gold and glitter over a sea of people 

Lord & Taylor has the moving characters – playful, so playful; I especially like this one girl because she is holding that airplane with an exuberance and joy that is fitting for someone who associates planes with flights of imagination and adventure. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but she appears thrilled with her dreams and games…

up, up and away 

My closing shot is of the cursing chestnut guy who did NOT want me to shoot pictures. At least not after the first handful. Too many! He told me. Too many! Does he not know that it takes at least five bad ones to come up with one that is decent enough to post?

a lightbulb over chestnuts 

Choices

You’re in New York. You have 48 hours left in the city. The air is crisp, the skies are blue, the day is young. Anyone in his or her right mind would be on a subway zipping to some far corner of Manhattan to check out a gallery, or a place for brunch. Not me. I need to write something first. Insane? No, I have developed a blogger’s conscience.

New York can wait. Bright days are laughable anyway: they impose too much pressure on you to Take Full Advantage of them. I’ll wait ‘til the shadows settle in on the city. A comfortably oppressive darkness is far more consistent with what I expect from this place. In the meantime, the computer is open, the connection is good, I can read and write.

They're talking about her over in Britain

Ann Althouse and I began blogging about the same time (I beat her to it by a handful of days). We’ve each developed our own styles and we cling to our interests and slants sometimes with a fury. But I have said this before: Ann is a gracious blogger and she always shares in her tremendous success. While Ocean has remained small, almost flaunting its ridiculously expansive name, Althouse has grown and prospered (I don’t know if Ann herself has prospered yet, but her blog is bringing in readers by the thousands and so it’s only a matter of time, I’m sure, before you’ll see corporate giants vying for ad space in her margins). Today she is profiled over across the ocean, the real ocean. Here, I just want to add my own wee little congrats …and thanks. I’ll sign off with a photo of a corner of a MoMA painting.

finding the familiar in one small corner of a large canvas 

Out and about

The nice thing about living in a city is that on any major holiday or special events day, many will choose to go outside rather than sequester themselves inside their homes for the course of the day.

…So that rather than facing empty streets, you can always encounter crowds enjoying a walk in the park, or along any of the avenues. True, today’s temps (in the mid sixties) may have played a role in the push to be outside, but I think that even if it were below freezing, there would always be those who need to go out and pace for a minute or two, making the streets forever pleasantly crowded.

There are good reasons to stay indoors on a November late-afternoon, but there are also good reasons to go outside...

Let's hang out on fifth and do some people-watching 

A threatening day turns mild 

Taking to the streets 

After the high-brow comes the low-brow

In the late misty (try rainy) evening, I went with a two enthusiasts to watch Macy’s prepare the giant balloons for tomorrow’s parade. Forget mustering up excitement for the march down Central Park West on Thanksgiving Day – it’s all in the process of getting the show up and running.

Start with good instructions. And then, turn on the hot air. These may be the only characters in the world who are adored for the blast of air that makes them rise to the top of the world. Or at least to the top of CPW, and eventually Broadway.

You don't know how to blow up Ronald? You start with the head... 

Are we talking about balloons or politics? This guy got in front of my camera and ruined the balloon photo. Can I sue? I don't know, he's the mayor of NY, he may have connections...

Kermit, still groggy after a year in seclusion 

The foot, the worker trying to make it even bigger, and the sponsor 

A fifty-third street rhapsody, part 2

Too much! It is, indeed, too much!

The new MoMA is overwhelming! It is a combination of Getty and d’Orsay and who knows what else. Matisse, Miro, Magritte, Hopper, Dali, Klee, Pollock, O’Keefe, Monet, Warhol, Gaugin, Van Gogh, Rodin, Picasso – stop! Stop already! This concentration of magnificent art, all under one roof, just cannot be.

My immediate reaction? I think there are more Picasso paintings here than the man could ever have possibly painted.

I bought tickets for MoMA ahead of time. The Museum just reopened this week after years of renovation. I was sure there would be crowds. There were. They stood in line, I did not.

The space, take a look at the space: from how many angles can you catch the Waterlillies?

Alright, no more words, let me run through my photos – be prepared! I can’t cut out too many, it was a fantastic visit!

On the very top floor you can check out special exhibits, such as this one... 

But there are many levels. And they intersect in wondrous ways.

The crowds naturally congregate around the Starry Night 

Maybe if one looks at Matisse from this angle...

And what do you make of the Demoiselles d'Avignon? Hey dude... I've no idea... 

A professorial type will always read the notes and then stare endlessly at the painting... 

The Broken Obelisk and the perfect Waterlillies 

Dear little one, we're in a museum... see the color red? It's a painting... 

Over the river…

Holiday food shopping at Grace’s (of Balducci fame): $2.59 for a small bunch of parsley? – I say under my breath. What? – asks a curious rich thing next to me. Oh, nothing, I’m just remarking at the cost of parsley. It’s only $2.59 today, she responds reassuringly.

tight aisles, stuffed shelves, pushy shoppers, great food 

Why not go to the flagship Whole Foods on Columbus Circle? As of Sunday, the wait in line was estimated at an hour minimum.

On the way home, carrying the loaded bags of food for the next days, I am persuaded by two shopping companions to buy another holiday item: a small tree for the NY apartment. Which one? The cheapest, a real loser. The sales guy smiles and tells me : “Charlie Brown ain’t got nothin’ on this one!”

New York: a fifty-third street rhapsody, part 1

Destination for today: west 53rd street. I have such fond memories of west 53rd street. Between the ages of 10 and 13 it was probably the most frequented by me block in the entire city (apart from my home on east 46th and my school on east 70th). When I was not acting cool and walking with my transistor radio through Central Park, I was on west 53rd, spending hours there, mesmerized by the offerings.

A reader, thinking her(him)self to be a savvy New Yroker, is likely to be nodding in agreement (and at my precocity). Yeah -- that Museum of Modern Art is fantastic, isn't it?

In truth, I hardly ever went to MoMA. My place of worship and wonder was the building across the street: a branch of the NY Public Library.

I read every teen voulme on the shelves. It got to the point that the librarian would see me coming and look the other way, knowing that I would be disappointed to find nothing that I hadn't already digested, many times over. Precocious indeed -- in reading teen trash.

Once a Clark Kent, always a Clark Kent

The plane lands, I make my way to the phone booth for the great transformation. Goodbye sweet demeanor, hello metal-twisting, people-punching ms. fast-mouth, pushing her way to the front of the line.

Well, not exactly. First, what's this about a "sweet demeanor?" Not too long ago I was at a restaurant in Madison where my eating companion and I engaged in a joke before a poor, gullible waitress (I didn't start it, I swear!). When she found out that it was a tease, she displayed such hurt and bewilderment that we left with tails between legs, each blaming the other for being the meaner of the two. My only regret? That we didn't fully pull it off. Not too sweet, is it?

As for the metal-twisting, people punching bit-- not true either. When I land at La Guardia I am flooded with such effervescence that the immediate recipients of this ebullience, the cabbies, wish I would just shut up and stare at the decay around me. There's nothing worse than a chippper passenger straight off a flight from the Midwest to make 'em want to slam that little Plexiglas window between the front and the back-seat rider. With a bang.

What I like about being in New York though is this: no one stands out. Everyone is as weird as the next. If I limped along with a reptile wrapped around my neck no one would even notice. Complete anonymity in small doses is a good thing.

“Ah yes, I remember it well…”

I haven’t spent a Thanksgiving in NY since… (before you were born? maybe..) 1977. Back THEN, I went to see my parents who were temporarily residing in the city. My mom was not a turkey person and she liked to do things ‘against the tide,’ so that when the world was sitting down to cranberries and yams, we were most likely at the movies, ‘avoiding the crowds,’ as she would say. NOW I am certain to be cooking for the better part of Thursday, though yams still will not make an appearance at the table. Majority rules.

I haven’t been in NY since before the election…(before you were born? that would be odd). Back THEN, I was on the look out for Kerry signs and symbols of the changes we would surely see if and when he became president. The ‘when’ turned to ‘never’ and so NOW I will try to forget that the next time I face a November 2nd, I’ll still have three more years of…you know who.

Next posting: tomorrow, from New York.

An afternoon conversation with a Texas friend (in town for the turkey and a wedding) during which I learn something about family law

Hey, I am so sorry to be out of town and missing the wedding this week-end [of the off-spring of her husband].
It’s not a big deal. Just family and a few friends.

No, really, I hardly ever go to weddings anymore. I go to more divorces than weddings. So, is there going to be a rabbi or a judge or what?
Actually I am doing the ceremony.

You?? I mean, what do you know about marrying people??
Hey, I’ve been through two of my own weddings, I ought to know something.

And how is it that you are legally entitled to marry anyone? I teach this stuff: you need an officiating person and to my knowledge, you don’t fit the bill.
I’m a lawyer. Lawyers can apply to be Family Court Commissioners for a day so they can marry people.

You mean I could do this on the side? No kidding! I’d get to go to weddings and charge people for my presence! And what are you going to say? Dearly beloved, we are gathered here -- the whole bit?
I called Family Court and asked if there’s like a script or something that I could just read and they said no, I had to write it myself.

I’d go online and see what’s floating around.
Yes, I did that, and it’s all rather dated and old-fashioned and you know, corny. I’m just going to have to make it up as I go along.

Maybe it’s just as well that I can’t be there. I’d probably laugh or cause trouble.

In case you haven't been listening, I am a Varsovian

Further good reasons to be traveling to Warsaw in December:

…I suppose they’ll restore the electricity in Warsaw soon (cause of blackout: unknown)…
And I hear the airport is already open, blizzard notwithstanding…

They speak Polish there, don’t they?

Each year, it takes me a day or so to get used to speaking Polish again when I return there. I just lose the sublte inflection, the rapid fire “tak tak tak tak tak tak tak” that people answer when they want to say “yes” and mean it. So I’m clicking onto Polish newspapers on the Net to get used to it again, and I read the following title of one of the subsections: “Pani Renata …lider branzy cash and carry.” It translates as… well, obviously as “Ms. Renata…leader of the cash and carry branch.” How nice of everyone to stop speaking Polish just because I am coming…

I’m going to post the photo (of Ms. Renata) that accompanies the article (here), because I noticed that it is done by Konrad Pustola, son of a close university-days friend of mine:

Bookish Thoughts

As I was fixing my exciting dinner of scrambled eggs and put-by asparagus from the summer Market, I flicked on the National Book Awards, momentarily forgetting that the Awards were actually presented last Wednesday and this was merely a recap. The confusion became pronounced when they announced the winner for fiction (Lily Tuck) because suddenly I thought, wait a minute, this sounds familiar. Didn’t she win last year? Try last Wednesday, ye of feeble mind and even feebler memory.

But my post is about something else. Several small points were made in the course of the Awards Ceremony and before I turned the whole thing off (how can you take seriously an Awards Ceremony where half-way through, the host, Garrison Keillor, says “and now let’s all get to our dinner here; we’ll get back to the prizes after we’re done eating”), I did take note of the following: only 96 million Americans read any fiction whatsoever. The announcers thought this was tremendous. I thought it was paltry. Another stat: the vast majority of sold books are never read. Fine, I admit I am a sinner here: I covet fresh books like others covet microbrewery beer or a good night’s sleep. And I do not finish a number of them. But is it really the case that most purchased books aren’t even cracked to the first page?

In a sense it is a relief. If I ever write the First Great Novel, I needn’t worry about delivering my message with aplomb. All I need to do is cozy up to someone at Borders and get them to display it at one of the front tables and issue one of those store-people cards that says “hey, like wow! You really need to read this! It was a favorite here among the Café employees and the noon-crowd too!” To fully appreciate the import of such a statement you need only go one day to Borders at around twelve and take a look at the noon crowd.

Overwhelmed

Oscar is complaining about an overcrowded email Inbox. I am sympathetic. Mine has long crossed the 1000-message mark and since I have a separate Eudora program on my home computer, you might as well double that, because whatever folly guides me to preserve email in my office is perniciously at work at home as well.

Yes, I have files. The trouble is most email does not fit into the dozens and dozens of files that are already in place and I am loathe to add more because they are now scrolling off my screen, hence I am likely to forget all about them, let alone their content.

But this is not my point, because it is one Oscar has amply covered.

I just wanted to add that I am similarly beleaguered with regular mail****. A picture tells it all. Below, witness my mail from this week alone, and this is (like with important email) after I pulled out all urgent matters and items that are 100% trash. Of course, as a result of the onslaught of the “ambiguous and difficult to classify” mail, I am loathe to even approach my mailbox each day. And so oftentimes I just ignore it, resulting in the mailbox depicted below as of this morning (it is Sunday and yes, I am okay with the idea that the US Postal Service should not make deliveries on Saturdays and any other days it wants to call "postal holidays"):

****BTW: Last night I went to have dinner with a lovely couple (blogger friend!)***** and all I kept thinking was – I wonder where they hid their mail, because their counter was meticulously barren of a single shred of paper. The last time I myself had friends for dinner I hid my stacks as well (I have my secret hiding spots!) and then promptly forgot about them. Two weeks later, when the lights began to flicker, it struck me that I hadn’t written a check to MG&E recently. I’m not sure it was MG&E giving me the three-flicker notice, but I was grateful that something had jogged my memory to retrieve all that was buried in some forgotten
crawlspace.

***** Do yourself a favor and cook up the salmon chowder I was served (recipe here). Yum! I also wanted to devour (with an embrace!) the children. They don't come any sweeter.

I'll pay someone good money to come and tell me what I should do with all this. 

After I photographed it, I closed it and left it alone. I'll worry about it tomorrow. 

Message to women: speak loudly, but make yourself small in other ways… how sad. How true.

Ann scooped the link that I’d been thinking about all morning – the NYT interview with the Austrian Nobel laureate, Elfriede Jelinek.

Ann’s post highlighted the same paragraphs that sent me spinning (emph. my own):

I describe the relationship between man and woman as a Hegelian relationship
between master and slave. As long as men are able to increase their sexual value through work, fame or wealth, while women are only powerful through their body, beauty and youth, nothing will change. ...

A woman who becomes famous through her work reduces her erotic value. A woman is permitted to chat or babble, but speaking in public with authority is still the greatest transgression.

(You're suggesting that your achievements, like winning the Nobel Prize in Literature, detract from your overall appeal.)

Certainly! A woman's artistic output makes her monstrous to men if she does not know to make herself small at the same time and present herself as a commodity. At best people are afraid of her.

The interview has other disturbingly vivid assertions that Ann bypassed:

I consider the current presidency to be dangerous to the world. I am really afraid of Bush, actually less of him than of the deputies standing in the shadows behind him. Compared to their activities, even Thomas Pynchon's paranoid conspiracy theories are just children's books.

And finally there is an interesting speculation about the relationship between art and political engagement:

(Why do you suppose European artists are so much more politically engaged than American ones?)

The smaller a group, the easier it is for more people to argue and enter into discussions. The U.S. is vast. It's too large. The intellectuals hide out in enclaves, in big cities or universities, like a bunch of chickens hiding from a fox.

Sunday entertainment: let’s see what the British royalty is up to

Wouldn’t you know it, the Prince of Wales has gotten himself into a pickle, with a statement he issued concerning educational attainment. It seems that he had complained “ about a learning culture based on a child-centered system which admits no failure, that led people to believe they could succeed without work or talent.”

Well naturally he has to apologize. After all, critics right away interpreted the comments as “meaning people could not rise above their station.” So British to worry about stations!

But if I were to bet my shilling, I would say that the Prince was not thinking about station-attainment. Instead, mightn’t he have been following American elections and was now merely commenting on the ascent of our man George (such a British-sounding name, isn’t it?) to positions of leadership (“…people to believe they could succeed without work or talent”)?

And I’m not sure what I think of his rebuttal either. When he says “In my view it is just as great an achievement to be a plumber or a bricklayer as it is to be a lawyer or a doctor,” is he publicly manifesting his disdain for bricklayers and plumbers?

What day are we on anyway?

Another day at the computer, pounding away at a self-imposed assignment. Hours pass and I do not notice. Outdoors, there is a transition from morning dark, to noon light and finally late afternoon dark, but I am oblivious. The only marker I have of the passage of time is in the traffic that I see outside the front window: from neighbors (in their night gear) picking up newspapers (why do people subscribe to the WStJ?), to obsessive yard pruners whacking away at the trees, to a child’s birthday party across the street, with the usual rush of cars dropping off eager attendees and, two hours later, the pick up flood, with parents walking their tired young ones back to the car, bending over them, asking “did you have a good time?” and the kids, wanting to kick the shins of the adults who ripped them out of a good game of “destroy everything in the house,” answering “uh-huh.”

Some people really do prefer to have the snowdrifts and short days and long nights...

For the rest of us, it's always a countdown toward spring.

So why would I choose to travel to the place pictured below in a couple of weeks, when I still have roses blooming in my back yard?

No answers today, just questions.

Madison, November 20 2004 

Warsaw, November 20 2004

Poland is asserting herself and she has the swing votes to make a difference

For the American reader, it’s a small issue really: whether the EU should incorporate a certain patent directive (read here, via FistfulofEuros). But the important thing is that when Poland said “no,” the directive fell short of the needed votes and had to be scrapped.

As I understand it, companies pushing for it suffered a lost opportunity to basically patent any and all computer software. Internet users and innovators who build on existing programming models were the beneficiaries. But what really tickled me was to see Poland championing the public interest. A statement to be proud of:

"The questionable compromise that the EU Council reached in May was the biggest threat ever to our economic growth, and to our freedom of communication," said Wladyslaw Majewski, president of the Internet Society of Poland. "The desire of the patent system and the patent departments of certain large corporations must never prevail over the interests of the economy and society at large."

Looking cool and feeling crappy

Oscar over at ColumnistManifesto analogizes cell phone patter to cigarette puffing. Both fill a void, both create an impression of connectedness. One is disgusting. The other is, a replacement for what medicine has forced us to reject.

But wait. Does anyone ever actually enjoy talking on a cell phone? I never really took to cigarettes and I don’t really take to cell phones either, but still, I did so want to love cigarettes (this is before studies labeled them as Certain Death, even in instances where the smoker is 100 feet removed from you). They were such great pauses in life – they transitioned you from one event to another, they let you take stock, to inhale not so much the smoke, but the moment…

Too bad they always made me feel so crappy. I was glad (some 30 years ago) when they went into disfavor. I was no longer torn between the love for the sport of it and the hatred for the physical effect.

But cell phones – who will take these instruments away from me and tell me they should be banished? Sure, I love them, indeed. There are people whom I would rarely talk to if it weren’t for the cell. But at the same time, I feel ill when it cackles and dies, when it rings at inopportune times, when I pass through areas where it seems just not to work.

Clearly I need a replacement. Should we reconsider chewing gun?

A peachy predicament for our man Tony

The Guardian is reporting (via Europhobia) that a motion has been put forth before the Parliament to impeach Tony Blair for his "gross misconduct" in Iraq. Chances of its success are small, but it is a strong statement, given that no such motion has been entertained in Britain for close to 200 years.

And if you are not a member of Parliament but would still like your voice heard on this, you are directed to an online petition (at impeachblair.org) where you can sign the following statement:

"I wish to see Tony Blair impeached and required to answer in the Court of Parliament that he repeatedly and substantively misled the people into the Iraq War of 2003 while choosing to remain in office when he is in clear violation of the traditional convention of ministerial resignation."

While the British are debating the propriety of impeachment based on misleading statements that led the country into armed conflict, we’re debating the propriety of not including more materials and evidence of the Lewinsky scandal in the “impeachment” exhibit of the Clinton Library.

I knew it: the reason airfares have gone up is because there’s too much junk food out there

As if there weren’t enough reasons to promote healthy eating and proper exercise, here’s another: staying with a sensible diet will reduce the cost of flying and cut back on fuel emissions.

From the IHT today:

[A] report from the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, published in the American Journal of Preventive Medicine … said that "an obesity epidemic" among Americans has had "unexpected consequences beyond direct health effects." Throughout the 1990s, the average weight of Americans increased by 10 pounds, or 4.5 kilograms, causing airlines to spend $275 million on an extra 350 million gallons of fuel just to carry the extra weight, the agency says. The extra fuel burned caused an estimated 3.8 [million] tons of carbon dioxide to be released into the air.

[UPDATE: The numbers are editorially corrected by me thanks to the very clever reader who did the math and determined that the IHT article had missed the word "million" in the transcription.]

Le Beaujolais Nouveau est arrivé !

So scream today's headlines across France's vineyard-studded landscape.

Oh, the rituals to get us through the hefty, dark, dank months of winter! Let’s play! –say the French. It’s the 3rd Thursday of November. We are allowed to uncork the 2004 Baujolais vintage.

Over the years I have responded to the call. I mean, why not? The wine is so young, so damn fresh! So UNprofound. Simple. Playful. I go over to Steve’s on this Thursday and have the same conversation: so guys, which one has the best color, the nicest tones this year? And they whisper conspiratorily – this one! (I wonder how they know? You are not allowed to open it before this day… were they nipping at the bottle while I was brewing my café au lait in the morning?)

To play games and engage in frivolity! How appropriate. How utterly harmless. How French.

If it hadn’t been for my entry into the world of blogs…

...I cannot emphasize this enough:
Much about this day in my life would be different.
Much of my food intake would be different.
Much of my social life would be different.

For one thing, I would not have two blogger dinners in one week (one last night, one ahead).
What does this say about me? That I only eat with people who blog? That I only meet people who blog? That there is a shadowy, sinewy connection between the keyboard and a dinner plate so that blogging, eating and talking all inevitably converge to form a harmonious and agreeable experience?

Did I say harmonious convergence? Consider last night, when Althouse, Brito, Camic and Freese set out to chomp and chat and huddle in a booth at Griglia T. There was a bit of a muddle over the huddle as we had a Freese-near-no-show (only Brito threats of a Freese expulsion from the tight circle of Bascom Bloggers caused him to reconsider and make an appearance, albeit without a repentant attitude) and a delay in the start of the evening (Althouse hair was at issue, as was Camic's declining insider- status at Griglia T., which, together, resulted in almost no food for Freese who was in a hurry to leave -- he had a singing engagement elsewhere, and almost no booth for all of us).

And how amicable was the evening anyway? I would say that all generously partook of punching at each other over pasta. Such phrases as “Stop saying that!” “Shut up!” and “Don’t you know how to tell time?” were bandied about with abandon.

What do bloggers talk about? Well, I have the reputation of introducing steamy elements into any conversation, but I think it’s safe to say that the three donnas were well behaved until Freese left at which time we did, momentarily, focus our attention on the waiter. It was hot in the booth, wasn’t it, Brito?

As to the blogger dinner later this week? I’m aiming for tame. Really truly. Though I may be out of practice.

Since November 2nd, every morning I read something that attests to the growing rift between my home continent and my adopted country

Today is no exception. In the IHT alone, I read this (emph. my own):

PARIS Ensuring that relations with the United States and Britain will remain cool, President Jacques Chirac of France said in a televised interview Wednesday that the world was a more dangerous place because of the American-led invasion of Iraq … The unvarnished tone of Chirac's remarks surprised many people in normally discreet diplomatic corridors of Europe. … His strong words are likely to resonate with people in other European countries, particularly Germany, where frustration with American foreign policy runs high. … Chirac's disdain for the Bush administration was striking.

One could argue that Chirac is seeking to align Europe behind France and that anti-Bush statements are the easiest method of accomplishing this. How wonderful that we have given Chirac fodder for his political agenda! Bush, as the force behind a more unified Europe, in addition to the more unified (in their opposition to us) Islamic states... And who said the man doesn’t have international appeal?

And lest you think that it’s only the Europeans who are muddying the diplomatic waters, you can find ample evidence that we, too haven’t lost our edge in addressing the problems of those across the ocean. Why should we lift a finger to assist the Euro after all? They wanted a unified Europe, let them eat their baguettes! Read (also in the IHT) this:

LONDON U.S. Treasury Secretary John Snow on Wednesday warned Europeans not to expect help from Washington in slowing the ascent of the euro, whose rise to a record against the dollar added pressure on a wobbly Continental economic recovery. … In a speech here, Snow appeared to rule out any prospect of coordinated intervention in the currency markets and suggested that Europe ought to address its own economic problems, rather than looking to Washington.

I am so glad we have a uniter and not a divider here at home.

It's better to give...

You can tell the holidays are around the corner by the quantity of paper in your mailbox and by the friendly email reminders from retailers with whom you do business.

And so here it is, a little note this morning from J.Crew, taking me aside and whispering, hey, between you and me, we know why you give presents. The subjeact line reads thus:

Give more, get more this holiday season!

Cuts to the chase, doesn't it?

What redeeming qualities does one find in someone who avoids the law by hiding out abroad, and then uses the law to file a claim of slander?

BBC is reporting that Polanski, who is living in France to avoid facing a sentence for a conviction for a child sex offense in the States, wants to appear on video in a law suit, filed on his behalf in Britain against Vanity Fair. The 71-year old Polish-born director sued the magazine for libel. He has been on the run since leaving the States in 1977. If he travels to Britain he may face extradition.

His lawyer states: This leaves the case in a mess and a situation where a defendant can get away with libel scot-free.

Get away scot-free? Nice argument, Mr. Polanski.

The important things in life

I was working out this morning at the gym, reading a FOOD magazine (crazy, I know), and I came across this question (see poll below). It hit me right there in the gut. Because I really do not know how I would, myself, answer it. Right now I'm thinking I need every point to get me through each day. I'm thinking -- maybe I would even give up eating altogether for two extra points. I could have used them, for example, last night at around midnight when the brain was working at reduced speed. But what about you? Be honest in your answer, please! I've never done a blog-poll, but I am supremely curious as to what my readers would say.

Extra extra: the Daily Show does…NOT scoop anything

Tom Brokaw is interviewed on the Daily Show tonight.
Tom Brokaw reveals that he was surprised by the popular vote.
Jon Stewart misses an opportunity. Brokaw is about to give his opinion on the candidates and Stewart cuts in to tell a lame joke. Dang!

Tom Brokaw mentions bloggers.

Tom Brokaw says to Stewart: You were absolutely right to say what you did (on Crossfire).

I would so rather Rather were leaving network news than Brokaw. Life is not fair.
And it is, I suppose, unfair that I love Stewart anyway, even if he did miss an opening for a Brokaw political revelation.

If it wasn't so funny, it would be scary: I am a New Yorker. At least to an extent.

Thanks to that screaming New Yorker in our building (TB), I found myself taking the "Are you a real New Yorker" quiz on the Time Out NY website (here).

I have only one comment: you indeed have NY in your blood (whether you've been there, lived there, rotted there, or bypassed it altogether) if you can check this one off:

[] You find this quiz hilariously funny for no good reason and you recommend it to all your friends.

I applaud Hardee’s for having the guts to market a silent killer to indulge our penchant for slow death

I’m so glad I had the news on tonight. I would not have otherwise known that corporate ingenuity would steer a company to create something that would pander to the most vile cravings harbored by man, woman and child.

Why else introduce the “monster thick-burger," with slabs of bacon, cheese and mayo, all worth a hefty 1420 calories (basically my needed daily intake if I am having a slow-moving day, or, as is reported here, enough calories to feed a family of three in many countries) and that’s before the soda and fries. One person commented that what we have is quintessential food porn. The SUV of burgers.

All we need now is to pack it up and ship it off to Europe (along with our SUVs). Maybe offer it as a food snack in high school cafeterias in France?

Make new friends ... keep the old ... one is silver ... other is gold

I could use a couple like that: friends that could be trusted to say "you are so cooooool, Nina! Yeah! you know those chumps who call you a lazy bum? What do they know? You want to stay in bed all day and skip class? Go for it! You want to kick ass and call your neighbors pigs? Yeah!" no matter what I did, they'd be there breaking champagne bottles over my chosen path, no matter what, no matter when. Mmmmmm... old friends. Friends that can be counted on to never question my superior knowledge of the world and my fanciful behavior. Gonzalez-type friends. Rice-type friends.

Half-listening to NBC news, I hear the usual about Condoleezza Rice’s nomination to the position of Secretary of State (all emphases in post are my own):

[She is] America’s face to the world. … Chosen to serve the president. …
She is charged with cleaning out the moderates … [She has] a chance to build on what [Bush has] already done…

And then on the Lehrer News hour I hear her shower GWB with praise. Did you know that under his leadership, "we have widen[ed] the circle of prosperity in every corner of the world" ?

Meanwhile, I read (here) this letter posted by her former colleague at Stanford back in 2002 (he received no response):

Dear Condi,
I'm 99.99% sure that my writing this letter will have no effect, but my conscience tells me to write it anyway. Danziger's cartoon has pushed me out of my lethargy. [His cartoon shows her banging on a grand piano, saying "War! War! War!"]

When I knew you at Stanford I had the greatest admiration for your abilities and good sense. (And I was disappointed that we never were able to get together to play four-hands music.) But now I cannot help but express to you my chagrin that the warm feelings I once had have basically evaporated. I hope you can pause to try to understand why this might be the case.

Fundamentally I don't see how the government of my country has done anything whatsoever to address and correct the root causes of international terrorism. Quite the contrary; every action I can see seems almost designed to have the opposite effect --- as if orchestrated to maximize the finances of those who make armaments, by maximizing the number of people who now hate me personally for actions that I do not personally condone.
...
And worst of all, I find that my leaders, including you, are calling for war against a sovereign nation that we suspect to be corrupt, thereby (even if our suspicions are correct) undermining all precedents against unilateral action by other countries who might in future decide that our own policies are wrong. If we peremptorily strike country X, why shouldn't country X have a right to do the same to us, and to our children and grandchildren in future years?

On my trips to Europe all I can do is hope that my friends there can help their governments try to make somebody in my own government act responsibly.

Sincerely,
Don Knuth

P.S. This is the second time in my life that I have written a letter to a U.S. government official. The first time was during the Vietnam war.

Now Knuth, notable and respected author that he is (eg. The Art of Computer Programming) -- he's no friend. He's more like my band of friends, ready to speak up whenever I misbehave. What fun is that??

My shoulders are sagging

I was a senior in high school in Poland in 1968, a mere 23 years after the end of World War II. The history teacher who taught us the Nuremberg Trials that year had her own personal accounts of the war to insert into the lesson. I wonder if I can express how it feels to have the following appear on the Net (via HS -- thank you), circulating now, 36 years later, to demonstrate historic parallels between then and now:

"Naturally, the common people don't want war, but after all, it is the leaders of a country who determine the policy and it is always a simple matter to drag people along whether it is a democracy, or a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship. Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. This is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and for exposing the country to danger. It works the same in every country." Hermann Goering, Commander in Chief of the Luftwaffe (the second man in the Third Reich), at the Nuremberg Trials.

For better or for worse, my generation ofPoles has always lived in the shadow of the war. After all, it was a war that ransacked our families and destroyed more than 90% of the city where I was born. "Never Again," I heard it over and over again during my Warsaw years.

There was still rubble in the Warsaw of my childhood, but there were no war planes threatening our safety. My generation was taught to listen: we would be the keepers of history, we needed to hear what had happened moments before we were born. And we were good listeners. We remember it all: every last story, every last reason offered for the horror that swept over the European continent and especially Poland.

And so I really cannot emphasize enough how shaken we are -- we the keepers of history, because I think we did not properly recount that which was taught to us. We did not link the past into a future for our children. Instead, we became members of a voting public that did not hear us, but instead, through a democratic process, elected a leader who chose to go to war, without apology, without reconsideration, without remorse.

Coincidentally, also today, I received an email from another friend. She is reading William James (on the subject of the Spanish-American War) and finds that he has this to say:

"The deadliest enemies of nations are not their foreign foes; they always dwell within their borders. And from these internal enemies civilization is always in need of being saved. The nation blest above all nations is she in whom the civic genius of the people does the saving day by day, by acts without external picturesqueness; by speaking, writing, voting reasonably; by smiting corruption swiftly, by good temper between parties; by the people knowing true men when they see them, and by preferring them as leaders to rabid partisans or empty quacks. Such nations have no need of wars to save them."

Shake a few trees and out flies local talent

I went to eat dinner at Crescent City Grill with Chef O from l’Etoile and a bunch of summer L’Etoilers to celebrate the end of the most successful season ever (on a ripe summer Saturday, they would sell 1700 croissants and I may have lugged 1700 lbs of fruit, though the latter is probably only in my perception of things).

We chatted with the Crescent City chef afterwards and I have to put in a plug for the place. You can go there on a Monday and get a degustation menu (the chef serves you whatever he damn pleases) of many fantastic courses for a price that would make a New Yorker gawk in amazement. And the food is far from ho-hum boring or conventional. Forget good manners: run your finger through some of the sauces on your plate (or on the plate of your neighbor) and give it a good lick: sensational! The preparations are cool and creative. [You think that's just standard food talk? I don't think so. 99% of eateries around here are anything but creative. Tasty? Sure. Creative? Not so much] And, just to keep my favorite descriptors in place -- it's all so fresh and honest.

I also talked to someone (Gail) who has been paying her bills as a L’Etoile baker (yes, a familiar pattern), but who has recently opened a chocolate shop of her own – the realization of a life-long dream. You absolutely must visit her website and/or her small little retail outlet and buy the stuff now, before the limos from distant places pull up and beat you to it. Her chocolates are like no other chocolates you’ll find on this side of the Mississippi. Sophisticated and clever, the Ambrosius will (I am certain of this) eventually knock the socks off the other (Seattle-based) chocolatier of choice (Fran’s). Someone did you a favor lately? Send them a small box from GailAmbrosius.com You’ll be forever their hero.

Steamy notes on quiet nights

Last week I was telling my senior colleague how much I loved my Astor Piazzola CD (you know, the tango guy from Argentina). Did I ever read the album notes to some of his records and CDs – my colleague asked. No, can’t say that I have. I just like playing it in the background, especially when I am writing – it is so sensuously moody, a melancholy kind of music.

Today I opened an email from my colleague and there they were: program notes from some of the albums I did not have. They came with a suggestion to drink wine, listen to the music and read them out loud (presumably to someone). I am alone at the moment and if I drink wine I wont be able to work or do whatever I have set forth for myself tonight, so I’ll just share the notes with the blog readers. Remember the dry language that typically accompanies classical recordings? Piazzola is every bit a classical artist (this recording is from the 1960s I believe). But read this and tell me if you find it boring (if you are prudish, skip this post):

Album notes to Astor PIazzola y su Quinteto Tango Nuevo: Hora Zero (listen to it here)

Strip to your underwear if you’re not in black ties. Get obscene if you want, but never casual. You feel an urge? Touch its pain, wrap yourself around it. Don’t put on airs. What you seem must be what you are, and what you are is a mess, honey, but that’s okay, as long as you wear it inside. Look sharp! Don’t slouch. See anyone slouching here? Stay poised, taut. Listen to your nerves. It’s zero hour. Anxiety encroaches, wave after wave, with every squeeze of the bandoneon. Already twisted by the contraposto of uprightness and savagery, this new tango turns the screw even tighter with its jazz dissonances and truncated phrasings. No relief. No quarter. At zero hour only passion can save you… It’s all a game. You’re going to play too. You’re going to dance with the tiger. Don’t worry, your life is in danger. Remember your instructions. Listen up. And suffer, m*****f*****, this is the tango.

Man, they don’t write them like they used to!

"They are a symbol of power without responsibility, and that's what we feel about you guys right now"

This statement about SUVs (and Americans) was made by a professor of transport psychology at a university in Edinburgh (IHT story here).

SUVs are a fairly recent phenomenon in Europe. Driving around tight spaces in old cities and the astronomical cost of gas do not, for the most part, invite large-car ownership. But slowly, SUVs are making their way into the automobile market across the ocean amidst the protest and dismay of many. Read this (emph. my own):

European wariness of SUVs is expressed in different ways. In Rome, the city government has proposed charging SUV owners triple the regular rate for permits to drive in the historic city center. ... [T]he feeling goes, there is just no room for the unwieldy and intimidating SUVs.
The city's transportation commissioner, Mario Di Carlo, said that, if he could, he would put up signs saying, "Please don't come here with these cars."

"I don't want to be like Freud, but SUVs are a projection, a compensating thing," Di Carlo said in an interview. "They're when you want to show how rich, how powerful, how tall, how big you are."

..."SUV drivers are less respectful of other people - you can tell by the way they drive," Di Carlo said. "They park on the sidewalks. Mobility is freedom, but these cars in cities mean immobility, and someone has to have the guts to say it."

...In London, where SUVs are known derisively as "Chelsea tractors," after an upscale neighborhood in which they are especially thick on the road, Mayor Ken Livingston recently dismissed their drivers as "complete idiots."

Drivers report having rude things shouted at them by pedestrians, and a group called the Alliance Against Urban 4x4s has taken to slapping fake tickets on parked SUVs, citing them for poor vehicle choice... "People who see Hummers driving around think, 'Oh, disgusting Americans,"' said Sian Berry, a founding member of the group. "We're saying that what happened in America must not be allowed to happen here."

I sense a lot of displaced anger in this charge. In general, the more you read the international presses, the more you sense that the relationship between the US and Europe needs a nice long session on a shrink's leather couch. Of course, as in a dysfunctional marriage, it'll be the children of both who will be paying the price for years to come.

Starting the week with an up-beat story

Several of my friends are dating these days. Looking to find a partner in life, they turn to me with questions that I find difficult to answer: should I call him if he hadn’t called me? Should I bother, given the fact that he is shorter than I am? How should I interpret his email behavior, or lack thereof?

Recently everyone has been talking about the book He’s Just Not That Into You. Amidst the cacophony of reactions I hear one that stands out: since the beginning of time, men like to be the chasers. Do not bother calling: if he wants to see you he’ll call back. Add a few other conventional wisdoms: men don’t like smart women and women don’t like short men and you’ve limited your universe of acceptable dating behaviors considerably.

It’s all good advice I’m sure. I mean, what do I know about American men anyway.

Yet, last night, someone pointed me to a true story that breaks from the gaggle of noise about the one right way to date. (You can also find it if you follow the link from the salon.com story on dating short men here.) Sure, you can adhere to the *sound* advice of He’s Just Not That Into You. Or not. Here is an excerpt from a wedding announcement appearing in the New York Times:

The bride and bridegroom met two years ago at a dinner party. It was a few days after Ms. Schonfeld had taken the bar exam, and she was so exhausted that she fell asleep on a couch, awakening only after everyone else had left.

Even asleep, Ms. Schonfeld, stretching to 5-foot-10, made an impression on Mr. Leib. He made an impression, too, not only, she said, because he is ''notably short'' -- he is 5-foot-6 -- but also ''notably smart,'' with a disregard for small talk.

Even when she told him she thought she recognized him from a high school hockey game, she said, he seemed to have his mind on other things. ''I thought it was kind of neat,'' she said.
Mr. Leib acknowledged that he can seem brusque, adding, ''I have a tendency to be that way upon first impression.''

Two months later, through their dinner party host, a date was arranged.
''It seemed almost experimental to date someone who was four inches shorter than me,'' Ms. Schonfeld said with a laugh.

Mr. Leib said he wore his ''tall shoes.'' And as their first date extended to six hours, they discovered they had something in common worth talking about: both had engaged in comically bad behavior in previous relationships.

With that kind of history, Mr. Leib recalled, he was not certain either of them would want a second date.

Rather than call, he sent her an e-mail message, concluding, he said, ''Of course I should never see you,'' and ''of course I'm way too short for you.''

But she was not quite ready to walk away, she said.
''He was so emotionally intelligent about where he was coming from and what he was thinking,'' she noted. ''We were both so incredibly frank with each other. That was quite impressive to me.''

So she called him.

So ends the wedding announcement, so begins their life together. Sweet and unconventional, just the way it should be.