I know that it only scratches the surface as far as the mind boggling level of need in so many parts of the world (sometimes even including the United States), but you have to start somewhere, right?
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
A moment of sisterly solidarity
Reading while riding in NYC
There are a number of organizations out there with similar goals, but it always makes me happy to hear (read) about people finding ways to share books.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Julia
This afternoon, after somehow wrangling a file cabinet upstairs from the porch where it has been patiently languishing since last December, I decided that it was a good day to go to the movies, so I took myself off to see Julie & Julia, a film about a woman who decides to cook her way through 524 recipes in Mastering the Art of French Cooking over the course of a year and also about the woman who inspired the project (and co-wrote the revered cookbook).
Meryl Streep and Stanley Tucci play Julia and Paul Child with enthusiasm, respect and fearlessness. Especially Meryl Streep. You can tell she just embraced Julia's larger than life, enthusiastic approach to everything and didn't worry about anything else. Amy Adams is delightful as Julie Powell. I'm sure that there are plenty of people who will wish for more Julia and less Julie, but I enjoyed the balance.
The film had all of the necessary elements of a good film. I was transported to another time and place for two hours, and in the process was made to think and feel -- the hallmark of good art.
I laughed at Julia's feet hanging off the end of a too short bed, the ill-fated hat making session, the determination which resulted in a mountain of chopped onions (and Paul's reaction), and, of course, the lobsters.
The scene where Julia gets the letter from Dorothy saying that she is pregnant was utterly heartbreaking and brought tears to my eyes.
I worried about their future as Paul is investigated by Senator McCarthy.
When the editor at Knopf discovers Beouf Bourginon, I could practically taste the delicious recipe, and I had a sudden inclination to rush home and prepare it myself.
Oh, and the film definitely made me want to live in Paris. And New York.
If there was any flaw it was that the movie had to be movie sized and could only hold so much detail.
When I moved into my little house on Water Street, one of my great sources of excitement was the kitchen -- a *real* kitchen, with counter space, a dishwasher and a gas stove. The presence of the gas stove especially went a long way to influencing the purchase of the house. For (I believe) six years prior, my cooking had to be done on an electric stove and in an electric oven ... and with zero actual counter space. Any preparation had to be done on a small cutting board on the stove top, on the ever-cluttered kitchen table, or on top of the washer. And by washer I mean clothes rather than dish.
I grew up in a kitchen with a gas stove, and it always seemed to me to be the only way to go. My general stance on most subjects of preference is "to each his own," but why anyone would actually want to cook on an electric stove is quite beyond my capacity to understand. (But then I tend to avoid using the microwave, so I'm sure that plenty of people would argue that I'm not quite right in the head myself.)
Lack of counter space + electric stove = not much in the way of serious cooking.
When I did cook, meals often didn't turn out quite right, and I was never quite sure whether to blame the electric stove and oven or my relative lack of practice under less than user friendly conditions. One notable exception was the Thanksgiving turkeys, which did tend to be a success, even if the stuffing was not. Perhaps I will have to see what Julia says about stuffing a turkey. (This year I have delusions of preparing a turducken, but I think that they may have to remain delusions a while longer.)
Many of my cookbooks were stashed away or scattered haphazardly about the apartment because I didn't have a proper, central location for them. In the house, I have cleared out a small bookcase, and it houses the cookbooks almost perfectly. It's in the living room rather than the kitchen, but at least they are close by, and it's not as if I generally need to use more than one at a time.
At about the same time that I was looking to buy a house, I started reading about food -- in fiction and non-fiction -- and one of the first books I read was Julie & Julia. Reading Julie Powell's various (mis)adventures in the kitchen with Julia encouraged me to keep reading about food and reminded me how much I loved Julia. I have fond memories of watching The French Chef on on Sunday afternoons, and I remember Mastering the Art of French Cooking sitting alongside my grandmother's recipe box in my parents' kitchen.
My parents no longer live in the house where I grew up, however, so when I asked my mother about the book -- technically books, I suppose, since it is a two-volume set -- I learned that it had been among the donations when they moved to what I still refer to as the "new house," even though they have lived there at least half a dozen years now ... maybe even as many as ten. (I could sit here and figure it out, but chasing after such details would only detract from my little story, and I think that the shaded ambiguity lends an air of mystery.)
Apparently, I was distressed enough by the knowledge that my parents no longer had Julia in their library that I blocked the information from my memory, causing me to repeat the question on at least one more occasion, and though it wasn't really meant as such, my mother took the hint and tracked down a nice copy of the fortieth anniversary edition of Mastering the Art of French Cooking and had it sent to me. It sits proudly on the shelf next to a rather battered (I would like to think well loved and used) copy of Simca's Cuisine.
I have not yet cooked my way through Julia's extensive offerings, but I do consult her advice from time to time.
I have been labeled as "adventurous" in the kitchen, and as I become more so -- which I think I shall be once I truly find the courage of my convictions to flip a potato pancake or an omelette in a frying pan -- I am sure that I will spend more time with Julia and Simca.
While the film is still fresh in my mind, however, I am sitting here with copies of Appetite for Life and My Life in France next to me on my desk, trying to decide which one to read first. I am likely to start with My Life in France because I would like to hear more from Julia in her own words. I know that the book was written with the help of Alex Prud'homme, who is her grand nephew, I believe, but based on her introduction, I am quite convinced that he was mostly the means for telling her story, almost as if he played the role of pen and paper, or perhaps typewriter. (Somehow I can't possibly see Julia sitting in front of a computer.)
Julie Powell did sit in front of a computer, however, so the Julie/Julia blog might be the real place to start, rather than rereading Julie & Julia as I had briefly conisdered doing.
I'll let you know how it goes. And perhaps once I have spent some more time with Julia, I will finally delve into the works of another venerable foodinista -- M.F.K. Fisher.
Edit to add:. In the end, I did decide to start with Julie's blog. If you share the inclination, start here.
Edit to add (on January 10, 2010): Now that Julie & Julia is available on dvd, I can watch the film almost any time I care to, and one of the times I cared to was this evening while I had the house to myself for a while. What I really love about the movie -- about the story of each of these women actually -- is the reminder that success doesn't come from talent so often as it does from hard work and perseverance. Find a way and the time to do what you love. Work at it and keep working at it, and success will follow. Maybe not millions of dollars and international fame, but success in the form of personal growth and satisfaction. Such is my wisdom on this particular Sunday evening.
Meryl Streep and Stanley Tucci play Julia and Paul Child with enthusiasm, respect and fearlessness. Especially Meryl Streep. You can tell she just embraced Julia's larger than life, enthusiastic approach to everything and didn't worry about anything else. Amy Adams is delightful as Julie Powell. I'm sure that there are plenty of people who will wish for more Julia and less Julie, but I enjoyed the balance.
The film had all of the necessary elements of a good film. I was transported to another time and place for two hours, and in the process was made to think and feel -- the hallmark of good art.
I laughed at Julia's feet hanging off the end of a too short bed, the ill-fated hat making session, the determination which resulted in a mountain of chopped onions (and Paul's reaction), and, of course, the lobsters.
The scene where Julia gets the letter from Dorothy saying that she is pregnant was utterly heartbreaking and brought tears to my eyes.
I worried about their future as Paul is investigated by Senator McCarthy.
When the editor at Knopf discovers Beouf Bourginon, I could practically taste the delicious recipe, and I had a sudden inclination to rush home and prepare it myself.
Oh, and the film definitely made me want to live in Paris. And New York.
If there was any flaw it was that the movie had to be movie sized and could only hold so much detail.
When I moved into my little house on Water Street, one of my great sources of excitement was the kitchen -- a *real* kitchen, with counter space, a dishwasher and a gas stove. The presence of the gas stove especially went a long way to influencing the purchase of the house. For (I believe) six years prior, my cooking had to be done on an electric stove and in an electric oven ... and with zero actual counter space. Any preparation had to be done on a small cutting board on the stove top, on the ever-cluttered kitchen table, or on top of the washer. And by washer I mean clothes rather than dish.
I grew up in a kitchen with a gas stove, and it always seemed to me to be the only way to go. My general stance on most subjects of preference is "to each his own," but why anyone would actually want to cook on an electric stove is quite beyond my capacity to understand. (But then I tend to avoid using the microwave, so I'm sure that plenty of people would argue that I'm not quite right in the head myself.)
Lack of counter space + electric stove = not much in the way of serious cooking.
When I did cook, meals often didn't turn out quite right, and I was never quite sure whether to blame the electric stove and oven or my relative lack of practice under less than user friendly conditions. One notable exception was the Thanksgiving turkeys, which did tend to be a success, even if the stuffing was not. Perhaps I will have to see what Julia says about stuffing a turkey. (This year I have delusions of preparing a turducken, but I think that they may have to remain delusions a while longer.)
Many of my cookbooks were stashed away or scattered haphazardly about the apartment because I didn't have a proper, central location for them. In the house, I have cleared out a small bookcase, and it houses the cookbooks almost perfectly. It's in the living room rather than the kitchen, but at least they are close by, and it's not as if I generally need to use more than one at a time.
At about the same time that I was looking to buy a house, I started reading about food -- in fiction and non-fiction -- and one of the first books I read was Julie & Julia. Reading Julie Powell's various (mis)adventures in the kitchen with Julia encouraged me to keep reading about food and reminded me how much I loved Julia. I have fond memories of watching The French Chef on on Sunday afternoons, and I remember Mastering the Art of French Cooking sitting alongside my grandmother's recipe box in my parents' kitchen.
My parents no longer live in the house where I grew up, however, so when I asked my mother about the book -- technically books, I suppose, since it is a two-volume set -- I learned that it had been among the donations when they moved to what I still refer to as the "new house," even though they have lived there at least half a dozen years now ... maybe even as many as ten. (I could sit here and figure it out, but chasing after such details would only detract from my little story, and I think that the shaded ambiguity lends an air of mystery.)
Apparently, I was distressed enough by the knowledge that my parents no longer had Julia in their library that I blocked the information from my memory, causing me to repeat the question on at least one more occasion, and though it wasn't really meant as such, my mother took the hint and tracked down a nice copy of the fortieth anniversary edition of Mastering the Art of French Cooking and had it sent to me. It sits proudly on the shelf next to a rather battered (I would like to think well loved and used) copy of Simca's Cuisine.
I have not yet cooked my way through Julia's extensive offerings, but I do consult her advice from time to time.
I have been labeled as "adventurous" in the kitchen, and as I become more so -- which I think I shall be once I truly find the courage of my convictions to flip a potato pancake or an omelette in a frying pan -- I am sure that I will spend more time with Julia and Simca.
While the film is still fresh in my mind, however, I am sitting here with copies of Appetite for Life and My Life in France next to me on my desk, trying to decide which one to read first. I am likely to start with My Life in France because I would like to hear more from Julia in her own words. I know that the book was written with the help of Alex Prud'homme, who is her grand nephew, I believe, but based on her introduction, I am quite convinced that he was mostly the means for telling her story, almost as if he played the role of pen and paper, or perhaps typewriter. (Somehow I can't possibly see Julia sitting in front of a computer.)
Julie Powell did sit in front of a computer, however, so the Julie/Julia blog might be the real place to start, rather than rereading Julie & Julia as I had briefly conisdered doing.
I'll let you know how it goes. And perhaps once I have spent some more time with Julia, I will finally delve into the works of another venerable foodinista -- M.F.K. Fisher.
Edit to add:. In the end, I did decide to start with Julie's blog. If you share the inclination, start here.
Edit to add (on January 10, 2010): Now that Julie & Julia is available on dvd, I can watch the film almost any time I care to, and one of the times I cared to was this evening while I had the house to myself for a while. What I really love about the movie -- about the story of each of these women actually -- is the reminder that success doesn't come from talent so often as it does from hard work and perseverance. Find a way and the time to do what you love. Work at it and keep working at it, and success will follow. Maybe not millions of dollars and international fame, but success in the form of personal growth and satisfaction. Such is my wisdom on this particular Sunday evening.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Waiting to be convinced -- one way or the other
In my mind, the “phenomenon” of the Kindle has become synonymous with a train wreck which I cannot help but watch. Any in depth article I read impresses me only for its indecisiveness.
Last night, Twitter took me to this article (http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2009/08/03/090803fa_fact_baker) from the New Yorker, and I reached the end of it completely baffled as to whether or not the author was in favor of the device or not.
Nicholson Baker lists plenty of reasons to either stick with the tried and true paper, ink and glue version or to choose another gadget, but in the end, he succumbs as the Kindle performs as advertised and “disappears.”
I already know that I will not be purchasing a Kindle. Nor will I add one to my Christmas list. I would like the opportunity to spend about a week playing with one (and such an experience might change my mind), but all I can think of is how many real books (especially used books) I could purchase with that much money and then sell to or share with others.
The list of books which are *not* available gives me pause. To quote Baker ‘There is no Amazon Kindle version of “The Jewel in the Crown.” There’s no Kindle of Jean Stafford, no Vladimir Nabokov, no “Flaubert’s Parrot,” no “Remains of the Day,” no “Perfume,” by Patrick Suskind, no Bharati Mukherjee, no Margaret Drabble, no Graham Greene except a radio script, no David Leavitt, no Bobbie Ann Mason’s “In Country,” no Pynchon, no Tim O’Brien, no “Swimming-Pool Library,” no Barbara Pym, no Saul Bellow, no Frederick Exley, no “World According to Garp,” no “Catch-22,” no “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” no “Portnoy’s Complaint,” no “Henry and Clara,” no Lorrie Moore, no “Edwin Mullhouse,” no “Clockwork Orange.”’
The simple fact that it is electronic is also a significant deterrent, and not simply because I tend to be a Luddite at heart. I pay the phone company an extra five dollars a month essentially as insurance against myself. If I lose the phone, or drop it in a puddle, or step on it, or some other catastrophe befalls it, I will not have to pay to replace it. A Kindle living with me would be exposed to the same sort of risks, and it costs at least twice as much as my phone.
I just imagine the heartbreak of losing hundreds of books because something happened to the Kindle.
Paper books are much sturdier, heartier creatures and can withstand an impressive amount of abuse.
Maybe that is another part of my suspicion – I consider books (especially the ones I really enjoy) to be almost living creatures. They are my friends and companions who see me through the best and worst of times. Can an electronic device really inspire the same depth of feeling?
I highly doubt it, and for most of his article, Baker seems to agree. I can’t help but wonder what caused him to waiver in his judgment. It makes me curious to find out, but not for $300.
The supposed ease and accessibility – start reading an impulse purchase in under a minute – is tempting to be sure, but I can’t help thinking that this might be a case of something being too good to be true.
For the present, I shall retain my skepticism.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
The Pillars of Creation by Terry Goodkind
For some reason I thought that The Pillars of Creation was separate from the epic Sword of Truth saga, and arguably it is in the sense that the primary characters in the previous books play secondary, offstage roles for the majority of this installment. I have not read the previous six, and I am not planning to read the subsequent four, but I can't help wondering if this book is meant to be a sort of transition or intermission to give the author time to figure out what really comes next.
I'm not much for the epic fantasy sagas, and if this book is representative of the series as a whole or even the sub-genre, it is a good reminder of why.
It takes the author more than thirty pages to say that two characters escaped the palace. And it is not even a particularly hair-raising escape. The hard part -- getting out of the dungeon -- was already done.
Lots of repetition and lots of words to say not very much made the book an easy, if somewhat tedious, read.
On the bright side, the ending (the last three chapters or so) was quite satisfying, mostly because so much happened and came together in such a short period of time, in comparison to the previous seven hundred pages. If the rest of the story had been a little (okay, a lot) tighter, however, then the ending might have seemed a little too convenient and contrived.
I'm quite sure that it sets the stage nicely for the next book, but I have too much else to read to find out.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Why I love the Right Wing
The entertainment value.
If I wanted to be a bit more accurate, I could make the heading, “Why I love loud public figures.” That phrasing would probably make more sense, but I am going to pick on the Right Wing because, as I recall, that is where Pat Buchanan hangs out.
Anyway, I came across the following quote:
"With regard to Levi, I think First Dude up there in Alaska, Todd Palin, ought to take Levi down to the creek and hold his head underwater until the thrashing stops."
-- Pat Buchanan
Am I the only one who doesn’t see how this is the business of anyone but the Palin family (and possibly the readers of People magazine)? But then minding one’s own business isn’t any fun for loud public figures who spend an inordinate amount of time being concerned about whether or not anyone can hear them.
And then there is the heavy dose of irony in the statement. Terminating a pregnancy is terrible, sinful, should be illegal, etc., but drowning the kid who knocked up your daughter (or who was perhaps seduced by your daughter) is acceptable.
Killing is bad unless it is in the name of God or family honor?
Do I have that right?
Or have I grossly misinterpreted the statement so that I can twist it to strengthen my own ill-informed, misguided liberal bias?
Squishy green stuff
Although I am generally not much of a fan of guacamole (to the point that I am not even entirely sure how to spell it properly), Martha’s recipe -- Mix juice 1 lime, 4t crushed garlic, 5 chop scallion, 1C chop cilantro, 1 mince jalapeño + 3 ripe avocado – intrigues me.
Perhaps garnished with tomato and black olives.
Nom nom nom. Now I’m hungry.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
It's nice to know that I am not alone.
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/n/a/2009/07/17/entertainment/e031338D77.DTL
The titles listed here make for a fairly short list, and urban fantasy stretches far beyond vampires.
Take Emma Bull's War for the Oaks, for example, which was one of my first forays into the realm of urban fantasy, and while there are magical beasties aplenty, I don't recall vampires. I might even go so far as to say that cautious parents would deem it "safe" for teenaged girls to read, although I do have a hard time applying "safe" as a description to almost anything having to do with the printed word. I follow the fairly basic analogy that good art (in this particular context, good writing) should do two things: make you think and make you feel. Thoughts and feelings are dangerous and wonderful things at pretty much any age (and arguably more so in those treacherously formative teenage years).
I second the vote for Holly Black's stories.
I am also going to add Charles de Lint. Yes, he's a man, but given the wonderful female characters he writes to life (teenaged and adult), he deserves a vote of solidarity.
The article focuses mostly on the teen audience.
Once they have grown up a bit, I would suggest the adventures of Jaz Parks and Cat Crawfield. Perhaps even the first few installments of the tumultuous life and loves of Anita Blake.
There are more worth mentioning, I am sure, but I need some time to let them surface in my mind.
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