pantry.  She separates it into essentials and useful add-ons – focusing on both tools and pantry ingredients.   She talks about weekly shopping trips – and how three meals (depending on your portion size) can be made from Chicken or Pork Tenderloin that aren’t leftovers but unique meals unto themselves.  She also offers tips picked up from her chef’s – such as Jacques Peppin keeping rinds and bits of food discarded and eventually using them to create soups and/or broths.    Additionally, she shows how, and inspires you to, find ways to reduce the portion size of dishes intended to serve multitudes – like risottos or beef bourgioun, or even apple tart.  While not all the recipes are novel – it encourages a way  of thinking about meals and food, as part of an enriching experience that does not always have to be shared, but that can be invigorating and even pleasurable if done just for yourself, and eaten over books or with a good movie.

All in all – this book is a worthwhile addition to the shelf of a person who enjoys words, food, cooking, and a good meal at home.  In someways, I think this maybe the first book I have “read” in a while that will not be discarded soon and that will be re-read.

Finally, I promise that not all reviews will be/are positive but somehow, right now I only want to share things that I think others would/should enjoy .  Is it condescending to say others should enjoy something – yes – but I will say it anyway – it certainly beats speaking in IM language or emoticons.

Judith Jones’s Blog piece on errors in the book.

Wall Street Journal Interview with the author

Amazon or

Barnes and Noble

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24 JanKindle yes or no? Leaning to sometimes with a heavy dose of print.

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For Christmas, I was given a Kindle. I am still trying to figure out what exactly I think about it. I see the value of it, both in terms of physical space and money – but – I find it different.  (Additionally for my friends spending time abroad or my brother being deployed and without the time or space to collect the lbs of books needed to entertain him, it makes perfect sense and is an invaluable tool.)   It changes my reading experience, the page turning is slow, the word spacing seems off, the weight and size seem wrong, and the actual experience of reading the way the words hit your eyes seems different. In fact it makes me tired to read it for more then about half an hour – something that rarely happens when reading a book or other paper products, and is even infrequent when reading off a back-lit computer screen.  I have never thought of myself as conservative in regards to technology – but I may have it a point where I am – we shall see.
As I have stated elsewhere on this blog – I have some learning disabilities that relating to writing. They also relate to reading – I often, when reading aloud, notice that I miss words (though rarely if at all do I miss a word that changes the meaning of the sentence). When I am tired, I can lose ability to truly focus my eyes, and may briefly have moments where I lack the ability to fuse the eyes and see double, this is always true when something is close into my face. I also can, for fun, control this and make the words all disappear and the page turn white. Needless to say some  online for fun vision games – and tests – are incredibly frustrating and I often fail them. Reading the Kindle, when tired causes me to feel this same sense of exhaustion that these tests can. But when not tired, I can use it for brief periods effectively, I assume that getting used to it, just as getting used to reading off a laptop will be conquered and I will use it often for travel, pulp fiction, and while on the metro.
At the same time, I don’t think it will ever replace books for me. First of all books are aesthetically pleasing, and comforting, and I like, and usually am surrounded by them. There is something affirming about holding them, and possessing the words, a book gives physicality to an idea and to a story, and many ways stories are my lifeblood.
I think in stories, and dream in them. I constantly tell myself them, and use them to create amusements. I have done this my whole life – creating stories that allowed me to create alien traps to decorate my brother’s rooms, or stage games. Stories that made me wonder about existential questions or let me imagine how to be someone other then me.
Additionally reading, and “curling up with a book” is a source of comfort to me. When I am off kilter I get into my bed, or if its really bad day my guest bed which was my high school bed, and read. I escape into words, into someone else’s mind and words. I don’t need electricity, or really anything else, so long as I have good story, that I can physically curl around while under a blanket.

Similarly, think of how you read a newspaper online versus in print.  Online you see the headline, and maybe the summary, and then decide to read the article.  If you are into arts you check that section, sports you scroll down to their – ignoring much of the rest of the screen.  When you physically have open the paper to get to part 2 of the story you see other headlines some of which catch your eye, and while flipping to a section headlines, images, and book reviews from other sections catch your eye holding up your flip to your ostensible only interest.

I don’t see myself ever completely abandoning the printed word in favor of the electronic as the act of reading the printed word, be it a paper or book is a source of comfort and interest.   But this comes from an almost 30 year old who still gets the Sunday Times delivered for the shear pleasure of pouring over the paper.   All of this may change, but for now – I think my book collection is safe and the Kindle will be reserved for spy novels and the like that I would want to blow through and probably not want to read again – that is assuming I can ever finish my first book on the kindle (as opposed to magazine article and/or short story) without being diverted by a paper book.

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18 JanLocal Eating – a yuppie fad (and grapefruit pork)?

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Recently, I had people over for dinner.  As if often the case when some of this particular group of people (myself included) discussion turned to local organic foods, and other political topics.   As they were leaving, I showed them that my brother is currently reading The Omnivore’s Dilemma (see also here; for those that have not read it the first three meals are informative – the fourth while fun is impractical and can be skipped).  One of my guests refereed to it as a current “yuppie bible, ” which seemed apt.

I feel that many of the people I interact with are interested in food – all aspects of food. Where it is from, how it is made, how to grow it, how to prepare it, sharing it, and the experience of a good dinner.  Some of this is generational – we are all still without children and are mostly finically able to care for ourselves and entertain ourselves and others (see).   But part of it is pure yuppiness – the need to upstage and show our cultural awareness and upper word mobility is the definition of a yuppie.  Sometimes this is done through clothes and possessions – other times it is through paying attention to the proper causes.  (Given that everyone at the party is searching for work or completing PhDs, I am not worried that they are so secretly disgusted with the life of the urban professional that they have become Patrick Bateman or stated Fight Clubs with alter egos – but who knows – for those who don’t get the first reference please see or even better read American Psycho by Brett Easton Ellis).

Please do not misunderstand me, I hope and pray the local food movement takes off. I am, and have been convinced, it is healthiest for our bodies and our planet –and promotes seasonal eating which in a weird way can add texture and complexity to our palates.  (Beef Stroganoff and Coq Au vin are great – but do you really want them in the mid summer over lightly grilled meat with grilled veggies and a berry flavored desert).  At the same time, I do wonder if eating local food is a way of proving elitist liberal bona fides, of our proving our commitment to the Earth, and our political leaning become a badge of honor we can display in the most primal way – within the very food we eat.

For this particular dinner I tried to use ingredients that I could source, or that were already in my kitchen, which is probably how some of these discussions got started.  Although I do try to do this in general – it was harder on this day as many of my go to stores were lowly stocked, fortunately I had some ingredients in my kitchen that worked well as compliments, and pantry roulette is a truly fun game.

I served three dishes, along with a store bought local spinach salad, desert, and a locally made salami Appetizer from Wine Authorities.  I thought all three dishes were good – but – I had cooked the dishes so that they finished about 7.  We did not eat until after eight thirty, and I thought being on the warm setting for 90 minutes dried out the pork – if I were to make it again I would try to figure out a way to preserve the vapor better or eat earlier.

The recipes are as follows:

Mustard Greens

I took a quart of water and added sliced three slices of turkey bacon.  I cooked that over low hear for 45 minutes, and then added Mustard Greens from South Carolina.  I cooked over medium-low heat for an hour until the green were properly softened.

Roasted Purple Sweet Potatoes with Turnips

I sliced two regional purple sweet potatoes (check out the grower and their philosophy) and one local turnip (though it was an exceptionally large turnip) into strips.  I coated them in a mixture of oil, rosemary, and rock salt.   I then laid them into a roasting pan that is safe in the oven and is beautiful to serve with, sprinkling the turnip amidst the potatoes to lighten the dish and contrast with the deep purple.  I threw some raisins I had laying around into the pan and roasted it all at 400 degrees for about an hour – until all of the root vegetables were soft.

Grapefruit marinated Pork Chops

The inspiration for this dish comes from 1080 Recipes, a Spanish Joy of Cooking of sorts.  The Spanish use lemons, honey, and spice and marinate the pork chops then roast them.  I wanted to use some citrus I had and played with thought combinations coming up with the following – which I truly enjoyed.

I used two ruby red grapefruits and juiced them.  I then sliced a poblano pepper and a cuabnelle and added them to the grapefruit. I added 1-teaspoon honey, and dashes of ground cumin, ground turmeric, cardamom seeds, and a dab of cinnamon.    I mixed this all and then added the six local bone-in pork chops raised right outside Chapel Hill.

I put the marinated meat into the refrigerator for an hour – rotating at the half hour mark.

After an hour I put the whole thing into a Tagine, though a covered roasting pan would probably work as well, and cooked for an hour at 350 degrees.  I then placed into an oven safe serving pan, in this case amazingly designed by Nambe, and cooked for an additional 10 minutes the pork chops alone – along with about 1/3 of the remaining marinade.

As I said above – these would be best warm fresh out of the oven.  But even dry they were nice with a hint of citrusy and Caribbean peppers and Spices playing amongst the natural flavor of the bone in pork.

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17 JanMy Resolutions, ones I hope to keep anyway.

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Last night, I threw a small dinner party.  At many other points in my adult life, this would be unremarkable, as it was fairly common.  This was shocking only because it has been so long since I hosted a social event, I promise not to let it go so long until I host again.

I am not a huge believer in New Year’s resolutions (or New Year’s in general).  For example, the stereotypical resolution is to be healthy, lose weight and exercise. This is supposed to start after most people heavily drink, which does not encourage anything except eating horrible foods and sloth. I would bet a high percentage of resolutions fail on day one (or start about a week late after the vacations are over).  That being said – the end of something and the start of something new is a great time to reevaluate.

This past year was difficult, and the decade was awful. I can honestly say, I have seen countless movies and books about carefree people in their  twenties – I am hoping and praying my thirties are less difficult for me personally, and the world generally, then my twenties, has been.  At some-point this fall, I decided to begin to look at this year as one to start fresh and begin this decade on a positive note.   I realized I was ready to make some changes, and slowly I have been incorporating this back into my life and rediscovering who I am and what I care about.  Writing this blog is a part of that, as are other things – and these activities  have helped my outlook incredibly.

Similarly, I had started to go on a much healthier living kick starting just before Thanksgiving, upping my exercise and cooking at home more.  With the start of the New Year, I therefore started the P90x program that one of my brother’s gave me for Christmas.  Having a video act as personal trainers works well for me –even if I have to modify a lot due to the toll that twisting and high impact cardio can have on my body.  As they say no program is perfect foe everyone, and you need to listen to what your body tells you.   This is not a New Year’s resolution but instead represents my being ready to really tackle something that once had been a key part of my life that I had let slide over the past few years.

This represents part of a commitment, or resolution, to come back to myself.   Thus the dinner party and socializing more frequently.   I enjoy company, and love entertaining and yet I stopped hosting completely.  There are many reasons I could give as to why I ceased to act like myself, some my fault others not – but they don’t’ matter – the thing is, I enjoy throwing parties and exercising and I am going to do them more.

So if I had to make a resolution for 2010, the 2010s, or my upcoming birthday it would be to search for things like these that I enjoy, and bring them back into my life. This includes things I am bad at (like catching up with friends) or doing new things like inviting people to go out to meals, or things I just simply had forgotten to do – like entertaining, exercising.  This week, I have been successful at doing all of these things; I have also scheduled a few trips to see friends, read a book, thought about how to contribute best to others in need, and gone to one of my favorite places on earth – Cameron Indoor Stadium to see Duke beat BC.   I am confident with weeks like this – 2010 will be a year for wiping the slate clean, and determining what it is I actually like to do.

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