Friday morning roundup

Chinglish is awesome.

Toles on debate.

Thursday morning roundup

"Is this really necessary" is always my first thought when I come across very long articles in the New Yorker. Having said that, I barely noticed this one as I read it. It's insightful and heartbreaking.

I don't understand.

People like me are getting sick of the '100% certainty, with us or against us' bully tactics on the part of people like my mother, with regard to Israel. It's a really good article:

They do not belong to a synagogue and do not attend services or belong to Jewish organizations, yet they consider themselves Jewish — bound in a web of history, culture and DNA to their Jewishness, and by extension, to Israel.

and

All said that they had voted for Mr. Obama, supported his efforts to prod Israel and believed there would never be peace in the Middle East without determined intervention by the United States.

Nonetheless, “It makes me angry that the Israelis are always blamed for the problems and asked to make concessions,” Ms. Creed said. “You know, the Israelis are not the ones launching rockets and placing fighters in houses with children inside.”

and

Mr. Moore, the headmaster, expressed frustration that the voice of Israeli advocacy in the United States was monopolized by what he called the “Israel right-or-wrong” camp.

Israel is not just the homeland of Jews but of Jewishness, he said, and should be known for its embrace of the values at the core of Judaism — truth, fairness, kindness, freedom.

That is what he would tell those hard-line relatives of his, he said, “though I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t change their minds.”

Although I think the dude who wrote this question is kind of a prick, I find it interesting because Carolyn makes a good point: everyone's needs are different. For example, I kept needing my RM not to ask me how my day was.

Wednesday evening ramble

My parents are just not working with me.

I am making an effort to remain upbeat about this visit. I am hoping against hope that the weekend will be dominated by discourse unrelated to (a) how fat I am; (b) how poorly decorated my house is; and (c) how dumb my cat is.

Actually, I was just chatting with a friend about how our parents' generation, having bought houses decades ago, does not understand the market with which we're dealing. But I digress.

I got an e-mail from another friend asking whether I had/wanted to make birthday plans. I told her my parents would be here. Which is fine. If my parents would work with me.

You'll recall that we--my parents and I--had a discussion about how since they were coming down, I wouldn't make other birthday plans. They'd be here some time Friday afternoon. We'd have the evening and the a good part of the weekend to do stuff around town.

A.: When are you leaving on Friday?
Mom: We're thinking about 10am?

Now, that means they probably won't actually be on the road before 2pm, and they might get here at 10pm at the earliest. Which would leave me spending my birthday waiting around for my parents to arrive.

Do you appreciate that nuance: it's not that I object to celebrating my birthday with my parents; rather, I object to spending my birthday, which happens to fall on a Friday night, waiting around for my parents. I do, after all, have friends. And I live in a city where there are drinks to be had (and work in a different city, in which there are even more drinks to be had). And it's precisely because I'm not getting any younger that I don't want to waste a birthday night waiting around at home. Although birthdays with my mother often end in tears (by way of unflattering analyses of my personality, etc.), they are slightly less pathetic than birthdays alone.

So I don't think it's too much to ask for my parents to work with me.

So, back to our conversation:

A.: When are you leaving on Friday?
Mom: We're thinking about 10am?
A.: No.
Mom: ??
A.: That's too late. If you do that, you'll get here too late. You'll be especially tired and crabby, and we'll end up losing the whole weekend [like last time].
Dad: Okay, we'll think about leaving earlier.
A.: Please do. Like 6am. [Because that might get them out of the house by 9am, maybe?]
Mom: That's too early! We'll get stuck in traffic.
A.: You can get stuck in traffic at any point during the day.
Mom: I don't know.

I'm calling them back.

***
Part II

Mom: Hello?
A.: Can we talk about why it would be better to leave earlier?
Mom: I'm glad you called. Do you want this lamp...
A.: No.
Mom: Wait! It's great... it's...
A.: Mom, I have all the lamps I need in the house.
Mom: But...
A.: I don't need another lamp.
Mom: Let me tell you about the lamp.
A.: Mom--I do not want the lamp. I don't care how nice it is. Please do not bring the lamp. Now, then. Do you see why I'd like you to come earlier?
Mom: Yeah, yeah. We'll think about leaving earlier.
A.: Okay.
Mom: Goodnight.
A.: Goodnight.

***
I'm taking my friend up on a "post-parental visit pick me up early next week." And inviting other friends. Like I said, I'm not getting any younger; why shouldn't I double up on birthday celebrations?

Tuesday morning roundup

OMG would this @$$hole please stop wasting taxpayer money??

I don't have time to read this whole article, but I can assure you that we didn't need a bunch of punk staffers to "reshape" DC as "idealistic, earnest, geeky, understated, wise-cracking." With all due respect to Sally Quinn, there's always been more to this city than her crowd.

Cohen on Gingrich.

Response to comment

In the interest of full disclosure, this is a cheeky post, because I solicited ETC's commentary on Hilton Als' Tyler Perry piece. I don't have a lot to say about the skin tone issue--not solely because I'm white, but because I'm not well qualified to (a) discuss it in theory and (b) never having seen a TP film, in no way qualified to discuss it within his body of work.

But what HA had to say about women--in the case of TP's characters, black women--was interesting to me, especially since, as I'd mentioned, I'd just finished reading "The Fourth Hand" by John Irving, and really didn't like the way he wrote women. It's been a while since I've read some of this other works, which I enjoyed a lot more ("The World According to Garp;" "Widow for One Year;" "Cider House Rules;" "A Prayer for Owen Meany;"), but I don't remember having the same reaction. Reading TFH, I thought, JI has a very narrow idea of what his idea of a reasonable woman is. If she's "too" career-driven--similar to what HI says about TP's characters--she's pretty one dimensional. She's a type. He's pretty transparent about it, actually.

Monday evening roundup

Has Fox News gone too far for many conservatives?

Even I am sick of these f*ing articles, of the false arguments in the organics debate, of the organics debate in general. Could people stop writing them so I can stop posting them?

Yes, who exactly thought processed veggie burgers were a "natural food"?

Monday morning roundup

Jill Lepore's excellent analysis of the Tea Party in the context of the American Revolution and Founding Fathers whose values the Partiers purport to represent.

On a related note, commemorating Civil War history without descending into strategic revisionism will be a challenge for Virginia.

Have I mentioned I'm glad I don't live in Fredericksburg? Although as long as the police do their job, I don't care whose name they invoke in their prayers (the issue is whether police who don't appreciate those invocations can say the same).

Gag us all

This would be funnier if it were further off from reality:

Sigh. Surfing Grist is so much more fun than vacuuming and cleaning the bathrooms.

An ode to (some) pets

I found myself talking to the worms:

"Hey guys. Hope you like apple cores and strawberry stems, and whatever this splattery stuff is."

You've got to hand it to them: they're the perfect, low-maintenance pet. Unlike some, they don't wake you up, shed, whine, poop on your carpet, or run up the vet bill; they eat whatever you feed them; you don't have to worry about leaving them for weeks at a time; and they give you rich organic matter in return for your food scraps.


Good thing you're cute, Gracie.

Response to comment, followed by a ramble

HFCS aside, it would have been just as worrying had the first ingredient been sugar. Who needs that much sugar in a sauce? Homemade BBQ sauce is always a good bet. The Farm Vegetarian Cookbook has a good recipe. Some of you may be amused but not surprised that the sauce is a suggested accompaniment to barbecued tempeh (tempeh being one of the grossest foodstuffs on the planet).

I thought about posting, but didn't, this item about travelers stuck in New York because of the volcano. One of them complains about the cost of getting real food, with vegetables, in the city's restaurants. I don't know--my NYC restaurant experience is limited--but I felt that way about traveling and dining in Japan.

In another article I thought about posting but didn't, this writer shares the difficulties of following road rules as a cyclist in New York. Just last week I had this conversation with a friend (who is distinctly anti-bike). If you people weren't trying to kill me all the time, it would be easier for me to follow the rules. You're the ones who have turned it into an every vehicle for itself situation, and my bike is a vehicle. I have as much right to be on the road as you do.

Sunday morning roundup

Nicholas Kristof on the grassroots Catholic Church. See also Jane Kramer's excellent piece in the New Yorker on the changing Church of England, and Bishop Robinson's open letter to the Pope.

According to Frank Rich, Arizona is just the tip of the national Tea Party iceberg.

Indonesians are warming to learning Mandarin.

Britain's mess of a party system.

On valuing silence.

Manufacturers have gotten the message about HFCS from domestic consumers, but they'll be using more of it in products bound for Mexico.

Saturday evening roundup

This is a joke, right? This guy can't be for real. Not in my state?!

Sex just does not make for a political scandal in Russia.

Don't listen to this horse$hit; organic agriculture can, indeed, feed the world.

Phone call

Mom: Are you ready for the roses?
A.: Not yet. I'll do some weeding this weekend.
Dad: You can made salad out of the dandelion greens.
A.: True, although I'm a bit afraid of them because of the soil. Lots of other weeds, though.
Mom: That's not what I mean: we need a system so that they'll survive when it gets cold.
Dad: But it doesn't get cold in DC.

"It doesn't get cold in DC" is my dad's version of "you've really put on weight." He was here once, over a decade ago, over the holidays, and it happened to be warm. I call him on it every time, but nothing can disabuse him of the idea that it doesn't get cold in DC.

Mom: When are you leaving?
Mom: I don't know--Thursday or Friday.
A.: Well, I need to know whether to take all of Friday off or just the afternoon.
Dad: We can amuse ourselves.
A.: No, you can't.
Dad: What kind of stuff do you have to do around the house?
A.: Not much. I mean, there's stuff, but I don't want to spend the weekend doing it.
Dad: You can narrate the Japan pictures.
Mom: Right--I still haven't looked at them.
Dad: How many megapixels do you have now? Five?
A.: 3.
Dad: 3? That would basically put your camera in the 'junk' category.
A.: I know, I know. But you're not happy with Panasonic?
Dad: It's a great camera, but the interface is a pain... but I don't know-- you're better with computers.
A.: I still don't want to deal with it. Anyway, let me know about when you plan on getting here.
Mom: We'll decide later this week.
A.: I'd prefer to inform my team earlier in the week.
Mom: We'll decide later this weekend, then.
A.: Okay.

Saturday morning roundup

I'd not call what's going on in the UK a "national debate on immigration;" it seems more of a screaming match, devoid of actual communication.

I have a question for those people attributing Eyjafjallajokull's eruption to God's wrath at Iceland's "neopaganism," how come Iceland got off pretty much unscathed?

As much as I'd like to sympathize with their plight, Burleith residents are uptight. I've lived there, and had police come to shut down a party at 10pm on a Friday night, without so much as a visit from the neighbors asking to keep it down. 10pm. Besides, Georgetown students are an easy target (and I can go on about them--at least the undergrads--too). More controversial: my not being able to wait until they tear down those f*ing projects the next block over. If you think that's insensitive, you try to sleep with all that noise.

Rwanda, police state.

Friday afternoon ramble

It's good to be home. I'd be happy staying put for a while (that sense usually lasts about three weeks, but still). It was good just disembarking at National; I could walk a whole two airport blocks without seeing an ad for something biblical. In fact, I almost got Jay a book of the 198 Most Inspirational Bible Quotes for Men, but decided against it. Jay, meanwhile--again, in true husband form--continues to give me fabulous items of clothing not appropriate to wear outside the house.

At one point in our now well-documented banter, I asked Jay if his other wives let him getting away with drinking sake in bed (incidentally, he spilled it--on my side of the bed, no less--and the duvet stunk of sake; we had to spray it with the green tea febreeze like thing in the room). He told me he had no other wives; I challenged him on that--I knew of a few. To which he replied that those were hags. I was nonplussed. He explained that you go out with hags--they're wingmen, they seek validation from gay men, etc. You don't travel, shop, carpool with hags; you travel with wives.

***
On the way back from Tokyo, I finished John Irving's "The Fourth Hand," which was a perfect airplane book (but pretty bad book, especially for the author of "The Cider House Rules.") It was all the more appropriate because it made me smile to read, within the book's pages, about a trip to Japan. Once I finished it, I started Michael Cunningham's "A Home at the End of the World," which is excellent, and also not without resonance to the Japan trip. Two of the key characters are not quite Jay and I--actually, not Jay and I at all, apart from the peculiarities that inevitably characterize the relationships between gay men and their wives: the coupleness that dwarfs that of actual couples, in particular.

***
I was on an 0730 flight out of Colorado Springs. What were the odds that I'd be sitting directly ahead of a screaming, kicking toddler?

Here's the thing: it wasn't that bad, because the parents were trying. They were not relegating their responsibility as parents just because they'd boarded a plane (or left the house).

In Dallas, there was a girl with a princessy rollerboard suitcase in the washroom across from the gate. I (internally) recoiled in horror, but she wasn't on my flight. That's the thing, though: they can inspire dread without actually doing anything.

As I exited the washroom, a vending machine caught my eye, and I approached it out of habit. I patronized more vending machines in a day or two in Japan than I have in the States in my entire life. They had KitKats, but not in green tea or sakura.

***
I talked to my mom before I left (well, between outbound flights). I'd told her I would be going, but she didn't remember and asked me what all the background noise was. Then she asked me why I hadn't sent the itinerary (because when I do, she says 'yeah but I can't be bothered to look at it') and asked me to send it when I got in. Then she said something like "another conference?!" I told her I hadn't traveled for a conference since I changed jobs over two years ago. She didn't understand--what was all the travel about? Really? Does my mother really think I conference hop (i.e. as opposed to doing work)? There is no way that either my colleague or I would have gone, much less been sent, on this trip unless it had been absolutely necessary. In any case, we're set for now. I know I'll be eager to travel again soon, but for now, it's all about home.

Friday morning roundup

When plundered artifacts are replundered, particularly for the sake of preservation, who owns them? Or, if you're the US government, do you appreciate the complexity of returning Jewish artifacts once seized from fleeing Jews and obtained post-invasion, to the Jewish families that once owned them--particularly if they're in Israel?

The world's endangered languages are well represented in New York.

Thursday roundup

Jay e-mailed me with the following new term: "Teletubby: your mom's ability to tell you you're fat from a distance..."

Hat tip to Chad for WTF, CNN?, an unfortunately spot-on website.

Last week's New Yorker has a piece on Animal, a meat restaurant in LA (entrees run about 3,000 calories, and they put bacon in the dessert). The article mentions, in passing, that the restaurant owners sometimes have women review the menu to ensure it's not too off-putting to them. Because, apparently, women are intimidated by lots of meat (seriously). This is especially interesting because two Grist posts talk about meat as manly, both centering on KFC's double-down sandwich. It gets interesting here, because a commenter accuses Tyler Falk of being too hard on meat-eaters and says that carnivorism isn't manly; it's human. To which TF replies that it's KFC that's playing on the meat-masculinity link.

On a quasi-related note, Hilton Als parses Tyler Perry's idea of what makes a real (black) man, or woman. And it's not, in the case of the latter, professional success or financial independence. Quite the contrary.

On the road again

The night I got back from Japan, I woke up in the middle of the night and tried to remember where I was. Which hotel was this? Where was the light? The night table with my watch on it? For some reason, that phenomenon always hits me when I get home from a trip; it doesn't happen when I'm actually traveling.

I tell you this now because I've checked in to yet another hotel. It was only when I walked in and (a) didn't smell any cigarette smoke, not even in the hallway; (b) didn't feel the need to turn off or photograph the toilet; and (c) reflected on how spacious the room was, that I remembered that I'd traveled recently, that there had been a lot of hotels in my life in the last month.

I'd looked up some local restaurants before I left. A surprising proportion of the ones with decent ratings were... wait for it... Japanese. I figured it was just as well, since I was always hankering for Japanese food in Japan.

I had sashimi (it was a set, but I asked for them to hold the steamed rice), and green tea ice cream for dessert, too. The sashimi felt eerily normal. The green tea was disappointing. When I ordered it, the waiter was almost surprised--said it took him a while to get used to it, but now he liked it. That surprised me, because this ice cream seemed tame, westernized. Most actual green tea is ruined for me, too. Japan has joined my list of countries to which I'd travel just to get tea.

On the way back to the hotel, we drove by a Circle K and two 7-Elevens.

On the flight over, a small child was being loud and obnoxious. Her mother only encouraged it. Incidentally, this is the second disruptive-girl-on-a-plane whose antics I've endured, whose name is Sienna. Child namers beware.

Quick Wednesday morning roundup

Did anyone else think the leaked Pope visit memo was hilarious? I mean, the memo in and of itself was just tacky, but the international incident was quite amusing.

Over a century after its establishment, Rawalpindi's brewery is still brewing.

Gracie inspires

You'll recall "Impressions of Gracie" from previous posts:

-She's shaped like a rugby ball!
-Is she carrying twins?
-There goes Jabba the Hut.
-She's the size of both my cats put together.
-Mon dieu, ce chat est gros!

Well, Richard--Marcela's Richard (see: Galapagos travel notes), not Japan Richard, just met Gracie.

Richard: That cat looks quite hefty--could he help us move this furniture?
A.: She's not really good for stuff like that.
Richard: Does she have a name?
A.: Gracie.
Marcela: She's beautiful!

Later

Richard: It's a very nice house. It must be great to have so much space.
A.: Why thank you. I didn't quite mean to get one this big... but the world was ostensibly going to hell when I was house-shopping, so I ended up with more space than I'd imagined.

Later still

Richard: It's clear now why you need so much space: you've got to house such a big cat. It's like what they say--you can't put a whale in a swimming pool.
A.: Quite right.
Marcela: She needs to go on that thing... the MC...
Richard: The Master Cleanse.
Marcela: Right.
A.: I try.
Marcela: I know.