It's been HOT the last few days, and Robert has a hair trigger when it comes to heat-induced misery. Yesterday, I asked what he wanted me to fix for dinner, and he immediately replied, "gazpacho," probably the coldest thing he could think of.
I make a mean batch of it, too, starting with the Moosewood recipe and then adding my own variations. I also typically serve five to ten bowls of toppings, which once prompted a friend who'd lived in Indonesia to clap her hands and say "Oh! are we having rijstaffel tonight?"
I first tasted gazpacho on July 14, 1971. My mother and step-father took me and my best friend on a quick trip to Europe. We were in Paris on Bastille Day and for some reason decided to dine at a Spanish restaurant that night. When we traveled, my mother was quite inventive about accomodating my vegetarian diet, so I'm sure it was her idea for me to eat gazpacho. I've been loving it and making it ever since.
But on that evening, when my friend and I were all of 13, three very drunken French sailors came into the restaurant, saw us, and immediately made a bee line for us. It hardly mattered that parental figures were chaperoning us. They didn't know much English, and so they sang, "Aye zaw sree sheeps comb sayling een un Kreesmas dey un Kreesmas day." My friend, who had refused to speak a word of French until that moment, finally had had enough. In perfect, though not well-accented, French, she pulled herself up to her full sitting height and haltingly said "Va chercher une autre femme." And with that, they disappeared.
Happy summer, and may you have many nights of "good sleeping weather."
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
kush by kush by kushner
Robert and I have had the extreme pleasure of seeing not just one, but two, Tony Kushner plays, about a week apart. The plays were in a new Boston theater complex, where on the way in, I always feel like I'm going to the movies, but surprise, I get to see live theater instead.
The first was Caroline, or Change, set in the early 60s in the south. Caroline is a black maid to a Jewish family, consisting of a little boy, his recently-widowed father, and his newish "liberal" (in this case, spelled clueless) step-mother from the north. Caroline is a single mother, raising four kids on $30 a week, living close to the edge. The step-mother means well but is always putting her foot in her mouth. The father is still grieving; the little boy is trying to find his way.
The staging is astonishing -- the stage is split in two, with the "black" side lower than the "white" side by a few feet. Also, characters play the washer, the dryer, the moon, the bus that carries Caroline back and forth, and the radio. And it's a musical, or really, a modern opera, with references to all sorts of familiar tunes from the last couple of centuries.
The racial tensions roil as JFK is assassinated, as one of Caroline's daughters engages in radical activities, and as the young white boy provokes tensions with Caroline. And of course, this being a Kushner play, there are some good fantasy scenes, mostly involving the young boy, and including a touching reconciliation with Caroline.
The second play is the opera version of Angels in America, cut from six hours in the original play to two and a half in this piece. The music is fairly "new" sounding -- the most hummable parts sound like Sondheim gone mad. The shortened show manages to be nearly as complicated as the original, with added hope helped along by the perspective we now have on the AIDS disaster.
The set was fascinating -- antiseptically white plastic tile everywhere, with two giant wings toward the back of the set. The curtains around the set looked like giant hospital curtains, and most of the orchestra wore white scrubs and white booties. Much of the color in the costumes was white or black, with a little red and a little lavender.
In the play, the angel comes crashing through the ceiling, but in this production, she is dressed as a doctor or nurse -- one of the real-life angels who's played such an important role in the plague. (To be fair, in the play and in the movie, the actor who plays the angel also plays a nurse.)
Of course, there were fun moments and devastating moments, and some of my favorite lines were cut. (They did keep "I see you are very sick" but cut "but deep down, I see someone entirely free of illness".) One of the characters softened long before the script called for it; I assume that the actor playing that role is just too nice to be cold and hard for that long.
But on the whole, I was enchanted. I mean, I'm not fond of opera, and I usually can't sit through atonal music, but the whole thing worked well. I think we're now officially Kushner fans, and we'll try to see whatever other plays he creates.
The first was Caroline, or Change, set in the early 60s in the south. Caroline is a black maid to a Jewish family, consisting of a little boy, his recently-widowed father, and his newish "liberal" (in this case, spelled clueless) step-mother from the north. Caroline is a single mother, raising four kids on $30 a week, living close to the edge. The step-mother means well but is always putting her foot in her mouth. The father is still grieving; the little boy is trying to find his way.
The staging is astonishing -- the stage is split in two, with the "black" side lower than the "white" side by a few feet. Also, characters play the washer, the dryer, the moon, the bus that carries Caroline back and forth, and the radio. And it's a musical, or really, a modern opera, with references to all sorts of familiar tunes from the last couple of centuries.
The racial tensions roil as JFK is assassinated, as one of Caroline's daughters engages in radical activities, and as the young white boy provokes tensions with Caroline. And of course, this being a Kushner play, there are some good fantasy scenes, mostly involving the young boy, and including a touching reconciliation with Caroline.
The second play is the opera version of Angels in America, cut from six hours in the original play to two and a half in this piece. The music is fairly "new" sounding -- the most hummable parts sound like Sondheim gone mad. The shortened show manages to be nearly as complicated as the original, with added hope helped along by the perspective we now have on the AIDS disaster.
The set was fascinating -- antiseptically white plastic tile everywhere, with two giant wings toward the back of the set. The curtains around the set looked like giant hospital curtains, and most of the orchestra wore white scrubs and white booties. Much of the color in the costumes was white or black, with a little red and a little lavender.
In the play, the angel comes crashing through the ceiling, but in this production, she is dressed as a doctor or nurse -- one of the real-life angels who's played such an important role in the plague. (To be fair, in the play and in the movie, the actor who plays the angel also plays a nurse.)
Of course, there were fun moments and devastating moments, and some of my favorite lines were cut. (They did keep "I see you are very sick" but cut "but deep down, I see someone entirely free of illness".) One of the characters softened long before the script called for it; I assume that the actor playing that role is just too nice to be cold and hard for that long.
But on the whole, I was enchanted. I mean, I'm not fond of opera, and I usually can't sit through atonal music, but the whole thing worked well. I think we're now officially Kushner fans, and we'll try to see whatever other plays he creates.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
dad's day
I adore my father. He's a lot of fun to be around. He charms nearly everyone he meets. I've only heard him say a negative thing about one person in my whole life, and that was someone who had been horribly irresponsible toward a cat. He used to pick up hitchhikers and adopted some into his inner circle. He was once taking a walk, noticed a stranger moving into an apartment, offered a hand, and was best friends with the man and his wife for decades.
And yet... he and my mother broke up when I was three. He was violent toward my mother. With his next wife, things got so bad that he sent her children to live with their father when he realized how inappropriately the two grownups were behaving. And that was in the 60s when such things were Not Done, when children were not raised by men, unless those men were widowers.
He'd say he was coming to visit me and wouldn't, often enough that my mother stopped telling me of impending visits. The first time I got married, he told me that he almost killed himself (he was having a rough time) but decided to come see me get married instead -- the two choices were about equivalent in his mind. His own family was awful to him (the other side of the "rough time" got to his family first and he was too much of a gentleman to contradict her).
He used to call me around my birthday, but when I once teased him about mixing my birthday up with my sister's, three days apart from mine, he never called again, not even not on my birthday.
With all this conflict, I didn't send father's day cards until my aunt told me how hurt my father was not to receive one from me. So I started.
But how do you choose a card for someone who was never there ("Oh Dad, you were always there for me."), who didn't help raise me ("You always knew just what to say." "I've learned so much from you"), and who doesn't play golf ("take this day for yourself and go hit a few balls around"). How about a man who never yelled at me for having a messy room, whom I never talked back to, and whose last reprimand that I can remember was "Yes, It is too early to get up. Now go back to sleep!" when I was two.
How do you buy a card for someone whose longest and happiest relationship continues long after some of his four marriages have been forgotten ("You and mom were always so perfect for each other"). And who doesn't fit the profile of any of the dads in the cards that I've seen -- he likes cats, not dogs, plays chess (and has been known to read chess manuals in the original Russian) and bridge, travels widely, reads broadly, and has an affinity for crazy people. Who once went to a rent party in New York and heard Billie Holliday sing? Who dressed as a color television for a late-50s or early-60s Halloween party.
I guess the answer is carefully. Most years, I buy a blank card. This year, I bought a card with geometric illustrations, rather than representational ones, and a simple message. The struggle and confusion continue.
And yet... he and my mother broke up when I was three. He was violent toward my mother. With his next wife, things got so bad that he sent her children to live with their father when he realized how inappropriately the two grownups were behaving. And that was in the 60s when such things were Not Done, when children were not raised by men, unless those men were widowers.
He'd say he was coming to visit me and wouldn't, often enough that my mother stopped telling me of impending visits. The first time I got married, he told me that he almost killed himself (he was having a rough time) but decided to come see me get married instead -- the two choices were about equivalent in his mind. His own family was awful to him (the other side of the "rough time" got to his family first and he was too much of a gentleman to contradict her).
He used to call me around my birthday, but when I once teased him about mixing my birthday up with my sister's, three days apart from mine, he never called again, not even not on my birthday.
With all this conflict, I didn't send father's day cards until my aunt told me how hurt my father was not to receive one from me. So I started.
But how do you choose a card for someone who was never there ("Oh Dad, you were always there for me."), who didn't help raise me ("You always knew just what to say." "I've learned so much from you"), and who doesn't play golf ("take this day for yourself and go hit a few balls around"). How about a man who never yelled at me for having a messy room, whom I never talked back to, and whose last reprimand that I can remember was "Yes, It is too early to get up. Now go back to sleep!" when I was two.
How do you buy a card for someone whose longest and happiest relationship continues long after some of his four marriages have been forgotten ("You and mom were always so perfect for each other"). And who doesn't fit the profile of any of the dads in the cards that I've seen -- he likes cats, not dogs, plays chess (and has been known to read chess manuals in the original Russian) and bridge, travels widely, reads broadly, and has an affinity for crazy people. Who once went to a rent party in New York and heard Billie Holliday sing? Who dressed as a color television for a late-50s or early-60s Halloween party.
I guess the answer is carefully. Most years, I buy a blank card. This year, I bought a card with geometric illustrations, rather than representational ones, and a simple message. The struggle and confusion continue.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
be free
Years ago, I had a job that I hated. I had a two-year commitment and barely made it to nine months. It wouldn't have been so bad except that (a) it was monkey work -- not very challenging, which in itself wouldn't have been so bad, except that (b) counterparts in our own group were trying -- not so subtly -- to sabotage our work.
(Backstory: the counterparts were called product managers and had been both writing and acquiring business. When they complained that they couldn't get their work done because they were so busy writing, management hired four writers. This meant that the product managers actually had to acquire business, which they didn't know how to do. So they set out to destroy the writers in an effort to make themselves look better. No, it doesn't make any sense, which is only part of why this job was so very miserable.)
So when I finally got a new job and was able to escape, Robert sent a balloon bouquet with a card that said enfin libre, a reference back to MLK, Jr's "free at last." Except that no one in my group had the French or the history to understand, so everyone thought the gesture was deeply romantic, which it was also.
Two years ago, I was hating my job again, and was getting ready to leave IBM. Nearly everyone I worked with complained incessantly, so no one took the whining very seriously. I went out to lunch with a friend and told him I was thinking seriously about leaving, but given that I didn't have a job to go to, he offered his moral support, and I'm sure thought we'd leave it at that. Except I was serious and eventually did leave.
That day, I was wearing one of the company's latest shirts with our new tagline. My friend was facing me all through lunch, so just saw the company's logo on the front. However, when we returned from lunch, I proceeded him down the hallway and turned around when I heard him roaring with laughter. The back of my shirt said Be liberated, a nice philosophy all around.
And about two weeks ago, our vp of marketing presented the newest ad campaign to the company. The tagline? Be free. I can't help but wonder what's in store for me next.
(Backstory: the counterparts were called product managers and had been both writing and acquiring business. When they complained that they couldn't get their work done because they were so busy writing, management hired four writers. This meant that the product managers actually had to acquire business, which they didn't know how to do. So they set out to destroy the writers in an effort to make themselves look better. No, it doesn't make any sense, which is only part of why this job was so very miserable.)
So when I finally got a new job and was able to escape, Robert sent a balloon bouquet with a card that said enfin libre, a reference back to MLK, Jr's "free at last." Except that no one in my group had the French or the history to understand, so everyone thought the gesture was deeply romantic, which it was also.
Two years ago, I was hating my job again, and was getting ready to leave IBM. Nearly everyone I worked with complained incessantly, so no one took the whining very seriously. I went out to lunch with a friend and told him I was thinking seriously about leaving, but given that I didn't have a job to go to, he offered his moral support, and I'm sure thought we'd leave it at that. Except I was serious and eventually did leave.
That day, I was wearing one of the company's latest shirts with our new tagline. My friend was facing me all through lunch, so just saw the company's logo on the front. However, when we returned from lunch, I proceeded him down the hallway and turned around when I heard him roaring with laughter. The back of my shirt said Be liberated, a nice philosophy all around.
And about two weeks ago, our vp of marketing presented the newest ad campaign to the company. The tagline? Be free. I can't help but wonder what's in store for me next.
Friday, June 16, 2006
box mix and other observations
Last night, I did something that brings shame to the family, and a slight bit of embarrassment to me. I made potato pancakes... from a box mix. My father's mother would be horrified. My mother would be appalled. My friend who throws parties on Jewish holidays would shake her head. But you know what? They were fairly tasty and had good texture, and were just what the doctor ordered for a late dinner after work. I know that they're easy enough to make, and perhaps I'll try them from scratch next time. But the experiment was worthwhile, unlike with so many other modern-day conveniences.
Oh, and another thing -- latkes are traditionally served at chanukah as part of the celebratory rememberance of having more than enough oil to -- what? -- light the temple, I think, far longer than those inside thought possible. As such, these puppies are really greasy (but oh so good -- does the yogurt we spread on top counteract any of that good good grease?). I don't think we'll have latkes often, but they're good as an occasional treat.
----
Today, I was in a Whole Foods near my old work location. I used to visit that store at least once a week, just to buy lunch or pick up a few necessities for the house. But it's been a while since I've stepped foot in there, and I was surprised that I didn't recognize anyone, either amongst the shoppers or workers. As I was trying to go out the out door, a crazed-looking woman was coming in, blocking my exit. She looked at me (I guess I looked ... convenient) and started babbling. She said "It would be absolutely full. I can't believe it. Absolutely full. If this was Newton, the store would be jammed." I restrained myself from replying, instead, just staring and perhaps raising one eyebrow. but had I been less in control of myself, I would have said "My dear, in Newton, people don't have day jobs. Of course they go shopping there in broad daylight."
----
A few weeks ago, at my own personal day job, I agreed to help advise a very busy guy about a tough documentation problem. I was fairly busy at the time, but we agreed to meet. In the words of a fellow blogger, of late, this guy has taken to wearing a "dorky" bluetooth earpiece. He carries his PDA around and fondles it incessantly. The whole time we were talking, it was buzzing, and without even so much as an "excuse me," he'd just start talking at the thing. After a while, every time it buzzed, I started wailing like a baby -- waaah waaah waaah. He just ignored me and kept answering his phone. Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but (the rest of this sentence is left as an exercise to the reader). And no, this guy isn't younger than me, but he is a lot ruder.
Oh, and another thing -- latkes are traditionally served at chanukah as part of the celebratory rememberance of having more than enough oil to -- what? -- light the temple, I think, far longer than those inside thought possible. As such, these puppies are really greasy (but oh so good -- does the yogurt we spread on top counteract any of that good good grease?). I don't think we'll have latkes often, but they're good as an occasional treat.
----
Today, I was in a Whole Foods near my old work location. I used to visit that store at least once a week, just to buy lunch or pick up a few necessities for the house. But it's been a while since I've stepped foot in there, and I was surprised that I didn't recognize anyone, either amongst the shoppers or workers. As I was trying to go out the out door, a crazed-looking woman was coming in, blocking my exit. She looked at me (I guess I looked ... convenient) and started babbling. She said "It would be absolutely full. I can't believe it. Absolutely full. If this was Newton, the store would be jammed." I restrained myself from replying, instead, just staring and perhaps raising one eyebrow. but had I been less in control of myself, I would have said "My dear, in Newton, people don't have day jobs. Of course they go shopping there in broad daylight."
----
A few weeks ago, at my own personal day job, I agreed to help advise a very busy guy about a tough documentation problem. I was fairly busy at the time, but we agreed to meet. In the words of a fellow blogger, of late, this guy has taken to wearing a "dorky" bluetooth earpiece. He carries his PDA around and fondles it incessantly. The whole time we were talking, it was buzzing, and without even so much as an "excuse me," he'd just start talking at the thing. After a while, every time it buzzed, I started wailing like a baby -- waaah waaah waaah. He just ignored me and kept answering his phone. Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but (the rest of this sentence is left as an exercise to the reader). And no, this guy isn't younger than me, but he is a lot ruder.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
highlights
Before I become overwhelmed by the amount of stuff to write about, perhaps I'll jot down some of the highlights of the last few weeks.
Our trip to Costa Rica was brief and fun. It had been very rainy before we left Massachusetts, so much so that there was flooding all around us (but fortunately we weren't affected). We went straight to... rainy season in Costa Rica! But fortunately, that just means that it's nice in the morning and typically rains for a few hours in the afternoon. We brought umbrellas and rain coats but barely used them.
We enjoyed catching up with the family. One of our activities was to go to belly dancing class with Paloma, not quite 5. It was just her, the teacher, and another student. I was impressed that the teacher was so good, both at her craft, and at dealing with young children. But I was also impressed that Paloma was so focused and studious.
One of the great things about these lessons is that for most of the week, Paloma completely follows around in her family's wake. This class represents the one relationship that Paloma has with someone outside the family and school, and that no one else in her family shares. And the class was so lovely that I felt it was a little like getting to go to therapy every week when you don't actually need it.
Another cool thing we did was take an art tour in San Jose. The woman who organizes it is originally from New York, and she's making her way in Costa Rica. She's started to connect with local artists and put together bunches of these little tours. On our day, it was just Robert, me, the woman (Molly), and her driver. We met five artists, all enormously talented. We visited four of them in their homes, where they have their studios. The fifth owns a hotel and uses it as a gallery space for her work and the work of a few others in an artist's collaborative.
We bought a few prints, one from the woman who won the print-maker's award in Costa Rica last year. (The hotel owner won the painter's award last year.)
We travel a lot, but we so rarely have the opportunity to visit people on their own territory or talk to them about their creative work. And Molly provided some great glue, asking questions that I was just too shy to ask.
We came home to more rain, about 7-10 days of it, almost non-stop. It rained through the AIDS walk (for which I raised a little over $2000) and through Pride (which, in keeping with tradition, Robert attended and I skipped). And finally, on Sunday, the sun came out.
With the sun came house guests who stayed a little less than 48 hours. We ran around like nuts and they left this morning.
The big trauma of the day was that with all the opening and closing of doors, Koa somehow managed to disappear. She had just started to respond to her name, but didn't come when I called her. She was absolutely silent all day, and I was convinced she wasn't in the house.
I was also starting to feel slightly incompetent -- is it a record to lose two cats in six months? Oscar Wilde: "To lose one parent may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness." I was feeling like I'd been quite careless, if only for a second. How would I explain it to the people at the shelter? If she was outside, even if we could find her, how would we get her back inside, given that she's still extremely skittish?
Robert was away most of the day. When he came home, he called and called, and ... Koa sauntered out of my closet. I was so overwhelmed and relieved that I burst into tears. Koa seems happy to have just the two of us in the house once again. She's nervous as usual, but has been incredibly affectionate this evening, and has meowed at us a lot.
The house is put back together, the cat is safe and sound, we're staying put for two months. Back to the usual dull roar that usually accompanies our lives.
Our trip to Costa Rica was brief and fun. It had been very rainy before we left Massachusetts, so much so that there was flooding all around us (but fortunately we weren't affected). We went straight to... rainy season in Costa Rica! But fortunately, that just means that it's nice in the morning and typically rains for a few hours in the afternoon. We brought umbrellas and rain coats but barely used them.
We enjoyed catching up with the family. One of our activities was to go to belly dancing class with Paloma, not quite 5. It was just her, the teacher, and another student. I was impressed that the teacher was so good, both at her craft, and at dealing with young children. But I was also impressed that Paloma was so focused and studious.
One of the great things about these lessons is that for most of the week, Paloma completely follows around in her family's wake. This class represents the one relationship that Paloma has with someone outside the family and school, and that no one else in her family shares. And the class was so lovely that I felt it was a little like getting to go to therapy every week when you don't actually need it.
Another cool thing we did was take an art tour in San Jose. The woman who organizes it is originally from New York, and she's making her way in Costa Rica. She's started to connect with local artists and put together bunches of these little tours. On our day, it was just Robert, me, the woman (Molly), and her driver. We met five artists, all enormously talented. We visited four of them in their homes, where they have their studios. The fifth owns a hotel and uses it as a gallery space for her work and the work of a few others in an artist's collaborative.
We bought a few prints, one from the woman who won the print-maker's award in Costa Rica last year. (The hotel owner won the painter's award last year.)
We travel a lot, but we so rarely have the opportunity to visit people on their own territory or talk to them about their creative work. And Molly provided some great glue, asking questions that I was just too shy to ask.
We came home to more rain, about 7-10 days of it, almost non-stop. It rained through the AIDS walk (for which I raised a little over $2000) and through Pride (which, in keeping with tradition, Robert attended and I skipped). And finally, on Sunday, the sun came out.
With the sun came house guests who stayed a little less than 48 hours. We ran around like nuts and they left this morning.
The big trauma of the day was that with all the opening and closing of doors, Koa somehow managed to disappear. She had just started to respond to her name, but didn't come when I called her. She was absolutely silent all day, and I was convinced she wasn't in the house.
I was also starting to feel slightly incompetent -- is it a record to lose two cats in six months? Oscar Wilde: "To lose one parent may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness." I was feeling like I'd been quite careless, if only for a second. How would I explain it to the people at the shelter? If she was outside, even if we could find her, how would we get her back inside, given that she's still extremely skittish?
Robert was away most of the day. When he came home, he called and called, and ... Koa sauntered out of my closet. I was so overwhelmed and relieved that I burst into tears. Koa seems happy to have just the two of us in the house once again. She's nervous as usual, but has been incredibly affectionate this evening, and has meowed at us a lot.
The house is put back together, the cat is safe and sound, we're staying put for two months. Back to the usual dull roar that usually accompanies our lives.
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