How is it possible to eat four entire chickens at one sitting?

Gerard Depardieu the French actor-turned-restaurateur can do it (see photo). In the Times article (here) about his new Paris restaurant, Depardieu is described as a foodie and a gourmand (not the same thing! The former – loves to eat well, paying attention to latest trends in the preparation of food; the latter—loves to explore all aspects of food).

Of course, celebrity-owned eating places are rather suspect. A true foodie would probably want to avoid some of these: Aykroyd’s funky House of Blues on Sunset Strip, Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Schazi on Main in Santa Monica, Steven Spielberg’s former place, Dive!, Kevin Costner’s Clubhouse, Peter Fonda’s Thunder Roadhouse, and Jennifer Lopez’s new Madre's in Pasadena. Why? Because none of our film stars get their elbows dirty. I don’t think Scharzenegger or Lopez ever go back into the kitchen to check on the food prepping or plating.

By contrast, the NYT writes about Depardieu thus:

He is a formidable cook who will whip up a whole roast pig for a casual lunch. He is a respected vintner who owns more than a dozen vineyards around the world and personally oversees the harvest and production at several. He wanders through foreign markets discovering local specialties, many of which he smuggles into France. He meanders freely into restaurant kitchens, eats whatever is stewing on the stove and peppers the chefs with questions: why are they cooking so-and-so, where does it come from and why are they making it that way?

Gourmands aren’t in it for the money. They’re in it for the food.

Our president is energetic, caring and community-focused

I am thinking, of course, of the president-elect of the Wisconsin State Bar (interview with her here), Michelle Behnke. A young Madison-based solo-practitioner, Michelle is one of those energetic people you can’t stand having around because they always manage to do more than you. I remember writing her an email once asking questions about a non-profit that I was thinking of setting up. She responded with a long, encouraging outline of some possible steps for me to consider. Free guidance –so rare in our profession.

She has chosen diversity and pro bono work as the two themes for her term in office (Michelle is the first woman of color to be elected president and she fully intends to generate a discussion about race and ethnic issues in the State Bar). Her comments about pro bono work are well taken: people outside the Bar forget that civil cases do not entitle a party to free legal counsel. In my years of working with parents in abuse and neglect cases it was difficult to understand how parents could be forced to go to court for hearings concerning the removal of their children and not have access to legal counsel, yet that is the legal reality in Wisconsin (a legacy of the Tommy Thompson years).

Good leaders can be hard to come by. It’s nice to feel enthusiastic about the presidential office again.

Spring Update

The grass outside is magnificently green and the helleborus orientalis is blooming its big puffy white-pink-green blooms! The rabbits are also proliferating, which is not good. They eat a good part of my crop of perennials each year. For me, the only half-way effective measure is to put cotton balls soaked in 100% fox urine near the plants that I want to protect, but it is a disgusting strategy. Ah well, it’s that or waking up the each morning to a new batch of stems with missing flower heads.

A salty conversation with Blix

The NYTimes Magazine’s interview with the former UN inspector Hans Blix comes at a bad moment for Bush given the current Clarke controversy. I know most of my readers do glance at the Magazine themselves, but if you bypassed this, at least read these snippets:
[context: Blix, once in agreement with the administration about weapons, reversed himself when inspections of the best possible sites revealed nothing; the interviewer commented at the end that Blix’ conversational style was ‘salty’—by which I suppose she meant that Blix seemed spicy rather than bland.]

Q: You never met [Saddam Hussein]?
A: He considered it far below his dignity to meet any sort of lowly creatures like international inspectors.

Q: Can one say the same of certain leaders in democratic countries? Wasn’t Vice President Cheney equally dismissive of you?
A: The Pentagon and Cheney have been very negative toward inspections. Cheney said inspections are useless at best.

Q: …you met with the president in the Oval Office?
A: It didn’t look very oval to me at the time, but I didn’t pay much attention. It was Colin Powell, Cheney and Bush and others—and a note taker! [He had earlier stated that no note takers were offered to the inspectors] They had one on their side and we had none on ours!

Q: Couldn’t you just have jotted down a few notes on the pad?
A: It’s not the decorum when you meet the president. You have to concentrate on the conversation.

Q: What was Bush like?
A: He was agile, moving, moving in the chair, especially compared to Cheney.

Q: Who, I suppose, seems more wooden.
A: Yes, the rumors that Cheney is alive are somewhat exaggerated. It’s Mark Twain in reverse.
[referring to Twain’s comment that the rumors of his death were greatly exaggerated.]
…..
Q: What do you think of John Kerry?
A: I welcome his attitude toward multilateral cooperation. I think he is trying to get back to the traditional US attitudes.

Q: What do you make of the presidential race?
A: I think maybe we foreigners should have the right to vote in your next election, since we are so dependent on you.

Good point.

Madison is a one-movie-kinda-town

(don’t bother with this post if you aren’t interested in Eternal Sunshine)

A number of UW Madison bloggers whose blogs I track (here, here, here and again here) saw Eternal Sunshine this week. Obviously this is a small town and everyone sees only one movie each week and it is the same movie, because, indeed, I saw it as well.

It’s easy to get yourself thinking that this is a story about real emotions, as experienced by you and me. It’s a movie that casts shadows of human traits onto the audience, so that you find yourself embracing the reluctant, shy, introvert Joel, and applauding the tenacity and spunk of the wild and zestful Clementine.

You could say, however, that Joel and Clementine are not at all different: they are both Very Needy People. Sure, the film makes Clementine out to be generous and kind, bestowing her affect on a guy who knows not how to “live.” She is the rescuer, the golden light of dawn for him.

But why do we buy into this characterization? Could it be that Clementine is quite the opposite: a brazen woman who needs attention, picking on men who are likely to be attracted to her display of charisma? And Joel, her male friend: mightn’t he be a drifter, refusing to take emotional responsibility for any of the women (what ever happened to his poor left-behind Naomi)? It’s interesting how this quiet, staid guy has a bit of anger within him. Certainly Clementine does as well. They each have a past, only at these early stages of their relationship (and we are always viewing it as it is just beginning) it remains underground. The cynics wont be leaving the theater thinking “whew, they worked out their problems, what a relief.” They’ll say –“I give them at best 4 months until they split up again since both display the emotional maturity of adolescents.”

It’s a good movie, no doubt about it – the directing and editing alone make it a stunning film: there is a scene where Joel is once again young, but really not, but really yes, young, and Clem is in the kitchen with him: the shift from little boy to grown man to Clem to Joel again is nothing short of brilliant.

As for the “message?” Oh, obvious, is it? Given that it was directed by Gondry, one could run with the idea that perhaps love is so primordial that it will resurrect itself, arising from the chemistry between people: it’s nature, not nurture, it’s a match or its not. What brought you together last year will bring you together again ten years from now, not for sentimental reasons at all, but because there is something between the two of you that causes canons to roar.

NPR Notes

Q: On what grounds might German violinists (from the Beethoven Orchestra—this is a hint of sorts; think: many complicated measures) sue for a pay raise?

A: The action can be based on the claim that they play more notes per concert than their musical colleagues.

Rebuttal: Orchestra officials have responded that “the violinists knew this when they began taking violin lessons -- and if they wanted to play fewer notes, they should have chosen a different instrument.”

the brain: no repetition, constant recreation

I read the NYT article (here) on Dr. Edelman’s work on the brain twice, because I wasn’t sure I was picking up the pieces in a coherent way. I can’t begin to summarize it in the usual 2-sentenced oversimplification that I do here—I’m sure to get it wrong.

But if you are just looking for the punch line (in the way that you would summarize the holding in a legal case for an exam outline) then you can go from title of the article: “The Brain? It’s a Jungle in There,” to the last 2 lines: “But this vision [referring here to the idea that human consciousness is born out of accident and diversity] can also spur discomfort, because it implies that there is no supervising soul or self — nobody is standing behind the curtain. This, for Dr. Edelman, is Darwin's final burden.” That pretty much puts you right into the heart of the matter (forgive the organ-hopping here).

Thus we are stuck without a soul, only new and intricate mappings, one after another, millions of them, setting the course of thought and action. No conductor in there, no inside little guy pushing buttons, selecting, or optimizing. It’s a comfort really – no one to blame for excesses (such as blogging or emailing) – somewhere along the line those patterns became entrenched and there is no one inside to reset the brain and start all over again.

Time

Yesterday I had a chance to spend time with a visiting professor – someone whom I hadn’t seen since graduate school in the 70s. This man had single-handedly saved my plummeting confidence in academia. I eventually did leave academia for a while, but it was then a deliberate rather than desperate move.

The prof is now retired and he splits his time between Paris and SF (not a bad lineup of cities I must admit). That is fitting for a person who in my mind is sort of a poetic hero, infused with the worship one reserves for the leaders in one’s life (he doesn’t know that I feel this way about him).

People who save us from the worst aspects of ourselves are indeed heroes. But over time, they disappear and new heroes come to replace them. What a luxury it was to meet again, 28 years later. I never could quite say thank you in the way that I wanted to. Though as I listened to his little impromptu jazz piano playing later in the evening, I thought it didn’t matter. He probably wouldn’t have understood anyway. People of that type are often so personally modest that they do not have a sense of their own force vis-à-vis others.

[a photo of said prof, playing jazz---->]

Poland at the cusp of something, but what?

Almost my entire political self is focused on my homeland today. With news of the resignation of the Prime Minister, Leszek Miller (I was right! You can’t fall below 0% approval ratings! He slipped from 10% to 5% in two days! The man HAD to step down), I now see this tense month of waiting while the entire nation focuses on the opening of the EU gates on May1st. Yet, I wonder, are these gates of heaven or gates of hell? For most Poles, the benefits of being in the EU are far away (read about it in the NYT today here)—possibly to be realized by the next generation of Poles; it’s a theoretical gift to the children, not to anyone currently living on the edge.

And there is the matter of the United States: it pains me to see this – it’s like a relationship where one person has all the love and the other has all the power. Poland is the most “in love with America” country I have ever seen. The support for military action in Iraq is a good example of this: most Poles are currently opposed to Polish military presence in Iraq (or at least have grave doubts about its wisdom; President Kwasniewski has publicly stated that he feels Poland was mislead about WMD and about the urgency of waging war to combat terrorism). Yet there is no protest (contrast Poland with Spain, where a government was toppled, to some degree because of Iraq). Poles just go along with the inevitability of this, because America has placed this demand for loyalty and they feel themselves obliged to deliver.

In return? The blasted object of affection wont even give them a small gift, one that Poles have been meekly requesting for years: the right to travel to the US without a visa. So many of my friends refuse to come here for a visit because of the INDIGNITY of having to wait in huge lines, filling out countless forms, waiting for the magic “yes” or “no” before they can board the plane. For the many who have relatives in the States, the humiliation has to be put aside. For those who would travel just for the sake of travel, it is not worth it.

My wonderful, brutally hardened yet resilient Poland. How much suffering can one country endure in a period of 200 years?

A threesome

A reader (who obviously cares deeply about my well being, but knows little about how light a sleeper I am) forwarded me an article about a strange occurrence in Oklahoma. A couple woke up yesterday morning to find a burglar sleeping in bed with them (see story here). The man had broken down their door and robbed them of their cell phone and loose cash before snuggling in besides them.

I think my friend is protectively suggesting that I lock my doors carefully each night, but she needn’t worry. This incident could NEVER happen to me. I wake up when the neighbor down the block sneezes. I wake up when the clock passes the hour (I think it’s a tad noisier as the minute hand circumvents the 12). I wake up for any and every reason. Alright, a bit of an exaggeration there, but I would absolutely most certainly wake up if a foul-smelling drunkard pocketed my cell phone and fell asleep next to me.

Continuing on the theme of Spring

Not finding enough happy people around me to exchange spring-related jokes and comments, I googled the words that describe my mood at the moment: “spring madness.”

The predominant listing is for the 1938 movie by that title. Here’s how it is described:

Category: Comedy
Director: S.Sylvan Simon
Cast: Lew Ayre, Burgess Meredith, Maureen O’Sullivan
Running time: 1 hr 20 mins
Summary: A coed’s love for a Harvard editor is threatened when she learns that he and his friends are planning a trip to Russia.

One could really take to task this laconic summary on any number of grounds. I’ll only say this: it recalls the time when it was an anathema for most Americans to call the Soviet Union by its name. Russia, then as now, was only one region. Possibly, the Harvard editor was indeed traveling only to Russia. Few ventured beyond Moscow in those days. But why do I think the choice of the R word was not for reasons of geographical precision, but because the writer and movie itself do not understand the distinction between the SU and R? Or that they did not like that the pre-Revolution Russia became the post-Revolution Soviet Union?

My fears on this are confirmed when I read yet another reviewer’s lovely choice of words (I’m avoiding commenting here on the plot line; this is, after all, a 1938 movie):
This comedy implies that the far-flung plan of a college student to visit Communist Russia has little chance when women conspire to restrain him with the lures of marriage and a good job.

All my childhood days I would hear Americans speak of Russia, the country, as if their souls would turn commie red if they even said the word “Soviet.”

But today, I am unruffled. Spring madness is more than just the movie. BTW, elsewhere on Google, the movie gets a rating of two stars (I can’t say out of how many, but two sounds pretty low under any rating scheme).

I’m not the only one enlivened by the sudden appearance of Spring

A friend who lives in Arizona is equally transfixed. Remarkably, her moment of magic also struck within the last 24 hours. She writes:

“…why do I feel like I want to make a life with more freshness? After all, I have my tender seedlings popping their way into my garden and the flowers are blooming and the quail are kicking up
their feather in anticipation of drawing their mates.”


The imagery is so lovely that I had to look up quail in the hope of envisioning more accurately how their feathers may be kicking up. After sifting through files of photos of quail on a plate, or quail being carried by hunting hounds, I came up with the following far preferable picture.---->

A grass high

It was a night of miracles. The day ends, you expect nothing and suddenly: BLAST! Spring makes a midnight appearance, and the world changes into one big field of green grass. No one should be blogging now. Urgent message to all those living in Madison who can spare even 5 or 10 minutes: GO OUTSIDE AND SMELL THAT AIR!

Ollie is fine, thank you

No fewer than TWO readers wrote this week and signed their message with the following missive; “be nice to your dog, Ollie” (or words to that effect).

Now listen here. I AM nice to the beast. Yesterday I dashed home in between work and book group just to walk him, feed him, and, as it turned out – give him a bath, since he seemed to smell funny. I was late for everything after that. Today – the same: I’m home FOR THE SOLE PURPOSE OF ATTENDING TO HIS ROYAL EVENING NEEDS. I could be sipping an aperitif or a latte on State Street (I have to be downtown this evening), I could be taking a walk by the Union and watching the ebb and flow of water, I could be in an arm chair of the swanky new coffee shop downtown, but NO, I am home dog-tending.

It is interesting that one of the readers explained in her email that she had had a run in with her cat, resulting in “accidental” scratches on her face and some black and blue marks around her eye. When I suggested that she perhaps trade in her cat for a new television set, she leapt to his defense as if I had advocated tying him to a stake with a match underneath to make him squirm and repent.

The idea that I am not an animal fan has to be put to rest. I think pets are cool—especially if they don’t require much care and don’t scratch your face. So, rest assured, Ollie does fine. Basically, he likes to sleep. That is his life. I have absolutely no problem with that.

Fashion trumps religious freedom

Another story from across the ocean –three in a row today (the weblog rests proudly on its title)!

According to the Times, in Italy, a northern town is refusing to hire a Moroccan woman to teach in the school because she has stated that she will wear her scarf on the job. Is it a question of stopping religion “at the school house gate?” In fact, I do believe Italians bring Christian symbols and lessons right into the classroom (at the same time that they are one of the least “practicing” predominantly-Catholic nations in the world), thus objections based on keeping schools free of religious messages would not have any place in this country.

Why the negative reaction to the scarf? A director of the school explained that "if she works with her head scarf on, she risks scaring the children." Well of course! Children there are used to a stunningly elegant dress code. Most likely a school would not hire a person in a t-shirt and cut-offs either. It would be too much of a strain for the children to see this anti-modish display on a regular basis.

I have an idea for Odana Road

Madison has some visually attractive neighborhoods. And then it has Odana Road. All the urban renewal in the world could not improve this stretch of incomprehensibly unattractive strip malls. Is there a solution? The British have the right idea.

The Times states that Britain’s big eyesore, the Tricorn Shopping Center in Portsmouth is scheduled for a date with the wrecking ball. This 1960s architectural nightmare has been eloquently described by Prince Charles as resembling a “mildewed lump of elephant droppings.”

With typical British humor, the city had workers begin demolishing the Center to the strains of the '1812 Overture' –a play on the historic significance of the orchestral piece, as when the Center had been built in 1966, its developers called it “an orchestration in reinforced concrete that is the equivalent of the '1812 Overture.'"

[As an aside – does anyone agree that the Center resembles UW’s Humanities Building? Now there’s an architectural wonder! photo credit: Tricorn Corp.]

Odd Recollections

Today is the birthday of my high-school-and-part-college crush (he is NOT a reader of this blog to my knowledge, though Poland has the markers sometimes of being one small town in terms of gossip). It was an on-again off-again dating situation, though for purposes of crush recollection, it was definitely “on” for me for many years. I have been known to comment that one reason I returned to the States to finish my studies in the 70s was really to get away from the shadow of that crush. One has to Take Charge Of One’s Life sometimes.

Mr. Crush and I tangoed our way through Econometrics at the U of Warsaw, though I eventually landed in Law here and he landed in Gregorian Chant in Warsaw (he chants for a living and apparently is quite successfully at it--my devious sister keeps me informed of his progress; this is a Net photo from one of his recent CDs ---->).

Why does one remember odd things of this nature? For instance, I remember that my best elementary school buddy’s mother’s birthday is on October 24th (some years I was tempted to send her a card, but then thought better of it as it, most likely, would freak her out). Or, that my flight bringing me to the United States on February 12, 1972 was delayed.

My crush and I never celebrated each other’s birthdays. His came first, and once I did get him a cute, meaningful little animal figure (we wont go there), but my birthday follows in the next month and he reciprocated by bringing over a “bouquet” of radishes (it was a joke), and so I called it quits on gifts thereafter.

I remember these details well, I just don’t remember quite why I liked him so much.

If it weren’t for environmental toxins, we’d be apes

A fascinating study is described in the NYT Science Section today (here). Researchers are suggesting that a gene mutation may well be responsible for the evolution of the human brain. The Times reports:

2.4 million years ago, a muscle gene underwent a disabling alteration. … This could have made all the difference, leading to the enlarged brains of the lineage that evolved into modern humans. Researchers who made the discovery said this might be the first recognized functional genetic difference between humans and the apes that can be correlated with anatomical changes in the fossil record. As they said, the gene mutation may represent the beginning of the ancestral triumph of brain over brawn.
At the least, scientists said, the small mutated gene probably accounts for the more graceful human jaw, in contrast to the protruding ape jaw and facial ridges.

Why the mutation? The following speculation is offered:

The cause of the mutation was unknown and probably unknowable: damage from cosmic rays perhaps, ingested toxins or other environmental exposures. Other contemporary hominid species could have been exposed to the same conditions, but for some reason, escaped with their myosin gene unaltered — and their jaws as formidable as ever. These robust but small-brain species continued to live in Africa until their line became extinct about one million years ago.

Dr. Minugh-Purvis said it was unclear how the mutation could have become fixed in the species, considering its potentially deleterious effects on survival. Perhaps other agents of change were already at work, like the transition to a richer protein diet of meat. The heavier jaws were required for grinding the mainstays, nuts and plants, in their diets.

So, those whose gene remained unaltered were slated to become extinct, while lucky us, what with environmental toxins and our desire to keep grinding on those nuts and plants (early stages of Nighttime Eating Syndrome, see post yesterday), we get the better brain and a nicer jaw line. I’m going home to remove my lawn sign condemning the use of chemical lawn care products. I don’t want to be remembered as standing in the way of further evolutionary development.

Two comments on paranoia

1. Reading moods

A reader wrote a concerned note about my post of last night where I alluded to intuitively surmising what the mood of the neighborhood was and whether or not I was to be the subject of scorn, ridicule, vengeance or what have you. While sympathetic to the post in general, she suggested that perhaps it exhibits a touch of paranoia. Reassurance: not at all! Perceiving the mood of a place or community can run in positive fields as well. For instance, my neighbor down the block and I were voting in the primaries at the same time and he instantly launched into friendly banter about the Green Party versus the Democrats. He knew and I knew that this was going to be a friendly exchange. No hostilities arose. ON THE OTHER HAND: when I walked down the block and a handful of women suddenly started looking heavenward as I passed, I KNEW they were grumbling and that I was the target of their displeasure. It could be that my little sign, stuck out front by the driveway, saying that ‘healthy children deserve healthy lawns’ (a direct attack at the 75% who still use chemical agents on their lawns in our neighborhood) was being bashed about. Hostility was palpable. No paranoia. Reality.

2. Poland is losing it

Another reader sent me clippings about a different possible paranoia – that which is gripping Poland at the moment. I’ve blogged about Polish fears of a terrorist attack ever since the tragedy in Madrid. Well, the nation is in a state of near panic. There are many reasons for it, some not unjustified, but I think the main source of anxiety rests in the recent switch of leadership in Spain. Poland had felt buoyed by its alliance with Spain – both on the Iraq invasion issue and on the protest to the EU constitution back in December. These two countries were European mavericks at a time when the push was to find common ground for all nations that are and will be part of the EU. With Spain now retreating somewhat (both on the issue of Iraq and on the Constitution), Poland is suddenly appearing awfully alone and vulnerable out there. It can’t feel good. I do think, however, that the Polish government (which enjoyed an 11% popularity rating back in December and now I read that it’s down to 9% --making me wonder if it’s possible to go into negative numbers, because there’s not much more before we’re at 0) needs to make some tough choices both about the Constitution and Iraq. In terms of the first – I understand completely Poland’s objections to the proposed document, but to “Die for Nice” seems ill founded [“Die for Nice’ is the slogan adopted by those that want to retreat to the Nice accords under which Poland enjoyed greater voting parity with the rest of the Western European states than it does under the new proposed Constitution]. A noble death in political parlance is still a death. Poland does NOT need to make enemies at a time when it is economically weak.

Expensive acquisitions

What is it about our species that leads us to be such collectors and proud possessors of things? True, I may not know many who get worked up about jewelry, but I do have a friend who has the largest, oddest shoe collection ever (she occasionally gives tours of her shoe closet for fundraising events). My neighbor collects stamps. My Tucson friend has gems and stones that are unbelievable. All good stuff.

However, I’m not much of a collector. When I first moved to the Midwest and was sure that our house, no other house, just our house was somehow marked and would therefore implode during a tornado, I would take with me to the basement my collection of photographs. That’s it. These days I’d probably also take my lap top. Otherwise I have no special attachment to things. My feeling is that it’s all replaceable and we’d all be better off without it anyway.

Maybe that’s why I never bothered to acquire, one expensive glass at a time, good wine glasses, even though I am a wine enthusiast and track wine trends through a variety of publications (predictably, I do not have much of a wine collection either).

Oh, I know all about Riedel glasses. Anyone who studies wines knows about Riedel glasses. Claus Josef Riedel hit on something big several decades ago when he discovered that the size and shape of a glass can significantly change the wine tasting experience. As an NYT article today says, “he spent 16 years studying the physics of wine delivery to the mouth and taste buds.” His factory began to manufacture distinct glassware – and I mean distinct! There are Riedel glasses for Burgundies, Bordeaux, French wines, old wines, young wines, California wines, you name it, – there is a glass for it.

But that’s not for me. And frankly, it’s not for most wine producers either – at least not the small family-run businesses that I like to visit and read about. Of course, even they would probably use appropriate glassware when opening their one remaining bottle of some 50-year old treasure. But there you are entering into an art form that goes beyond just drinking good wine.

However, two years ago, for some inexplicable reason, I broke down and bought 2 Riedel glasses. I picked the shape that would more or less work with bold full bodied reds (like Burgundies), which already is a cheat because you’re supposed to use a SPECIFIC glass for each wine. But the purchase set me back by a month’s worth of salary and so I wasn’t going to humor the Riedel nuts even more.

It was not meant to be. The box with the glasses was opened with some fanfare. The beautiful, delicate glasses were carefully washed, dried and placed in an old china closet (with a loose hinge). In closing the door of the closet, the hinge fell off, the door caved in and 50% of all glassware inside (the cheap stuff as well) was destroyed, including one of two Riedel glasses. I took that to be an omen and have never bothered with a replacement.

I read that Claus Josef Riedel died last week (NYT here). The company is in good family hands, but I do have to say that his was an impressive feat: to create a need that has busted the pocket book of many a person, even though, for the vast majority of wines, drinking from a tumbler will do just as well.