Monday, September 9, 2019
For years, in a futile attempt to deny the aging process, I avoided reading the death notices in the New York Times. I've progressed beyond that phase of denial and yesterday I recognized the name of R.W. More than 50 years ago, while teaching in a local junior high school, I taught her daughter and son, the girl in my ninth-grade algebra class and the boy in my (get ready) eighth-grade general science class. The boy was also in my home room.
For years, in a futile attempt to deny the aging process, I avoided reading the death notices in the New York Times. I've progressed beyond that phase of denial and yesterday I recognized the name of R.W. More than 50 years ago, while teaching in a local junior high school, I taught her daughter and son, the girl in my ninth-grade algebra class and the boy in my (get ready) eighth-grade general science class. The boy was also in my home room.
At the time, I got to know some students' families fairly well and stayed friendly with these folks after the school year ended and I moved (was pushed) on. I recall going to the boy's Bar Mitzvah party held at Cheetah, a very hot discotheque in Manhattan at the time, reflecting the parents' nonconformity, one reason that I found them interesting. Not that they were refugees from a hippie commune or a Buddhist ashram. The father owned a successful manufacturing (?) business and the mother herself was a teacher. In fact, what first attracted me to them was how she praised my classroom shtick, reported back by her children.
This family became a model for me. It gave me hope that a middle-class Jewish household could be populated by engaged, articulate parents and teenagers resembling human beings, not what I was accustomed to. Sometime in the following year, when I had moved to 55 Morton Street in Greenwich Village, previously the home of Wally Cox and his occasional overnight guest Marlon Brando, the kids called me. They stunned me with the news that their parents were getting divorced.
All I can remember is that I had to go somewhere, so I got into my VW Beetle parked on the street and partially ripped off my front bumper getting out of the parking space. I don't think that I even left a note for the car that I vandalized. "The dream was gone. Something had been taken from him." F. Scott Fitzgerald, Winter Dreams, 1926.
I had such a comedown before, although it arose from a work of fiction. Frederico Fellini's great 1960 movie "La Dolce Vita" had many memorable scenes and themes. While it was more than unlikely that I would ever cavort in a fountain with Anita Ekberg, I identified strongly with Marcello Mastroianni's friend Steiner, who, in the words of film critic Roger Ebert, "represents all
that Marcello envies. Steiner lives in an apartment filled with art. He
presides over a salon of poets, folk singers, intellectuals. He has a
beautiful wife and two perfect children." And then, Steiner commits suicide. That was it. I only expected existential dread from then on, until I drew some temporary inspiration from the W family years later. To quote the words of Ralph Cramden, "Pow! Right in the kisser!"
. . .
. . .
My young bride brought to my attention an article in the New York Times about the rebellion within the British Conservative Party's parliamentary wing against the Brexit policy of Boris Johnson. https://www.nytimes.com/2019/
This contrasts with the docility of our Republican legislators, deferring to a "president [who] has thoroughly taken over the Republicans, remaking the party of Lincoln in his image and institutionalizing policies that, only a few years ago, would have seemed extreme to them." As a defrocked political scientist, I found no sound rationale for the opposing scenarios. In fact, the opposite should be true. British political parties are centrally controlled, while there are 50 or more organizations making up each of our major political parties. Parliamentary candidates are often assigned to a constituency by the party leadership, unlike an American office-seeker who typically emerges from the local soil, climbing up a ladder of contested positions.
There is little room in British politics for the vaunted maverick. Yet, now we see members of Parliament operating in classic "I'm all right, Jack" fashion, while Republicans in Washington are bowing to the president as deeply and frequently as the most devout Muslim bows to Allah. Go figure.
. . .
Recently, I've provided data on the cost of home ownership and rentals to assist in determining where you might move to. Below is information on sprucing up the nest rather than flying away from it.
https://www.nytimes.com/2019/
This contrasts with the docility of our Republican legislators, deferring to a "president [who] has thoroughly taken over the Republicans, remaking the party of Lincoln in his image and institutionalizing policies that, only a few years ago, would have seemed extreme to them." As a defrocked political scientist, I found no sound rationale for the opposing scenarios. In fact, the opposite should be true. British political parties are centrally controlled, while there are 50 or more organizations making up each of our major political parties. Parliamentary candidates are often assigned to a constituency by the party leadership, unlike an American office-seeker who typically emerges from the local soil, climbing up a ladder of contested positions.
There is little room in British politics for the vaunted maverick. Yet, now we see members of Parliament operating in classic "I'm all right, Jack" fashion, while Republicans in Washington are bowing to the president as deeply and frequently as the most devout Muslim bows to Allah. Go figure.
. . .
Recently, I've provided data on the cost of home ownership and rentals to assist in determining where you might move to. Below is information on sprucing up the nest rather than flying away from it.
https://www.nytimes.com/2019/
It lists the most popular home improvements and their average cost on a national basis. Having had some work done on Palazzo di Gotthelf over the years, I can only say that the indicated costs could only be discerned in our rear view mirror.
. . .
I was in Midtown today and went to Urbanspace Vanderbilt, the busy food hall at East 45th Street & Vanderbilt Avenue. It was less crowded than on my past visits, when it resembled fraternity row on the eve of the Big Game. Today, it seemed more like the morning after.
I was in Midtown today and went to Urbanspace Vanderbilt, the busy food hall at East 45th Street & Vanderbilt Avenue. It was less crowded than on my past visits, when it resembled fraternity row on the eve of the Big Game. Today, it seemed more like the morning after.
I chose Mian Kitchen from among the 20 or so vendors. It features baos, spongy, doughy discs folded over its contents. I had a combo, 2 baos, Peking duck -- roasted duck, scallion, cucumber, crushed peanut and hoisin sauce; shrimp tempura -- deep fried shrimp, red cabbage, red onion, cilantro, black sesame seeds and spicy mayo; and 8 pieces of popcorn chicken ($13). I thought that the chicken had popped a bit too early before it was served, but it tasted good, as did the baos. And, if you are still hungry, there's pizza, hamburgers, cookies, chicken sandwiches, lobster rolls, tacos, gumbo, poké bowls, ramen, doughnuts and sushi. Maybe the crowds have left because they got exhausted having to make up their minds what to eat.
Tuesday, September 10, 2019
I don't entirely agree with the author's contention that "[n]o single episode has shaped Israel’s population and politics like the wave of suicide bombings perpetrated by Palestinians in the first years of the 21st century." I would place the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin, which opened the door to Benjamin Netanyahu and his repressive policies, as the turning point in contemporary Israeli history. The author and I arrive at the same place, however. "[T]hat period [of suicide bombings] explains the durability of Benjamin Netanyahu, which outsiders sometimes struggle to understand."
"The One Thing No Israeli Wants to Discuss" is the misleading headline of an op-ed today that gets its argument wrong as well. https://www.nytimes.com/2019/
I don't entirely agree with the author's contention that "[n]o single episode has shaped Israel’s population and politics like the wave of suicide bombings perpetrated by Palestinians in the first years of the 21st century." I would place the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin, which opened the door to Benjamin Netanyahu and his repressive policies, as the turning point in contemporary Israeli history. The author and I arrive at the same place, however. "[T]hat period [of suicide bombings] explains the durability of Benjamin Netanyahu, which outsiders sometimes struggle to understand."
The author confusedly claims that the population suffers a "repression of memory" of the violence, yet he recognizes that Netanyahu's electoral success is based on his emphasis of "the word 'security' [that] carries a kind of supernatural weight." Looking at the record, the concern for security is perfectly reasonable. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/
In the period 2000-2008 before Netanyahu took office, there were 147 suicide bombings in Israel, killing 634 people. Since then, there have been 2 bombings, causing no deaths. Of course, there have been other deadly attacks using trucks, cars, knives and guns, but I can understand the haunting specter raised by a suicide bombing, a fraction of a second separating life and death. So, Netanyahu's campaign ad asserts that "in the stormy Mideastern sea we’ve proven that we can keep Israel an island of stability and safety" and the electorate has agreed in the last three elections, but by shrinking margins.
Stay tuned. The next election is September 17th.
. . .
. . .
Mark and Alex Dilman emigrated from Tbilisi, Georgia over 25 years ago. Our then generous immigration policy allowed them to establish families and successful careers here. However, neither one was available for dinner last night, so, with both of our wives preoccupied, Michael Ratner and I went to Old Tbilisi Garden, 174 Bleecker Street, advertising authentic Georgian cuisine. It's a pleasant place with a covered garden at the back, fitting eight tables. The rest of the space is long and narrow, with more than two dozen tables mostly in a straight line.
The menu seemed authentic enough, given my limited exposure to Georgian cuisine, most memorably at a dinner cooked by Genya Dilman. Michael and I shared hefty dumplings (khinkali), 3 meat and 3 cheese ($11 each plate); chicken makvalshi ($22.50), roasted chicken with blackberry sauce; and adjaruli khachapuri ($18), soft dough in the shape of a boat, baked with cheese with an egg stirred in when served. A khachapuri and a cup of coffee should hold you until the weekend. ისიამოვნეთ as they say in Tbilisi.
Friday, September 13, 2019
Reading this interview with a Nigerian novelist, I have to play my Grumpy Old Man card. “'I had a little bit of a crisis,' said [Akwaeke] Emezi, who uses the
pronoun they. 'I stopped journaling. I stopped writing for pleasure
because I was just like, if I’m not getting paid for it, what’s the
point?'” While I should call them they, they call them I. Why shouldn't they call them we?
No comments:
Post a Comment