Girl Detective

Heads up: Mad Men season 3 debuts this Sunday on AMC at 10p/9 Central. Don returned to Betty, hat in hand (literally) at the end of last season. There will be a jump ahead in time, so we’ll see when that lands us with the Drapers and the crew at Sterling Cooper.

For an incisive analysis of Season 2’s camera work, Film Freak Central has a great retrospective and comparison to Hitchcock. I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me before that Betty is so like Hitchcock’s icy tormented blondes.

And for fun, design a Mad Men icon of yourself here if you haven’t already. Here’s mine, though I’m annoyed that they don’t have a hair shade that’s outright red, like Joan’s:

I’m rereading the graphic novel collections of Alan Moore’s League of Extraordinary Gentlemen series, and just finished the very enjoyable Volume 2. I read it when it came out serially in comic book form, and remember enjoying it less. There were long waits between issues, and they were quite heavy with backmatter that I didn’t enjoy. In the graphic novel collection, I am able to read the entire comic story at once, and the backmatter is collected in the back. That’s where it should stay, IMO. Forty-six pages of single spaced text as Alan Moore does a mock travelogue of every fictional or mythical locale IN THE WORLD. I knew the references to some. I might have enjoyed it more had I known more of them, but I doubt it. Instead, my friend Blogenheimer suggested I visit Jess Nevins’ site, where he breaks down all the references.

Back to the Volume 2 story, though. The team of irregulars–Mina Murray, the Invisible Man, Edward Hyde, Captain Nemo and Allan Quatermain–are under new leadership, after the events in volume 1 and are dispatched to the site of what appears to be a meteor crater. The monsters from Mars soon reveal themselves, and begin traipsing about in distinctive-looking vehicles. It’s up to the team of misfits to save the day, and they’re aided by a reclusive and mysterious doctor.

In addition to the Sherlock Holmes and Quatermain stories, Dracula, The Invisible Man, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, volume 2 references other Victorian literature, including Gulliver’s Travels, Burroughs’ John Carter of Mars, War of the Worlds, and The Island of Dr. Moreau.

This is an adventure–sometimes tragic, sometime comic, but always engaging. I found it great fun, once I stopped reading the backmatter.

Years ago, I read Julie Powell’s blog The Julie/Julia Project, about cooking her way through Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking. It was good and funny, yet I think I dropped out around the time she worked on aspics. Their meaty quiver, the late hours to cook and consume them, plus the cost of ingredients all combined to make my head hurt. When Julie published her book, I thought it was great. And when the book was slated to become Julie & Julia, the movie with Meryl Streep and Amy Adams, even better.

I had a great time at this movie. I laughed a lot, and went ooh over some of the shots of food. I thought that the aural analogy between kissing and eating was heavy handed, but certainly appropriate to the subject matter. Adams was engaging as always, though perhaps not quite believable as an every-girl. Streep and Stanley Tucci all but steal the movie, with their stunning performances of a true power couple in love.

A lot of the reviews gripe that the Julia Child part is so much better than the Julie Powell part that they wish it had been all Streep as Child. They argue that Powell is self-involved and just not that interesting. That’s an opinion, but I’d like to remind them:

THIS MOVIE WOULD NOT EXIST IF NOT FOR JULIE POWELL.

Nor would the Julia Child renaissance that the movie, and Streep’s performance particularly, have spurred. Because it was Julie Powell who had an idea for the project to cook her way through a dusty old cookbook. Like Child before her, she brought classic French cooking to a modern American audience. So I think it’s unkind to dismiss Powell’s part in the film. Child inspired Powell, and Powell in turn inspired others to rediscover Child. Child’s teaching and inspiration are key to her legacy, so Powell’s role as disciple in real life and the film are necessary to show that. I was glad to have the two stories, and enjoyed Adams as a young woman struggling to find meaning in spite of a cubicle job and a stalled writing hobby. So go see the movie. It’s good. And if you enjoy it, be grateful to Julie Powell (still blogging, here), even if you like Julia Child more. Julie’s the reason you’re getting to know Julia, whose kitchen wisdom I’ll be thinking of for a long time:

Never apologize! (for food you’ve cooked) No excuses! No explanations!

One summer, two seasons of The Wire so I could follow along with Sepinwall, and it’s well worth watching, as almost everyone but us knew.

Season Two goes beyond the drug culture of Season One, though it’s more than tangentially related to it. A serious crime at the docks becomes the new focus and brings viewers into the dying culture of the stevedores. The Sobotka famiy–Frank, his son Ziggy and nephew Nick–are the main characters this season. Most of the Police are struggling in their new lives, at least until Prez tries to get the band back together. McNulty becomes a bit player as others take the stage, with both Kima and Daniels getting more air time. As in Season One, nothing is simple and everything connects and loops back on itself. Like the Greek tragedy it pays homage to, The Wire’s stories and characters are riveting and moving–Stringer Bell is cold, McNulty’s a mess, Amy Ryan’s Bedie is beyond sympathetic, and trickster figure Omar continues to shock and amaze.

G. and I are taking a break for vacation, and will have to see whether we’ll try for Season Three before the fall TV season begins. At this point I’d like to continue through to the end. I’ve had one major development spoiled for me, and would like to keep it at one.

I’m fifteen. I see National Lampoon’s Vacation. Chevy Chase IS my dad, insisting on driving the family truckster when flying is so much easier, taking along loud-snoring elderly relatives, encouraging me to get my head out of my book and pay attention to sights like the biggest ball of twine.

I’m sixteen. I see Sixteen Candles. Not only is it hilarious, I identify with the main character. Short red hair, funny looking, not noticed by guys? Yeah. Then she ends up with Jake Ryan? It’s the most romantic movie ever, and gives me hope.

I’m almost seventeen, and grounded for something. Staying out past curfew? Wrecking the car? Getting caught drinking? So many possible infractions. My younger sister A. and her friend LT want to go see The Breakfast Club. My parents decide to go too and ask me (probably graciously, in spite of how obnoxious I was at the time, i.e. a 16yo) if I’d like to go. I’m torn. We live in a small, small town. I want to see the movie. I’m furious at being grounded. I risk humiliation if I’m seen at theater with parents and kid sister. I go. I’m enthralled. The movie seems to be speaking just to me. I see my classmates up on screen (CD is Judd Nelson. ML is Anthony Michael Hall. CS is Emilio Estevez. TR is Molly Ringwald. KS is a burnout like Ally Sheedy and will be dead in a few years of a heroin overdose.) I see myself as a mix of the Molly Ringwald character (I cut school to go tanning, not shopping, though) and the Anthony Michael Hall character (I was a “brain,” you see.) On the ride home, I’m silent. I can’t believe how awesome that movie was.

I’m eighteen when I see Pretty in Pink. I wince when Andie is taunted by James Spader. I know a guy like that. I have no prom date. I like the ending; I WANT her to end up with Blaine. The dress was prettier before she messed with it, though. The lights go up. Two rows in front of me is the guy I have a crush on. He says hi. Two weeks later he asks my best friend to prom. She says no. A really nice guy JG and his friend SK ask me and her. We say no, we have plans to go with a group. I will always regret this.

I’m eighteen, and with my friend who’s a boy, C in his car at a drive-in double feature of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and Pretty in Pink (again). We drink wine coolers the color of Andie’s prom dress and smoke Marlboro Lights. Before the movie we listen to cassette tapes of OMD and Psychedelic Furs. We say we can’t wait for college and to get out of our small town. We think we’ll always be friends. This turns out not to be true.

John Hughes wrote and directed some of my favorite movies. Because of how it got imprinted on me, Breakfast Club will always be a touchstone. His work spoke to me at a time when I could hardly listen to anything. It helped me get through my teens (which wasn’t a sure thing; see paragraph 3). I’m grateful I had those movies, and I’m sad he’s gone.

In Michael Pollan’s recent NYT magazine cover story, “Out of the Kitchen, Onto the Couch” he writes about the TV/food continuum that started with Julia Child and now includes at least one network devoted to Food and a slew of other food and cooking shows.

Pollan makes the distinction that Julia Child was about taking the fear out of cooking and teaching people HOW to cook, where today’s shows like Top Chef are less about day-to-day cooking skills and more about a high level of technical skill. Today’s TV chefs are fun to watch, but Pollan claims they may actually discourage people from cooking, as what they’re doing is impractical or impossible for a home cook (molecular gastronomy, anyone?)

Pollan acknowledges that the shows do seem to give audiences a familiarity with ingredients formerly reserved for chefs and specialty stores. He claims this makes people better restaurant patrons. I feel instead it makes me a more educated cook. I also think he overstates the case about how disparate the shows are from reality, too.

But you do have to wonder how easily so specialized a set of skills might translate to the home kitchen – or anywhere else for that matter. For when in real life are even professional chefs required to conceive and execute dishes in 20 minutes from ingredients selected by a third party exhibiting obvious sadistic tendencies? (String cheese?) Never, is when. The skills celebrated on the Food Network in prime time are precisely the skills necessary to succeed on the Food Network in prime time. They will come in handy nowhere else on God’s green earth.

Really, Mr. Pollan? How long has it been since you’ve cooked for children, especially small ones? Almost every day, I start to prepare the family supper, my kids wander in, telling me how hungry they are in plaintive voices. I offer several suggestions; most are rejected. My preparation is usually interrupted for a negotiation while I try to figure out what will placate them, not spoil their dinner and is reasonably healthful. Even if I get initial buy in, what I produce is often rejected. So yes, I am quite familiar with having to prepare small plates, sometimes involving string cheese, for sadistic consumers while trying to do other cooking activities in a short amount of time.

In fact, here’s a Top Chef Quickfire challenge idea, Bravo: have the chefs prepare a family dinner while also feeding a hungry, whiny 3yo, while also keeping the kid safe in the kitchen.

Back to Pollan’s article, though. He finds that cooking and weight are inversely related. The more one cooks, the less one weighs and vice versa. He acknowledges that different households have different families–single parent and double working parent homes are going to have less time, energy and inclination to cook. He doesn’t, though, offer good solutions for this.

There’s where Mark Bittman is a busy person’s friend. Bittman offers great ideas for seasonal food cooked simply on his blog, Bitten, as well as in his book, Food Matters. His recent article of “101 Salads for the Season” contains very little actual cooking, but still uses whole ingredients in the manner Pollan recommends.

Pollan’s ideas are good, but they’re more ideal than practical. For that, visit Bittman and check out his books. And watch food TV if you want, as inspiration or entertainment. I’ve found good recipes for the family, gotten good ideas like mixing rice into green salads, and learned the lesson that Pollan states, too:

the key to victory on any of these shows comes down to one factor: bacon. Whichever contestant puts bacon in the dish invariably seems to win.

Did anyone else besides me think longingly of jetting to England last year to see Dr. Who’s David Tennant as Hamlet? Well, no need for regrets. PBS will be showing Tennant’s Hamlet as part of Great Performances in 2010. I am thrilled.

This month’s selection for my book group is The Ayatollah Begs to Differ by Hooman Majd. It was the pick of one member who is married to a Persian. I look forward to our discussion with her added insights about Iran.

When I look back now, both in my childhood and even as a young adult, I couldn’t have imagined my country as anything more than a second-rate Third World nation subservient to Western powers….Despite the negative connotations of a perceptibly hostile Iran, Iranians of a certain age can be forgiven for feeling a tinge of pride in their nation’s rapid ascent to a position of being taken seriously by the world’s greatest superpower and all in just a little over a quarter of a century. One might argue whether Iran and Iranians would have be better off without the Islamic Revolution of 1979. But it is indisputable that had it not happened, Iran today would likely not have much of a say in global affairs.

Rightly or wrongly, the revolution and the path the nation took after its success have led to Iran’s prominence and repute (2-3)

Majd uses Iranian myths, tales and phrases to structure his presentation of modern-day Iran and the many paradoxes of its people. Majd grew up in the West, and his in-between status as someone familiar with both cultures helps him explain things like the Iranian practice of ta-arouf, or extreme politeness, without belittling those he’s describing. His biggest challenge, though, and the focus of the book, is to illuminate why Ahmadinejad was overwhelmingly elected President by the popular vote in 2005. As Majd is careful to note, many liberal and wealthy Iranians think freedom means women can go without the veil, while for many Iranians, freedom means a full belly, and the ability to live.

This is a timely book that examines Ahmadinejad’s 2005 election just as his one this year has caused such uproar. The book was tremendously helpful in breaking down many of the media’s reductive portrayals (such as Ahmadinejad as villain) and showing how complex and intriguing the realities are.

Jhumpa Lahiri recently discovered something I’ve suspected for a while:

And that was my revelation this June: one needs only a cast-iron skillet to survive.

When I muse on what I’d pack if the apocalypse strikes (I’m not the only one who does this, right?), the cast-iron skillet is near the top of the list. (Link from The Morning News)

Readers, and please de-lurk if you’re lurking, do you like the posts on food? I’ve been posting the food on my Facebook page, then again here since it’s such a big part of our summer. But the links and images are work-intensive, so I can skip it if interest is low. Also, I can make photos bigger, so more detailed, though I’ve not done so because they’d take more time to load on screens.

I did not make those. They’re by Sheela from Miel y Leche and came from Mitrebox, on a cupcake Saturday. That’s a blackberry-lime vegan cake and a s’mores cake. The former was good, the latter was tremendous. You can sign up to receive email for the weekly flavors. This week’s are Grilled Peach Mint, Chocolate Curry with Lemongrass Coconut Buttercream and Limoncello.

These bacon-cheese cups were a request by 5yo Drake, who along with 3yo Guppy made them with G. Grod while I went to yoga class. They’re from the Southern Living Kids Cookbook, a gift from the boys’ uncle, and Drake’s current obsession.

Red salad, with WI cherry tomatoes, strawberries, basil, balsamic vinegar, olive oil and WI parmesan. Salad #13 from Mark Bittman’s 101 Salads.

Homely, but tasty and exceptionally healthy and hearty. From Mark Bittman, a savory breakfast: Barley, coconut, oat bran and fried tofu, with soy sauce, toasted sesame oil and fish sauce, topped with a fried egg.

For National Night Out last night, I made a Carrot Cake (lots of carrots to use up this week). The recipe is from Cook’s Illustrated. I added a teaspoon of cardamom, to good effect, I thought.

And I used up almost all of last week’s CSA veg in a variation on Heather’s Quinoa Salad from 101 Cookbooks. I used pearled barley instead of quinoa, added grated carrot and used chopped zucchini instead of corn.

Aside from Season 2 of Breaking Bad, which feels like it ended ages ago, I haven’t watched much new TV this summer. I really wanted to like Bravo’s Fashion Show, and I tried; I really did. Top Chef Masters has been pretty good, though not quite as diverting as the original recipe. Three things stood out, to me though: Torchwood, Dr. Who and Better Off Ted.

In lieu of Torchwood Season 3, creator Russell T. Davies did a five-night miniseries for the BBC called “Children of Earth”. The series up to this point was often entertaining, but wildly uneven. The miniseries took the team, left in shambles at the end of Season 2, and roughed them up a bit more.

An alien race uses Earth’s children as speakers, and wants to take a lot of them away. Though Davies says otherwise, the production value on the mini felt top notch. The drama was riveting, and most of the acting, particularly by the actor who played John Frobisher, was great. By the end, when things get very tense, I sat on my couch with a lump in the pit of my stomach, eyes wide and waiting, hoping for a redemptive ending.

That said, it was perhaps too dark. Part of Torchwood’s charm, when it works, is its goofy, raunchy sense of humor. There wasn’t enough of that here. Along that line, John Barrowman, who plays Torchwood leader Capt. Jack Harkness, does better, IMO, as the grinning, swashbuckling hero than when he tries to emote. He made a couple tough decisions in the last episode, and I think either alone might have made it harder for me to like him as the lead. Both together were pretty damning. I’ll be interested to see what Torchwood looks like when it returns, but I do think the miniseries is the way to go.

The Doctor Who movies, “The Next Doctor” and “Planet of the Dead” did a much better job of maintaining the character’s and series’ wacky sense of humor but also dealing with dark, sad or scary things. David Tennant’s Doctor acknowledged the losses in his past, but didn’t go out of character in reaction to them. “The Next Doctor” was shown in the UK at Christmas time, and was really good, not only in comparison to last year’s Titanic-themed, Kylie Minogue-starring mess. “Planet of the Dead” was suspenseful and entertaining, with some sweet and funny and sad thrown in for balance.

For funny, though, I’m glad that ABC ran its additional episodes of Better Off Ted. The main character is good, but it’s the kooky characters orbiting him and how he’s affected by them that really brings the funny. I’m thrilled ABC renewed this, and it will join 30 Rock, How I Met Your Mother and The Office in my upcoming comedy lineup, to break up the bleakness of shows like Torchwood and the upcoming season 3 of Mad Men.

From this week’s kitchen.

Salad #7 from Mark Bittman’s Minimalist article 101 Simple Salads for the Season

1 lb. carrots, peeled then shredded
2 Tbl. EVOO
1/2 Tbl. lemon juice
1 pint fresh blueberries, rinsed and sorted
1/4 c. toasted pepitas (I had these in the pantry so used them instead of sunflower seeds)

Salad #14 A Moroccan Thing (at left below, next to the finished Shredded Green Beans, recipe after next)

1 lb. carrots, peeled and shredded
2 Tbl. EVOO
1/2 Tbl. lemon juice
1/4 tsp. cumin
1/4 c. golden raisins

Mix olive oil, lemon juice and stir in cumin. Add raisins to carrots, pour dressing and toss.

From Heidi Swanson’s Super Natural Cooking

Shredded Green Beans

3/4 lb. green and/or yellow beans, tops and tails trimmed
2 Tbl. EVOO or clarified butter
2 Tbl. water
grated zest of 1 lemon
grated zest of 1 lime
1/4 c. chopped fresh chives
fine-grain sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Slice beans on a diagonal into roughly 1/8″ pieces. Heat olive oil in large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the beans and stir until coated with oil, then add the water. Cover and cook 2 or 3 minutes, until the beans are brightly colored and tender; give the pan a good shake midway through to ensure even cooking. Remove from the heat and stir in the zests and half of the chives. Season to taste with salt and pepper and serve garnished with the remaining chives.

I had chard stems left after I used the leaves in a soup. I had shredded raw beets after I used some in Bittman’s Salad #43 from 101 Salads. I combined these in Bittman’s More-Vegetable-Than-Egg Frittata, which was delicious, though less lovely than the chopped chard stems, thus no picture.

All the above veg are from our CSA share from Foxtail Farm. I bought some local fruit from our grocery cooperative, Eastside Food Coop and did a loose variation on Mark Bittman’s Patchwork Foolproof Pie with pluots and raspberries.

It was a stunningly red and bubbled fiercely when I took it out of the oven. I served it with Sonny’s Pure Vanilla Bean ice cream.

While I was making the latter, G. Grod and the boys were in the backyard, watering. 5yo Drake was taking his turn with the hose when I said it was time to come in for dessert. Drake didn’t listen when G. repeated this, and turned the hose on G and the house. We told him he couldn’t have dessert. He expressed his displeasure with a lengthy tantrum, and by making an “I am Stupid” sign he taped to G’s back. (With G’s knowledge. Drake isn’t all that subtle.)

I’m nearly halfway through David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest, which I’m reading along with the crowd at Infinite Summer. Along with some incisive commentary, there’s a lot of griping, which I find interesting.

One of the sites “guides”, Avery, recently wrote that she was not enjoying the book:

I resent that I’m having to work this hard, that I feel like I’m indulging the author. I resent having to read enormous blocks of text, with no paragraph breaks, for pages and pages at a time. I resent the endnotes that (more often than not) only serve to either waste my time or confuse me even further. I resent that I’m continually reaching supposed milestones (”just make it to page 100!” “get to 200!” “300 is where you get rewarded for all your effort!”) that don’t actually represent any appreciable change in tone, style or plot.

I feel like my time is being wasted with an overabundance of technical explanations of subjects – tennis, drugs – that are largely irrelevant. DFW is explaining the wrong stuff.

Many commenters suggested she put it down, but she said she’d continue, if only because she’d agreed to as one of the site’s guide. For clarification, Avery was invited as a guide to represent younger, i.e. twenty-something readers. Her opinion is not atypical; many commenters voice some of the same complaints: the text is long, uninteresting, deliberately irritating, rambling, unfocused.

These comments usually are met with other readers, often those who have read the book before, telling them to Hang In and Keep Coming Back, advice that’s echoed from the text’s AA segments. There are frequent exhortations to trust the author and assurances that he had a plan, and many of the disparate themes will come together. Even so, it’s easy to see where the criticisms are coming from. The text is a challenging one. For example:

Last spring’s airless and B-redolent section of Thode’s psycho-political offering ‘The Toothless Predator: Breast-Feeding as Sexual Assault,’ had been one of the most disorientingly fascinating experiences of Ted Schacht’s intellectual life so far, outside of the dentist’s chair, whereas this fall’s focus on pathologic double-bind-type quandaries was turning out to be not quite as compelling, but weirdly–almost intuitively–easy. (307)

I’m reminded of when I taught first-year composition a few years ago. The course was structured around non-fiction essays and one book, The Autobiography of Frederick Douglass. Some of my classes were for “remedial” students, though a more PC term was used. Many of theses students spoke English as a second language, and most were the first of their families to attend university. Some of them boasted they’d never read an entire book. The course progressed, and the students struggled with the assigned essays and reading. A frequent theme in their papers was complaint–they didn’t like the author, they didn’t think the author did a good job.

On one hand, this was a good thing. They were actually reading it, engaging with it, and forming their own opinions. Further, they were voicing a contrary opinion, something I could see took courage for many of them. Dissent was often discouraged in their secondary schools, they told me.

On the other hand, their criticism was not supported by their experience as readers. They were not experienced readers, and while that didn’t make their emotional reaction to the texts less true, it did fail to support a reasoned, academic analysis of them. They contended that because they didn’t like an essay, or because they didn’t understand it, that it wasn’t well-written. It was my job to try to bring them beyond an emotional reaction to the text to a critical one. That I sometimes succeeded was tremendously rewarding, for both me and the student, I believe.

And but so, I see a strong similarity between my former first-year students and those who are struggling with and rejecting Infinite Jest. It’s a challenging, at times deliberately provoking text. It’s also extremely smart, funny, and the further I read in it, the more intricate, layered and connected it becomes. My husband and I are reading together; we’ll frequently share connections we find to some other, at the time seemingly throwaway, bits earlier in the book. These ties bespeak planning; the careful layering of information withheld then shared bespeaks great care and precision. I’ve been puzzled by some readers’ claims of carelessness and inaccuracy.

For example, there was a discussion about a character described as weighing 200kg. Many commenters criticized this for impossibility, or criticized the author for sloppy writing. Few noted that it was a good deployment of hyperbole. Fewer, if any noted that this exaggerated figured appeared multiple times later, drawing connection through the text.

I’m enjoying the puzzle nature of the book, but I can understand why it’s postmodern puzzley-ness alienates and even offends some readers. I wish, though, that some didn’t take their dislike as equal to IJ not being a good book. Liking a book is not an index of its quality. Ditto for “getting it”. For example, a lot of DFW’s math commentary flies over my head. I don’t, though, claim he’s inaccurate or untalented to include it. I go with it. I Hang In. I Keep Coming Back. And for that, this book rewards me.

At 2 hours and 33 minutes, I want a movie to be worth my time, not just my money (both for the ticket AND the sitter). Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince was entertaining, but not quite entertaining enough.

There was much in its favor. It was nice to see the familiar actors again, and they all did very well. The visuals were great, and there was even a quidditch match this time. The best part, though, was the banter and interplay among the students as their hormones surged. This had many funny moments and exchanges.

What didn’t work was how tedious the plot became. The film seemed to treat plot as a burden, lavishing time on the scenes with students, then rushing through key points from the book, like the reveal of the half-blood prince. During the penultimate scene, in which Harry and Dumbledore go off alone to battle something serious, I thought, “This is boring. I wish I were napping instead.”

That boredom took some of the power out of the final scene and the death of a major character.

Most critics seem to like it more than I did. I recommend it, but with reservations. Don’t pay full price, though it is worth seeing in theaters for the stunning visuals.

In a rather bizarre DVD turn of events, the DVD pilot for the upcoming Syfy series Caprica was released before it was shown on television. The series won’t be shown until 2010, so it’s got a very long lead time.

Eric Stoltz is Daniel Greystone, a Bill Gates-ish computer mogul. His daughter Zoe, played by Alessandra Torresani looking like a long-lost Deschanel sister, is rebellious, something of a programming genius and dabbling in weird VR stuff with two friends. Esai Morales is Joseph Adams, ne Adama, a Tauron emigre who has become a successful lawyer.

Both men’s daughters die in a terrorist explosion. The fathers meet in the aftermath, and try to come to terms with the tragedy. Stoltz is creepy, Morales is engaging, it’s entertaining to see a young Bill Adama. The racism stuff feels heavy handed, as does the pilot overall. I’m not left excited about the series, which is a prequel to Battlestar Galactica. While that show was space opera, this one feels much more like soap opera. Perhaps I just wasn’t in the mood, but it felt sort of slogging and obligatory. I liked the series so much, and felt it ended well and satisfactorily though many didn’t. I’m not sure I need to go back to that universe. Read tv critic Alan Sepinwall’s review of Caprica.

In 2007, I linked to a story about the third, and reputedly final and most authentic of the Blade Runner versions, but only recently got around to watching it. I liked the original. I really liked the “Director’s Cut”. This final cut is the synthesis of both of those, and it transcends them. This dark, moody film has aged very well over almost three decades, albeit with restorations. Harrison Ford’s bounty hunter is hired to track down four rogue nonhumans, but it’s hardly a straightforward mission. A few of the beginning scenes are clumsy and repetitive; this is likely the result of having had multiple versions available. The whole, though, is both stunning to look at and complex and engaging to ponder. If you liked either of the first two versions, see the Final Cut; it’s worth it.

Saturday, Foxtail Farm (from which we get a CSA) had a Kids Day and potluck lunch. The boys got to pick potatoes, carrots and green beans and feed cows, chickens and goats:

I used light colored Rainier-like cherries from Door County WI:

to make Cherry Slab Pie from Smitten Kitchen. I used 2/3 c. sugar since the cherries were sweet. It turned out well; I’d definitely make it again.

As part of Infinite Summer, I’m at page 390 of David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest, or about 40% through it. The past week’s pages featured two very long segments, one on a nuclear arms race game that the students at Enfield Tennis Academy play, and another on the ethnography of Boston AA. Both sections had few breaks and were tough to read, but both, as is typical of the book, were full of humor, pathos and increasing connections between characters we’ve met previously.

On AA old-timers, known as Crocodiles in Boston AA:

Of course–the Crocodiles dig at each other with their knobby elbows and guffaw and wheeze–they say when they tell Gately to either Hang In AA and get rabidly Active or else die in slime of course it’s only a suggestion. They howl and choke and slap their knees at this. It’s your classic in-type joke. There are, by ratified tradition, no ‘musts’ in Boston AA. No doctrine or dogma or rules. They can’t kick you out. You don’t have to do what they say. Do exactly as you please–if you still trust what seems to please you. The Crocodiles roar and wheeze and pound on the dash and bob in the front seat in abject AA mirth. (356)

This made me wonder, briefly, if I could approach parenting my small children this way. “Drake, I suggest you: look both ways before crossing the street/get that Lego out of your mouth/quit hitting your little brother Guppy/stop calling me stupid.” Then wait for whatever inevitable reaction/consequence there is, then laugh at him. I don’t think this would work very well.

I started Shadow Country this past April, soon after the Morning New Tournament of Books. Cited by many of the judges as one of the books they skipped, I can now see why. At just under 900 pages, it’s not only long, but it’s dense. The number and sprawl of an enormous cast of characters was beyond my ability to hold in my head; at about page sixty I went back to the beginning to make a character list since I could not find one online.

Shadow Country the story is historical fiction based on the life and death of Florida pioneer and supposed desperado Edgar Watson. Shadow Country the book has an interesting history as well. Matthiessen originally envisioned and submitted it as one work with three sections, each told from a different point of view. Deemed too long, it was roughly edited into three separate books and released over a period of years. Decades later, Matthiessen decided to have another go at the story, and rewrote it, editing and trimming it down from about 1,300 combined pages to its relatively svelte 892.

I might have preferred it, though, as three separate volumes. It’s so dense with characters, events, locations and history that I had a hard time following it and often had to refer to my notes. Having more literary “cushion” might have made it easier to digest, and a faster read even if it were technically longer.

Though it wasn’t easy to read, I found it worthwhile. So worth it, in fact, that I had to return it to the library with 120ish pages unread when my three rounds of renewal were done, wait several months for it to be available again, then finish it while in the midst of reading Infinite Jest.

There aren’t many books I would do that for. Edgar Watson is a fascinating character. His story is interwoven with that of the state of Florida and a history of racism at the turn of the last century. The first section of the book is told from revolving viewpoints of people and relatives who knew Edgar Watson. The second segment is told by his son Lucius, a historian. The third is told by Edgar himself.

With so many stories growed up around that feller, who is to say which ones was true? What I seen were a able-bodied man, mostly quiet, easy in his ways, who acted according to our ideas of a gentleman.

Few writers could handle these acrobatics of Point of View, yet Matthiessen manages it skillfully, turning the tapestry of the tales into one story, though it’s always shifting. It’s fascinating, compelling stuff. It won the National Book Award last year.

And yet. This would not be a book I would press on a stranger, or even someone I didn’t know very well. It’s clearly a life’s work for Matthiessen. While rewarding, it’s definitely not a book for general audiences. But if you’re interested in U.S. and Florida history, like thick books that you can sink into for weeks or months at a time, or love historical novels with complex characters, then this is certainly worth checking out. Just give yourself plenty of time to devote to it.

Lenore Skenazy has a new book, Free Range Kids : Giving Our Children the Freedom We Had Without Going Nuts with Worry, reviewed at STATS (link from Arts & Letters Daily):

Skenazy shot to startled stardom when she allowed her nine-year old son to ride the subway alone, then wrote about it in her column in the New York Sun. Cue lights, camera, daytime talk shows. Skenazy was branded “America’s Worst Mom,” a title she now sports proudly, and one that has inspired her efforts to persuade other parents to give their children a taste of the freedom they had growing up “without going nuts with worry.”

Her central thesis is this: life is good, people are mostly good, and kids are both hardy and more capable than we think. In fact, she explains, we’re living in what is “factually, statistically, and luckily for us, one of the safest periods for children in the history of the world.” The problem is that everywhere we look, we’re told otherwise. Which is why, perversely, in the safest of times, we’ve become the most neurotic parenting generation in history.

I was thinking along these lines earlier this week. My 5yo son Drake is in a day camp, and one day a week the teachers take the kids to the neighboring water park. Drake’s been doing this for weeks, and loves it. Then a mother of a new kid wondered if there was adequate supervision. I had a brief moment of worry, then self correction–he loves it, there are teachers, and there are lifeguards. And, I like the break I get. Enough.

It’s hard enough to regulate my own tendency to worry. It’s even more difficult when other parents worry more, or when I get the stink-eye from other parents who clearly don’t think I worry enough.

I’m discovering a lot of life lately can be answered simply with, “Lighten up, already.” I’m trying to do just that.