Lost in Translation

Most people, when they hear this title, think of Bill Murray in Japan. They tell me how the movie is much better than they had expected.

Sure, it’s the title of a movie. But the phrase has been used before. To me, it recalls Eva Hoffman’s book (title: Lost in Translation) about growing up in post-war Poland and eventually moving to the States. I can’t say that I loved it when I read it. It isn’t an easy narrative: her prose is ponderous, difficult at times. But I have to say that it was one of the more meaningful books for me, for predictable reasons: the parallels are in-your-face obvious. Except, Hoffman is Jewish, and her family’s war experiences were, therefore, somewhat different than those of my parents/grandparents.

Hoffman has published another book, just this month. A fragment of it can be read online (NYT Book Review). The book, “After Such Knowledge: Where Memory of the Holocaust Ends and History Begins,” will have to bump all other reading material for a while. There are some books that one has to get going on, ASAP.

BULGARIA, HEAL THYSELF!

Of course. The NYT article (see post, January 13) inadvertently (I have to believe it was inadvertent) denouncing Bulgarian plums and vacation spots has only fueled feelings of low self esteem among Bulgarians. Take a look at this site on Bulgarian cuisine: It starts off with a little quiz:

What do you associate Bulgaria with?
- The fourth place at the World Cup Soccer Finals
- Hristo Stoichkov
- Economical crisis
- Folk music
- Wine
- Nothing

Nothing?? A crisis in the economy?? That’s pretty depressing. And I noticed that plums and vacation spots were also conspicuously absent from the list, as if the authors knew better than to tantalize savvy American/English travelers with such loser options, acceptable only to the East Germans (okay, and the Poles), during the grim 50s.

Let's rally behind Bulgaria. Did you know that they make the best damn Lactobacterium Bulgaricum in the world? Still, it would sound better if they just called it what it is -- yogurt.

IT'S THE CARROTS

Today’s paper tells us that Prime Minister Berlusconi may be taking time off to tuck in the eye lids, firm up the waist line, and take out any of the pastiness in his skin tone. Of course, the Italians tell us that appearance is a strategic issue: Mr. Berlusconi needs to look good to succeed in the forthcoming European Parliamentary elections. The Italians would think that. And if you’re genetically predisposed to looking great, as they all seem to be, it doesn’t hurt to protect that, which nature bestowed upon you.

My father has always said that he wishes he were born to an Italian mother and a Norwegian father – he’d have the height of the Nordic men (it is no secret that he covets the missing height genes), and beauty of the Italian people. But hey, the comment in the paper suggests that Mr. Berlusconi takes great pains working on his skin tone, and as a result, his skin always looks orange.

I’m one ahead of him there: you don’t have to be Italian to know that eating carrots will add orange tones to your complexion. Being a carrot cruncher myself, I can see the changes over the years. I, too, appear orange these days. Really.

Learning Curve

Everything takes time, including learning about blogs. I don’t know why, for instance, my archives currently sit empty. Communicating with tech support is like talking to Simon the computer activated voice at United Airlines. You need patience.

Yesterday at my monthly book group meeting the question came up if I can tell who logged in. The answer is yes and no: not individually, just numbers of server hits. So on my blog, your anonymity is protected, though do note that other bloggers may have purchased upgraded features that permit them to spy on their audience. I feel like writing letters of apology to those, whose sites I hit hundreds of times earlier this month as I was learning about blog options. No, I am not a stalker!

In this week’s New Yorker, there is an article about a woman who stalked her former lover on the net after they broke up – finding every bit of information on him and his new relationship. What she doesn’t say in the article is that he may know that she knows… But then, she may know that he knows that she knows. But of course, he may know that she knows that he knows that she knows. The psychological intrigue is tantalizing.