How amazingly far apart are the tones of e-mails that begin with "hi" and those that begin with "dear." My use of "dear" is hard to break because I grew up being taught that one began letters with that word. But I can't help noticing that this usage makes me seem archaic, so I increasingly resort to "hi" in ordinary correspondence.
It is too informal for my taste, though, or rather it is too detached and chilly. It is like running into someone in the supermarket by accident while searching for spinach ravioli. "Oh hi (so and so)," one says without stopping or scanning the shelves. Interestingly, we in this country tend to associate formality and formalisms with emotional coldness, but I think informality can be just as if not more dismissive and off-putting. This country's modern economy and culture is largely founded on emotional detachment. In a word, on "cool."
I find my brother R, for example, to be most formal and ritualistic when he is most affectionate, such as when he presents a gift with a little speech telling where he saw it and how it reminded him of you. Formality may be the resort of the emotionally distant, but at least it is clear -- more clear than a lackluster, monosyllabic "hi."
The scope of "dear" has shrunk I think from older times, when it was used in a wide range of emotionally charged contexts. Now it has narrowed considerably to opposite sex romantic relationships. But I still will use it in e-mails with men, if I want to mark it -- and them --- as important.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
galivanting and dropped "t"s
At the assisted living facility where I work, I am constantly bouncing between two very different linguistic worlds: the dining room world of old fashioned Yankee blue bloods with their very proper charm, and the kitchen world of Italian immigrant English, a blustery, warm dialect. I love it. Yesterday I overheard Harriet, a strong willed old Jewish matron, who grew up in Bridgeport where her Dad owned a shop, say to another woman, "Oh, I suppose they'll be galivanting all over the shoreline," referring to a field trip being offered.
Galivanting strikes me, in its sound associations, as a kind of baroque and utterly superfluous galloping about for pleasure.
In the kitchen, I heard Alicia say "I hadda pick him up after work! Can you believe that?" Another dropping of t's is the pronunciation of "nothing" as "nu'in'." But I think they only use that exaggerated pronunciation to express contempt, as in, "That dumb kid don't know nuttin." I heard that my first day at work, as Lena put her cell phone back under the counter after talking to a friend or boyfriend.
I listen to speech forms like some people listen to symphonies, and I smile with delight to myself when a particularly rare or colorful word flits through my ear-scape.
Speaking of which, I saw a political impersonator on Kieth Olberman a couple of days ago named Jim Morris. Oh my god, this guy was a genius: he took on the speech and manner of John McCain, George Bush, Bill Richardson, Al Gore, and John Edwards within the space of about 4 minutes. It was incredible, how a single person can be so well and fully captured in speech.
While it is true, as some commentators point out, that the US is not racially or ethnically defined, I have to say in response that belonging to the American linguistic community is nonetheless decisive. One can look at a person who is racially or sartorially exotic, but as soon as they open their mouths and utter fluent American, one is convinced that they are "really" American. No matter that they may be equally fluent in some other language, like my friend Mariem, whose Dad is Tunisian. I love hearing her jump back and forth between "known" and "alien" within the space of a sentence.
Galivanting strikes me, in its sound associations, as a kind of baroque and utterly superfluous galloping about for pleasure.
In the kitchen, I heard Alicia say "I hadda pick him up after work! Can you believe that?" Another dropping of t's is the pronunciation of "nothing" as "nu'in'." But I think they only use that exaggerated pronunciation to express contempt, as in, "That dumb kid don't know nuttin." I heard that my first day at work, as Lena put her cell phone back under the counter after talking to a friend or boyfriend.
I listen to speech forms like some people listen to symphonies, and I smile with delight to myself when a particularly rare or colorful word flits through my ear-scape.
Speaking of which, I saw a political impersonator on Kieth Olberman a couple of days ago named Jim Morris. Oh my god, this guy was a genius: he took on the speech and manner of John McCain, George Bush, Bill Richardson, Al Gore, and John Edwards within the space of about 4 minutes. It was incredible, how a single person can be so well and fully captured in speech.
While it is true, as some commentators point out, that the US is not racially or ethnically defined, I have to say in response that belonging to the American linguistic community is nonetheless decisive. One can look at a person who is racially or sartorially exotic, but as soon as they open their mouths and utter fluent American, one is convinced that they are "really" American. No matter that they may be equally fluent in some other language, like my friend Mariem, whose Dad is Tunisian. I love hearing her jump back and forth between "known" and "alien" within the space of a sentence.
jack o'lantern pie
The pie is a success. I pureed the baked pumpkin pieces in the blender (with some added bits of spatula tip) and mixed in evaporated milk, two eggs, garlic, and a bunch of spices (sage, white, black and red pepper powder, salt, oregano). I picked dark meat off the chicken I had boiled and placed it in the bottom of the pie crust; on top I scattered chopped up onion. Then I poured the pumpkin over it and cooked at 425 and 350 for almost an hour.
When it came out, I tasted it and found it was much saltier than expected. So this morning I had to add another step -- pureed more pumpkin, added in some chicken broth and butter, as a topping for the pie, to balance out the saltiness. It was delicious!
Thursday, November 1, 2007
seaside grim reaper
I was about to eschew my political costume plans -- a grim reaper advocating war with Iran -- when my brother S suggested a different twist. Why not be a grim reaper wearing a swim suit and sandals, advocating global warming? As this also had the advantage of humor, I decided to do it.
I shaved my beard into stripes and then used my fingertips to apply the face paint. What an amazing feeling, seeing me transform into a devilish figure! There was a surge of excitement. I recall my friend Radu's photos of New Year's festivities in Romania, where country people dress as mythical animal-spirits that do ritual battle, in dance. How rich are these dramas of the past, dramas now in decline or disappeared altogether -- or transformed, as is our Halloween, into a consumer holiday. And yet, it still is not altogether without traces of that older playfulness, that smiling approach to darker forces.
As we three walked down the New Haven streets, passing groups of revellers, we could not help noting that practically every woman we saw was a "slutty (something)." Not that we overly minded -- just that it was so uniform. "Oh, here's another slutty secretary," someone would say. I saw a woman with a leg cast and miniskirt. "What's this, a slutty invalid?" R said Halloween had become a holiday for women to do what normally they are not allowed to do -- or at least, to appear as if they would do those things. In this way, they mimic celebrities, who are expert not so much at doing dirty deeds, but at going just to the point of stirring that fantasy in viewers, and then stepping back into respectability.
pumpkin chicken stew
My wife, who is from Taiwan, told me when I had described my Jack O'lantern plans, "Make sure you don't waste that pumpkin. Make a soup from it." I recalled having eaten pumpkin soup in Taiwan. So as I gathered up the cut out mouths and eyes and noses, I obediently washed them and sliced them into chunks. My wife is still in Taiwan awaiting her visa -- her instruction had come by phone.
I boiled a whole frozen chicken for a couple of hours, and then added sliced carrots, onion, potatoes, and pumpkin, not to mention garlic. For flavor I added salt, oregano, some Carribean Curry mix, chipotle pepper powder, ground sage, black pepper and white pepper. Oh, and garlic powder. It was maybe the best stew I have ever made. The pumpkin's contribution is subtle but significant, I think. As I had cut them, I noticed the slippery secretion of the flesh, common to other squashes, but even more pronounced. It is a mysterious plant with special qualities I do not really understand.
But today I went and got the biggest Jack O'lantern out of the back of the truck (picked up last night from the Green on our way back from New Haven -- its candle already blown out) and sliced it in half with a bread knife. I will roast it and use half of it for a pie and the other half for a savory pie -- maybe chicken and pumpkin pie? My wife does not like cinnamon in sweet things, so I jokingly suggested a salty pumpkin pie for her. Then I thought, hey, why not a savory pie with pumpkin and chicken? I did a tasty chicken pie a couple weeks ago.
I am trying to think outside the box of industrial food, reconnecting to nature in a creative way.
I still want to work on drying seaweed for cooking. My main question now is how much seaweed absorbs pollution. Is it like fish in that regard?
I think of the people who lived here before us. Surely they harvested seaweed for food -- or for growing crops.
I boiled a whole frozen chicken for a couple of hours, and then added sliced carrots, onion, potatoes, and pumpkin, not to mention garlic. For flavor I added salt, oregano, some Carribean Curry mix, chipotle pepper powder, ground sage, black pepper and white pepper. Oh, and garlic powder. It was maybe the best stew I have ever made. The pumpkin's contribution is subtle but significant, I think. As I had cut them, I noticed the slippery secretion of the flesh, common to other squashes, but even more pronounced. It is a mysterious plant with special qualities I do not really understand.
But today I went and got the biggest Jack O'lantern out of the back of the truck (picked up last night from the Green on our way back from New Haven -- its candle already blown out) and sliced it in half with a bread knife. I will roast it and use half of it for a pie and the other half for a savory pie -- maybe chicken and pumpkin pie? My wife does not like cinnamon in sweet things, so I jokingly suggested a salty pumpkin pie for her. Then I thought, hey, why not a savory pie with pumpkin and chicken? I did a tasty chicken pie a couple weeks ago.
I am trying to think outside the box of industrial food, reconnecting to nature in a creative way.
I still want to work on drying seaweed for cooking. My main question now is how much seaweed absorbs pollution. Is it like fish in that regard?
I think of the people who lived here before us. Surely they harvested seaweed for food -- or for growing crops.
jack o'lanterns
Jack o'lanterns are beautiful things, rich in the enigma of spirits and their human supplicants. S carved the big one puking the small one. I carved the rest. When I parked the truck and stealthily placed the lanterns in public places and lit them, I felt a tiny bit of that primeval flirtation with the spirit world of ages past. I felt it as I put on my makeup for the Grim Reaper costume, and then when I climbed the low rock wall next to the cemetary. Creeping near the fence, beyond which ran Route One, I knelt and lit the candle, placed the lantern, and stole away. I glanced briefly up at the moon in the cloudy, windy sky. I could imagine the excitement of the spirit festival of centuries past, when people dressed the part of the demons they feared, partaking illicitly of their power by imitating. Except that here I was a solitary figure, not part of a festive, mischief-making, lascivious mass.
halloween without children
Last night as I and S rushed around, putting out our Jack O'Lanterns and preparing our costumes, it slowly dawned on me that no children were coming to our door. I had not really given it much thought, or even cared much, earlier in the day. I guess I had not expected many to come. Mom and Dad only saw three last year, S had told me. But all of a sudden, while R and S were eating a late supper in preparation for a trip to New Haven for a little partying, I felt sad. I had gone out to the desk by the front door to open up a candy bar for myself and seeing the untouched bowl, I felt it. Not one kid!
We have a dark little dead end road, but S had placed his masterpiece, "Big Jack O'lantern vomiting out Little Jack O'lantern," out by the mailboxes.
As I had driven around placing my three Jack O'lanterns around town, I had only seen one group of kids on the road. Where were all the kids? When I was young enough to trick or treat, the roads were alive with kids.
Later on in the truck on the way to New Haven, we tried to make sense of it. There are probably few families with kids in the apartments on Wall Street, I reasoned. But it did not make me feel better. S said he had heard a few years ago that parents were more and more trying to keep their kids to "secure" activities, like planned parties or school events. In other words, even in this super safe suburban town, where the police have so little to do that they have plenty of time for hobbies such as pilfering seafood from restaurants and stalking old girlfriends online, kids are still in danger. Or at least, they are perceived to be in danger -- from one's very own neighbors!
There was a sense of excitement in trick or treating at will, roaming the darkened landscape in costumes, approaching houses familiar or strange, pressing the doorbells. And now -- dangerous? Do parents in this suburb really believe their kids to be in danger? Even from people every bit as rich and white and devoted to their property values as they themselves?
It just goes to show, once one is insecure, nothing can make one feel safe. The problem is the fear itself, not external conditions. Children need small chances to stray from the watchful eye of parents -- to feel the beauty and risk of life.
We have a dark little dead end road, but S had placed his masterpiece, "Big Jack O'lantern vomiting out Little Jack O'lantern," out by the mailboxes.
As I had driven around placing my three Jack O'lanterns around town, I had only seen one group of kids on the road. Where were all the kids? When I was young enough to trick or treat, the roads were alive with kids.
Later on in the truck on the way to New Haven, we tried to make sense of it. There are probably few families with kids in the apartments on Wall Street, I reasoned. But it did not make me feel better. S said he had heard a few years ago that parents were more and more trying to keep their kids to "secure" activities, like planned parties or school events. In other words, even in this super safe suburban town, where the police have so little to do that they have plenty of time for hobbies such as pilfering seafood from restaurants and stalking old girlfriends online, kids are still in danger. Or at least, they are perceived to be in danger -- from one's very own neighbors!
There was a sense of excitement in trick or treating at will, roaming the darkened landscape in costumes, approaching houses familiar or strange, pressing the doorbells. And now -- dangerous? Do parents in this suburb really believe their kids to be in danger? Even from people every bit as rich and white and devoted to their property values as they themselves?
It just goes to show, once one is insecure, nothing can make one feel safe. The problem is the fear itself, not external conditions. Children need small chances to stray from the watchful eye of parents -- to feel the beauty and risk of life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
