clueless

Apparently, Luis E. doesn't read this blog.

I say that because (in spite of the fact that I told him I really wasn't interested in him a month ago) he called Thursday at 10:21 p.m. and left the following message:

Hi, how are you? This is Luis. It's been awhile since we've seen each other and I want to see you. Let's meet for coffee tomorrow night. Call me.

So much for him taking the hint.

Sidebar: Who calls after 10 p.m. during the week? Am I the only one who finds his statement a wee bit presumptuous? (Time is my most precious commodity these days. And I usually have plans for Friday and Saturday night before 10:21 p.m. on Thursday.) Stepping off my soapbox now...
Thanks to Susan G. and to Zach and Rhiannon for deciphering Luis' incoherent voicemail.

goddess worship

Apparently, I've been a francophile my entire life. Even as a little girl, I loved the design of the Citroën DS.

Tangent: Citroën also made another famous and instantly recognizable car: the 2CVGB.
Citroën 'goddess' fêted in Paris
France has marked the 50th anniversary of one of the great design icons of the last century - the Citroën DS, or Déesse, saloon car.

Hundreds of DS cars from around Europe drove in procession past the Arc de Triomphe in central Paris.

Known by its nickname, the Goddess - Déesse in French - the car was an instant sensation when it went on display at the Paris car show in 1955.

Nearly one-and-a-half million were made during its 20 years in production.

The parade featured Citroën Déesse cars of varying colours and vintages, but all with the same sleek bodywork, the tapering rear window, the space-age indicator light, and the long bonnet that appears to surge forwards and upwards.

The Déesse was developed for Citroën by the Italian designer Flaminio Bertoni in the austere post-war years, and when it went on display in Paris exactly 50 years ago, it had the crowds goggle-eyed in awe.

Twelve thousand orders had been placed at the end of the first day.

It wasn't just the aesthetic beauty of the machine, the futuristic dashboard and the extraordinary single-spoked steering wheel that mutated out of the steering column.

The technology was also well ahead of its day, notably the famous hydro-pneumatic suspension, which dispensed with common or garden springs and relied on liquids and valves.

Charles de Gaulle chose it for the presidential fleet - an inspired decision because in 1962, it was the car's ability to stay on the road at speed, despite two shot-out tyres, that saved his life in an assassination bid outside Paris.

Today the car is recognised as one of the great design triumphs of the last century - looked back on by the French with a deal of pride, and not a little nostalgia too, for an era of national self-confidence that seems long gone.

a miniature ecosystem at work inside our pillows

I've been sleeping alone for some time now. Or so I thought.
It turns out that I'm probably sharing my bed with millions of dust mites and fungi spores. Sweet dreams.

The Ecosystem That's Thriving in Your Pillows
Experts have discovered that we are also sleeping with microscopic fungi under our noses.

The fungi, which feed on human skin and dust mite droppings, are infesting our pillows, research published yesterday reveals.

Scientists analysed ten pillows and discovered each contained more than a million spores of at least 16 different types of fungi.

The discovery could be highly significant for asthma, Aids, cancer-and transplant patients, who can contract potentially fatal lung infections from the spores the tiny reproductive bodies produced by the fungi.

Ashley Woodcock, professor of respiratory medicine at the North West Lung Centre, in Manchester, who led the research, said: 'We know pillows are inhabited by the house dust mite which eats fungi, and one theory is that the fungi are using the mites' faeces, as well as human skin scales, as a major source of nitrogen and nutrition.

'There could therefore be a miniature ecosystem at work inside our pillows.'

coupling

My friend Ben lives in the reddest part of a very blue state. Today he quipped that Manhattan, Long Island, and New York should be three separate states. I suspect that the data from this survey would back him up.

Data on Marriage and Births Reflect the Political Divide
When it comes to marriage and babies, the red states really are different from the blue states, according to a new Census Bureau analysis of marriage, fertility and socioeconomic characteristics.

People in the Northeast marry later and are more likely to live together without marriage and less likely to become teenage mothers than are people in the South. The bureau's analysis, based on a sample of more than three million households from the American Community Survey data of 2000-3, is the first to examine the data by state.

"There are marked regional differences, said Jane Dye, the bureau researcher who did the study, with Tallese Johnson.

Generally, men and women in the Northeast marry later than those in the Midwest, West or South. In New York, New Jersey, Connecticut and Massachusetts, for example, the median age of first marriage is about 29 for men and 26 or 27 for women, about four years later than in Arkansas, Idaho, Kentucky, Oklahoma and Utah. And tracking the red state-blue state divide, those in California, Illinois, Michigan, Minnesota and Wisconsin follow the Northeast patterns, not those of their region.

Nationally, the age of first marriage has been rising since 1970. But because this is the first state-by-state analysis the Census Bureau has done, the authors of the study said, it is impossible to say whether the early-marrying states are moving in the same direction, and at the same pace, as the later-marrying ones.

"With the trend to later marriage, we were interested to find out if people were living alone longer, or living with a partner and then marrying later," Ms. Dye said. "We did find that in the states where people marry later, there is a higher proportion of unmarried-couple households. So it may be that people join in couples at the same time, but just marry later."

Generally, the study found, states in the Northeast and the West had a higher percentage of unmarried-partner households than those in the South, In Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont, unmarried couples made up more than 7 percent of all coupled households, about the twice the proportion of such households in Alabama, Arkansas and Mississippi.

On teenage births, the same differences become clear. In New York, New Jersey and Massachusetts, about 5 percent of babies are born to teenage mothers, while in Arkansas, Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi, Montana, New Mexico, South Carolina, Texas and Wyoming, 10 percent or more of all births are to teenage mothers.

The study also found that the percentage of births to unmarried mothers was highest in the South.

The new study also confirms just how big and how uneven a presence immigrants have become in American society.

Over all, it found, 15 percent of the women who had given birth in the United States in the previous year were not citizens. But immigrant presence, too, is very much a regional phenomenon. So while noncitizens made up a third of the new mothers in California, and more than 20 percent in Arizona, Nevada, New Jersey and Texas, there were a dozen states where less than 4 percent of the new mothers were not citizens.

Similarly, while 21 percent of all women who gave birth in California in the last year and 14 percent in Arizona, Nevada and Texas either did not speak English well or did not speak it at all, there were 14 states where less than 2 percent of the new mothers had limited English skills or none.

The researchers said that they had looked for evidence that immigrant mothers were poorer than others but that they had not found any.

"One thing that was interesting to us is that we didn't find a correlation between language and citizenship and poverty status," Ms. Dye said.

sideways

Today is Diana's 31st birthday! Her party: Wine tasting in Temecula. So D, Ophira, Nolan, Reggie, Gonzalo, Jean-François, and I piled into a limo, along with the requisite fruit, cheese, crackers, chocolate, sandwiches, music, and (of course) wine for the trip.

This was definitely the right crew to celebrate with. As we proceeded to sample the wares at each stop, and the day grew later, I was grateful for the driver, as there was no way anyone in our little party could have managed to get us home safely. I was also glad for Jean-François' knowledge of wines and how much he taught all of us on the topic.

When we were back, someone threw Ophy in the pool and it was only a matter of time before the rest of us were soaked, too. After three hours of laughter, splashing, and general mayhem in the pool and jacuzzi, I borrowed some dry clothes and headed home.

rrrwaaarllwwwlllrrrr!!

The "despite the politics, religion, and everything else that goes on" comment is wicked funny.
'Chewbacca' to become an American
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a Wookiee named Chewbacca growled and howled his way through "Star Wars" movies. On Monday, the actor who played him will take the oath to become an American citizen.

British-born Peter Mayhew will be among 441 people from 77 countries who will become naturalized Americans in a ceremony in Arlington, Texas.

Mayhew, 60, played the fur-covered warrior Chewbacca in the original "Star Wars" trilogy of the 1970s and 1980s, and the latest movie, "Episode III: Revenge of the Sith."

"I've always been interested in the cowboys and the history of the West and the history of America, so it wasn't so bad," Mayhew said in a telephone interview Wednesday. He was being driven by his wife to buy a suit for the occasion. It will be the conventional type -- not the brown, furry sort.

"I am feeling very happy about it," Mayhew said. "Whatever people say about America, it is still one of the most wonderful countries in the world, despite the politics, religion and everything else that goes on."

When he takes his oath to become an American, Mayhew said he'll recite what he can remember and "it will be a Chewie growl for the other parts."
Via Kevin

this is a shoutout to cass

... and all the other 3-Day Breast Cancer walkers.

The San Diego walk begins today and ends 60 miles later on Sunday.

I've got nothing but love for you, Cass. And for all the other men and women doing this amazing thing to raise money /awareness to help find a cure for breast cancer. God knows the 3-Day probably saved my life.

I'm thinking about you and Vickie as you walk this weekend. I'm grateful to have you as my friend and to have started that journey with you, Susan A., Susan G., Charlene, and Alexia in 2003.

curry-n-rice girl

Curry-N-Rice Girl (2005)
MC Vikram & Ludakrishna kick out the freshest beats for the only kind of girl that can satisfy them. I could say that this is a parody of Gwen Stefani's "Hollaback Girl," but that sells this brilliant video a little too short. (3 min 35 sec)

belgian smurfbombing

UNICEF Bombs Smurfs to Highlight Plight (Eric, this one's for you, my industrial smurf lover)
The world's most industrial country (these are the people who gave the world Front 242, after all) now presents a shocking commercial for UNICEF.

The Belgian office of the U.N. children's fund said it has decided to use the creations of late Belgian artist Peyo to shock a complacent public into backing its fund-raising efforts for ex-child soldiers in Africa.

But as Diana put it: "Why does Smurfette still wear heels?"
Via Christine and Diana

the mp3 experiment 2.0

Ben's preparing for an adventure in the unknown this Saturday— he's doing an Improv Everywhere mission and has promised to provide a report once it's over. If only San Diego had these sorts of crazy happenings ...

Improv Everywhere causes scenes of chaos and joy in public places. Created in August of 2001 by Charlie Todd, Improv Everywhere has executed over 50 missions involving hundreds of undercover agents. The group is based in New York City. They staged their own U2 concert on a New York rooftop earlier this year.

Ben's mission: The MP3 Experiment 2.0 (you bet your ass he's chosen to accept it)
Date: Saturday, October 15
Location: Sheep Meadow, Central Park (West side, mid-Park from 66th to 69th Streets: Map)
Time: The event will begin promptly at 3 p.m. Arrive early. If you are late you will miss it all. It will be over by 4 p.m.

Instructions:
1. Download the mp3.
2. Load it onto your mp3 player (iPod, etc) or burn to a CD for use with a "Discman".
3. Do not listen to the track.
4. Bring it with you to the event.
5. When you arrive at the event, SIT on the grass, anywhere in the meadow. (Bring a towel or newspaper to sit on.)
6. A man in the center of the meadow will make a siren noise with his megaphone. When this happens turn your player on and prepare to press play.
7. Around a minute later, the man will count down from 5 and then make a second siren noise. When you hear the siren, press play.
8. If available, turn on the "hold" feature on your player to prevent yourself from accidentally pressing an incorrect button during the event.
9. Remain seated until otherwise instructed.
10. Have fun.

it's a sin to kill a mockingbird

Tonight, I took myself on a date and watched "To Kill A Mockingbird" on the big screen at MOPA. It's none the worse for wear, even after all these years.

Atticus Finch is one of the bravest and most decent men in fiction. Like many kids my age, I read Harper Lee's Pulitzer Prize-winning novel in junior high and saw the film in my English class. The book (and movie) deal with difficult issues of race and wrongdoing in rural 1930s Alabama. Gregory Peck is riveting as Atticus Finch, a lawyer in the Depression-era South who defends a black man against an undeserved rape charge and his kids against prejudice.

whatsa happeninga hotstuff

I live with a cool Japanese exchange student named Misato. He's working to improve his English, which is already very good. But I'm finding that the experience is really helping me think carefully about my native tongue. It's also often quite funny (ha, ha and odd).

Tonight, as I grabbed my bag and got ready to head out to study, Misato asked me a simple question: "Are you going to class?"
I replied "What's up?," assuming that he needed to talk with me.
He looked at me with a confused expression and it slowly dawned on me that I'd used an idiomatic expression. I sought to clarify by asking "do you want to talk?"
Misato looked even more confused and asked "why?"
I replied "'What's up?' can mean 'how are you?' and I thought you might have wanted to talk, but I'm headed out (I just realized while typing this that I used another idiomatic expression) to study now."
He said "I thought 'what's up?' means 'what's happening?'"
I told him he was right, but that it was slang and also could mean that he was getting ready to talk to me.
We both laughed over it and then I proceeded to give him a lesson on slang derivations of the same phrase: What is up? --> What's up? --> 'Sup? --> 'Sup, yo?

That's when it got really funny. We high and low-fived each other, then did a secret handshake as we mimicked gangstas saying "'sup, yo." He pointed out that we sounded "like black musicians." (Sidebar: He likes rap.)

I gave Misato a quick "Later. I mean 'see you later' or 'late'" on my way out the door.

I had to tell someone about my latest "Lost in Translation" moment and stopped by Zach and Rhiannon's. Rhiannon said that she'd witnessed the whole handjive thing as she walked by a minute earlier, but figured we were busy and just kept walking. Then she suggested that I add "peace out" (along with the two-fingers to the eyebrow gesture) to the lesson and we all laughed.

I left with Zach. As we passed the kitchen window, I said "'sup, yo" to the roommate. And Zach yelled "later."

Misato laughed and so did we.

My roommate rocks.

all the news that’s fit to pay for

A couple of weeks ago, the New York Times launched Times Select — pitched as “exclusive online access” to op-ed columnists, the full archives, and various special features. If you’re a print subscriber, you can log in to Times Select for free (if you’re persistent enough to figure out how). But if you’ve adapted to reading the Times online without paying a penny, you now have to fork over $49.95 per year or else say goodbye to Frank Rich, Paul Krugman, Maureen Dowd, et al. Grrrrrrrr.

One enterprising fellow has decided to circumvent the Times Select firewall by posting the op-ed columns for free on his blog Never Pay Retail.
Via Radio Open Source, with Christopher Lydon

and in this corner

This is a shoutout to a friend of mine with a theory on why a certain professor is so socially inept. And about what he does in his free time.

I think I've just found the answer:
'Chessboxing' not for nerds
Tihomir "Tiger" Titschko is the new European heavyweight "chessboxing" champion after a nine-round thriller that saw the 14-stone champion land a decisive checkmate against his German opponent, Andreas "Doomsday" Schneider.

The World Chess Boxing Organisation event comprises up to 11 four-minute rounds of chess alternating with two minutes of boxing.

A spokesperson said: "The basic idea in chessboxing is to combine the No 1 thinking sport and the No 1 fighting sport into a hybrid that demands the most of its competitors - both mentally and physically."

On second thought, the professor is too mathletic, and it seems that he'd get spanked in this sort of showdown.

10 reasons why gay marriage is wrong

From the Best of Craigslist
Reply to: anon-102351114@craigslist.org
Date: Thu Oct 06 12:53:50 2005

1. Being gay is not natural. Real Americans always reject unnatural things like eyeglasses, polyester, and air conditioning.
2. Gay marriage will encourage people to be gay, in the same way that hanging around tall people will make you tall.
3. Legalizing gay marriage will open the door to all kinds of crazy behavior. People may even wish to marry their pets because a dog has legal standing and can sign a marriage contract.
4. Straight marriage has been around a long time and hasn't changed at all; women are still property, blacks still can't marry whites, and divorce is still illegal.
5. Straight marriage will be less meaningful if gay marriage were allowed; the sanctity of Britany Spears' 55-hour just-for-fun marriage would be destroyed.
6. Straight marriages are valid because they produce children. Gay couples, infertile couples, and old people shouldn't be allowed to marry because our orphanages aren't full yet, and the world needs more children.
7. Obviously gay parents will raise gay children, since straight parents only raise straight children.
8. Gay marriage is not supported by religion. In a theocracy like ours, the values of one religion are imposed on the entire country. That's why we have only one religion in America.
9. Children can never succeed without a male and a female role model at home. That's why we as a society expressly forbid single parents to raise children.
10. Gay marriage will change the foundation of society; we could never adapt to new social norms. Just like we haven't adapted to cars, the service-sector economy, or longer life spans.

Re-post this if you believe love makes a marriage.
this is in or around Salem, OR
no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

take a hint

I month ago, I made an amateur mistake. I gave a guy my phone number at a coffeehouse. My real number.

Before you all start lecturing me on my folly, here's why I did it:

1. Inexperience: I didn't know that I could say "no" to giving the guy my number.
2. Extreme fatigue/ being caught off-guard: I was so brain-dead after an eight-hour workday, four hours of class, and two additional hours of OB reading that I didn't think to get his number instead of giving him mine.
3. Ego: I'll admit it. I was flattered that he found me attractive after my marathon day and my scratch-my head, chew-my-pen, hunch-over-my-paper mannerisms, oblivious to the fact that I had an admirer while studying.
4. An aversion to being seen as a bitch: I also didn't want to give him a fake number, because I study there often and would have to see him and deal with that discomfort for who-knows-how-long.
5. An oddly overdeveloped sense of empathy: I put myself in his shoes, and figured that it took courage for him to stop me. Besides, he seemed sincere enough.
6. Naïvetée: He didn't seem like a stalker during that initial exchange.

In spite of the fact that I wasn't remotely attracted to him, I decided to be an adult about it (and at the very worst, chalk it up as practice in the dating world) and had coffee with him a week later.

I was very frank during the conversation and made it really clear that he wasn't my type, and that I really wasn't interested. By the end of the 60 minutes, he kissed my hand and said "so I'm really not your demographic?" and I pulled it away quickly and reiterated that he was, in fact, not my demographic.

He's been calling me a few times a week for the last four weeks. Tonight alone, he's called three times. Thank god for caller ID — I've never picked up the phone and am wondering when he'll get the hint. I'm at the point where I don't want to go to a coffeehouse alone, because I think I'll run into him.

Luis E., please stop calling me. You're really not my demographic.

And you're hereby banished from Claire de Lune and any other decent coffeehouses in this county.

what? you can't say "no" to me!

I met mon ami voyou at the gym tonight and then we headed to Dao Son for dinner. Our conversation took a turn to the hilarious when he recounted the outrageous things that people have said and done to him while at work. You see, mon ami is a member services representative at the Zoo, which means that he deals with the general public AKA 'the unwashed masses' on a daily basis.

After the story about how people with a bizarre sense of entitlement reacted to him saying "no," we spiraled into a conversation where we talked about our fantasies for what we would say/ do to some of our clients if we knew that we would never have to see them again.

Imagine a 'somebody done me wrong' TV show where people share their secret fantasy for what they'd say/ do to others if they had no compunctions about the consequences. I can see an entire season dedicated to in-laws and ex-'s, and another to the whole "take this job and shove it" scenario.

The possibilities really are endless.
Inspired by A's crappy day

karma's a beeyotch, part deux

A friend of mine is 36-and-a-half weeks pregnant and just got fired from her job. I shit you not.

The kicker — the business is partially owned by her family and is super successful, largely due to her outstanding work and innovative ideas.

I'm not a vindictive person, but I'm thinking that the greedy partner who initiated the firing will have to deal with some bad ju-ju for awhile. I'm just sayin' ...

flirting to go

Chad and Denisse turned me on to Sarah Love and her L.A. Times column.

She'd like his flirting to go
Now here's a guy I could get serious with. He's kind, he's cute, and he's generous. He has in-depth knowledge of tequila, making him an invaluable guest at any party. He's attentive and laughs at all my jokes. He has a job. The dog likes him. He's what grandmothers call "A Nice Fella."

Just one character flaw: He flirts with waitresses.

I don't mean the gorgeous "I'm really an actress" waitress. I mean any waitress, in every restaurant, night or day, Spago or Twain's, doesn't matter. The guy has a thing for waitresses.

The first time it happened, I dismissed it as first-date jitters. The second time, I dismissed it as Rescue-the-Damsel-in-Distress syndrome. The third time it happened, I suggested we do takeout and watch reruns of Dr. Phil.

Usually, it starts off with mild flirtation that borders on stupidity, catching the victim a tad off guard. This morning is no different as we settle into a booth at an all-night diner after a Hollywood Hills party of all drink and no food. "Hi, Debbie," he says, reading her nametag. "What a great name. Debbie. I like the way that sounds. Duh-eeee-bbb-eeeeee.

"Debbie, what's a pretty girl like you doing serving me?" I look up at Debbie. Deb's had a long night and the fluorescent lights aren't doing her crow's-feet any favors. Her hair is swept up by a plastic clip that holds not only her hair, but remnants of the biscuits and gravy special. The uniform is too orange, and too tight.

She laughs nervously and looks at me for approval. I smile back with the "he's harmless" look.

I order a nondescript omelet and consider how I will break up with him. Since it is somewhat of a melodrama, I feel I should be veiled in a black scarf, very Katharine Hepburn, flash my profile and say something like, "Look, fella, it's over. You're no good. Do you hear me? No good."

There is the loud drink-a-watta in your face, high-pitched Rosie Perez breakup. Nah, too overkill. There is the Jilted Jane, starting with a single tear rolling down the cheek and ending in incoherent sobbing.

I think about my dog, and how kind she is to pretend she likes this cad. It wasn't her fault. We were going into our second month. She was getting hopeful and he did carry a Frisbee in his trunk. That kind of faith deserves a treat. I put a piece of bacon in my napkin.

Debbie has been invited to sit with us, which she does for a moment before receiving a cursory glance from her manager whose white shirt has taken on the look of a greasy appetizer.

"Oh goodness, I really have to go," she gasps. "This is our busy time. You folks have a really nice night."

It seems there is no time between my putting the bacon in my purse and putting the key in the ignition. His beaming face appears at the window, happy, content, another episode of successful waitress-wooing under his belt. I realize I have forgotten to say goodbye.

He taps on the window. "I'll drive, sweetheart." He tries the door. "Open up." I do appreciate his optimism.

Now would be a good time for the rolling tear, but in its place is laughter, the kind you hear in an old horror movie. I pull out of the parking lot and add a new exit technique to my repertoire: The Joker.

ig®nobel prizewinners

Alas, Bono didn't win the Nobel peace prize (again) this year. But my friend Ben sent me the results of this year's Ig® Nobel prizes.

A sampling of the winners:
AGRICULTURAL HISTORY: James Watson of Massey University, New Zealand, for his scholarly study, "The Significance of Mr. Richard Buckley’s Exploding Trousers."

NUTRITION: Dr. Yoshiro Nakamats of Tokyo, Japan, for photographing and retrospectively analyzing every meal he has consumed during a period of 34 years (and counting). Are you reading this, Phil?

PEACE: Claire Rind and Peter Simmons of Newcastle University, in the U.K., for electrically monitoring the activity of a brain cell in a locust while that locust was watching selected highlights from the movie "Star Wars."

FLUID DYNAMICS: Victor Benno Meyer-Rochow of International University Bremen, Germany and the University of Oulu , Finland; and Jozsef Gal of Loránd Eötvös University, Hungary, for using basic principles of physics to calculate the pressure that builds up inside a penguin, as detailed in their report "Pressures Produced When Penguins Pooh -- Calculations on Avian Defaecation."

superfoods to the rescue

Once upon a time, I worked with Jennifer S. And she turned me on to the superfoods.

In honor of her birthday (or perhaps because Trader Joe's had some lovely organic yams), Cass and I ate an all-superfood dinner last night.

Our menu:
Turkey sausage with sundried tomatoes, olives, and feta
Steamed organic broccoli in the slightest amount of butter, salt, and pepper
Organic mashed yams with butter and brown sugar
Charlie's Best Bread organic oat flour and sunflower seed dinner rolls
Sparkling blueberry juice
Homemade banana bread

Thanks for inspiring me, Jennifer. Oh, and happy birthday!

he who controls the spice controls the universe

I was fortunate enough to grow up in a home where garlic was one of the four basic food groups. My Russian/Eastern European Jewish-descended ex grew up in a spice-free zone. It's no wonder that he fell head over heels for me when I introduced him to the world of garlic via Thai and Indian food. To this day, we both consider the smell of garlic slapping us — hard — across the face as the true measure of a good Italian restaurant.

Eat, Memory: The Sixth Sense
Growing up I dreamed of garlic the way some dream of bright city lights. I had smelled the forbidden vegetable (spice? herb?) during brief trips to Manhattan, roasted garlic coating the poorer sections of town, clinging to the peeling fire escapes, pouring down the tenement stoops to sucker-punch me in the nose, my 10-year-old mind reeling with flavor and summertime heat and the still inchoate idea that sex could somehow be linked with the digestive process (cf. "Seinfeld").

Back home in sedated Little Neck, Queens, we feasted on Russian, or I should say, Soviet, cuisine. Breakfast was a plate of roasted buckwheat groats with a puddle of butter soaking up the middle. Supper was a plate of thick, salty farmer cheese, sometimes with a can of peaches dumped on it, sometimes not. Around 3 p.m., a piece of boiled meat and some kind of wan vegetable were beaten into submission. "Please," I begged my mother. "If you let me eat only half a plate of buckwheat groats, I'll vacuum the whole house tomorrow. If we skip the farmer cheese, I'll give you back part of my allowance. I'll be supernice to Grandmother. Please, Mama, don't feed me."

I can't really blame my parents. They had spent the first half of their lives in the Soviet Union. They were doing their best. Roasted buckwheat was meant to ensure a beautiful, healthy organism. The nightly dose of farmer cheese was supposed to make you grow tall and strong. (I am 5-foot-6 on a good day.) Canned peaches were a sultry American luxury to be enjoyed at the end of a long working day. What was a form of punishment for me was for my parents a delicacy.

My first hint that food could be edible came at my grandmother's house. My grandmother loved me more than I loved myself, and on the occasions when I came to stay at her house after school, this love was expressed through a five-hour gorging process.

And still it wasn't enough. The specter of garlic haunted me. I tried to name my need but could not. We lived in a Russian bland-food zone, where a visiting carne asada burrito would be promptly strip-searched and deported.

I found what I was looking for one winter break from college in the early 90's at the corner of Horatio and Greenwich Streets. Against the genteel streetscape of redbrick town houses, the aroma of garlic, fresh, strong, unadulterated garlic, was weaving itself into the strands of my long hippie ponytail.

[M]y own tongue, barren for so long, accursed by the meager diet of my upbringing, was finally activated, letting the round strands of pure garlic dissolve in my mouth and making me feel, for the first time in my life, not like a dutybound Russian immigrant and future earner but like a lusty, ravenous animal looking for satisfaction. I wanted to tell my companions that I loved them. I wanted to tell them that I was happy at last. I was not merely my parents' son but my own man, and although several more years of confinement at the Midwestern college remained, I would return to New York one day and take what was mine.

chad ♥ denisse

Leaving in the Cadillac

First dance

Best man's toast

I went to my first Mexican-Gringo wedding today. It was a good mix of family (lindy hopping Vegas folk and tequila-drinking salsa-dancing Mexicans) and friends (politicos and medical residents).

Denisse was gorgeous, in her classic dress and veil. Chad looked fab in his suit and his pink and grey sneakers (after the ceremony).

A sampling of today's fun:

• The classic pink Cadillac that took them from the church to the reception
• The mariachis who stole our place settings
• The tequila toast
• Salsa and swing dancing the night away

¡Felicidades!

takeout philosophy

While eating last night's leftovers, I noodled on Phil's explanation of Wittgenstein's view of meaning and realized how utterly American I really am. This bug's very much in the box.

not freddie, but not bad

For me, music is very much about time and place. When I hear certain tracks, I'm transported to a moment (often including people) from my past. The most powerful music experience for me is when I realize at the time that the moment will be something I'll revisit at a future date.

And it's like that with Queen. Any time I hear their music, I'm reminded of a good friend in college, who learned how to rock out in her own goofy, nerdy way while listening to Freddie Mercury. There's no telling what she'll think of this news:

Late last year [Queen] announced they'd be touring with vocalist Paul Rodgers, former lead singer of Free ("All Right Now"). Reportedly, the idea for the reunion occurred after Rodgers and Queen guitarist Brian May performed "All Right Now" together at a concert in 2004. The gig went over so well that Rodgers was asked to join May and Queen drummer Roger Taylor for the band's induction into the U.K. Music Hall of Fame.

So how does Paul Rodgers stack up against Freddie Mercury? Take a listen to him stepping into Mercury's shoes on a live version of "Bohemian Rhapsody" and judge for yourself.

time for pancakes at the Y

Inspired by Phil and Alex

military intelligence

A guy I knew in high school used to refer to the USMC as "Uncle Sam's Mindless Cattle." The irony: he joined the Air Force a few years later. Anyhow, as my friend Grace used to say, this new Army policy does not inspire confidence:
The Dumbing-Down of the U.S. Army
Further evidence that the war in Iraq is wrecking the U.S. Army: Recruiters, having failed to meet their enlistment targets, are now being authorized to pursue high-school dropouts and (not to mince words) stupid people.

This year the Army set a goal of recruiting 80,000 active-duty soldiers, but it wound up with just 73,000—almost 10 percent short. As a result, the Army Times reported this week, the Pentagon has decided to make up the difference by expanding the pool—by letting up to 10 percent of new recruits be young men and women who have neither graduated high school nor earned a General Equivalency Diploma.

More than that, the Los Angeles Times reports today that 4 percent of recruits will be allowed to score as low as in the 16th to 30th percentile—a grouping known as "Category IV"—on the U.S. Armed Forces' mental-aptitude exam.

deadly appetites

I'm taking an organizational behavior class right now and am rethinking my own workplace behaviors in light of the different theories of motivation and personality. I've realized that my anger-addled reptilian brain compelled me to swallow an alligator a few years back. Fortunately, after nearly physically bursting, I survived. And I began the longer process of relieving the internal pressures that got me there.

Gator-guzzling python comes to messy end
A 13-foot Burmese python recently burst after it apparently tried to swallow a live, six-foot alligator whole, authorities said.

The gory evidence of the latest gator-python encounter — the fourth documented in the past three years — was discovered and photographed last week by a helicopter pilot and wildlife researcher. The snake was found with the gator’s hindquarters protruding from its midsection. Mazzotti said the alligator may have clawed at the python’s stomach as the snake tried to digest it.

seriously?

Ummm. Apparently, I'm not that fanatical a fan.

I didn't realize that Bono is in the running for this year's Nobel Peace Prize for his work against poverty. (Or that this is the second time he's been nominated.) And that U2 is taking over the Conan O'Brien show this Thursday night.

the blue flash

When I was in college, I (and some other science geek friends) once stayed out until 3 a.m. to catch the bioluminescent flash caused by dinoflagellates in the breaking waves at La Jolla Shores. We would've flipped our wigs over this:
Satellite images confirm mystery glow in ocean
The newly released images show a vast region of the Indian Ocean, about the size of Connecticut, glowing three nights in a row. The luminescence was also spotted from a ship in the area.

"So, our best working hypothesis is that we are witnessing bioluminescence produced by bacteria that are colonizing some kind of organic material present in the water," he said. "Satellite detection will hopefully allow us to target milky seas with properly equipped research vessels that will then be able to answer all these questions definitively."