Ennui and anomie

My first six hours back in Madison were spent:

* Cooking an elaborate meal for myself in an effort to counter the notion that women only like to cook for others. However, the meal had no natural ending. I kept adding courses. Dessert was particularly long lasting. [resolve: beginning September 1st, I will get up and leave the kitchen after consuming what seems appropriate for one sitting – perhaps one tenth of what I ate last night.]

* Watching the Republican Convention on public television (it could not have been more boring) from beginning to the end. [resolve: beginning September 1st, the kitchen TV is being unplugged and the CD player is going to have a revolving stack of classy music playing non-stop from the moment I enter the house.]

* Writing emails to random service providers complaining about inadequate service. [For instance, at the Detroit Airport yesterday, the Internet connection was intermittent. As a result, a blog post that should have been written in 15 minutes took much longer, as it kept getting lost. In the end I never finished putting up the post and boarded the Madison-bound plane 3 minutes before take off, much to the disgruntlement of EVERYONE on board the full flight. The Internet provider got a long email detailing my issues. I did get a lengthy response this morning. Perhaps we have the beginnings of a stimulating email correspondence.]

* Calling/writing people and asking what they ate for dinner. [resolve: I wont call or email anymore; too pathetic. I will use the evening hours to learn a new language.]

It is hard going from months of having many willing conversationalists around you (in and out of the house) to being stripped of the opportunities to talk. Had I been, say, in Italy last night, you would have found me at the local piazza, sharing a meal and catching up with the locals. Here, the locals are all behind their locked doors, themselves watching the Republican Convention or doing who knows what. Every part of me rebels against this mode of being at the same time that I realize I am fighting a losing battle. Still, it is the first of the month. Surely I will hatch a plan that will transform this frozen universe into something more sociable and friendly. Surely.

New York – my second home for the year

[This was written on the flight out of NY this afternoon]

Today, I checked out the place where I’ll be spending not a small number of days this year. I have no complaints – it’s a nice contrast to the slower-paced, quiet neighborhood in Madison.

Recently, someone pointed out to me that I should consider myself more of a New Yorker than a Varsovian, since I have lived an equal number of years in both, but with some of those Warsaw years being awfully young ones, thus hardly memorable. Nonetheless, I am hesitant. How can I say that I am of hardy peasant stock and a New Yorker at the same time? And my adolescence – that was completely spent in Warsaw. You are from the place of your first great adolescent love, aren’t you? Mine resided in Warsaw.

Okay, so I’m not a New Yorker. But I do like the city and I especially like that in my new ‘home’ I can look out and see this:

patio view 

…and I can walk out of the high rise…

home, one-third way up 

...and see this:

each one unique... 

And around one corner, I can look down this avenue (Okay New Yorkers, go to it and guess which one!):

a quick photo, before the on-coming cars kill me 

...and on the other side of the block there is this:

around the corner from my new, part-time home 

BTW, on the commuter train ride from New Haven my bags were sniffed by dogs, and the trooper onboard had so many guns, sticks and cell phones that I can’t imagine he would possibly remember what was were.

Later, as my cab pulled up to the tollgate at the Triborough Bridge (en route to La Guardia), I took out my digital camera to review the handful of photos I had taken in New York. The toll guard instantly demanded that I put away my camera during the ride over the bridge, for security reasons. Then, in a lovely tone reserved for the naïve, first-time-in-NY tourist he asked me “is this your first visit to New York ma’am? Did you have a good time in the big city?” I said yes to both with what I hope was a big, wide-eyed look, and a swipe through my hair to catch, you know, those remaining wisps of hay from back home in Wisconsin. New Yorkers, knock it off! You’re way too smug.

Blogger dinner comment (written in transit, in Detroit)

In my previous post, I fretted about what to feed the bloggers who are to dine at my place this Thursday. Thanks, all, for the suggestions. Yes, yes, surely there’ll be something Italian. Obviously. I’m all about Italian food at the moment. But I also appreciated the tip from the one reader who wrote: “Scrambled eggs, tea and toast. That's what my mother made for me when I was sick and cranky and fussy and wouldn't eat normal food.” A clever plan. If I lose my creative impulse, I should just reach for the eggs. But is that going to be problem-free? Can’t you just see a blogger nose turned up at eggs that are too runny or too hard or too fried or too something? And I know for a fact that one of the bloggers hates tea. NOTHING is easy anymore.

A blogger dinner – coming up!

If you cook dinner for people, you want them to be into the food and so in anticipation of a blogger dinner at my house later this week, I polled the bloggers about their food preferences.

At first, I got a timid “just about anything is fine!”-type response. But take note of what happens once just one person reports a preference (To protect the bloggers, I’ll refer to them as P, Q & R):

P writes “I'm pretty flexible, but I hate two foods: coconut and scallops. Hating coconut is a childhood article of faith. That scallops are vile is an adult realization.”

Q contributes, ever so kindly: “You are unlikely to serve the things that I don't like, like clams on the half shell. I tried them once and it took over 24 hours to get that vomit-inducing taste out of my mouth. Cook whatever you want. I don't have many food restrictions and you are a good cook. You'd probably make lima beans taste good to me.”

R pipes up: “My hated food list is short, and P has already named one at/near the top: coconut. But also: squash; beets; anything with even a nanogram of coffee flavoring; green tea ice cream. Just typing all those in such short succession has caused me to shudder. Otherwise, and except for the whole pescatarian thing, I'm quite flexible.”

FLEXIBLE??

P responds and I concur, that R seems to be dissing seafood. R clarifies that this is not the case. No meat, but critters that swim appear to be fine.

However, all this food-talk has unleashed Q, who now says: “I just want to add that I hate coconut too. I like most fish and *some* [nc: emphasis added] shellfish. And I love red meat. Please, no brussel sprouts, peas or okra. But, really, make whatever you like. [nc:?????!!!!!] Would it be too much trouble to make separate meals for me, P and R?”

P summarizes this exchange nicely: “This thread seems like the lyrics to a Stephen Sondheim song or "Yes, I remember it well." The refrain is all about how you can make what you want and we're flexible, we'll eat anything, but the verses keeps listing of all the various things we don't like.”

Okay, readers, tell me, what should I make for this “flexible” group of bloggers? I’m just a wee-little cook, trying to keep her diners happy. Ah well, I asked for it. I really did want to know.

A last look at New Haven…for the time being

I’m biding my time here, waiting to switch briefly to New York and then to hustle back to Madison tomorrow, in time for the beginning of the Fall semester (did anyone besides me think classes started on Wednesday?).

I’ve been coming to New Haven twice a year – end of August and mid-October, for some six years now. I’m a fan. New Haven, though technically smaller than Madison (NH pop = 120, 000, split evenly between different racial groups), feels like a city. Consider these scenes. City, through and through.

the hot dog stand, a crowded dowtown, is anything missing? 

so much "city" in this place: brownstones, no yards, great walking possibilities 

Today I took a break to roam the Italian neighborhood which is somewhat removed from the campus and the downtown area. It isn’t large, but it has a great deal of ethnic pride. It may be one of the few places left where Columbus Day still is a big deal. Did I mention the cookies already?

Little Italy, New Haven style 

From Libby's Italian bakery: so good to snack on...