Food and Drink, Quotidian 4 comments

Cooking as therapy

By on March 15th, 2004

I was having a wretched Sunday, full of ungraded papers and free-floating anxiety. (Have you ever really, really wanted something — say, a fellowship — and been consumed with terror that you won’t get it, and also with terror that if you think about it too much you’ll jinx it? And have you ever been so tense that your body started to complain with twinges and vague feelings of unease? That would be about it.) So, remembering that cooking nearly always calms me down, I went home and made what turned out to be a kickass lamb stew. Then, full of good food, I sat down to read some of the essays in J. D. McClatchy’s Twenty Questions; shortly thereafter I found, to my surprise, that I wanted to write and that a poem I’d been working on desultorily for weeks had started to crystallize. And by the time I looked up from the page, the terror had gone.

The stew cheered me up so much that I’m going to post the recipe, even though I don’t usually blog about food. Here it is.

Mediterranean Lamb Stew for the Fretful (with apologies to the New Basics Cookbook)

Take a pound of lamb cut up for stewing. Make a marinade consisting of a cup of orange juice (squeezing the oranges yourself is not mandatory, but it is therapeutic), a tablespoonful of olive oil, a generous grinding of black pepper, some chopped fresh basil or mint leaves, a couple of teaspoons of dried oregano, and three or four coarsely-chopped garlic cloves. Whisk the marinade together in a big bowl, put the lamb into it, cover it with plastic wrap, and let it commingle for two hours.

Meanwhile, make sure that you have the following: 3/4 cup dry white wine, e.g. a nice Pinot Grigio, and 3/4 cup beef stock; a tablespoonful of tomato paste; a cup of chopped carrots; a cup of cooked white beans (canned beans are God’s gift to lazy cooks); a cup of diced seeded tomatoes (the same goes for canned tomatoes); and half a cup of pitted black olives. (Canned olives, on the other hand, are eeeeevil. Get the real kind.) You’ll want the wine and stock and tomato paste in one bowl and the other ingredients separate. Pour yourself a glass of the wine, while you’re at it.

Preheat the oven to 350. When the lamb is finished marinating, heat a splash of olive oil in a Dutch oven on the stove. Take the lamb from the marinade, patting it dry with paper towels and removing stray garlic bits. Keep the marinade for later. Brown the lamb in the hot oil. When it’s browned, pour off the excess oil and add a tablespoon of flour to the lamb. Stir it around over low heat for a few minutes. Then pour in the marinade, the wine/stock/tomato-paste mixture, and the carrots; slap on the lid on the pot and put it in the oven. Leave it for 40 minutes. Use the interval to wash the dishes, do laundry, drink more wine, and watch The Simpsons.

Next, add the beans. Put the pot back in the oven, without its lid this time, for another 15 minutes. At this point, make some couscous to go with the stew.

When the 15 minutes are up, add the tomatoes and olives. Bake the stew uncovered for another 10 minutes. Then take it out and adjust the salt and pepper to taste. Serve immediately over couscous with a green salad and more of the Pinot Grigio, and all will be right with the world.

Academia, Writing 25 comments

Ideal intellectual communities: some prolegomena

By on March 10th, 2004

Prompted by a comment by Susan on this post about academic writing (among other things) at Frogs and Ravens, I’ve been thinking about intellectual communities. Specifically, I’ve been trying to envision what "my ideal intellectual community … would look like," to borrow Susan’s terms. The following is a provisional attempt at defining my own ideal intellectual community, or IIC for short. (For some reason I keep thinking "ideal city," which keeps reminding me of Calvino‘s Invisible Cities, but I think that’s a sign of my homesickness for cities larger than Collegeville.) Anyway, here’s the list. What do y’all think?

1. The IIC would consist of people who aren’t competing with each other for funds, status, recognition, or employment. Intellectual work would not be a zero-sum game to determine who can publish the most, or the fastest, or with the most prestigious publisher.

2. In fact, now that I think about it, publication wouldn’t be all-important. Exchange of intellectual work, yes; but that wouldn’t be limited to the traditional options of journal article and monograph. Blogging would count. So would conversation over dinner. In point of fact, I’ve always preferred the less formal ways academics have of sharing their work. At conferences, it’s not the panels I really go for, though there’s usually a paper or two I’m glad to have heard (sometimes more, depending on the conference); it’s the opportunity to meet someone who happens to know a lot about something really interesting, and to end up talking in the hotel bar until after midnight.

3. My IIC, like Susan’s, would not be limited to academics. This is probably the corollary to point 1. More specifically: I want to see creative types there as well as the trained literary critics and historians and anthropologists and whatnot. I want to be able to talk to poets and musicians and artists. I want to be able to pick the brains of both musicologists and opera singers. I also want to be able to talk to people who’ve taken their academic training and put it to interesting uses.

3a. Having a mixture of academics and nonacademics would no doubt entail a lot of questions about who’s talking to whom, and whether the point of our work would be to reach a wider public, and if so what to do about it. And I’m all in favor of that.

4. I think my IIC is a cross between a knitting circle and my favorite small academic conference. I want there to be enough common ground for everyone to be able to talk to each other, enough room for idiosyncrasy so that two people who work in completely different ways can compare methods without automatically thinking "This is just too unlike what I do." And I want there to be socializing, and dancing, and expeditions in search of the nearest restaurant with people I’ve just met.

This paper, which I’m not done reading yet, argues that good ideas are more likely to happen at the intersections between communities than within communities; that is, people within well-defined groups tend to think homogeneously, but people who can bridge the gaps between groups are more prone to new ideas. I want my IIC to be at once full of these intersections and self-identified as a community; whether that’s possible is still an open question, though.

The blogosphere fulfills several of these conditions, but I’d like to be able to be in the same room with fellow IIC members. What I really want, I suspect, is a salon. I should’ve been born in the eighteenth century, goshdarnit! (Although on second thought, I’m also kind of attached to such innovations as full citizenship, property rights, modern dentistry, and not having to wear stays or an enormous hoop skirt.)

So: where are the salons of today? Have we anything similar? Am I overlooking any existing communities?

Teaching 6 comments

Some days I just want to smack people.

By on March 7th, 2004

Irascible Professor guest blogger and high school teacher Elise Vogel lets fly at the culture of parent complaint in public school education:

Nothing in my teacher education courses had prepared me to deal with parents who would object that I assign homework, or who would take their objections not just to me, but to the principal, the superintendent, and the school board. It’s not just the existence of homework that raises the ire of these parents; it’s anything that provides an academic challenge to their children. … All these parents want is that which is safe and comfortable for their children. This includes a curriculum where there are no real expectations of the students.

— Elise Vogel, "Stop teaching my kid"

When I read this, I thought of every student who’s ever demanded or pleaded for a higher grade in my class. I recalled their demeanor: some arrogant ("Well, I think I deserve an A"), some polite, some bewildered, some desperate, telling me how they have to get all As, they have to get into law school, they have to keep their scholarships, a B will ruin their lives forever, or — most upsettingly — their parents will be furious if they get a B-plus. (The last is not an exaggeration, by the way.) And then I thought, "So that’s where they come from." They’ve grown up with their parents storming down to their schools and pitching hissy fits over every low grade. Or they’ve grown up with the threat of "Make straight A’s or else" hanging over their heads. Or possibly both.

I wasn’t prepared for grade complaints either. I always did well in school, but as an undergraduate I sometimes got B’s — the 9:30 a.m. calculus class in which I always fell asleep comes to mind. My parents didn’t disown me for it or lodge a complaint. The one time I seriously considered going to a professor to complain about a grade, I thought "No, that’ll just make me look like a whiny brat," and sucked up the grade in question. When I started teaching, I mistakenly assumed that my students would all be like me — an assumption I’ve slowly abandoned, and mostly I’m glad I was mistaken. (In retrospect, I was probably a pain in the ass at eighteen; I wouldn’t want, now, to face a roomful of pedantic, socially awkward, tongue-tied little me’s.) But I never quite got used to the grade-complaint phenomenon. I used to think it was a sign that Kids These Days were getting brasher and snottier; now I’m more inclined to wonder about their parents. After all, if Mom and Dad demand A’s for you, why wouldn’t you grow up feeling entitled to demand them for yourself?

And I just don’t get that. What is with these parents who yell at the school board? I mean, did they never figure out that screwing up is actually quite instructive? Did they miss out on the whole adulthood thing themselves and stay stuck at the maturity level of a nine-year-old sulking because the mean, nasty teacher gave them a mean, nasty test? Do they not pause to think about the example they’re setting for their offspring? "Okay, Junior, you’re not allowed to make a mistake and learn from it. Not ever. Remember, your having a 4.0 GPA is more important than your actually learning anything." I want to whack them all over the head with my Oxford Classical Dictionary and then start a mass "get rid of grades altogether" movement in universities all across the country. It’ll never really happen, I know, but until then I’ll content myself with the dictionary-whacking scenario.

Of course, the fact that I have papers to grade this week is not improving my mood any. Down with grading! To the barricades!

(Side note: I’ve been drafting some version or other of this ever since I read a cluster of posts from Russell Arben Fox and Crooked Timber on why kids don’t walk to school anymore, and how that connects to the "micromanagement" style of child-rearing. Oh, and this Atlantic article rings depressingly true. Poor kids.)

(Side note the second: When I say "parents," I’m not lumping all parents into the same category here. I’m only referring to the kind of parents who flip out because Susie has to do homework or Johnny got a B. Just wanted to clarify that for the benefit of all the regular commenters on this blog who are parents.)

UPDATE, 3/12/04: And there’s even a magazine for overly involved parents who want to "advocate" for grade inflation for their college-age children! See: "Boomer Parents Still Protesting on Campus," a feature on the newly-launched magazine College Parent and its editor Steve Peri. See especially the following:

The Greatest Generation may have practiced a hands-off approach to parenting, but their baby boomer offspring are often overly involved in every detail of their kids’ lives. This is partly because of the revolution in communications, which lets parents stay in close contact through cell phones and email. Some parents go so far as editing drafts of their children’s papers and protesting low grades, Peri says.

And he wants to encourage them? *groans* *bangs head repeatedly on desk*

Career 2 comments

w00t!

By on March 6th, 2004

I conducted my first real, in-person informational interview yesterday. It was immensely encouraging to hear someone who has what you think is quite an interesting job, and who clearly enjoys said job, say "As a matter of fact, I started off more or less where you are now." I think I could get to like this informational interviewing process; to my surprise, it didn’t even make me nervous. Now I’ve got a list of several more people to talk to. Operation "Find the Escape Hatch" is officially underway. Hoorah!

Uncategorized 3 comments

Oscar-night shallowness

By on March 2nd, 2004

I would like to extend my heartfelt thanks to Liv Tyler for proving, though it didn’t really need to be proved, that girls who wear glasses are way sexy. Rrrowr.

That is all. (Or, you could also read Laura’s Oscar recap. "Johnny Depp. Babe." Hee! Except I thought the spiky in-his-face hair wasn’t working for him.)

Grab bag 2 comments

Google searches I wish didn’t lead here

By on February 28th, 2004

To whoever it was who found this site by way of a Google search for "repeal the 19th amendment": I sincerely hope you were searching in jest, or something. But if you actually want said amendment repealed, then you, sir (or madam, though I suspect it’s almost certainly sir), should be ashamed. I hope you were disappointed by what you found instead.

The same goes for you, Mr. or Ms. "got here by Googling ‘reasons why opera is boring.’" Begone! Run away! Or, better yet, go read Gerald Lively’s Opera-hater’s Guide to Opera, which I highly recommend. And then, if you change your mind, come back and we’ll talk.

And if you’re in high school and want instructions on how to write in that blasted essay form that just won’t die: Sorry, but you’ll get no help from me!

Music 4 comments

Bookmarking

By on February 27th, 2004

I’ve been exploring this fascinating site dedicated to "La Folia," a 16th-century dance tune that half the composers of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries borrowed and used for variations (Corelli, Scarlatti, Vivaldi, and Bach, to name a few) — as well as, surprisingly, quite a few recent composers as well. In addition to the tons and tons of sound files and composer listings, you can also find an animated map of the La Folia diaspora. Neato. (If my imaginary early-music consort ever becomes a reality, I think a program of La Folia variations would be interesting to arrange.)

Also, gfhandel.org. Among the highlights: an interesting essay on opera seria and rhetoric. When I read this, I had a sudden, gleeful vision of hauling my CD player into my writing classes and subjecting my students to a sampling of Handel’s showier arias. "See, class? We got your logos, ethos, and pathos right here!"

Television 5 comments

Dear Joss Whedon…

By on February 26th, 2004

…please stop breaking my heart. It’s just not fair. It wasn’t enough that you made me cry, more than once, while Buffy was still on the air; now you have to go and do the same thing with last night’s Angel? And this is the last season before the show ends? That’s even worse. Ow ow ow.

Please come up with a new show, because you’ve spoiled me for most of everything else on TV. By the way, would you by any chance happen to need an underemployed literature Ph.D. to do any scriptwriting for you?

Politics 7 comments

Too tired to launch into full-on rant. Linking instead.

By on February 26th, 2004

Ye gods, it’s a political post. I don’t normally do this kind of thing (to paraphrase a Pet Shop Boys song of which I’m rather fond), but I can’t not say this. Only it’s late and I’m tired, so I’ll say it with linkage.

About Bush’s proposed constitutional amendment that’s supposed to preserve the "sacred institution of marriage" by preventing gay people from participating in it: Cindy takes the words right out of my mouth; Kevin asks why Bush, if he really wants to shore up marriage, isn’t going after the 50% of married heterosexual couples who divorce; and MisterBS suggests that we reply with satire and "ridicule the ridiculous."

Okay, I’ll start. Why stop with a constitutional amendment that protects marriage by denying it to gay people? There are all kinds of institutions whose "sacred" nature we need to reaffirm. Let’s affirm the sanctity of education by making it illegal for gay kids to go to school. Let’s affirm our time-honored system of government by making it illegal for gay people to hold political office. For that matter, let’s go one step further and deny those sodomites the vote, and while we’re at it, let’s repeal the 19th Amendment — after all, we’re all about defending ancient traditions, and where in the Bible does it say that women can vote, anyway?

Look, "defense of marriage" people. You don’t like the idea of marrying someone of the same sex? You don’t have to. Nobody’s going to hold a gun to your head and frog-march you to San Francisco for a Gay Shotgun Wedding. You are not the swooning heroine of a Gothic novel, drugged with chloroform, bundled into a carriage by your mercenary relatives, and propped up at the altar while a sinister priest marries you to a heartless aristocrat. (Rest assured, we queer people really don’t consider you potential marriage material.) You’re welcome to your heterosexual spouses, and I, for one, have no interest in wrecking your homes. What I want to know is, why do you insist that I can’t have any legally recognized domestic bliss of my own? Especially when your own track record with the sacred institution of marriage is, er, not exactly spotless? (See Kevin’s post, again.)

I don’t know how to make it any plainer, short of stating it in words of one syllable. Sometimes I just don’t understand other people.

Actually, I guess that was a full-on rant.

Music 3 comments

Music, amateurishness, and not being an expert

By on February 23rd, 2004

It’s kind of ironic that I don’t post about music more often, especially given the title of this weblog. I initially thought that amongst the academia posts and the day-to-day stuff and the thoughts about poetry, I’d also be writing posts about music. But I always end up feeling like I don’t have the language or the expertise to talk about it. It’s been years since I played an instrument, and I never really studied music after that; I also still suffer from bouts of Graduate Student Syndrome (shorthand for "If I haven’t researched it exhaustively, I can’t say anything at all"). I fret about not being knowledgeable enough, and being recognized as such by people who are more knowledgeable than I am. And that’s just silly. Lynn at Reflections in d minor, the latest long-overdue addition to the blogroll, describes herself in her musical autobiography as "still listening, still discovering" — as am I, but she does a lot more music-blogging than I do.

But it’s all relative, isn’t it? During intermission at the Cecilia Bartoli concert I attended this weekend, I ended up talking to the woman two seats over. (She’d overheard me talking about the program with my friend T., who came with me.) Did I play anything, she asked. I said no. "You certainly seem to know a lot about music — I don’t know much of anything about it," she replied. I said something about having an inexpert but occasionally obsessive interest. Then the guy on my other side, who’d leaned over to ask if he could borrow my opera-glasses from time to time during the second half of the concert, answered a question of T.’s about horn-playing in far more technical detail than I ever could have produced. I was somewhere in the middle — literally — between "I don’t know much about music" and "I can tell you all about crooks." All of which is to say, I should get over my phobia of being seen as an amateur and actually blog about music every so often.

So here are some (inexpert, amateurish) notes about Cecilia Bartoli: 1) I’d only heard her on recordings, never live, and she’s funnier than I expected. She sang some more serious arias, especially during the first half of the program, and I liked them very much — but among the standouts of the evening were a couple of Salieri arias that gleefully sent up the conventions of opera seria. Yes, she does ham it up, but she had us all laughing. T. and I both went home happy. 2) I wonder if there’s ever been a revival of Salieri’s La Fiera di Venezia? I want to hear more of it. 3) My love affair with Christoph Willibald Gluck continues. I think I want CB’s Gluck album, if only for "Di questa cetra in seno" from Il Parnaso Confuso. But first I want to find a good recording of Orfeo ed Euridice. 4) I love it when singers revive little-known music instead of giving us the umpteenth "Greatest Hits from the Standard Repertoire" album in a row. 5) There’s some kind of theory forming in my head about eighteenth-century music and the aesthetics of lightness, but it’s not really there yet. If it ever materializes, I’ll let you all know.