Glitter Sleuth

Change of Scene: Wordpress!

2009-12-20T17:25:00.001-05:00

Dearest readers,

In the spirit of a new year looming and the wonderful inspiration you've all given me for new things to discover, Glitter Sleuth is getting a makeover.

This original Blogspot address will remain active online for your perusal, but from now on, I'll be posting and reviewing on Wordpress!

Come join me!

All my love,

Meb :)

Photo: wanderlust.

2009-12-19T21:58:00.001-05:00

via we heart it.

The Lord of the Rings at Radio City Music Hall

2009-12-19T18:48:00.001-05:00

On October 9 and 10, 2009, Radio City Music Hall screened The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring with live orchestral and vocal accompaniment. Live accompaniment allowed the audience to experience Peter Jackson's work in a whole new way. The soundtrack felt brand new, the film pristine, the resultant experience a marriage of the immediacy of theater and the technical capabilities of cinema.

The event was a huge technical undertaking. The 21st Century Orchestra, the Brooklyn Youth Chorus, the Collegiate Chorale and soloist Kaitlyn Lusk had to coordinate their playing and singing precisely with the film projected behind them. The live music resonated in the cavernous hall of Radio City, rendering the film's huge battle scenes more visceral and terrifying. Similarly, the film's quiet moments were made all the more poignant for the clear voice of the two boy soloists, and the strong performance of Ms. Lusk, who wore an orange dress and sang in a clear, pure soprano.

The intensity of Howard Shore's magnificent score almost overpowered the movie dialogue. As a remedy, the film was shown with subtitles, at times distracting but generally harmless. In fact, like reading song lyrics for the first time, the subtitles actually allowed the viewer to recognize bits of dialogue never heard properly before.

The audience, almost all fans who know the film, was enthusiastic to a fault, cheering and clapping, and even preempting many of the jokes. Applause erupted at the arrival of each beloved character and each pivotal moment in the film, infusing the evening with an intensity not to be found in any commonplace movie theater.

Elijah Wood and Howard Shore made surprise on-stage appearances on Friday and Saturday nights, respectively, to the great joy of the crowd. Even better, though, was the image that appeared on the screen at the end of the performance:

I already have my tickets.

The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers will be performed at Radio City Music Hall on October 8 & 9, 2010. Tickets are on sale now at http://www.theradiocitylotrconcert.com.

Recommended.

BlipFest

2009-12-18T17:49:00.001-05:00

BlipFest, a three-day music show of video-game-themed chip music, is a fast-paced, high-energy event for dancing and jumping your cares away. Now in its fourth year, BlipFest is held in The Bell House in Brooklyn, a large space with high wooden ceilings and big brass chandeliers. A small stage is set up in the center of the room for the musical performers and their equipment, while images created for each performer are projected onto a screen behind the stage. The designs change continuously, and range from primitive computer graphics and pixelation to checkerboard patterns, bouncing rainbow circles to Twilight Zone spirals, depending on the artist.

I attended the first night of BlipFest with five gentlemen who know and love the show, and who were kind enough to give me the skinny on the scene. For example, I was informed that three types of people attend BlipFest:

production people, who are into the chip-music-making process;
dance music people, who cluster toward the front of the stage; and
video game geeks, generally fatter than everyone else, but earnest in their attempts to dance.

These categories are informative but not exhaustive; for example, I'm not sure where the person dressed as Santa Clause and wearing a welder's mask would fit. (I'm not kidding.)

BlipFest's musical artists come to New York from as far abroad as Seattle, Washington and Leon, France, and run the gamut in their musical styles. Early Thursday evening, Leeni wore a white bobbed wig and sang along with her tracks of menacing, circus-y music. In contrast, Albino Ghost Monkey paired his epilepsy-inducing flashing green-and-brown visuals with gabber music and danced with the crowd on the floor. The weirdest performer of the evening, Eat Rabbit, took the stage in a suit, tie and full-headed rabbit mask.

The best act of the evening was minusbaby, who dropped high-energy Afro-infused beats while flailing boys crowd-surfed. His geometric visuals, provided by Enso, were aesthetically simple, repetitive and powerful, and used 3-D glasses to enhance the experience with color. Best of all, minusbaby kept the music going with minimal breaks, which kept the crowd moving and the mosh pits moshing.

As good as minusbaby was Je Deviens DJ En Trois Jours. The French native rapped and snarled into his microphone, interjecting guttural roars into his hardcore heavy metal beats. The crowd got rough when he played, slamming with a frenzy, devil horns held high as white balloons bopped around the room. Unfortunately, Je Deviens DJ En Trois Jour's equipment stalled at awkward moments, leading to the ire of the crowd.

Between sets, the lounge adjacent to the main concert space fills up with dancers seeking $6 draft beers and a seat on one of the many squishy leather couches. The bar's atmosphere is very chill, and a good respite before reentering the main space to dance even more, or braving the cold Brooklyn streets heading home.

BlipFest runs Thursday, 12/17 through Saturday, 12/19 at the Bell House. Tickets are $15 at the door. A coat check is available for $2 per item. Come dressed to dance.

Avatar

2009-12-18T15:32:00.004-05:00

Avatar, directed by James Cameron, tells of a sci-fi/fantasy future, when humans have traveled to other worlds, and scientists have developed "avatars," alternate bodies which can be controlled mentally by humans from the safety of a pod in a lab. Jake Sully (Sam Worthington), a Marine corporal who is paralyzed from the waist down, is sent into space to take over the avatar of his twin brother, who was killed in combat. In space, Jake becomes caught between a menacing colonel (Stephen Lang) and a straightforward scientist (Sigourney Weaver), who both want his avatar to befriend the native people, but for very different purposes. At stake is the aptly-named metal unobtainium, a massively expensive metal, largely deposited beneath the village of the native people, the Na'Vi. As Jake befriends the Na'Vi and learns their ways, the lines between his real life and the life of his avatar begin to blur, along with his loyalties to his military employers.

First and foremost, Avatar is visually stunning. To make the film, Cameron partnered with the WETA Workshop to deftly create two worlds, that of the humans aboard their various space craft and military bases, and that of their destination planet. The military spacecraft are chock full of futuristic gadgets that do not seem beyond the logical reach of Apple's innovation: plexiglass computer monitors and clipboards, glowing real-time brain scans, even the in vitro avatars, which float peacefully in their amniotic containers and flinch involuntarily like embryos.

The second world, the planet of the Na'Vi, is called Pandora, a name with connotations of forbidden discovery and danger. When coupled with the planet's breathtaking graphics and fantastical characters, however, the planet's name doesn't seem trite or ironic at all. It is a tropical spectacle, overflowing with day-glo foliage, weird six-limbed hybrid beasts, and sentient dandelion puffs, like the Amazon Basin as imagined by Terry Gilliam on LSD. Real-D technology pulls the viewer into the film to partake in Pandora's lush landscapes and epic battles of the Titans, whether between a neon triceratops and a glistening giant panther, or between military drone battalions and an enormous tree. Camera work, too, grabs the audience and pulls them in, plummeting on the backs of giant birds or ascending to steep mountains in the sky.

The Na'Vi themselves are scrupulously digitized, with individualized faces and facial expressions. Their long blue bodies are muscular and criss-crossed with glowing dots, their dress and comportment tribal. The integration of the Na'Vi into the real world, and of humans into Pandora's CGI world, is seamless. In some instances, the avatars enhance, instead of inhibit, the performances of the actors playing them; Sigourney Weaver is believable as an avatar but stiff as a human, as if Weaver has spent a bit too much time playing tough women in space.

Where Avatar's art direction triumphs, the storyboard is left wanting. The movie's plot is not so jumbled that it is incomprehensible, but many story lines are introduced and then neither explained nor followed to their completion. What is the military's motivation for destroying the natives? What of the precious unobtainium? How much do the Na'Vi know of the humans and their relationship with their avatars? Most importantly, if humans are able to descend to Pandora, why create avatars at all?

These questions pop up after you've left the theater, but certainly not during the movie experience. James Cameron's work is moving to the max, allowing the audience little time to worry about silly things like plot continuity. Cameron does raise pointed emotional and intellectual themes throughout the course of the three-hour film, and leaves them for the audience to ponder: the new freedom of a man who has regained his legs artificially, the wonder and sense of ownership that accompanies the discovery of a new world, even the dangers of becoming too wrapped up in a game or an alternate reality. The fifteen-year-old boys sure to flock to see Avatar might want to think about the last proposition.

Avatar opens nationwide Friday, December 18.

A Call For Inspiration

2009-12-14T19:47:00.000-05:00

Hello, darlings!

Most of you know that I began Glitter Sleuth over the summer as a way to share my love of cultural adventurism with others. I love writing for it, and I get the sense that people enjoy reading about cool things to do. Unfortunately, this semester kinda steamrollered my writing streak into submission, and I haven't been posting much for a few months.

But! I have a plan.

This coming semester, I've blocked significant time into my schedule every week to explore NYC and write about what I find. I plan to blog at least once a week, if not more often. I could not be more excited for this.

Here's where you come in.

I'm up for reviewing anything, and I do mean anything, as long as I can get to it on a New York subway train. I'm currently compiling a schedule of restaurants, museum exhibits, movies, lectures, etc. that I plan to review in the spring- but I need your help!

Send me any and all ideas you have for posts: anything awesome you know about that's coming up in the spring, anything you've loved and want to share with me, anything crazy you've always wanted to do but have never gotten around to doing. I'll take as many of your ideas as I can & write 'em up!

Inspire me!

All my love,
Meb :)

P.S. If you ever want to come on assignment with me, just let me know. The more the merrier. :)

Kenyan Journal: "Teaching"

2009-12-06T10:47:00.000-05:00

In the summer of 2006, I volunteered in Kenya for seven weeks. I lived with a Kenyan family, the Mwangis, in the town of Ngarariga outside of Limuru, Kenya's second largest city. After playing with children at the New Hope Children's Orphanage for a few weeks, I began teaching English and Creative Arts to fourth through seventh grade students at Murengeti Primary School in the nearby town of Ngatarama. The following is an entry from an online journal I kept to document my experiences.

9.17.2006

My first day at Murengeti didn't give me much confidence in the school, or my teaching abilities, or whether I'd even be useful there. Wednesday turned out a lot better. I taught 4 classes: 7G (G is green, B is blue, & that's the way it'll be from now on), 5G, and both 6's. I also helped grade exams a bit, and I spent a lot of time going over the textbooks deciding on what I should focus in my lessons. In my omnipresent Bag O' Wonder, I'm now carrying around textbooks for the 5's and 7's, and some extra English books for the 4's as well.

The 7's had just read a passage on drugs and drug use, so I skipped the comprehension questions and held a bit of a class discussion on different types of drugs and what they do and why they're bad. The kids (surprisingly) didn't know about any of the harder drugs- most of what they knew was alcohol, tobacco, and marijuana, plus some Kenyan drugs that I'm not too familiar with. I touched on AIDS and drugs a bit (of course I did, what did you expect? :'D), and I gave them most of the lesson to write a composition on What I Would Do If My Friend Started Taking Drugs. I collected those and graded them that night. Again, the writing level is way below what I would expect for 7th graders. Even Ann, who saw me grading, said that the essays would be fine for 5's, but not 7's. Erg. The kids have a big problem with gender continuity (his and hers are basically interchangeable, even in daily speech) and tense, as well as basic things (spelling, grammar, etc.)

I stuck with the book more with the 5's. We read a passage about The Drought and talked a bit about it. I was proud of myself- I had an interdisciplinary moment and asked if the kids knew of any stories in the Bible about the drought, so we were regaled with the Good Samaritan and Jesus and the fishes and loaves, and one kid said Genesis- is there a drought in Genesis? I was only going for the loaves and fishes, but they answered the question well. I handed out paper for a composition on The Camel in the Desert, but we ran out of time and I assigned it for homework.

I had C/A with 6G and 6B, and for both lessons, I asked the kids if they knew any songs. Both classes sang lot of reggae songs in unison, with accompaniment (of course), and then some kids sang solos and I sang at their request a bit, and in 6G we ended up singing a version of Siya Hamba (oh, SCC) and marching and jumping and walking around the room, as the song dictated ("We are ____ing in the light of God, we are ____ing in the light of God".)

Thursday was a bit of a day off. Murengeti hosted a district-wide HIV/AIDS extravaganza with 6 other schools. There's a Peer Counselor training program in place at Murengeti, where kids are trained about HIV and no adultery and no sex before marriage and no drugs (but nothing about condoms, grrrr), and this event was focused around them. All the peer counsellors from Murengeti (including Kevin, John & Mama Duta's son!! He's in 5G, & he's *very* vocal in class- born leader type) had made signs, and they (with me in tow) marched to Ngarariga, singing and dancing and flashing peace signs, which apparently means that they'll wait till marriage for sex? :) I dunno. I felt left out, so I took out my notebook and wrote AIDS KILLS in block letters on the back and carried it for the parade. The kids liked it. When we got to Ngarariga, there were 3 other schools there, all with paper visors or signs. We waited for about an hour while the rest of the schools showed up, and I got to know some more of our kids: Dennis, with a cut on his lip, who told me he has a CD out and he's going to come to the US ^_^; David with the grey sports coat, who's very serious; Margaret with fuzzy braided hair; Grace with curving braids; Lillian, who's vocal and paler than the rest; and Susan, who wears prescription sunglasses- it seems to be the thing to do here, I've seen it a lot.

We all trouped back to Murengeti, singing and waving the signs to passers-by. When we showed up, the whole school was in the back field, where desks had been set up, along with tables and chairs for the teachers and a table for the judges. (People failed to tell me that this was the first round of a competition, and the best school will go on to the Divisionals this coming Friday in Limuru. I actually don't know who finally won! :'P) The MC-of-sorts greeted everyone and a woman led us in prayer and the presentations began. There were solo and choral verses, followed by songs and dances, and finally skits and dramas, all telling us how awful AIDS is and how important it is to protect ourselves by not having sex til after marriage. All these were introduced by a solo child coming forward and telling the judges, teachers, and students what they were about to see. One solo verse had a boy addressing AIDS, personified by a boy in a sheet and a tall mask, slightly reminiscent of t he Knights of Ni, with porcupine quills and feathers on it, dancing around. My favourite verse was one called Kissing Is A Habit, since it incorporated something along the lines of "the girl gets the blame" and "10 minutes of pleasure, 9 months of pain, 2 days in the hospital." The dramas were quite good, all following basically the same storyline- girl disobeys parents, goes out with boy, ends up pregnant and HIV+. One of them was the closest thing to musical theatre that I've seen here, with a boy and girl singing to each other to symbolize that they were lovers. (The girl was hopping from guy to guy to guy at the time.) They all had costume changes and a table and chairs for sets, and one scene at the disco was complete with dancing extras, a radio with dance music, an bottles of "beer". :'D It was very good.

One inexplicable part of a drama was when the pregnant, HIV+, destitute girl started singing Shakira's "Hips Don't Lie" to her stomach (complete with pillow), which kicked in response. ?_?

The program went longer than was originally planned, since we started late, and I ended up out in the sun for much longer than I'd planned, sans sunscreen. As a result, that night I found that my lips, nose, and the general lower half of my face were *really* burned, to the point of being blistered. >_< I took a needle to the blisters on my lips, and the rest of them were small enough to be scratched off. My face is really dry today.

Friday was back to the regular teaching circuit. I taught 4B about nouns and verbs, which they were very good at, and I tried to do adjectives, but that's a bit too abstract, so I gave up & went back to verbs. We discussed past, present, and future tense for a while, since I've heard from many people that that's hard for Kenyans to understand. I gave them 5 verbs to write in all 3 tenses (one of which was accidentally "sit"- past tense was a problem, but I told kids the issue and sometimes let them get away with "sitted" instead of "sat"), and they got star stickers for doing it correctly. They quickly figured out that they could show me their book twice and I wouldn't know the difference and they'd get two stars, and then I figured out what they were doing and the lesson was over anyway so I left. I tried to do the same thing with 5G, and we read two stories in their book. I really stressed reading comprehension when I found out that none of the kids were able to tell me in their own words what the story was about. :-[ I then read them Horton, which they *loved*- they applauded after I finished reading a page. I'd gotten coloured paper from Gladys earlier, so I had them draw their favourite part of the book, hoping for something along the lines of comprehension. I got a lot of elephants, but some were in a tree, and some were with a bird in a nest, and I got one giraffe, and Kevin drew a huge egg, so there's hope.

That afternoon, I helped to grade and copy over more exams, and I taught C/A to 6B. I duplicated my Horton-and-drawing thing, but I told them they could draw whatever they wanted. They immediately went to their books and traced as many drawings as they could from the pictures in the text. Frustrating, but it's a start. Gladys failed to inform me that C/A was, in fact, a double lesson for 6B, so we ended up with time to spare. I sat with some of the older girls, and they wanted me to sing, so I did, and they wanted me to say a poem, so I recited the lyrics to Carrickfergus, since it was in my head & it's pretty. They sang a bit, too- one girl sang A Long Time Ago In Bethlehem, which I know from John Denver, so I got excited. :)

It's a bit thrilling when you're referred to as Teacher Mary, or when you get to tell someone you're a teacher. I don't feel like I'm apologizing, as I do whenever I tell someone I'm an actor.

Today, I got up pretty early (since my body never lets me sleep in) and came to Nairobi. I got breakfast at Kenchic, where they're kuku about chicken (apparently), and I ate a sausage and meat in this fried dough triangle and more meat in this long crispy tube. I *finally* got into Bookpoint, the only book shop I've been able to find outside Nakumatt, which is woefully wanting books that interest me, and I struck GOLD. I bought A Doll's House, A Tale of Two Cities, and... *Monstrous Regiment*. It's another Terry Prachett and I'm SO PUMPED to read it!! I got another notebook for me and lined paper for the kids to write compositions, and I got Aloe Vera lotion at Nakumatt for my poor blistered face, and milk, since I always get milk when I go to Nakumatt. I ran into Sarah & Gerardo on the street (!!!!!!!!), and we caught up. Maasai Mara was a major culture shock for them, and they're preparing to go to Tanzania for a week. I'm comforted by the fact that Sarah has the same rash of bites on her stomach and limbs that I do- they aren't mosquitoes, and they don't bleed, but they itch like *crazy* and I think they're spreading. David said they could be anything, flies or fleas or ticks, etc.

I'm going to look for the Maasai market and Ushanga (Usheng's?), a store that reputedly carries beads for necklaces, and then I feel like heading home. I don't know if I'll be back to Nairobi next weekend- I'd like to tour Kibera, but I hope I won't have to buy any more supplies. At this point, I'm trying to get rid off all the stuff I brought with me, books and stickers and that stupid bag of puff balls that I don't know *what* to do with. :)

I finished Clive Leatherdale's Dracula: The Novel and the Legend. It was good in the beginning, but it turned into a bit of a slog near the end, when ol' Clive got into talking about Marxist and tarot-based reading of Dracula... It's worth reading, but only if you've read Dracula itself, and only if you really liked it. I'm now reading A Million Little Pieces, by James Frey, on recommendation from Joanna- it's *really good*. It's intense, but *really good*.

Mom & Dad come home from Europe on Monday. Mom said she wants a giraffe from Kenya, and Dad said he just wants my smile. :'DDD If anyone specifically wants anything from Kenya, I suggest you tell me now, and I'll see what I can do. Reasonable requests, please- Seth and Bobby, I know what you're going to ask for.

Wish me luck finding this market! :) Peace.

---

More of these journal entries are available online through the Global Volunteer Network website.

The Fame Monster

2009-11-23T00:00:00.000-05:00

Unless you've been living under a rock for the past year and a half, you've probably heard of Lady Gaga. The singer/songwriter/fashionista broke onto the music scene in August 2008 with her debut album, The Fame, and its first hit single, Just Dance. She has since had a meteoric rise to the forefront of the pop music scene, with shocking lyrics and crazy fashion in tow.

Now, in conjunction with her worldwide The Monster Ball Tour, Gaga has released The Fame Monster, her second studio album featuring eight new songs. The album's first single, Bad Romance, premiered at the Alexander McQueen runway show in Paris on October 6. Its music video was released two weeks ago, to great online hubbub.

The Fame Monster is identifiably Gaga, and melds the enthusiastic energy of The Fame with the self-assured confidence that comes with worldwide recognition. Bad Romance and the new tracks Dance In The Dark and Monster retain Gaga's infectious musical hooks and crazed, nonsensical lyrics. At the same time, Gaga is still running the gamut with new sounds, experimenting with synthesized Latin beats in Alejandro and baring her fangs with the dark and seductive Teeth. Gaga's voice and writing fit comfortably into each of these sounds, embracing their essences while making them her own. Her ballads, Speechless and So Happy I Could Die, are excellently sung but less engaging than her upbeat club music. In a much-discussed collaboration-of-the-divas, the track Telephone features Beyoncé, who provides a vocal punch with her fierce cameo.

Gaga's weakness in The Fame Monster is her lyrics. Some songs hold true to the the razor-sharp phrases of The Fame ("Silicone / Saline / Poison / Inject me, baby" opens Dance In The Dark.) However, some weaker tracks give way to lyrics that are ironic at best and banal at worst (Telephone labors under "I have got no service in the club, you see / What did you say? You're breaking up on me").This fault is a small one: Gaga's talent at writing catchy, groundbreaking melodies is more than enough to make her songs into hits.

The Fame Monster was originally intended as an extended re-release of The Fame, with the new tracks added as a second disk, and it shows. The Fame Monster, while providing enjoyable dance-club fare, does not stand alone as an complete work. That said, the album drips with Gaga's explosive personality and unparalleled showmanship, and is a solid contribution to securing her place as one of the forerunners of contemporary pop music.

The Fame Monster, by Lady Gaga, is released today, and is available for download on iTunes.

Spaghetti Carbonara

2009-11-17T20:06:00.008-05:00

In the spirit of the impending holidays and all the internet punditry on how to avoid that dreaded weight gain over the next few months, I thought I'd post one of the most unhealthy, and most delicious, dinners I know. Spaghetti carbonara is a creamy, salty comfort meal, great for sharing with friends and family on cold winter nights. Enjoy with red wine and plenty of good company; this recipe makes a big batch.

Spaghetti Carbonara

Ingredients

1 lb. spaghetti
3 T. butter, melted
2 T. olive oil
4 raw eggs
10 T. grated Parmesan cheese
4 T. heavy cream
1 lb. bacon
Pepper

~*~*~*~

1. Cook bacon till crispy. Crumble or cut into bits using scissors.

2. In a large bowl, beat eggs. Add heavy cream, cheese, and pepper to taste. Set aside.

3. Cook spaghetti in boiling water till al dente.

4. Meanwhile, in a saucepan, melt butter. Add olive oil; set aside.

5. Drain spaghetti. Add immediately into egg mixture till eggs are cooked.

6. Add butter and olive oil mixture to spaghetti. Toss with half the crumbled bacon. Sprinkle remaining bacon on top.

7. Eat with gusto!

New York, I Love You

2009-11-12T22:44:00.043-05:00

New York, I Love You is the third film in the series of city-praising movies-within-a-movie, following Paris, Je T'aime (2006) and Tokyo! (2008). Created by eleven directors, New York, I Love You features eleven vignettes brought to life by a star-studded cast, including Natalie Portman, Orlando Bloom, Christina Ricci, Bradley Cooper, Hayden Christensen, Rachel Bilson, Ethan Hawke, Robin Wright Penn, John Hurt, Andy Garcia, James Caan, Shia LaBeouf, Julie Christie, Cloris Leachman, Eli Wallach, and even a cameo by Blake Lively.

Unlike Paris, Je T'aime, which featured twenty five-minute scenes of Paris's neighborhoods, most of the character of New York, I Love You interweave into one another's stories. Often, the dialogue is stilted and unnatural, and the vignettes tend to lack a sense of plot or movement. Many of the story arcs feature O. Henry-like moments and surprise realizations at their ends, hammering home the point that things are not always as they seem in New York City.

More than anything, New York, I Love You loves boho yuppies. It shows a preponderance of twenty- or thirty-something heterosexual Anglo-Saxon couples, smoking cigarettes and flirting outside trendy bars in Soho or the West Village, all the while commenting on how their chance encounters are so meaningful and so New York. The film trips over itself spouting these platitudes: New York is the center of the universe! everyone in New York came from somewhere else! it's so exciting and sexy to meet complete strangers! The focus is stifling.

New York, I Love You misses so many delicious opportunities to depict the city that never sleeps. The film stars no blacks or homosexuals, and almost entirely ignores Hispanics, Asians, children, teens and seniors. There are no stories of homeless people, runaway teens, bartenders, actors, businessmen, trophy wives, teachers, professors, garbage collectors, cab drivers, policemen, subway conductors, mobsters or even tourists. The film is too safe: gangs, drugs, theft, rape, poverty and disease are all omitted. Only one argument in a cab is shown, and it's completely innocuous. Furthermore, for as much as the film praises New York, the city is the setting, not the star. The film ventures out of Manhattan only once! What of the other four boroughs that make up New York City? Even within Manhattan, what of Little Italy, the Financial District, Chelsea, Midtown, Harlem or Inwood? They are ignored completely.

The film succeeds when it doesn't try to depict the entire city in one vignette, but instead focuses on specifically portraying little bits and pieces of New York that we've all seen, and that are essential to its multifaceted face. The ethnic "manny" (male nanny) and his tiny blonde-haired, blue-eyed charge romping through Central Park; the Hasidic Jewish neighborhood; the quarreling old married couple who take forever to cross the street and who swear at hoodlums on skateboards: these are characters who create the city every day (and whom New York, I Love You portrays very well.) They are the real New York.

Ultimately, New York, I Love You is caught up in the idea of New York City, not in the reality of the city itself. A bolder film, one that truly examined New York without omitting its faults, annoyances and dangers, would also have room to truly show New York's joys, inspirations and millions of love stories. New York City is about so much more than sex with pretty strangers, and filmmakers would be wise to realize it.

New York, I Love You opened in limited release on October 16, 2009.

Tonight is for wine and pasta and mourning.

2009-11-04T15:09:00.003-05:00

Tonight is for wine and pasta and mourning.

It is marinara sizzling on the stove,
its cloying scent hanging in the air,
in the curtained lace,
the laundry hung to dry in the window.
It is bread crust, paper crinkling between your fingers,
fish and fennel,
fresh basil,
reddened clams and squid ink.
It is battered wooden bowls and lumpy woolen socks.

Tonight is for creation,
gluing plastic gems to glass bottles,
slipping clay between your palms,
stringing lights and long ribbons in the trees.
Tonight is camera lenses,
round mirrors and candlelight,
wax dripping onto tabletops,
burning your skin.
It is spilled paint and glitter in the floorboards.

Tonight is for creation because how could it be otherwise?

Tonight is for mourning but it is not for tears,
empty gasps of pain for a stranger.
Tonight is not for tears.

It's the warmth of a comforter, a child's plaything,
that sorrowfully bright moon in the sky.

Dedicated to Andrew Williamson-Noble.

Mercadito Grove

2009-10-23T08:15:00.006-04:00

Lighter and more ethereal than most Mexican food, Mercadito Grove's flavors are a watercolor of springy taste. Tiny portions, an airy cuisine and bright but not sharp flavors in each dish make this a go-to for a downtown pre-theater meal or a post-dancing late-night snack attack.

The meal begins with fried, flaky triangular chips dusted with salt. Order a well-mixed margarita to match, along with the trio of guacamoles, changed daily and brought to you in three mounded scoops on a tray. On one recent occasion, mild mango and zippy pineapple guacs accompanied the creamy-but-chunky traditional blend.

Mercadito Grove's strength lies with their tacos. The tortillas are precious (between the size of a large silver dollar and a small Eggo waffle) and come in twos or threes, perfect for sharing with an adventurous date. Fish tacos with manchego cheese excel, with a brown savory sauce that slides into your mouth. (They even received an award from Zagat in 2008.) Another standout are the chicken tacos, so savory you think you're eating steak. The regularly-changing menu ensures that everything from shrimp to cactus leaf an show up in these tiny dishes. On certain nights, the restaurant features $23 all you can eat tacos; a dangerously tempting deal.

The wonderful lightness of dinner makes dessert even more tempting. The delectable orange flan has a vaguely caramel taste, with surprisingly bright mandarin oranges garnishing the top and a delicate syrup pooling around the plate. Equally as yummy are the caramel plantains, which taste like a potato turned into a dessert. Streaked with a tangy white sauce and doused with sticky caramel, the plantains are starchy and sweet.
Mercadito Grove's location, on a triangular spit of land along 7^th Avenue, makes its outdoor seating great for people watching. Inside is cramped but fun, with lots of rustic wooden décor and criss-crossed hatching on the ceiling. The itty-bitty alcove of a bathroom features a neat old copper basin sink. The servers are personable and give great recommendations, and the atmosphere is relaxed, even during rush hour.

Recommended.

Mercadito Grove is located at 100 7^th Avenue, at Grove Street. The restaurant is owned by Mercadito, which operates two other locations in downtown Manhattan, as well as in Miami and a new location in Chicago. Mercadito often hosts week-long discount deals and tasting parties; sign up for their newsletter for all updates.

Le Fooding d'Amour

2009-09-29T18:58:00.001-04:00

On September 25 and 26, Le Fooding d'Amour made its American debut at the P.S. 1 Contemporary Arts Center in Queens. From what I can discern, Le Fooding is a collaboration between Parisian and New York chefs, with the goal of bringing haute cuisine to the masses. Practically speaking, this means throwing big parties. If this is Le Fooding's only goal, it is certainly succeeding.

Starting at six p.m., a murmuring crowd of friends and new acquaintances entered the inner courtyard of P.S. 1, a green expanse covered by a giant Dr.-Seussian chocolate-colored mohair tent and dotted with small circles of lawn chairs. The crowd was a melange of fashions, ages, races, and nationalities: everything from Upper East Side foodies to well-dressed French tourists. The DJ spun an adorable mix of old school French and American favorites, favoring artists like Arletty and Sinatra.
Each evening of Le Fooding featured six chefs from famous, high-end restaurants, each presenting a small dish in white tents around the perimeter of the P.S. 1 courtyard. The dishes were prepared by teams of cooks working as assembly lines, often creating dozens of uniform plates at a time. The chefs remained artistic and almost impetuous at their work, and were utter gentlemen with their customers. Veuve Clicquot flowed freely throughout the evening, and mixologists prepared cocktails like the Wild Cherry Mojito, a rich, icy drink with Belvedere vodka, intense marascino flavor and lashings of mint.

Before guests reached the main culinary attractions, they were greeted by the bread and cheese tent, provided by Cheeses of France and Balthazar Bakery. Of all the tasty choices, Saturday's Bleu really shone: wonderfully bright and creamy, tangy but not too acidic. Munching on Brie and Livarot, guests could explore the intimate nooks and hiding places inside the giant mohair tent, or the smaller concrete alcoves along the museum walls, with yellow lighting and low plastic stools.
As renowned as the chefs were, a few of the dishes failed to excite. Friday's mini Henry IV casserole by Yves Camdeborde was a basic broth of meat and clear, gooey balls of gelatin; Wylie Dufresne's grilled chicken neck had little meat and less flavor. On Saturday, Daniel Boulud & Olivier Muller's couscous included many components and three types of meat, but failed to take flight. Alberto Herraiz's chicken skewer in a bowl of thick chilled cilantro sauce benefited from the oily crunch of its chopped peanut garnish, but grew old after a few bites.

But never mind these disappointments; the rest of the cuisine more than compensated. On Friday, David Chang's innovative take on Bo Ssam, a traditional Korean dish, featured shredded pork topped with a savory red sauce to add kick. The buttery lettuce leaf sheath meant the dish could be eaten daintily with a fork or rolled up and devoured. In another tent, William Ledeuil doused a pork rib in sweet sauce and served it with a pool of baba ghanouj-style puree that was stuck through with lemon. Elsewhere, Sean Rembold's fried corn was faintly crisp on the outside and doused in a wonderful creamy pepper sauce, sprinkled with crunchy leaves and slivers of green pepper. Friday's star was Christophe Pele's barbecued sirloin steak, two cubes of medium rare beef in a zingy jus. Topped with spring greens and flecks of onion, the steak was tiny, delectable and left you wanting more.

Saturday's dishes were larger and required more prep time, resulting in longer lines at the tents. Interestingly, five of the six featured some type of steak. Julie Farias's beef head taco might sound intimidating, but the light, pleasingly grainy corn tortilla was full of tangy vegetables, leaving the savory meat almost as an afterthought. Like the bo ssam, the tortilla was the size of a compact disk, great for munching while walking. Also great for walking was the adorable, delectable burger by Lee Hanson, Pat La Frieda, and Riad Nasr, no larger than a baseball when topped with its tiny dark-golden bun. Served with two crunchy shamrock-shaped pickles and a handful of crisp pommes frites, the plump burger was juicy and topped exquisitely with caramelized onions.

As delightful as all the preceding dishes were, they did not hold a candle to the last two. Inaki Aizpitarte's steak with charred aubergine was almost indescribable. More art than food, the dish featured swabs of black beans and sour cream on the edge of the plate, with purple-stained vegetables in the center, concealing the delicately-sliced steak beneath. I barely remember the taste; I just know I've never tasted anything like it before. In the same category was Stephane Jego's simmered beef and chilled camembert meringue. The dish tasted like a deconstructed pizza: the beef was intense, dark and juicy, and garnished by a triangle of oily crust. The camembert meringue, a dollop of sea green foam, played comic to the beef's straight man with its citrus bite. Tastier and more inventive than anything else at Le Fooding, these two dishes were the ones to stay for.
Both evenings were topped off with (what else?) ice cream. Nicholas Morgenstern's unobtrusive cart had the power to bring out the kid in sophisticated foodies, who were lining up for frozen treats half an hour before the stand opened. The flavors were icy and inventive: vanilla bourbon, salted hazelnut gianduja, and Dirty Breakfast, a light banana ice cream with muesli and granola spooned over the top. Guests grabbed a cone (or two) and ended their well-fed night on a sweet note.
Recommended.

Farmer’s Market

2009-09-26T15:13:00.000-04:00

Syracuse's Farmers Market, located at 2100 Park Street, next to the Greyhound bus station and across the highway from the Carousel Center, isn't easy to miss. Five long enclosures with green roofs, labeled A through E, and freestanding white tents in the sun house dozens of vendors. The Market is a yard sale, a garden sale and a green market all thrown together, and it runs year-round.

More often than not, the vendors are the farmers themselves. Old sunspotted men unload their produce from the backs of their trucks while their hardened wives work the cash register. This is a family affair: children and grandchildren work as much as adults. These men and women don't feel the need to hawk their goods or harass potential customers, which is a nice change from NYC street fairs.

The prices are shockingly low: three onions for three dollars, a 75 cent eggplant. One bread stall has a buy-one-get-one-free end-of-the-day loaf special. It's cheaper than Wegmans and light years more affordable than Whole Foods, where food is made expensive by the packaging and shipping. Some stands advertise that they accept food stamps as payment, making a very good case for cheap, healthy calories (while also making this blogger happy as a clam.)

For such an old institution, the Farmers Market is surprisingly forward-thinking. Everything is locally grown by small farms. A preponderance of meats are free-range, grass fed, and organic. A rainbow of homemade pasta, cut into long, thin strips and short, dry squiggles, are mostly vegan. Reading material is available to educate you on the benefits of Islam and explain why it isn't terror-based. Even progressive ideas like Fair Trade have wormed their way upstate.

The farmers and vendors sell prepared foods as well. Will you buy the coconut chocolate pecan fudge or the cinnamon chili chocolate pecans? The natural peanut butter or the canned jams and vegetables? There are samples galore: try the cheese, peanut brittle, grass-fed jerky and wine. Lots of homemade treats are sold in Ziplock bags. Must-haves are the pure maple candy, sold at Leonard's Maple Syrup by the most adorable, authentic-looking, crusty old farmer I've ever seen; and the 25-cent sticks of flavored honey (lemonade! peach!), sold at the tiny honey stand.

Beyond farm-fresh produce and prepared cuisine, the adjacent flea market includes household goods and apparel. Sift through tables and cartons of shea butter, sunglasses, jewelry, toys, sheets and candles before heading off to lunch at one of the meal carts. Smells from the Pierogie Guy, Ma & Pa's Kettle Korn and Dogs On Wheels permeate the air. There's even Thai and Laotian food, and of course, that zenith of gustatory pleasure, fried dough.

This is Syracuse at its best, most interesting, most accepting and most progressive. The crowd is a melting pot. Women in hijabs push strollers past teens in bondage pants and baggy jeans; men in big glasses and trucker hats purchase cookies from pinch-faced Amish women, who will smile if coaxed. (The Amish pastries are very good; give one a try.) All in all, the Farmers Market is a fantastic jumping-off point for the local food movement, and for culture in Central New York.

Food Porn

2009-09-23T04:37:00.000-04:00

Confused by the burgeoning supply of food porn (the name is not my fault) on the Internet? Here are the best sites to follow.

FoodPornDaily is the eponymous king of mouth-watering culinary photography. Every day features a new, super-close-up photograph of a delectable dish, with the food's name woven into the photograph. Click on the photos to scroll through previous days. Waking up to this website is a fabulous way to start your morning.

TasteSpotting, FoodGawker and Photograzing are all, as TasteSpotting puts it, "community driven visual potlucks." Individuals submit beautiful photos of food which are moderated and posted to the site; the photos often link to a recipe or website. Photograzing displays slightly fewer photos per page, but sorts them by fun categories like "International Cuisine" and "Bacon." FoodGawker and TasteSpotting are nearly identical: each features lots of pictures, with links to the most popular entries or to a random selection of photos. FoodGawker is slightly more tricked out, with a neat directory of all its food categories at the bottom of the page for easy searching, and a link to store your personal favorite photos. All three sites update very regularly, so check back every few hours for new treats to drool over. You can also follow all three sites on Twitter.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, This Is Why You're Fat is an exercise in revulsion and amazement. Individuals still submit photographs of their own culinary creations, but here, the goal is to be as high-calorie, high-fat, and high-carb as possible. If you think your monstrosity is ready for submission, you're wrong: wrap it in bacon, dip it in chocolate, add a few more eggs, and deep-fry it. Now it's ready.

And finally...

Cake Wrecks is a fun collection of cakes gone "horribly, hilariously wrong." A bit snarky at times, the site is mostly just hilarious. Beautiful cakes are showcased once a week as Sunday Sweets, to restore a bit of your faith in the future of the baking profession.

Avedon Fashion (1944-2000)

2009-09-16T10:01:00.004-04:00

Avedon Fashion, billed as "the most comprehensive exploration to date of (Richard) Avedon's fashion photography during his long career at Harper's Bazaar, Vogue, The New Yorker, and beyond," is logically presented and well-described. Low glass cases displaying original magazines and prints of fashion photography demarcate the various decades of Avedon's work, and large wall plaques explain Avedon's career and the world which shaped it. The International Center of Photography has devoted almost all of its space to the impressive exhibit, and is also showing a smaller set of fashion plates, which dovetail nicely with the main attraction. The space is clean and bright, save one inexplicable yet dramatic black room with a striking white backlighting the photos, and is spacious enough to accommodate all patrons.

Richard Avedon is at his best when he is in his own world, photographing beautiful women the way he wants to photograph them. His work with the willowy models of the post-war era up through the 1960s is exquisite. Too rich to grow old, too young to know better, the ethereal girls create dramatic lines and artistic curves with their clothes and with their bodies. Their eyes and smiles speak of the hope of tomorrow and the dawning 1950s. Fashion was beautiful then, and Avedon captures and cultivates that beauty extremely well.

Avedon's later fashion photography is not bad, but it doesn't thrill, either. Avedon came to maturity as a photographer at a time of renewal and grown in the US. America of the 1970s had changed, and its clothing had changed with it. When fashion stopped being beautiful and became scary or provocative, as we see today in everything from H&M ads to obscure exhibits at the Costume Institute at the Met, it passed Avedon by. His action shots are confusing and do not stand the test of time. His final series of photos from 2000, juxtaposing a model with a skeleton and discussing the heavily-laden symbolism therein, tries too hard for attention.

All is not lost. Avedon's ability to reach into a seemingly simple shot (girl, dress) and extract passion, movement, and (most importantly) personality is the reason that his career did not remain confined to fashion. His later shots of famous figures and celebrities, not included in this exhibit, show them as they saw themselves and as we see them now; he strips the soul to show the beauty, or the ugliness, within. Similarly, Avedon's later passion with photographing coal miners and cattle ranchers in the US Midwest shows humans simply, reaching into their history while showing nothing but their faces. Their origins are distinctly shown here in Avedon's depiction of high fashion and the rebirth of America, when everyone was beautiful and everything was just beginning.

Avedon Fashion is displayed at the ICP until September 20.

Feast of San Gennaro

2009-09-16T01:11:00.000-04:00

Every September, my neighborhood goes crazy. One day, we are a relatively quiet shopping district, full of tiny cafes, historic tenement brownstones and cutesy boutiques. The next, we are ablaze with neon lights, metallic streamers, thousands of tourists and the smell of all things fried.

This is San Gennaro.

The Feast of San Gennaro has been celebrated in New York City's Little Italy for the past eighty-two years, and remains New York's oldest street festival. The Feast is an outdoor carnival and street fair, spanning Mulberry Street from Houston Street to Canal Street, cutting through the heart of ever-shrinking Little Italy. Featured in all three Godfather films, San Gennaro is a staple of Italian (and pseudo-Italian) culture in New York City.

San Gennaro has certainly changed over the decades, but the focus of the modern festival is the food. From zeppoles to calzones, pizza to antipasti, you can find all types of Italian fare here. Beyond the more authentic (albeit greasy) choices, classic street food is also dished up in metal vats: sausage and onion sandwiches, corn dogs, funnel cakes, and something called "jelly apples." Daquiris are served in neon-striped plastic goblets. The dessert stalls are the most impressive: cupcakes are slathered with icing and crowned with toppings; tiramisu, sfogliatelle and biscotti crowd the shelves. Cannoli, of course, are abundant: you can have mini or jumbo, chocolate-dipped or pistachio-encrusted, pre-stuffed or stuffed upon request with chocolate cream or marscapone or peanut butter and jelly (really.) A study in San Gennaro's cannoli would be an evening well spent.

Beyond food, San Gennaro offers entertainment as well. Gregarious hawkers shout to you from midway game stalls, heavy with low-hanging giant teddy bears. Mini carnival rides and a trailer housing the Snake Lady are tucked away on side streets, and don't get that much attention. At the south end of Mulberry, the Church of the Most Precious Blood displays effigies of Mary and San Gennaro, with long red ribbons tied to their hands and feet. Dollars pinned to those ribbons come from both curious tourists and influential dons, in an unintentional tribute to New York's continued status as a melting pot.San Gennaro's food may not challenge the palate and the shopping may not be anything novel, but that's not the point. You go to San Gennaro to savor the soul-killing goodness of fried Oreos, to slurp heavy over-sauced pasta and one or two or five Italian pastries, to buy a shirt proclaiming how Italian you are and win a teddy bear for your girlfriend. You go to ogle the greased hair, the baseball caps, the low rise jeans and the low cut shirts, the tattoos, the old Italian grandmothers and the large Italian families.You go to San Gennaro, ultimately, to have a good time. Isn't that what Italians are all about?

The Feast of San Gennaro runs until September 20th. It is open from around noon till approximately eleven pm. Go on a weekend: the crowds are larger, more raucous and more fun then.

In Support of the Fall Play

2009-09-12T01:01:00.006-04:00

Thespian Troupe #98, FM's theater club.

To Whom It May Concern,

I am dismayed to hear that the Fayetteville-Manlius High School fall play has been canceled this year. I am writing to ask you to reinstate the play as quickly as possible.

In high school, acting in the fall play was my most cherished extracurricular activity, and ultimately, my career choice. The play creates a close-knit group of like-minded students who learn to cooperate, collaborate, and develop something out of nothing. It encourages creative solutions to complex problems and brings shy students out of their shells. Most importantly, it provides a very different outlet from the musical, which is often too monolithic to allow individual students' voices and input to be heard and taken into serious consideration. The play is more intimate, more serious, and gives more opportunities for legitimate acting training.

Performing, and acting in particular, supplies students with invaluable skills later in life. From basic self-confidence to the art of public speaking, students develop and mature in extraordinary ways through theater. Since graduating from FM, I have used my acting training in many unlikely ways, from studying to be a professional actor to working in national political offices and presiding over college clubs. I would not be the self-confident, forthright, creative person I am today, were it not for my passion for acting and the outlets which FM gave me to explore and expand that passion.

Finally, I would like to say a word about Scott Austin, FM's drama teacher for the past five years. Scott is an open-minded, wildly creative young man, and a tough yet thoughtful teacher. Under his guidance, the fall play was reimagined into something which students create from the ground up, considering characters' motivation and blocking their own scenes in complex, thought-provoking theater pieces. Scott deserves better than to lose the fall play which I know he loves. I am ashamed that FM would treat such a great man so poorly.

I sincerely hope that you will reinstate the fall play, if not this year, then certainly next year and in the years to come. Schools of lesser economic capability often are forced to cut theater and art programs; FM is better than that. Please do not deny FM's gifted students the chance to grow and thrive through theater.

Sincerely,

Mary Byrne
If you are familiar with FM's fall play, please write a similar letter of support. Molly Linhorst, an FM senior, is collecting the letters. Contact her at maggiel408@yahoo.com.

What To Do This Weekend!

2009-09-11T23:11:00.003-04:00

Dance.

Get your Dutch on.

Drink.

Read.

Get your Italian on.

Drink more.

Ogle.

Chase and munch.

Chase and munch more.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Well? Get to it!
<3

Casey's Cottage

2009-09-09T22:29:00.002-04:00

Casey’s Cottage is an unassuming wooden house, nestled on the grounds of Mexico Point Park, on the shores of Lake Ontario. Once the carriage house to a larger home on the property and a destination for alcohol smuggled from Canada during Prohibition, Casey’s Cottage is now used for weddings and other social functions. The interior is elaborately carved with medieval figures, and the exposed rafter beams are covered with weird writings: some Latin, some Old English, some a made-up language. The tiny second floor holds two levels of darkened bunk beds and a miniature chapel. The whole building is romantic and endearing to a fault.

The best event at Casey’s Cottage is held for three days every August. Guests are invited to take a trip back in time, and to experience a full Renaissance dinner, complete with food, music, and entertainment. Upon their arrival, guests are instructed to park their “steeds” by a footman, and make their way to the front lawn, where they are greeted by Omen Sade and Nik Magill, two young actors performing as the Feckless Momes. The two young men tumble, tell jokes, sing, dance (if you can call it that), spit water at each other, and even dabble in Commedia dell’Arte techniques to amuse the crowd. Audience participation is random and mandatory if you are lucky enough to be singled out in the crowd.

The Feckless Momes: Nik Magill and Omen Sade.

At the finale of the Feckless Momes show, guests make their way into the Cottage, and are announced at the door as, for example, “Sir John of Smith and Lady Jane of Doe.” Serving wenches lead guests to their seats. The Queen enters last, in full regalia, and welcomes the diners. Another introduction and welcome are given by the Cottage staff, and a third by the voice of Sir William Casey himself, booming from the rafters as if by magic.

Dinner is brought out in small dishes by serving wenches, all students at the local high school. The far-and-away best of the dishes are the Dragon’s Eyeballs, juicy meatballs marinated in a dark, sweet glaze. Guinevere’s Gams (chicken legs), Merlin’s Orbs (baked potatoes) and Lancelot’s Spears (wraps of cheese, asparagus and various deli meats) are also perennial favorites. The menu changes slightly from evening to evening and year to year: one night hard-boiled eggs are served, the next a deep-fried wonton, the next a variation on spanakopita, each with an appropriately fanciful name. Super-sweet boxed wine, beer and water are poured generously.

Just as the food is variable from year to year, so is the entertainment. The Feckless Momes frolic and generally harass guests throughout dinner, to the great delight of the crowd (particularly the women.) Harp and recorder music are played in the background throughout the night, with interruptions for several singing performances by Abigail Anderson and Meb Byrne. (Full disclosure: that’s me. My mother is one of the harp players.) Performances are often impromptu: this year, the Feckless Momes did an on-the-spot duet with the harpists on “The Butterfly,” featuring a kazoo and a pan banged over Nik’s head.

Harpies: Amy Hueber and Jennifer Byrne.

Singers: Abigail Anderson and Meb Byrne.

The best part of the evening is the very end, when Omen rises to tell the story of the Cottage and how it came to be what it is today. The evening closes with a performance of Puck’s closing monologue from “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” and a fond farewell from the staff, until next year.

Mexico Point is by no means a professional endeavor, nor is it the end-all, be-all of Renaissance recreations. In fact, Casey’s Cottage almost grins at the idea of a true Renaissance reenactment, with its nonsensical wall carvings and medley of finger foods. Be that as it may, the Cottage is a happy, jovial place for friends and strangers to come together, share a night of fantasy and entertainment, and enjoy one another’s company. The common bonds of the human spirit at the dinner never fails to touch me, year after year. For those looking for whimsy, magic and a jaunt outside Syracuse to find new culture, Casey’s Cottage is a beautiful place to do so.

Recommended.

Butter

2009-09-09T09:12:00.002-04:00

Butter, the chic Lower East Side nighttime destination, has been the setting of various scenes and episodes in the catty TV drama, Gossip Girl. This is fitting.

The focus of Butter, tucked away on Lafayette, just south of Astor Place, is not the food nor the atmosphere, however charming either may be. It's the people, and more specifically, it's you showing off to all the other people. Eyes discretely follow every individual entering the restaurant, observing and critiquing who they're with and what they're wearing. I was seated next to a group of eight young runway models, each easily seven feet tall in heels.

The food at Butter is enjoyable, presented nicely in white dishes made of clean lines and curves. Buttery biscuits refresh the bread basket with a slight spicy zing, and are served with a soft, lemon-shaped butter pat. The crudite plate features a velvety pate on crunchy toast, but fail to impress overall. The shrimp appetizer features both steamed and fried shrimp, playing nicely together, and the duck entree pairs well with its bed of lentils. The pork entree is a stand-out: delicious, juicy on the inside and crispy on the out, though its bed of nondescript greens is not to its benefit. Side dishes of crispy-yet-soft collard greens and white beans topped with an intriguing mixture of sweet and savory spices are both hits. Dessert's beignets (glorified jelly donuts) are soft, golden and deliciously messy with creme anglais. The chocolate cake, however, is bitter beyond liking and no longer warm, with icing that stubbornly sticks to itself instead of oozing.

The service is horrifying. Our table was forgotten. Our waitress informed us that the chef was taking a long time because she was very particular and wanted things to be just so. (I find this to be more self-importance than attentiveness to the wants of a customer.) A manager came to our table, not to apologize or to check on us, but to ask our table to be moved out of the way to make room for another guest in a large party to our left. In Applebee's, this might be acceptable behavior; in Butter, the standard should be set higher (since the prices clearly have been.)

Ultimately, Butter acts just as a Gossip Girl character would: it is beautiful, tempting, fickle and self-important, willing to both give and take at its whim. The food and the atmosphere are dangled as carrots, but if you do not make the cut for any fickle reason, they are suddenly whisked away, and you feel like a spectacle for the beautiful people to laugh at or ignore. Such characteristics are better suited to late-night TV tween series, not to cuisine.

New Feature: Upcoming Events Calendar

2009-08-21T14:25:00.005-04:00

Hello all!

My posts have been fewer than I'd prefer recently, as I've been transitioning from Washington, DC to Syracuse and back to Manhattan. To tide you over while I settle myself into New York City and prepare to dive into its veritable sea of culture, I've added a new feature to Glitter Sleuth!

Introducing the Upcoming Events Calendar: a Google Calendar which lists any and all imminent events I get wind of. You can find it on the right side of the page.

The Calendar will be most useful for one-day events (awards shows, gallery openings, movie premiers, etc.) Let's face it, my review may be nice, but it won't do you much good if the event has already happened.

Peruse the Calendar for ideas as you plan your upcoming weekend!

And of course, if you hear of anything intriguing that's coming up, tell me about it and I'll include it on the Calendar for others to see.

Happy hunting!

Meb :)

Upcoming Event: The Wizard of Oz!

2009-08-19T17:51:00.011-04:00

Thanks to slashfilm for the heads-up on this event!

Attention, movie lovers of all ages!

On Wednesday, September 23rd, NCM Fathom, Warner Home Video and Turner Classic Movies will screen a never-before-seen, remastered version of The Wizard of Oz in more than 440 theaters nationwide! The event will commemorate the 70th anniversary of the film's release in August of 1939. The film will be shown with a documentary, “We’re Off to See the Wizard,” which chronicles the making of the classic film.

This is a great opportunity to show the film to children on the big screen, and to relive the experience with your parents and grandparents.

To find a theater near you and to purchase tickets, click here.

New Yorkers have surprisingly few options of theaters. Your best bet is the AMC Bay Plaza 13, at 2210 Bartow Avenue in the Bronx (718-320-1659.)

Syracuse dwellers are luckier: you can catch this great event just a hop, skip and jump away, at the Carousel Mall Stadium 17 (315-466-5680.)

I'll see you over the rainbow!

The All Night Egg Plant

2009-08-19T16:58:00.006-04:00

Syracuse can be a tough town for foodies, especially if you're looking for something more than a chain restaurant (read: Erie Boulevard.) Visiting foodies should acquaint themselves with The All Night Egg Plant to appease their diner-hungry stomachs.

The Egg Plant's success lies in its simplicity, allowing patrons to make what they will of the restaurant. Early morning coffee? Early afternoon brunch? Late night munchies? The Egg Plant satisfies all criteria, with a simple menu of tried-and-true dishes, fresh ingredients and straight-forward service. The popular omelets can be stuffed with up to three ingredients, from a large list that ranges from traditional (cheddar, ham) to eclectic (lox, hash) to downright weird (chocolate syrup, peanut butter, assorted berries.) Strange combinations often work well; be adventurous! A similar, if slightly less bizarre, assortment of pancake flavors and toppings are equally scrumptious. Even the chocolate milk is made to order.

The prices are modest, the atmosphere calm and welcoming. The crowd runs the gamut in age and ethnicity, making the open dining room lively during peak hours. With such great breakfast basics, there's no reason not to make The All Night Egg Plant a staple of your Syracuse dining experience.

Recommended.

Julie & Julia

2009-08-12T10:51:00.014-04:00

The real star of Nora Ephron's new film, Julie & Julia, is the food. Rich chocolate icing is slathered over cake in great spoonfuls; pastry crust topping a de-boned duck is toasted to a perfect crinkly golden brown. Even a meal of bruschetta, made early in the film before any real cooking lessons begin, looks scrumptious. Great pains were taken to perfect the appearance and performance of the food in Julie & Julia, and the work pays off.

I wish that Julie & Julia had been a biopic of Julia Child. Meryl Streep, who portrays Julia, is fascinating as always. She completely immerses herself in the role, stretching her vowels into operatic strains and shaking her hands in loose fists as the great Julia once did. The plot discusses little-known tidbits of Julia's life, making her a real person to us, not just a byline on a cookbook. A film devoted solely to Julia's life would be engaging, illuminating and enjoyable.

The addition of Julie Powell, played by Amy Adams, does little for the plot. Julie's story lacks action, simply because it can only take place in her kitchen and at her computer. Julie's narrative of her blog, spoken as a voiceover à la Sex and the City, fails to engage. As amusing as some bits of Julie's story may be, they are perfunctory and expected: Julie burns a meal; Julie has a meltdown; Julie and her husband fight; Julie gets famous.

Adams' valient attempts at creating a compelling character take up valuable time that could be spent with Julia's life story, Streep's unsurpassed talent, and more beautiful meals. As a result, we see less than half of Julia's groundbreaking life as a cook. It leaves us wanting more, and not in a good way.

Julie & Julia, directed by Nora Ephron, opened nationwide August 7.

Tabard Inn

2009-08-05T14:18:00.001-04:00

The Tabard Inn, located in the heart of DC's posh Dupont Circle, is a cozy hearkening back to the colonial era. The exterior is unassumingly pretty and wreathed in flowers. Inside, the dark, wood-paneled lounge exudes a quiet, rustic elegance, with mismatched paintings of early US presidents and carvings of eagles. Shaded lamps and wall lights cocked at odd angles exude soft lighting; squashy sofas and armchairs abound.

The restaurant of the Tabard Inn is scattered throughout several cheery rooms, with an open courtyard tucked in the back. A sheer multicolored awning drapes over the patio, where you can lounge away a Sunday morning with drinks and dining partners. Brunch, the restaurant's most popular meal of the week, is heralded by a bread basket, proportioned to the size of your party, and piled high with savory muffins, olive bread, and a light and airy focaccia that's packed with veggies.

The Tabard Inn features clean, fresh ingredients that hold their own shape and flavor, giving each dish surprising taste and texture combinations. The savory tart, a stand-out, is a birthday-cake sized slice of pastry, striated into delicate layers of crab, corn, asparagus and onions. The tart falls apart beautifully as you cut into it. The traditional Eggs Benedict are, mercifully, not too liberal with the Hollandaise, allowing the creamy flavor to just play on your taste buds. For heartier fare, the omelet with Hens of the Forest mushrooms and Brie has a precocious bitter bite, and is served with chunks of hash browns and a flaky biscuit.

For those with a sweet tooth, the vanilla brioche French toast is a scrumptious choose-your-own-adventure. Topped with peach-berry compote, and served with pots of clotted cream and intensely flavorful maple syrup on the side, the dish beckons with many possible taste combinations.

With the liberal brunch portions, you won't need dessert, but the menu is quite tempting. Our server recommended the coconut carrot cake as one of the best desserts on the menu. Artfully presented, the cake matches the coconut and carrot flavors together well. The icing is good but not great, and the accompanying white chocolate macadamia nut ice cream, served in an inventive pastry crust, is overkill. The cake would be better paired with a simple French vanilla, or for a zingy surprise, a raspberry or lemon sorbet.The Saturday and Sunday brunch menu choices rotate regularly, but the menu always maintains a few staples. Dress is casual but classy. Reservations, at least a week in advance, are strongly recommended, though if you get your name on the waiting list right when the restaurant opens, your wait shouldn't be obscene.

Recommended.

Great New York State Fair: Poll

2009-08-04T10:51:00.004-04:00

Following in the well-heeled footsteps of my longtime friend and fellow blogger Rochelle, I want to pose a question to anyone who's been to the Great New York State Fair.

I'm bringing several friends from New York City up to Syracuse in early September for the Fair, and I want to show them the best time possible.

So my question for you is, what's your favorite thing to do at the Great New York State Fair? The sausage sandwiches? The butter sculpture? The Footsie Wootsie? The live concerts? The multi-colored chickens? The quilting show? The midway?

Make sure we don't miss anything!

Tangysweet

2009-08-02T21:59:00.018-04:00

If you live in any large city, you'll know that frozen yogurt is now chic. A slough of competing franchises have popped up in recent years, all offering antiseptic, funky plastic interiors, a sparse menu of yogurt choices, and a wide array of mix-and-match toppings.

Tangysweet, located in DC's Dupont Circle, opened just over a year ago, and is now a well-known destination spot on a hot summer day. Two days ago, Tangysweet introduced cupcakes by Red Velvet Cupcakery to its menu. I thought I'd go check it out.

As with any upscale fro-yo establishment, the best Tangysweet yogurt flavor is the original, or "classic"; other flavors are too syrupy sweet. Tangysweet's classic is, well, tangy and sweet, with a crisp flavor to savor. The frozen dessert is so stiff that it peaks in a towering tip of classic soft-serve swirl. The yogurt melts slowly and stubbornly in your mouth, letting you savor the taste. More than a dozen possible toppings include smashed Reeses Peanut Butter Cups, Gummi Bears, and mini chocolate chips. Chopped fruit and berries pair well with the tart of the yogurt, while sweet granola adds crunch. No matter what your choice of toppings, this is one good treat.

Photo courtesy of soon 2B sonju.

The new cupcakes are luscious. They fit nicely in the palm of your hand, the perfect size to satisfy your mouth while not overloading your stomach or your insulin levels. The cake is sinfully moist, and pairs exquisitely with the icing, smoothed elegantly in a rounded dome and dotted with a few well-placed sprinkles. The red velvet cupcake with whipped cream cheese frosting is as good as any I've had, with the light crunch of a crusty exterior shell giving way to rich, creamy icing. The Red Velvet Cupcakery has outdone itself.

Photo courtesy of Delleicious DC.

The one caveat to this new partnership of two delicious treats, is that the two products do not play well together. The light freshness of the yogurt is overpowered by the dense, full-flavored cupcake. The yogurt is positively disappointing if you eat it after the cupcake, the icing too heavy and mouth-filling if you eat it after the yogurt. Stick to one choice per visit. You'll just have to come back another time.

Julie & Julia: The Pregame

2009-07-31T10:05:00.008-04:00

I love food. A lot. I also love Meryl Streep. A lot a lot. I might love Meryl Streep more than I love food.

Therefore! I am very excited for Julie & Julia, due out August 7th.

I haven't been lucky enough to catch a sneak preview of Julie & Julia, but my friend and fellow blogger Lucie did. Here's her review.

Stand by for my review...

Subways of the Eastern Seaboard

2009-07-30T23:48:00.000-04:00

New York City, NY

This melting pot of a city has a melting pot of a transportation system. No two stations of the New York subway system are alike. Each stop reflects its neighborhood, through mosaics, statues, graffiti and type of passenger. Some stations are clean and prissy, others gnarled and rusted. Tunnels twist like rabbit warrens. Construction is unending. Trash, advertisements, and performance artists are ubiquitous. The large station hubs (Union Square, Times Square) collect many trains, jumble them up, and send you hurtling off in all directions to look for your connecting line.

The passengers, like the station stops, are anything and everything. Tourists with frosted hair and fake designer bags congregate at Canal Street and Times Square. Men in designer suits overload the train early each morning down by Wall Street. In Greenwich Village and the Lower East Side, hipsters in cigarette pants, retro Chuck Berry glasses and fanciful hairdos are so cool, they don't have to look to know where they get off. In the outer boroughs, passenger demographics shift according to neighborhood; you can become a minority within just a few subway stops. Homeless men stretch across rows of seats, swaddled in plastic bags and dirty blankets, fending off passengers with their smell. Buskers, everything from barbershop quartets to mariachi bands to high school boys selling fund-raising candy, ply their wares from car to car.

All the New York subway trains are tall, thin and made of rattling silver metal. The interiors sport bright plastic seats, but leave enough room to pack in passengers like sardines. If you get a car alone, usually late at night or at the very front or back of a train, there's enough space to use the silver poles as monkey bars, or to practice your exotic dancing. New, more high-tech cars, with shinier metal and brighter paint, now blink station names and subway lines at you from electronic displays. Even the subway cars take part in the quintessential New York quest for self-improvement and distinction, no matter what the cost.

Washington, D.C.

All work and no play characterize the metro system of our nation's capitol. Unlike New York City's subway, which has been a patchwork work-in-progress since the turn of the twentieth century, Washington, D.C.'s metro system was constructed in the 1970s, all at once. As a result, all the stations and all the trains look exactly the same, barring the names on the station signs and a token piece of art or two. The grey concrete vaulted ceilings are high, majestic, and methodical. The cars are white and clean, with runner carpets and lots of cushioned seating.

The system brims with amenities and helpful hints. Electric signs on the platform flash the color and arrival time of the next four or five trains. Rows of red lights blink on the sides of the tracks when a train approaches. A friendly female voice instructs you periodically on the proper procedures for dealing with suspicious packages. Still, for all these niceties, the metro is unforgiving. If the train doors close on your clothing, bag or body part, they won't open again like elevator doors. You're clamped in until the next station stop. (The friendly female voice tells you that, too.)

DC's passengers fall into broad categories, all of which share a propensity for unfortunate fashion choices. Government employees tromping to work pair gym sneakers or flip flops with tailored business suits. Battalions of tourists deck themselves out in matching neon shirts and tend to shout instructions down the car. Although the homeless population seems larger, or at least more visible, in DC than in New York, you won't find any buskers or beggars below ground. Busking, along with eating and drinking, is prohibited in the metros, and the rules are strictly enforced.

Remember to keep your metro card after you swipe into a station (you'll need it to swipe out as well), and to keep it away from your cell phone (the card will demagnetize.) But the most important rule of all? Stand right, walk left. God help you if you stand on the wrong side of the escalator in this town.

Boston, MA

Boston's subway system feels like an old wharf. The T is weather-worn, battle-scarred, beaten by the sea and salt air for decades. The walls are a rough stucco, the paint peeling. The metro tunnels are dark and dank, intermittently lit by bare orange bulbs, revealing scattered pipes, gears and coils of ropes. A mothball smell permeates the air, in keeping with the centuries of history which Boston boasts.

In a unique move, Boston's subway cars vary by location. Traditional long caravans of cars wind and shudder underground, while a funny-looking caboose of two short cars connected by an accordion seal ferries passengers jerkily to their stops above ground. Plastic seats, like those in New York, are not numerous; carpeting, like that in DC, makes the car feel homey. Large windows and full glass doors let you watch the world glide by. No matter how antique the system may feel, it's certainly not going anywhere; the rechargeable CharlieCards are good until 2019.

The T's passengers have neither the fierce individual styles of New York City, nor the staid work ethic of DC. The riders are of one mold here: easy-going, unpretentious and New England sensible. They are a people comfortable in their own skins, strong in their convictions, whether political (left-wing) or religious (Boston Red Sox.) Intellectuals with messenger bags and glasses abound. More focused on school than style, shaggy-haired boys and girls sport buttons and logo shirts for political causes and anarchic bands. Conversations vacillate between peaceful calm and a lively murmur, punctuated by the rattling of the tracks below you. As you descend the train, consider yourself lucky that the T no longer charges a five cent surcharge for going above ground; and say a prayer for old Charlie, namesake of the CharlieCard, who wasn't as lucky.

Raspberry Almond Shortbread Thumbprints

2009-07-28T00:32:00.010-04:00

Fretting over which dish to bring to that last-minute party, or which dessert to share with your new neighbors, or how to impress your mother-in-law? Look no further than raspberry thumbprint cookies. These buttery circles burst with rich almond flavor, balanced with the sweet zing of raspberries. They elicit gasps and endless streams of praise from those who eat them. They draw crowds at parties. They are easy and fun to make, and are a great introduction to cookie-making for children or non-bakers. They are the ultimate cookie.

~*~*~*~

Raspberry Almond Shortbread Thumbprints

Cookie Dough*

⅔ cup sugar

1 cup butter (Leave out for about 1 hour, not much more, to soften.)

½ tsp. almond extract

2 cups flour

½ cup seedless raspberry jam

Glaze

1 cup powdered sugar

1½ tsp. almond extract

2 to 3 tsp. water

*This recipe only makes about 2 dozen cookies so I always make a double batch.

~*~*~*~

1. Heat oven to 350°F.

2. Cream butter. Add sugar and cream the mixture till smooth. Stir in almond extract. Stir in flour gradually till thoroughly mixed.

3. Roll slightly rounded soup spoons of dough into balls and place on a cookie sheet covered with bakers' parchment paper. (A soup spoon is about 1 ½ Tbsp. of dough per cookie.)

4. Press your thumb straight down into each ball, taking care that the sides and bottom of the ball don't get too thin. If the sides of the dough ball crack, press them together so the jam won't spill out.

5. Fill each thumb hole with raspberry jam just level or very slightly above the edge of the cookie.

6. Bake at 350°F for 12-15 minutes on the middle rack of your oven. You can fit a dozen cookies on a cookie sheet because they don't spread much. When the jam just starts to bubble, the cookies are done. They will be very slightly brown around the edges.

7. Let cookies stand a couple of minutes on the cookie sheet, then put them on a cooling rack to cool completely.

8. Mix glaze using only enough water to make a thin, but not runny, drizzle. Don't let the glaze stand more than an hour or it will form a crust and won't be smooth.

9. When the cookies are completely cool, drizzle the glaze in a zig-zag pattern over the cookies.

10. Eat with gusto!

“Jane McDaid Murphy” Goes Viral

2009-07-27T23:54:00.002-04:00

Jane McDaid died on Friday, July 17, 2009. She was fifty nine.

A few days later, my eulogy, "Jane McDaid Murphy," was reposted on her funeral's online guest book.

You can view the guest book here. My article is on page three.

Thanks to everyone at the funeral ceremony for their kind words on my writing. I am humbled that others found my words moving enough to share them with friends and family. I am most comforted, however, that Jane read my piece before her death. I am blessed to have had the chance to tell her how much she meant to me, before it was too late.

My heart goes out to her husband Jerry and her daughters Margaret and Katherine, who were loving in Jane's life and gracious in her death. I love you all very much.

Alice’s Tea Cup

2009-07-21T21:21:00.011-04:00

Alice's Tea Cup is, quite simply, the best brunch and lunch restaurant I've found in New York City.

Smoked salmon & scones.

First, there is tea. You must have tea. Alice's offers a comprehensive book of tea choices, ranging from common to exotic. Each brightly hued pot of tea is a different shape and size, and is brought directly to your table, with a sponge secured to the spout to catch dribbles.

Second, there are scones. Where else can you have scones and tea on a regular basis? (Starbucks doesn't count.) The best is the pumpkin scone, judiciously spiced and very moist. The mixed berry scone, also good, has a snappy, sugary crust. Some of the scones, especially the ham & cheese and buttermilk scones, tend to be on the dry side. Remedy this with the clotted cream and raspberry preserves served with each choice; the flavors pair well and melt in your mouth.

The entrée menu is short and sweet. Puréed soups change daily. A few dainty combinations of veggies and protein are available in either salad or sandwich form. The smoked salmon on black bread is the best of the sandwiches; the lapsang chicken, served with apple slices and tea-infused hard-boiled eggs, works best as a salad. However they are prepared, the entrees are cute, classy, and consistently delicious, combining unique ingredients to keep things interesting.

If you've gone to the trouble of getting an early afternoon table at Alice's on the weekend, forget calorie counting with the mundane watercress sandwiches and indulge in the luxurious brunch menu. Pumpkin pancakes are fluffy, moist and intensely flavorful. Smoked salmon and scones are layered with tender poached eggs and a tasty Hollandaise sauce. The Curious French Toast gooey with syrup and chocolate sauce and sprinkled with fresh berries; this decadent entrée should be listed as a dessert. Top off your meal with a morning cocktail: Alice's apéritifs are fun, spicing up classics like Bellinis with peach-infused tea, simple syrup, and a single bobbing raspberry.

Alice's Curious French Toast.

With all the girly girls in New York descending on brunch restaurants every weekend, Alice's is incredibly popular. The wait at any of its three locations is consistently one to two hours on weekends, and longer around midday. (Reservations are taken for parties of six or more ladies. I say ladies, and I mean it. Don't try to bring men here. They just don't understand!) All of the locations are whimsically painted with illustrations and passages of Lewis Carroll's classic story, for which the restaurant is named. Chapter 1, on the Upper West Side, feels like a magical rabbit warren, hidden below street level. Chapter 2 is a tall building on the Upper East Side, with cream and burgundy décor, a winding staircase, and a wonderfully inventive bathroom. Chapter 3, also on the Upper East Side, feels a bit boxy at times, but features a sweet outdoor garden.

Founding Farmers

2009-07-17T11:28:00.049-04:00

Find yourself longing to be down home on the family farm again, but don't want to leave the luxuries to which you've become accustomed in the big city? Head over to Founding Farmers, a chic take on Americana.

Located at 1924 Pennsylvania Avenue, Founding Farmers takes classic American fare and dresses it up. The portions are hearty and huge, and the extensive menu features something for everyone. The restaurant's draw is its commitment to sustainability and green living: all the fruits, vegetables, meats, fish and dairy products served in the restaurant come from local, independent family farmers.

The restaurant is clean and modern with huge windows. The interior features dark wood and feels like a farmhouse. Bare glass bulbs are suspended in a line above long wooden tables, perhaps once made of rough-hewn pine boards, now shiny with varnish. Luminescent cotton clouds swath overhead lighting, in a modern tribute to the prairie sky. Large glass jars of pickles, peppers and tomatos, soaking in brine, line the shelves and walls surrounding you.

The food tastes like it was made in a bright country kitchen by a strong, substantive woman using a large knife. Appetizers include warm corn bread, full of surprisingly sweet kernels, which arrives in a small cast iron skillet with whipped butter. A sextet of devilled eggs are filled with mashed lobster, crab, and salmon; the three seafood fillings are chunky and light, a nice departure from mayonnaise-laden picnic fare.

Salads incorporate creative ingredients like caramelized onions and dried figs. The seventeen vegetable salad comes in a hefty glass mixing bowl, fit for two people or several rabbits. The late harvest salad showcases good, strong flavors, but risks being overpowered by an unyielding bleu cheese. Stick to a half-portion of greens, and leave room for the stick-to-your-ribs entrees. A surprising array of traditional country standards, including short ribs, meat loaf, pot roast, pork chop, and several cuts of steak, all make appearances on the menu. Salmon, marinated in either apricot-infused maple syrup or an herb-lemon glaze, is served on a birchwood trencher. The outstanding grilled cheese sandwich features gooey Gruyere and Vermont white cheddar, which stretch into strings as high as an elephant's eye. The thick toast of the sandwich is buttered, chock full of grains, and delightfully bitter.

If Founding Farmers occasionally misses the mark, it is when the cuisine strays too far from comfort food and heads into the realm of DC cocktail party fare. The bacon-wrapped dates, too large to fit into your mouth and too complicated to bite in half, are mushy and bloated with an overly-acidic feta cheese. The candied bacon lollis sound innovative, but come out as your basic chunk of meat on a stick. That said, the bacon itself, like all the meats at Founding Farmers, is great: thick, hearty, and never crispy or flabby.

Polish off your meal with the famous doughnuts, or a giant slice of cake with ice cream. The multi-layered carrot cake is pocked with plump sultanas and robed in velvety cream cheese frosting. The red velvet cake (also with cream cheese frosting) and the yellow cake (with chocolate) are similarly oversized, reminiscent of down-home drug store treats. To bring you home, order black coffee and sip while you soften into your chair and think of home.

The Star-Spangled Banner

2009-07-15T16:58:00.002-04:00

The National Museum of American History in Washington, DC, recently reopened after extensive renovations. One of its most famous pieces, the giant "star-spangled banner" made famous by Francis Scott Key, has been treated to a complete makeover. Too fragile to ever hang again, the flag now lies on display in the solid, smart exhibit, "The Star-Spangled Banner: The Flag That Inspired the National Anthem."

The exhibit begins, as many popular Smithsonian exhibits do, with a long line. Don't let the wait put you off: the line moves quickly. A darkened ramp acts as both crowd control and excitement-builder as it leads upwards into the blackness. One side of the ramp's hall is lined with a mass of information, covering the buildup to the Battle of Baltimore on September 14, 1814, and Key's subsequent penning of the Star-Spangled Banner.

As you turn the corner, the flag comes into view and takes your breath away. This flag is HUGE, measuring at thirty by thirty-four feet, cut down over the years from its original thirty by forty-two feet. The enormous banner is luminescent in the black room, accentuating its size. The darkness imparts a sense of spectacle, and the awe which Key must have felt, spotting the flag in the breaking dawn.

The most unique feature of the exhibit is an interactive viewing station: a giant screen displaying a slowly shifting image of the flag, located at the end of the exhibition hall. By touching the screen, you can control how the flag moves. As well, you can open various tabs of historical information by touching blinking circles on the screen. The display is a little difficult to decipher, but a good effort on the Smithsonian's part to incorporate new media and a younger generation into its exhibitions.

The outgoing ramp features the history of the flag's maker, Mary Pickersgill, and her lineage. Fascinating photos of how the flag was preserved and displayed over the centuries hang above various artifacts, including a fabulous silver punch bowl shaped like a British mortar, with matching cups and ladle. In a final burst of patriotic fervor, the importance of the American flag and "The Star-Spangled Banner" through the ages are highlighted with a montage of famous individuals and groups singing the anthem.

"The Star-Spangled Banner: The Flag That Inspired the National Anthem" is simple, direct, and focused, qualities which often elude the Smithsonian Institute in its quest to successfully impart its gigantic store of artifacts and knowledge to the public. This is one Smithsonian exhibit worth checking out.

IHOP: A Poem

2009-07-15T15:48:00.007-04:00

It's called the International House of Pancakes.

Maybe that's why English isn't the staff's first language.

One waitress asks another how many Ls are in chili,

one or two,

as I sit waiting on the squashy bench,

grey drizzle skittering down the window pane behind me.

The whiteboard by the cash register proclaims

Smile Your At IHOP.

Apparently, it's my At IHOP.

If English was the staff's first language, maybe the titles of the dishes would be more precise.

I order the Rooty Tooty Fresh 'N Fruity,

which sounds like Carmen Miranda's hat, chopped up and served in a chilled glass,

stuck through with a plastic sword and a maraschino cherry.

It's not that exciting.

It's just another permutation of omnipresent breakfast foods.

You still have to say Rooty Tooty Fresh 'N Fruity when you order it, though,

even though you know what you're really getting isn't very fruity,

not particularly fresh,

and mostly void of rooti- and tootiness.

You still have to say it.

Otherwise, it doesn't count.

I'm not bothered that the Rooty Tooty Fresh 'N Fruity isn't a fizzy drink.

Sometimes, words just can't convey intended meaning.

I say Rooty Tooty Fresh 'N Fruity, not twoeggtwosausagetwobacontwopancakewithfruittopping,

because there's no better way to say it

and the staff knows what I mean.

When I sit there with you,

I don't say

"You helped me get through four plays, two musicals, two years of high school and one boyfriend,"

"You were my only friend on the first scared night I spent in New York City,"

"You have never steered me wrong, and I still have immense faith in your opinions."

I order a Rooty Tooty Fresh 'N Fruity instead,

and we share stories while sipping syrup,

and it is enough.

When you pick up the tab

and you drive me home,

even though you don't have to,

I don't say,

"I have loved you as long as I have known you."

That's a hyperbole

(a tiny one)

and I don't think they'd understand hyperbole

at the International House of Pancakes.

-----

The International House of Pancakes is a nationwide restaurant chain, with 1,402 locations in fifty states, Canada and Mexico.

Jane McDaid Murphy

2009-07-15T15:20:00.030-04:00

Jane McDaid Murphy is the epitome of Massachusetts class. She is chic and simple, impeccably dressed and elegantly coiffed even in a rainstorm. The drawers in her immaculate kitchen are organized just so, with trays dissecting paper clips and change. Her guest bedrooms are more welcoming, her bathrooms more pristine, than most bed-and-breakfasts. She is ultra-feminine, laid-back and always approachable, never scary for me as a kid, able to bring out the girly girl in my awkward teenage self.

Jane has been a part of my life since I was born, and a part of my parents' life long before then, when her husband, Jerry, and my dad were college buddies. As a child, I was perplexed as to how I was related to Jane and Jerry. I saw them every summer at our cottage on Nantucket; I slept in their house in Newton Lower Falls, Massachusetts, a hundred times. I grew up alongside their two daughters, all freckles and smiles. Last year, one of those daughters got married. Our bookshelves are lined with photo albums of the Murphys and the Byrnes. Though separated by distance, our two families' lives are lives shared, with more memories than I can ever hope to enumerate.

I will remember Jane most vividly through a pair of silver glasses. One Nantucket summer, when I was in middle school, I accidently snapped off one of the arms of my glasses, rendering them useless. Jerry and Jane, always ingenious, jumped to the rescue. Jerry bent a piece of wire coat hanger to fit the form of the glasses and taped it in place, effectively creating a splint for the frame's arm. Jane then knotted macramé over the unsightly wire with tan twine, and finished off the decoration with dots of sparkly blue and black nail polish along both sides of the frame. Jerry saved me from being blind all summer, but Jane made me stylish while doing it.

Jane introduced me to new foods, salmon, avocado, when I wouldn't touch more than hot dogs at home. Jane took me on a shopping spree to Old Navy and bought me pretty things, when I was still shrouded in baggy T-shirts. (Jane didn't bat an eyelid when, years later, I descended from her guest bedroom in a miniskirt, black eyeliner and lots of belt chains.) Jane took me to help her younger daughter move into college, and comforted me that even if I didn't get my first choice of a school, things would work out for the best. (She was right.)

Jane was diagnosed with cancer several years ago. Her courage in the face of a rare disease is remarkable. I cannot express how irrevocably she has changed my life for the better, or how grateful I am for her unending kindness toward me. For as long as I live, I will love and cherish Jane McDaid Murphy.

Jazz in the Sculpture Garden: A Poem

2009-07-13T23:04:00.002-04:00

Bodies recline on a mess of blankets, towels, a tablecloth.
We crowd for space,
Bump shoulders gently,
Pass homemade cobbler and plastic cups.
Grass presses its indentations into elbows and knees.
Crisply-pressed button-down shirts crease softly into spider legs.
Feet twitch slightly at imagined tickles and bites from bobbing fruit flies.
Long hair glints in the setting sun.
Red wine spills on a cotton dress.

The wine is cheap, the talk easy,
flowing like the last of the Cabernet into your open mouth.

---

Jazz in the Sculpture Garden is held every Monday in the summer from 5 to 8:30 pm. Head toward the National Gallery Sculpture Garden on the National Mall, & follow the crowd & the music.

500 Days of Summer

2009-07-02T21:14:00.004-04:00

The narrator of 500 Days of Summer warns early in the film, "You should know up front: this is not a love story." This is not entirely true.

500 Days of Summer is a love story of sorts: a one-sided love story, passionate, desperate, blind. It is about that first, painful love that teaches you how to love all the others that come after it. It portrays a current trend: not the hook-up culture that so absorbs the media, nor the strictly codified dating culture of our parents' generation. Instead, Tom, the boy, and Summer, the girl, share a relationship without labels; they are a couple in every way but in name. When they're alone together, their life is idyllic. When they're apart, it causes problems.

500 Days of Summer, which debuted at the 2009 Sundance Film Festival, teeters on the line between indie pop film and a bubble-gum summer chick flick. Not quite mainstream and not quite hipster, the two main characters exist in a slightly antique world, where skinny ties and granny-chic are the norm and all buildings have picturesque winding staircases. The film is endearing and truthful, with believable characters, easy dialogue and some very clever humor. Tom is quirky and naïve, and we fall for him. Summer, conversely, is distant and often cold. She rationalizes her actions with the catch-all phrase, "Because I wanted to," and Tom trot along behind her. You can almost see his tail wagging happily at the prospect of being near her. Girls who treat boys this way, and boys who let girls treat them this way, will feel a sting at the film's barefaced appraisal of today's relationships and their dangers.

The film flip-flops within a 500-day period, tracking Tom's relationship with Summer in a back-and-forth fashion. The technique fits the film's style nicely, leads to some fun transitions between good and bad times, and saves the story from being utterly predictable. It is, however, a bit muddled and unexplained at times. The film also dabbles in cinematographic devices usually saved for more artsy films: transforming the screen into animation, interjecting black-and-white documentary-style footage of the characters throughout the film for plot exposition, split-screen scenes. More of a consistent commitment to these indie film tricks would have solidified the film's style, and would not have cost the film studio too much lost mainstream interest.

Though the cinematography may waffle in style, the film's soundtrack is firmly planted in the indie rock scene. The stage is set in the opening credits with Regina Spektor's "Us," and proceeds to run the gamut of music by sensitive-girls-with-pianos. Both "Quelqu'un M'a Dit," Carla Bruni's touching hit, and The Smiths' anthem "There Is A Light That Never Goes Out," are perfectly placed to mirror the onscreen action in their lyrics.

Unfortunately, for all this great set-up, 500 Days of Summer does not satisfy. The story, although nice, lacks purpose or drive, and feels scattered. We are given a glimpse of Tom and Summer's relationship, but we aren't shown why we should love it. There are no moments of true epiphany for either character, though the filmmakers try to create some out of banalities. The story's ending is forced and cutesy, and doesn't leave room for honest truths that the characters might have been able to gain with a different close.

Ultimately, like the season of summer, 500 Days of Summer is enjoyable, full of passion and resplendent in youth. But, in the end, neither can last or fulfill all our wishes, and we are glad to see them go.

500 Days of Summer is directed by Marc Webb and stars Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Zooey Deschanel. It will be released in select theaters on July 17.

From NPR News... Goes Viral!

2009-07-02T14:56:00.004-04:00

My article "From NPR News..." was picked up by The Huffington Post!

Only... I can't find it any more. :(

Google Search has two results, from June 11 and June 16, showing a link to my article on Huffington Post's NPR page. However, since HuffPost renews its site so often, I can't find the original mention of my site. I've scoured HuffPost's Archives page with no luck.

If anyone has any bright ideas on how to retrieve the original link, I'd be immensely grateful! (I'd love the bragging rights.)

Truth, Justice & The American Way Goes Viral!

2009-07-02T14:26:00.005-04:00

My article "Truth, Justice & The American Way" is featured in Crystal City's News/Press section!

Check it out here (listed under June 11.)

Many thanks to Adrienne Williams for making this happen!

Womannequin Goes Viral!

2009-07-02T14:18:00.004-04:00

My article "Womannequin" was picked up by Global Grind!

Check it out here.

(And yes, for those of you in the peanut gallery, a response post to your comments on "Womannequin" IS coming. Patience!)

The Legendary Half-Smoke

2009-07-02T09:50:00.007-04:00

My dear friend and fellow blogger Rochelle recently posed the question of where to find the best hot dog on her website, Sexy Girls Eat. I tackle the issue, one which has baffled mankind through the ages, here.

Made famous by a recent visit from our current President, Ben's Chili Bowl is located on U Street in Washington, DC. The area is historically run-down and dangerous at night, but U Street is slowly being gentrified. Ben's Chili Bowl is a landmark there, having remained open since its debut in 1958. The tiny shack is always packed with customers who wait in a mob rather than a line; the staff is personable and takes orders rapid-fire. This past weekend, the cooks sang and danced with great gusto to Michael Jackson songs blaring on the PA.

Ben's Chili Bowl offers many options, but their most famous dish is the half-smoke, a plump, smoky sausage that's half beef and half pork. Order it "with everything" (chili, onions and mustard.) The half smoke packs a punch, with the mustard adding a flavorful zing. Served in red plastic baskets with tongfuls of Ruffles potato chips, this hot dog is not to be missed. (Obama thinks so, too.)

Photo courtesy of Jonathan Hawkins Online.

Safeway’s National Capitol Barbecue Battle

2009-06-30T22:26:00.006-04:00

When the smell of delicious charred flesh hangs in the air around our nation's capitol, you know it's time for the National Capitol Barbecue Battle.

Sponsored by Safeway, the Barbecue Battle is DC's shout-out to state fairs. Spanning at least five blocks, plus side streets, the Battle features bungee cords, carnival rides, basketball courts, and a rock climbing wall for the kids. Two stages feature live music. Various companies offer free samples of their products: Honey Bunches of Oats, Kettle Korn, and Dasani all tempted visitors with plastic cups of their wares. You can sample varieties of hot sauces, or have your photo taken in front of the Oscar Mayer Weiner Mobile. (You'll also receive a free Oscar Mayer Weiner Whistle, which, let me tell you, is worth the price of admission.)

The focus and purpose of the Battle, however, is barbecue, and lots of it. Both sides of Pennsylvania Avenue are lined with stall after stall advertising ribs, wings, brisket, and pulled pork, each with their own catch phrase or special sauce. If you look hard enough, you can find rarer treats: crab cakes, or (my personal favorite) alligator bites, which taste like pork, or a juicier chicken. To balance your nutrition, traditional state fair foods are in abundance as well: funnel cakes, bloomin' onions, and foot long corn dogs glisten with oily excess in the afternoon sun.

The Battle has a weird $10 entrance fee, which only appears to grant you the privilege of walking around the festival and eating its food. Most of the northeast quarter of Washington comes out for the Battle, so be prepared to wait in line for your meal. All the barbecue vendors, as generic as they may appear, are competing for top prizes and trophies for their grill skills. Come both days and sample twice the grub!

Montmartre

2009-06-30T16:58:00.005-04:00

If you couldn't guess by now, I'm a big fan of outdoor markets. I'm also a big fan of brunch. (What other meal is designed specifically for lazy rich people?) So I was excited to combine my two interests in an outing to Montmartre, located a block away from the Eastern Market in DC.

I will say one thing in defense of Montmartre: the quiche-of-the-day is superb. The crust is thick yet light and flaky, the eggs moist, the fillings (on this day, bacon and various cheeses) flavor-packed with a slightly sweet aftertaste. Get the quiche.

My praise ends there.

This is not to say that Montmartre is a bad restaurant. It is not. The servers are friendly. The space is nice. The mimosas are tasty. The buckwheat crepe is hearty, crispy, and chock full of meat and vegetables. It does, however, need salt. The quiche's side of greens is fresh, but unfortunately paired with a weird mayonnaise; a better choice would have been a light vinaigrette.

The clincher for me was the desserts: five flat, despondent-looking tarts, sugar glazed beyond hope. In a strange move, the fruit of the blueberry tart is covered by a top crust, masking the flavor and making the dessert more high fructose corn syrup than berries. The kitchen presents these sad tarts beautifully, surrounding them with a pool of vanilla sauce and a drizzle of raspberry. The gigantic mint leaves as garnish, however, are overkill.In the end, Montmartre's wait is too long, its decibels too high, its service too harried and its portions too large to be a faithful representation of French cuisine.

Zaytinya

2009-06-30T14:26:00.010-04:00

Great meals always start with an exhalation. You know what I'm taking about: almost compulsively, an "ohhh" escapes your lips as you bite into a flaky crust, a juicy piece of fruit, a perfectly grilled steak. I think all meals should begin like that. To get a good taste of such a meal (pun intended), try Zaytinya, located in DC's Penn Quarter.

Zaytinya has an interior like a futuristic subway car: clean, flickering, dim. Blue and white luminaries line the bar and the slick white staircase, hung by criss-crossing wire cables. The restaurant's airy layout creates as much open space as possible; this is a place for beautiful people to see and be seen. A long central table for large parties is spot-lit; get a smaller side table on the main floor to observe the hustle & bustle.

Greek food is often oppressive, centering around the harsh, acidic flavors of garlic, feta, and olives. Zaytinya, in contrast, serves mezze, tapas-style plates of a Greek-Turkish-Lebanese hybrid cuisine. Two people can share five to seven small plates, which the bustling staff present to your table in staggered courses throughout the evening. Order a few dishes from each of the menu's categories, and don't be afraid to ask your waiter for advice: the staff gives great recommendations.

Zaytinya reinvents done-to-death Greek standards and makes them outstanding. Ubiquitous pita bread is transformed into long trenches of puffy, airfilled bread, piping hot and served with a trio of spreads: silky smooth hummus, drenched in oil and garnished with chickpeas; an outstanding red pepper and feta mashup; and a nice variation on tzatziki sauce. Another Greek standby, chicken kebabs, is deconstructed, served with slipskin tomatoes, spice-laden onions and a delicious whipped goat cheese on the side.

Zaytinya isn't content to reinvent the wheel, however. Squash blossoms are stuffed with crab meat and cheese, deep fried, and served with a dill sauce. The end result is light, creamy, and warm; try this dish while the blossoms are still in season. In another dish, sauteed shrimp are served in an artful sauce of lemon, mustard, butter, and dill. Zaytinya gets especially creative with the caulilfower side dish, tossed with sultanas for sweetness, capers for tang, and pine nuts, chopped into crispy disks and roasted with sea salt, for crunch.

My favorite concoction of the evening combined Zaytinya's talent at reworking old standards with its daring inventive streak. A spanikopita crust is packed with flavorful ground lamb and crumbly feta, and topped with pungent crumbled feta. It is excellent. My only regret is that I was so full from the other wonderful things I'd eaten that I couldn't finish the lamb dish. Zaytinya's dress code is upscale casual, and its prices reflect that sentiment. All told, our meal cost $100 for two people. If you'e on a budget, you can still nibble on a plate or two while you sip inventive house cocktails at the bar. The floral drinks invoke the Greek pantheon with names like Aphrodite's Pear, and feature unusual ingredients: baby roses and honey dust make the Eros cocktail taste like a sachet. In the end, no matter what budget you're on, Zaytinya is a gem worth remembering.

Equal Justice Under Law

2009-06-29T23:29:00.003-04:00

The Supreme Court may not be the sexiest of destinations, but with the appointment and looming Senate confirmation hearings of Judge Sonia Sotomayor, the Court had received a good deal of attention lately. Whether or not the next justice is a wise Latina, the Supreme Court is a very worthwhile, lesser-known DC destination.

A few pointers:

Arrive early. Doors open at 9:30 am for a 10 am court session; I arrived at 6 am and was third in line. By 6:30, or 7 am at the latest, everyone who had a chance of getting in to see the Court was already in line. As the last day of the term, this morning was more popular than usual, but I've heard of people sleeping overnight on the Court's steps to hear oral argument. Making friends with your neighbors helps to pass the time.
Bring quarters. No belongings but paper, pens and pencils are allowed into the court room, so stash all your things in the cubby lockers to the left of the main entrance.
Read up on the facts of the cases before you arrive. You'll understand and appreciate the rulings much more if you do. I was lucky enough to be sandwiched between five DC interns, and between the six of us, we pieced together the cases of the day and their premises.

The courtroom is a veritable parade of celebrities. Nina Totenberg, the Supreme Court correspondent for NPR News, is usually present. This morning's luminaries also included Elena Kagan, the current US solicitor general; former solicitors general and petitioners' counsels in Bush v. Gore and District of Columbia v. Heller; and Assistant Attorney General Viet Dinh, author of the PATRIOT Act.

The anticipation, at least among the observing public, rises slowly as the tiny chamber fills and 10 am looms. Then, the buzzer buzzes, the court jumps to its feet as one body, and the nine justices burst through the massive curtains behind the bench and take their seats. I can only compare their appearance to that of a magician or a vaudeville act: one second there was nothing, and the next they were there, seated and ready to work.

Today, the Court was scheduled to consider three cases. Justice Kennedy delivered the majority opinion for the first and most closely watched case, dealing with New Haven, CT, firefighters claiming reverse discrimination in promotion placement tests. The Court found that discrimination had occurred, reversing a district court opinion which Sotomayor had endorsed. Justice Ginsberg delivered a dissent to the opinion, strongly worded but much less forcefully spoken than you'd think. The second case, with an opinion read by Justice Scalia, dealt with banking. Chief Justice Roberts postponed the third case, which deals with the McCain-Feingold Act and the legality of screening a documentary on Hillary Clinton near the 2008 election, for re-argument in September. Roberts instructed both parties' lawyers to address two precedential cases on campaign finance and whether the Court should overturn them.

Finally, in a rare closing gesture in the last five minutes of the session, Roberts announced the Court's sadness at the departure of Justice Souter. Roberts read a letter which he and the other seven justices had sent to Souter. The letter was brief but poetic, poignantly noting Souter's decision to "trade white marble for white mountains." Souter then adjusted his microphone, intoned, "I have written the following reply," and proceeded to read his response letter. The crowd laughed. Souter was austere but grateful; this was business, not a time for applause or tears.

As quickly as the court session had begun, it was over. Two buzzers buzzed, the justices rose quickly and exited the court, somewhat less expediently than they had arrived. Souter was the last to leave, almost pausing as he passed through the red velvet curtains for the last time.

The Supreme Court is open to the public, Monday through Friday, 9 am to 4:30 pm. The Court hears oral argument at 10 and 11 am on Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays, from October to mid-May. The Court delivers opinions at 10 am on Mondays in June.

Pretzel Croissant

2009-06-29T21:52:00.006-04:00

Who: You.

What: Pretzel croissant.
When: As often as possible.

Where: City Bakery, 5^th Ave at 18^th Street, NYC.

Why: I cannot sing high enough praises for this pastry. It is both a pretzel and a croissant, rolled into one light, buttery, crispy, flaky knot of deliciousness and joy.
How:

Buy them early, and buy them hot. Pretzel croissants are fine at room temperature, but utterly heavenly when first warm.
Eat all the crumbs. (Oh, there will be crumbs.)

Image courtesy of The Wandering Eater.

Go buy one. Now.

R.I.P. Michael Jackson

2009-06-25T22:34:00.002-04:00

In 2006, I traveled to Kenya for seven weeks to work, and lived with a Kikuyu family. Much of Kenyan culture eluded me: the language, the food, the religion. One commonality between my world and the world of my homestay family came through their youngest son, Jeremiah, eighteen years old and unemployed. Jeremiah's favorite artist was Michael Jackson.

This is not to say that I am a Michael Jackson fanatic, or even a fan. Michael features in my memories as snippets, unidentified cultural references, never as his whole superstar persona. I have a vivid childhood recollection of learning "She's Out Of My Life," in my father's car, rain pouring outside. As a teenager, I performed a dance recital to "The Way You Make Me Feel." I once tried and failed to teach myself to moonwalk.

Until meeting Jeremiah, I had known little about the Michael Jackson that had been, pre-towel-draped-baby, lost nose and child molestation trial. A child of the 90s, I grew up with Michael engrained in the public consciousness, too young to know him at his height or to comprehend his fall. With Jeremiah, I watched Michael Jackson videos ad nauseam, the two of us marveling at Michael's choreographic precision and vocal acrobatics. Those early videos, the landmark moments, still resonated with me two decades after their debuts: the iconic dance moves of "Billie Jean ," the unabashedly fierce fashion of "Bad," the raw sexual power of "Dirty Diana."

Michael's original impact is undeniable and indelible. 80s pop music sounded like Michael. MTV succeeded largely because of his groundbreaking videos. The fashion world followed his every sequin, until his downward media spiral twisted wearing a single white glove into a parody. Even now, teenagers in third world countries adore him. College courses dissect him. Contemporary choreography is infused with his influence. His shows were still selling out, until the day of his death. Despite his difficult child stardom and his sad descent into divorce, debt, plastic surgery and public ignominy, Michael Jackson shaped pop music. He was, and always will be, the King of Pop.

Take Me Out To The Ballgame

2009-06-24T23:50:00.003-04:00

It's been said that the Washington Nationals, and more specifically the Nationals Park, only exist so lobbyists have a place to take political bigshots on dates. This, of course, only worked before rules against lobbyist gift-giving were instated. Still, the whole franchise has its benefits: the stadium provides a great venue for the Annual Roll Call Congressional Baseball Game!

Last week's game was the 48^th such event, with the Democrats sagging under eight years of brutal defeat (both on and off the field of play.) The Congressional Baseball Game is not a widely attended event, leaving the stands 75% empty. The Democrats may have had a larger showing than Republicans, but only by a hair. Both sides made up for their lack in numbers with enthusiasm, with groups of LAs and interns waving colorful signs and heckling players with political jabs. When Rep. Jeff Flake (R-AZ), famous for fighting pork-barrel spending, stepped up to bat, Democratic spectators intoned "Earmarks! Earmarks!"

The event was a classic baseball experience, pickled in the political life that saturates Washington. The game began with the national anthem, sung not by a pop star but a military commander. A military guard processed the colors onto the field, and a moment of silence was given for the US troops. Concessions hawkers bellowed classic lines from the aisles: "Cold beer, soda, peanuts! Beer man, beer man!" But as soon as they were flagged down by two hopeful-looking interns? "Lemme see some ID, ladies, some ID, ladies!" The teams wore no standard uniforms, instead choosing the uniforms of a university in their district or state, or a favorite NBA team. There was also no umpire (who would it be, Nancy Pelosi? Somehow I can't picture her in an ump's mask.) However, one comforting constant remained: even in Congress, sports commentators are obnoxious.

If you're a DC intern, you must attend- this game is a great time.

(P.S. The Democrats won. Here's to eight more!)

500 Days of Summer: The Pregame

2009-06-24T23:10:00.004-04:00

Is anyone else excited for 500 Days of Summer? 'Cause I'm just about jumping out of my skin.

Best of all, Fox Searchlight is hosting free screenings of the film before the official July 17^th release date!

I'll be arriving at the June 29^th screening in DC's Chinatown reeeeeeeally early. Contact me if you'd like to come, too!

Stand by for my review…

From NPR News…

2009-06-24T22:25:00.005-04:00

Oh, public radio devotees: you wonderful animal-loving, ukulele-playing, cat-eye-glasses-wearing, bike-riding, garage-podcast-creating NPR listeners. Whether you're in your early twenties or your mid-sixties, whether you hail from Portland or Seattle or Syracuse, I have great news: the NPR Studios in Washington, DC, give free public tours every Thursday at 11 am.

Don't be fooled. This tour is not a meet-and-greet with the stars of NPR (although we did run into Jean Cochran in the hallway.) The journey begins on the sixth floor of the NPR building in DC's Penn Quarter, and works its way down, stopping in recording studios, sound libraries and oceans of artsy cubicles along the way. Be prepared for a lot of techno-wonk talk in the beginning, giving way to more engaging topics later on: a detailed breakdown of Morning Edition's harried two-hour schedule, deliberations on the future of radio funding, and descriptions of the three components of a radio broadcast (tracks; acs, or actuals; and ambiance.)

Particularly amusing, especially for all you old-timers, will be the conservation of analog reel-to-reel tapes, which NPR is in the process of converting to digital format. If the tapes are played, their silver coating tends to shred, rendering the reel unusable. The whiz kids at NPR have discovered, though, that if they bake the tapes in an oven at 130° for eight hours, the reel will be temporarily preserved for the next forty-five days, during which time the staff can make a digital copy. We even got to see the oven.

The centerpiece of the tour is a visit to Studio 4A, oft-used by Scott Simon on Weekend Edition. Studio 4A is the one room in the building where photography is allowed. The space is very silent and very soundproof. The surface on which you stand is lifted off the room's actual floor; the ceiling is taken out; the walls are alternately hard and soft; and no two walls are parallel, to avoid reverb. The sound quality of sample songs you hear is supreme.

The ceiling of Studio 4A.

Our tour was lucky enough to stumble upon a recording session for the next day's broadcasts. Steve Inskeep was interviewing a reporter from the New York Times on Bernanke and Geithner, gesturing wildly with his hands while his voice remained completely calm. (Steve is young! And tall!) A sound mixer, a producer and an editor looked on in an adjoining glass-walled room. At the close of the interview, the two men waited a beat, and then chatted briefly. The short, informal dialogue, still broadcast for us to hear, brought home the purpose of the whole tour: a personal, behind-the-scenes look at a beloved medium.

Rasika

2009-06-23T00:45:00.003-04:00

Rasika is a well-reviewed, high-end Indian restaurant located in Penn Quarter. Its exterior is unassuming, its interior welcoming, with lots of burnt orange tones, low tables and flickering candles. Reservations are recommended, but you can try to nab seats at the bar for dinner as well. Watching the bartenders work is comparable to watching sushi chefs assemble their concoctions. As a bonus, the bartenders are very knowledgeable about the menu. We left most of the entrée-choosing to our man, and ended up with several appetizers, a few half-portions of entrées, and a vegetable side or two. (This was all on a college kid's budget; don't let the $30 entrees frighten you away. This menu can work for any wallet size.)

Rasika's appetizers excel. A tower of potato disks, chickpeas and spices disintegrates into a flavorful mush when you try to cut it apart. The crispy spinach salad, the restaurant's most popular hors d'oeurve, is a standout. Both dishes combine four to five distinct, exotic flavors that contrast fabulously and never overpower one another.

Other dishes play it safe. The mango shrimp is a very nice, simple dish of four pink shrimp and a pastel green, mild yogurt sauce for dipping. It lacks the stand-out boldness of the crispy spinach salad. The bowl of complementary bar popcorn features light notes of lime, chili, curry, salt, and sugar; a tiny, elegant snack for casual upscale diners.

Rasika's entrees are potent. The eggplant side dish is a vegetable in hiding, whipped into a paste and spiced heavily. The menu, being Indian, features several potencies of curry, from mild to very spicy. We chose the mildly spicy fish curry, which the bartender promised had a bit of sweetness to it. The fish had a pure, clean taste, but the curry was so hot that I physically sweated while eating it. (Clearly, I need to eat more spicy food. :) )

Recommended.

Old Stone House

2009-06-21T23:15:00.007-04:00

I stumbled across a historical treat in Georgetown the other day. Built in 1765, the Old Stone House is the only remaining pre-Revolutionary War building in Washington, DC. For decades, it was believed to have been the meeting place of George Washington and Pierre L'Enfant, the famous architect, when they sat down to plan the layout of the city of Washington. (Research in the 1950s proved that the two men actually met in a tavern down the street.) The House now serves as an example of a typical 18^th century home, since so few survive.

The House has a sitting room, a dining room, two bedrooms for the parents and children, and a kitchen on the ground floor. Small plaques give you historical tidbits about the building. For a more comprehensive history, talk to the National Park Service staffers who greet you at the kitchen door. Interesting details, like the rare presence of a closet in the children's bedroom, can start conversations about American history with young children or students.

I was initially drawn to the Old Stone House by its garden, located behind the building. A substantial green lawn is bordered by flowers, weeping willows and brick foot paths. A wooden bench at the bottom of the garden evokes the simplicity of colonial courtship, as do hidden paths which wind behind the flowerbeds.

The House's one problem? Location, location, location. To get to Georgetown, you quite literally need to go over the river and through the wood, only these woods can give you malaria. The House is small, and I wouldn't recommend it as a sole destination for a trek to Georgetown. My suggestion is to slog the twenty minutes from the Foggy Bottom metro to the House in the mid-afternoon. After you've seen the House, relax in the Barnes & Noble across the street, or stroll along Georgetown's main street and find a cute spot for dinner.

Five Bowls of Ice Cream and One Spoon

2009-06-21T09:31:00.002-04:00

Despite the schizophrenic weather today (grey blanket of clouds to cheery sunshine to twenty-minute DOWNPOUR to sunshine to persistent drizzle to sun again) the Capitol Hill Ice Cream Party went on. The Party is sponsored annually by the International Dairy Foods Association, visiting Washington to win political favor for all the dairy farmers back home.

As with most parties on Capitol Hill, the Congressional Ice Cream Party is something that receives a lot of hype but isn't that much fun once you get there. It was not, as I hopefully imagined, a place to mingle. It was, however, a place where the ice cream was served quickly, in GIANT portions and in seemingly endless supply. The members had their own roped-off area in which to schmooze. A sound system (hilariously) blared the uncensored version of Katy Perry's "Hot 'n Cold," which I imagine is all the rage among the senators and representatives nowadays. Countless interns bustled back and forth to their offices, toting cafeteria trays and even box lids piled high with bowls of ice cream.

Five inventive ice cream flavors by Jack & Jill Ice Cream were served: cinnamon, peach, black raspberry chocolate, birthday cake, and a pomegranate/lemon sorbet hybrid. Vanilla was available exclusively at the tables serving root beer floats. The ice cream appeared to have been super-frozen to withstand the DC heat, and was almost too creamy. The birthday cake ice cream was a standout, though Coldstone still does it better (and costs you five times the calories, I might add.) Peach was simple but tasty. Black raspberry chocolate, which looked like a lavender mint chocolate chip, had a very strong flavor. The pomegranate/lemon sorbet was a valiant try, but for all its mainstream popularity right now, I wonder how many people know what a pomegranate actually tastes like. It's a tough flavor to pin down. Cinnamon needed to be paired with chocolate sauce (available along with caramel sauce and others at scattered round tables.)

Really, though, the point of this party isn't to wax analytic on the consistency and flavor of ice cream. It's a chance to get out of the stuffy old office, stretch your legs a bit, breathe, and indulge in a free summer treat. I may not have been bowled over by this party, but the contented smiles on a lot of members' faces would suggest that they feel otherwise.

A Day At The Eastern Market

2009-06-18T07:56:00.005-04:00

Union Square Market it ain't, but DC's Eastern Market is an NYC-infused treasure trove of finds, if you can persevere through the tourist kitsch.

Eastern Market has been in constant operation since 1873, under green roof structures to keep the elements away. The market has grown over the years, and now spills over into stretches of roofless sidewalk and two nearby parking lots. The original main attraction, the farmers' market, is now relegated to a few stands of pungent fruit, having given way to stands upon stands of the same basic, tacky items that you can find at any street fair on the eastern seaboard. Skip the first block or two of the market, so you can get to the good stuff.

Save your appetite: as in any good farmers' market, many of the food vendors offer free samples. The best produce stall showcases slices of three types of peach (the white peaches are the most ripe right now) and delectable slices of tomato (no, seriously, you want to try these.) One table offers free chips to sample their inventive hummus and salsa concoctions. If you're in the mood for heartier fare, seek out the crepe stand, the popcorn vendor and the sorbet stand in the nearby vacant lots.

The culinary standout is Sweet Nuthouse, run by a woman named Heidi, who is quick to describe the sugar-coating process she uses to make her nuts (without butter or oil!) Choose between praline coated walnuts, with a super-sweet, maple-sugary taste, and cinnamon almond crunch, for a crunchier snack. The tag line of the stall is "One Nut Leads To Another," and Heidi isn't kidding. These things are addictive.

Living green is the latest trend, and almost everyone at the Eastern Market seems to have caught onto it. The vendors recycle everything: commemorative stamps are made into necklace pendants; classic African statues of giraffes and ostriches are woven from shredded soda cans; famous artwork like Van Gogh's Starry Night is redone to include the Capitol Building in the background. The best of the recyclers is Larry Gallo, the exquisitely inventive proprietor of Stio Design. Mr. Gallo creates handcrafted jewelry from ancient and modern coins, as well as earrings from typewriter keys and cigar labels. Give yourself time to peruse his extensive selection.

Very close to Mr. Gallo's stand is Archelaus (ar-ke-LAY-us), a wonderfully absurd printer of greeting cards, note cards and postcards. Archelaus is also a recycler, printing all cards on recycled, acid-free paper, but I find the stand so extraordinary as to put it in a category of its own. The stand offers free bookmarks as an incentive to peruse the multi-purpose cards. I will be purchasing all of my greeting cards from Archelaus from now on.

A number of art vendors sell their work on a street running parallel to the original Market. The standout is Quest Skinner, an up-and-coming DC artist who creates one-of-a-kind paintings on wooden box forms. Her art is vibrant, featuring bright colors, glitter, found objects, and inspirational themes. Skinner is a gracious hostess, delivering up better customer service than I've seen in most stores. Her paintings are reasonably priced, and she is willing to work with you if you have your heart set on a piece. I purchased a small painting of the ocean (coated in glitter, of course) and I'm sure I'll be back again.

The huge vacant lot to the right of the original Eastern Market stalls is billed as a flea market, and it's got some great finds. Among the best:

Old stereoviews, to be viewed through a stereoscope, the predecessor of modern 3-D imaging. The double imaged photographic prints are roughly organized by location, in boxes upon dusty boxes. I found two stereoviews from shoe factories in Syracuse at the turn of the 20^th century, and some great shots of a classic New York City.
Vintage posters and prints, ranging from war bonds posters to classic Vogue covers to $10 prints of advertisements for films like "Blood Lust of the Voodoo Queens." Had I the money, I would paper my walls with 1940s Gourmet magazine covers. Chat with the tent owner: he's been in the same spot at the very back of the lot since 1968.
Giant handmade raffia hats from Madagascar, bell-shaped to make Audrey Hepburn proud.
Handmade pottery, designed for very specific purposes: bowls are advertised simply as "chowder bowls" or, my favorite, "banana split bowls." The pottery is sturdy and attractive; the proprietor, Paul Gruner, is charming and helpful.

Finally, be sure to stop by the Button Lady, still selling her crazy assortment of buttons from a large metal tub at $5 a scoop.

Gardens Galore

2009-06-17T23:20:00.006-04:00

This piece was originally featured in the Spring 2008 issue of Baedeker, NYU's travel magazine.

In any metropolis, green spaces are a scarce and thus valuable commodity. Even the most urbanite New Yorkers are grateful to Frederick Law Olmsted for Central Park, that saving grace of a green expanse uptown. Still, stark differences remain between our clean, flat lawns stretching from Columbus Circle to 110^th Street, and the tranquil, organically beautiful gardens celebrated in stories from Rapunzel to Romeo and Juliet. Thankfully, this idyllic view of nature, like so many other nostalgic ideas, is alive and well in Paris. In a city synonymous with romance, these gardens are more magic than logic. I describe three of the best below.

Jardin de la Vallée Suisse

Intersection of Cours de la Reine, Cours Albert 1er and Avenue Franklin D. Roosevelt, 8^e arrondissement.

You wouldn't notice the Jardin de la Vallée Suisse if you didn't already know it was there. Located just off the Pont des Invalides, this tiny garden is completely hidden from three intersecting avenues by towering emerald hedges. To gain access, you can walk around to the back, past a mournful marble statue flanked by Corinthian columns, overlooking a reflecting pool. Your best choice, though, is to descend the flight of stone steps, nestled into the hedges near busts of Jacques Cartier and Samuel Champlain. The stairs are weatherworn and lead to a cavernous stone archway, perfect for a romantic rendezvous. This opens onto the lower, more sheltered level of the garden, overlooked by the rustic wooden cross-hatch fencing of the upper level. Peaceful seclusion, rather than botanical variety, is the draw here, with a tumbling waterfall and stream providing a picturesque backdrop for the draping greenery and tall roses, worthy of a Waterhouse painting. Ideal for intimate conversation, it's popular with nannies from the surrounding neighborhoods and their dozing charges. Somewhat anachronistically, free wi-fi is available. Although this is a very romantic spot, don't go too late in the evening; the waterfall can get buggy.

Jardin Alpin

57, rue Cuvier, 5e arrondissement.

The Jardin des Plantes is France's primary botanical garden. A teacher's paradise, the garden houses not only traditional flower and vegetable plots, but also an aquarium, a zoo, a hilltop labyrinth, and the Muséum National d'Histoire Naturelle. On sunny days, the complex is packed with herds of tiny French schoolchildren, all wearing sunhats. To escape their shrieking chatter, take the flight of stairs down under the vine-covered arbor and through the concrete tunnel to the other side. You're now in the Jardin Alpin, a small enclosed enclave showcasing a myriad of some 3,000 plants, all categorized, well-kept, and meticulously labeled in both French and Latin. Winding yet clearly demarcated paths are trodden out between the various beds, which run the gamut from cacti to carnivorous plants. Take the many smaller improvised paths branching off the main routes for a more adventurous experience, but be careful not to let one of the many sprinklers surprise you. Gardeners tending the various beds are more than willing to discuss their work if asked. Don't come here looking for a place to have a picnic or read a book; this is a true garden, not a park, and benches are scarce. The one stone bench hewn into the side of a rock wall and shaded by various draping trees, however, is worth the wait.

Parc André Citroën

Quai André-Citroën, Ile-de-France, 15^e arrondissement.

Sprawling over 35 acres, the Parc André Citroën is the ultimate public park experience, truly embodying the phrase "something for everyone." Here, you will find bamboo forests and deeply shadowed groves alongside brightly colored pops of flowerbeds straining the bounds of their wire fences. Straight, wide pathways of tan pebbles, lined with meticulously groomed shrubs on pedestals, are reminiscent of the grandeur of Versailles, while the winding, overgrown trails which branch off from these boulevards belong more in Cocteau's La Belle et Le Bête. An expansive lawn is reminiscent of Sheep's Meadow in Central Park, with couples sunning themselves and shirtless young men practicing their break dance moves. Families with shrieking children play in the skyward sprays of fountains which dot the concrete slab at the end of the main lawn, nestled between soaring glass houses that replicate the ecosystems of other continents. The sunken flower gardens along the canal are categorized creatively: the Green, Orange, White and Purple Gardens lie alongside one another, while the Winter Garden and Shade Gardens slumber within the rambling expanses of trees and underbrush. End your day with a trip up in the park's hot air balloon and take in the whole city with a view not to be had anywhere else.

Womannequin

2009-06-14T22:07:00.004-04:00

I hate breast implants. With a passion. I find them disingenuous and unfair. I feel the same about most forms of plastic surgery, but breasts implants are anathema.

"Real Woman," a ladies' night anthem by Natalia Cappuccini, is right up my alley. Natalia, a 2008 newcomer with only a handful of released singles, opens the song with a computerized voice combining the words "woman" and "mannequin." She proceeds to rap and sing about the "womannequin" phenomenon, rejecting standards of female beauty for herself and her audience.

The song's lyrics are strong throughout, but the first verse has the most concrete examples and memorable lines ("But my legs ain't long like Tyra Banks' / Doctor, what can you do for me?") The beat is fit for the dance floor, the message powerful and clear. Aesthetically, I have no problems with this single.

The biggest issue with "Real Woman" is, ironically, Natalia herself. For all her insistence of rejecting female beauty standards, Natalia is a lot hotter than the average woman. Critics complain that, in order to be true, the song should be sung by a REAL "Real Woman," perhaps one who doesn't wear makeup or have a flat stomach. Furthermore, Natalia sings about how attractive she is to men, regardless of not being a "clone." Must women base their self-worth on the attentions of men?, the critics chirp.

These arguments are greater than I can tackle in a single blog post. However, here's my quick and dirty response.

Judging by her appearance (which I'm guessing is something I shouldn't do, given the content of the song), Natalia is aiming at a target audience of preteen girls. In that case, I accept her Hollywood physique. It is economically unfeasible to be overweight or plain-looking in the entertainment industry. Furthermore, puberty is awkward and awful, and I'm not about to withdraw any positive messages for young girls just because those messages are brought by role models who look like runway models.

Bottom line? If Natalia, in her precious four minutes of air time on the radio, can start to bridge the gap between being beautiful and being smart, more power to her. You go, girl.

All The Above, by Maino, feat. T-Pain

2009-06-14T21:14:00.004-04:00

My co-intern Katie introduced me to "All The Above," by Maino & featuring T-Pain, about a week ago. I've played the infectious song every morning on a loop since then. A few reactions:

"All The Above" has a catchy tune, harmonies worthy of an a cappella group, and a beat to move to. The song's blend of synthesizer and Auto-Tune vocals with rapping is effervescent and memorable. The technique is a recent trend, featured everywhere from the epic "Let It Rock," by Kevin Rudolf & Lil Wayne, to the equally infectious if slightly less PC parody, "I'm On A Boat," by the Lonely Island, also featuring T-Pain.

Memorably, the lyrics reference both 2008 presidential candidates, with obvious favoritism. Maino grabs our attention as he raps "When I think that I can't / I envision Obama" into a soundless void. Maino's other shout-out ("The new Benz is all white / Call it John McCain") is a mirthful and mocking interjection, but lacks clout and comes across as a throwaway line.

Maino's lyrics focus on several disturbing concepts found in American society today, the two most dominant being entitlement and materialism. The song references Maino's jail time in the early '90s, yet brashly asserts his innocence. Maino even goes so far as to say that he "deserves to be rich" and is "destined for greatness." I'm not quite ready to assume anyone's worthiness of being rich, much less someone convicted of a drug-related kidnapping, but that's neither here nor there.

Materialism also features heavily, as Maino raps "I envision the diamonds / I envision Ferraris" as his motivation to keep going in life. This striking shift away from the four elements of hip hop and the way of life they symbolized, is not Maino's fault; the shift has been happening for years. Still, it's odd to hear both the first black president (a step forward) and a love of material goods (arguably, a step backward) referenced in the same breath as Maino's inspiration.

Beyond entitlement and materialism, "All The Above" is fiercely proud of "the ghetto" and "the 'hood." The many positive references to Maino's upbringing are, I believe, a positive thing, especially as he enters Hollywood and the alienation that is showbiz.

Truth, Justice & The American Way

2009-06-10T21:46:00.002-04:00

Crystal City Business Improvement District (Crystal City BID to those in the know) may not be the most catchy of titles, but this is one group you should know about if you're in DC this summer.

Every Monday until the end of September, Crystal City BID is hosting outdoor screenings of superhero movies. The lineup started in May with all three Spiderman films, followed by both Hulk films. The set of five Superman movies began this week, and will be followed by the three X-Men flicks and two Fantastic Four films. The series finishes with a flourish, screening all six Batman films, capping off with the masterpiece that is The Dark Knight.

Having prayed to the weather gods to hold off the near-perpetual DC rain, I took the train to Crystal City on Monday night for a screening of the original Superman, starring Christopher Reeve. Crystal City is actually in Virginia, as my friend Dave helpfully pointed out, but the train ride from my apartment is minimal. The metro lets out next to a Marriott Hotel and a conglomeration of square, shiny office buildings, enclosing a large rectangle of grassy courtyard. When I arrived, the lawn was packed with groups of young professionals, families with children, and middle-aged couples on dates. Everyone was sharing late dinners or after-work drinks, lying down and chatting, or reading books. Blankets, low lawn chairs, picnics and wine are allowed, but no umbrellas. (Come on, weather gods!) An inconspicuous table offers free apples and candy, as well as alcohol for a price and surveys to rate the film experience.

The experience was superb. I'd never seen any of the Superman films before, and Crystal City was a superb place for my first exposure. Outdoor screenings bring out everyone's inner Rocky Horror Picture Show audience member, turning the film into A Large And Awesome Event. We cheered every time Superman did something AWESOME: he picks up the truck as a five-year-old! He flies for the first time! He changes into his Superman suit in the revolving doors! YAYYY!

Overall reaction? Christopher Reeve is hot. More importantly, Christopher Reeve is a very good actor. I was astonished at how adorably bumbling yet devastatingly heroic his Clark Kent-cum-Superman was.

The film has an odd dual quality of being very clearly dated while also being timeless. 1970s fashion trends and slang, a needlessly long and slow opening sequence, and a trippy rhyme/interpretive-dance-in-midair montage are offset by some really personal, honest dialogue, mostly between Clark Kent and Lois Lane (played by Margot Kidder.) The plot is sturdy, the effects are great (who knew that Krypton had black lights?), the trio of villains has great comedic timing, and the themes of Americana and heroism are infectious.

Crystal City has no mosquitoes (though I can't promise anything as the summer drags on.) The focus is the film, so don't get rowdy or talk too loudly to your neighbor during the movie. Arrive early to get a good seat, but don't kill yourself if you're a bit late- I arrived an hour before the film began and I had a great sight line to the screen. All screenings start at sunset, or 9 pm. A word of caution: the Crystal City metro closes at 12 pm, but the last train leaves around 11:45 pm, so hustle to catch it when the film ends.

Highly recommended.

Two Postsecret Shows

2009-06-07T23:09:00.014-04:00

I first heard about Postsecret relatively soon after the blog was started in 2005. (For those of you who don't know Postsecret yet: you know that famous ongoing art project where people send in secrets on postcards to that guy in Maryland who puts them up on his blog? Yeah, that one.)

I read the new secrets, posted by Frank Warren, every Sunday. I have only had one bad experience with the site, when Frank posted graphic images without any warning and I was subsequently seriously messed up for about 48 hours. I would still recommend the site, although the noticeable shift over the years from deep, personal, specific revelations to more nebulous, universal, sometimes-self-pitying statements is unfortunate. Check it out if you have the time: http://www.postsecret.com.

Since Postsecret became a national phenomenon, Frank has turned some of the postcards into a traveling art exhibit, currently on tour through December of 2010. The current leg of the tour is showing at the Everson Museum of Art in Syracuse, NY, my home town. A smaller, more focused exhibit is also showing in the Hillyer Art Space in Washington, D.C.

I attended both exhibits with large groups of friends, which is the way I recommend you visit the shows, too. Viewing the secrets with lots of friends allows you to share connections within your group's many viewpoints and life experiences. It also takes some of the edge off the more intense postcards, which commonly deal with heavy topics (eating disorders, abortions, death.)

Postsecret exhibits are simplistic: postcards hung in painstaking order create a sharp contrast to white walls, or are encased in free-standing clear plastic walls, so both sides of the postcards can be seen. A few choice postcards are blown up to the size of giant posters and displayed with the rest.

The Everson exhibit is tailored to the exhibition space, utilizing glass cases and two large white rooms in which free-standing plastic forms stand. My favorite room showcases a shocking collage of postcards, coating an entire wall in a cascading, tattered mess. The spectacle is breathtaking. The Hillyer exhibit, on the other hand, has only two small rooms to work with, and the exhibition style is much more uniform: five or six postcards are mounted on horizontal S-shaped plastic strips and mounted in a line along the two rooms' walls. While aesthetically simple, the design lacks the ease or comfort of the postcards mounted in rectangular batches in the Everson. The Hillyer does not feature any free-standing plastic walls for patrons to wander around, which is a shame.

The content of the two exhibits differ immensely. Secrets in the Everson run the emotional and topical gamut, from funny to profane, touching to saddening to inspiring. The Hillyer exhibit, conversely, is titled "Confessions on Life, Death & God," which is also the title of the fifth Postsecret book, due out this year. All the secrets in the Hillyer exhibit focus on religion, which doesn't create as many opportunities for unexpected connections with others. Several themes are prevalent in the postcards: "I'm an atheist but I think I'm going to hell" is surprisingly common, as are commentaries on why God does or does not exist, followed by his perceived feelings toward the postcard's creator.

I enjoy Postsecret because almost every week, Frank posts one or most postcards which I could have written. The feeling of solidarity with a stranger, experiencing the same emotions as I am, is powerful. The Everson exhibit provided that feeling in spades, and intensified it because I was with the real postcards for the first time. The Hillyer exhibit, while well-intended, missed the mark: I couldn't identify with the postcards' messages, even the ones from reluctant atheists, and so the exhibit passed me by. I worry that the strict focus on religion will turn away other patrons, as well.

The Hillyer space tries to recreate the fantastic postcard collage that the Everson did so well, by providing blank 5x7 note cards and crayons for patrons to put up their own secrets. This is a mistake. Drawing out a postcard in the midst of a thronging crowd (and oh were we thronging) defeats the necessary anonymity of Postsecret. Furthermore, a good two thirds of patrons' postcards feature the kind of humor usually associated with high school boys, destroying Postsecret's safe, accepting atmosphere. This, however, brought home another important point: maybe sometimes, even on Postsecret, we just shouldn't take ourselves so seriously.

Postsecret is on display in the Hillyer Art Space until June 26^th and in the Everson Museum of Art until July 12^th.

Banana Café & Piano Bar, Take 2

2009-06-04T23:42:00.003-04:00

Returned to Banana Café last night with Pratik, my oh-so-fashionable yet gastronomically underexposed co-intern. The skies had cooperated all day, but by the time we got out of work at six, heavy clouds threatened rain. We made it to the restaurant just before it started pouring and (wisely) chose to sit inside. The décor is fun, with burnt orange and yellow walls. The numerous works of art on display are reminiscent of a very safe, commercialized Picasso.

I wanted to eat plantains again, but I could only find them on the menu in deep-fried form, which didn't suit my mood. Instead, I chose camarones Andaluz: white rice molded into an upside-down bowl shape (as in Egypt); black beans on the side in their own little bowl; and shrimp, sautéed in a white wine sauce with scallions, peas, peppers & mushrooms. I licked the plate clean.

Pratik, vegetarian that he is, ordered spinach & mushroom chille relleno: a giant oblong plate of fried stuffed peppers, with cheese, sour cream, pico de gallo, white rice, black beans, and ranchero sauce. I didn't try any of his meal (very unlike me, I know.) Both dishes were nicely presented.

A note on appetizers at Banana Café: As in most Hispanic restaurants, complimentary tortilla chips and salsa flow freely throughout the meal. Banana Café's tortilla chips are corn-based and basic, with little salt; the salsa is surprisingly sweet and tangy, with a zing in the aftertaste. On my initial visit, I topped my chips with vinegar and salt, which turned out to be a good combo.

Banana Café's service redeemed itself this time around. Our server was attentive, polite and genteel; our food and check were brought promptly. I would have no qualms recommending this place.

Final thought: I will return at least once after my 21^st birthday (June 20^th!!!) to try the house's mango margarita. The menu claims it's the best in the city.

http://bananacafedc.com/

Banana Café & Piano Bar

2009-06-01T23:03:00.004-04:00

DC is like NYC in that they both have a city feel, but NYC has shops on the street and a loud, vibrant culture, while DC is much more austere and full of suits. Still, a few DC neighborhoods retain their character. Dupont Circle, I've heard, is one. Chinatown is another. The neighborhood surrounding the Eastern Market metro stop is my latest find.

Courtney and I dined at Banana Café & Piano Bar, located at 500 8^thStreet, SE. The Café, with its brightly painted walls and buzzing atmosphere, is tough to miss. The menu is descriptive and extensive, featuring both Cuban standards and their Americanized variations. Courtney introduced me to plaintains in her plaintain soup- I swear I must have eaten them before, but I'd forgotten the experience. Reaction: must find more plantains immediately. :)

I stuck with the standards and ordered a tropical salad with shrimp, scallops and squid. The dish's excessive lettuce was compensated for by tender and tasty seafood in a tangy sauce. (Oo, alliteration.) The palm hearts framing the plate were a standout, while the tomatoes doing the same thing could have been left out.

The service was disappointing, always either too attentive or too lax. (My salad originally arrived sans seafood and the check took ages, but our water glasses were kept full and our waiter practically pounced on us to ask how we liked the food.) Regardless, the atmosphere reminded me of my beloved New York, and the outdoor seating can't be beat. I'll definitely be back.

Up

2009-05-31T18:31:00.003-04:00

Up, Pixar's tenth feature-length motion picture, is a surprisingly emotional and hopeful film. Up vacillates between two distinct genres: one, a humorous, action-packed buddy comedy; the other, a poignant, bittersweet snapshot of growing old and letting go of the past. The film rarely mixes the two genres together and occasionally pulls too hard on the audience's heartstrings, to the film's detriment.

As usual, Pixar's strength lies in character development. Carl Fredricksen, marvelously voiced by Ed Asner, grumbles his way through the film, punctuating his geriatric grunts with a few priceless lines, like his declaration that he and Russell, his eight-year-old tagalong traveler, will make their expedition "without any rap music or flash dancing." In the end, this is Carl's story, with Russell and Dug, the talking dog, cast as sidekicks. Nevertheless, Russell's childhood innocence and confusion at the complications and scariness of the real world are well-crafted and complement Carl's crusty exterior. Dug, along with the film's other dogs, is delightfully portrayed, and delivers boundlessly enthusiastic dialogue ("Oh please oh please oh please be my captive!" as he chases after a giant flightless bird.)

The introductory montage is by far the strongest part of the film. This sequence of dialogue-free shots depicts most of Carl's life, his early schemes of adventure and a family with his beloved wife, and his disappointments as bills, accidents and old age set in. Without words, the simple montage casts Carl as sympathetic and world-weary, an important feature for a character easily dismissed as a one-dimensional grouchy old man undeserving of our affections.

Pixar's inventive artwork, particularly the house hoisted by helium balloons, and fresh humor keep the plot moving forward. The soundtrack is used in the same dynamic way, and almost acts as a Greek chorus to the film, much as a silent movie soundtrack does. Pixar respects its audience's intelligence, never explaining every plot detail to us but showing us enough to figure things out ourselves. We are never explicitly told that Russell comes from a broken home, or that Ellie and Carl are unable to have children, but Pixar hints at it, and the audience knows it.

I am surprised that Up, an unabashedly Freudian film, is being marketed as a kids' movie. Balloons star throughout the film as reminders of youth, dreams and loss. Symbolism runs rampant as Carl haphazardly throws all his furniture out of the floating house to lighten the load, and again when the house is finally let go to float away into the clouds. (For full disclosure, and lest I sound cynical, I wept through a good 25% of Up. This is one touching film.)

Beyond psychoanalysis, Up isn't afraid of adult themes; in fact, it embraces them. The "peril and action" referenced in Up's PG rating saturates the film. Difficult themes in kids' films are not necessarily a bad thing: Toy Story, Pixar's seminal feature, dealt with a bully who dismembered the film's heroes; a year earlier, Disney's The Lion King killed off the film's father figure within its first thirty minutes. Clearly, children are capable of handling strong themes.

My issue with peril and action, then, does not come from its presence, but from whom it affects. In most children's films, characters experiencing peril and action are young, energetic heroes, clearly quick and clever enough to outsmart the villain. While it is plausible that Carl, a life-long fan of adventure, would know how to throw a grapple hook or steer a boat/airplane/house, it is less plausible that his aging body could withstand being dragged over cliffs, running long distances without his formerly-indispensible walker, and (did I mention?) lugging a building over his shoulder for three days. On the one hand, Carl is an old and tired man who simply wants peace and quiet; on the other, he is Tarzan-like in the Venezuelan jungle, instantly imbued with superhuman strength and skills worthy of a SWAT team. Such a disconnect detracts from Carl's wonderfully-crafted life story, and reduces him to a simple caricature. Moreover, the film's true violence (a fire, a shotgun) is disconnected from its consequences, too easily trivialized and forgotten.

Pixar's job in making Up was certainly to stress the importance of having adventures even when those we love have left us. It accomplishes this goal with flying colors, and leaves you with a smile on your face in the end. However, as I see it, Pixar's mission should also be to portray that story using real characters, not oversimplified and impervious cartoons. Maybe Pixar meant to make Carl into more of a caricature, to show how much fun living can be. Nevertheless, I prefer the poignant portrait of Carl as a person, and not a swashbuckling hero. I would find more comfort and hope in seeing Carl succeed despite his various physical and emotional handicaps, rather than having them disappear completely.

A footnote: As per director Pete Doctor's advice in his Fresh Air interview with Terry Gross, I saw the film in 3-D. The film, with its sweeping views of the sky and floating house, lent itself well to the increasingly popular technology. The best thing I can say about the 3-D feature was that it was so well-integrated into the movie-watching experience that I barely noticed it. In a considerate move, the filmmakers respected the audience's dignity and never blatantly tried to remind us, "YOU'RE WATCHING THIS MOVIE IN 3-D, ISN'T THIS AWESOME?" by making scary or surprising things pop out at us.

Up, dir. Peter Doctor, opens nationwide May 29.

According to Jim Jarmusch:

2009-05-31T14:55:00.004-04:00

"Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is nonexistent. And don't bother concealing your thievery—celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: 'It's not where you take things from—it's where you take them to.' "

–Jim Jarmusch, director.

A Different Kind of Memorial Day

2009-05-27T22:59:00.003-04:00

Growing up in a small suburban town with no living relatives in the armed forces, my experiences with Memorial Day were limited. Memorial Day was a chance for all the department stores to mark down their spring merchandise. It meant the Memorial Day parade, a fun, flashy celebration which I attended only once in my adolescence, and which was too convivial to convey any serious meaning. For me, Memorial Day invoke neither emotions for the armed forces, nor recognition of battles or war.

This summer, in our nation's capitol, I experienced Memorial Day in a very different way. For those seeking to feel patriotism, humility, gratitude and awe for the United States armed forces, I highly recommend the Memorial Day wreath-laying ceremony at Arlington National Cemetery.

Arlington Cemetery is easy to find: take the DC metro to the Arlington stop, follow the giant chattering crowd and you're there. Army presence is high, will all the soldiers impeccably turned out in their wool coats and hats with the chin straps. Be prepared to wait, and to sweat, with the hundreds of other eager tourists and locals walking with you. Crowd control is stringent and, at some points, creative: when crossing a street, we were told to form a single-file line and each take a pink index card from two soldiers, who acknowledged us curtly but politely with a uniform, "Good morning, ma'am." (I'm convinced the pink index cards were a ruse to disperse the mob. We were never asked to produce the cards again.) Visitors are required to take the tram to the Arlington monument. Water bottles are not allowed. Be prepared to go through at least one metal detector.

My friends and I arrived at ten a.m. for the eleven a.m. ceremony, and were somehow able to snag spaces standing on the back steps of the monument, facing the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. We were no more than fifty feet from the tomb itself, and twenty feet from the center aisle of the stairs, where Obama and various dignitaries would eventually ascend.

The events of the late morning blurred together into a soft haze of glinting brass and stiff salutes. Representative squads of all five branches of the armed forces climbed the stairs in slow motion, like in an epic movie. Other soldiers presented their branch's colors, hundreds of ribbons fluttering on flag staffs. A military band entered from the right and stood silently at attention.

A twenty-one gun salute signified the arrival of the man of the hour in the cemetery. We rushed to huddle at the edge of the stairs, my friends first and me following, reluctant to give up my prized spot next to the velvet rope that separated us from his future path. We snapped shots of a long black motorcade arriving under the shade of low-hanging tree canopies, and strained our necks to spy him among his advisors. Obama finally came into view, striding purposefully up the curved path with General Mullen, past the lines of service men and women standing motionless at attention.

The ceremony itself was brief. The military band played the national anthem, with Mullen saluting and Obama's hand on his heart. An Honor guardsman wheeled the wreath forward for the President to grasp, and then slowly dragged it back into place with the President's help. A lone horn played Taps. The announcer's deep voice requested a moment of silence. Shortly, Obama and Mullen turned smartly counterclockwise in unison, giving me my one clear shot of Obama's face. He looked careworn, and very tired.

As quickly as the two men had arrived, they were gone, striding up the steps to enter the monument's inner rotunda. There, they greeted several dozen waiting veterans, before exiting through the front of the monument into the packed amphitheater. Everyone standing on the back stairs had been locked into the back of the monument until noon and the completion of the ceremony, but we heard the great shout go up as Obama was announced, and again at intervals during his twelve-minute speech.

It is unsurprising for Obama to give a moving speech, but it is surprising for a speech about the military to move me. Obama's call on all Americans to remember and reflect was simple yet eloquent, well-delivered, and genuine. I will admit that I programmed an alarm into my Blackberry for three p.m., to remind me to think of the troops in some way at that time, as Obama requested.

Unlike any celebration I have attended before, this Memorial Day ceremony was intimate, serious without being somber, and brought home the humanity of the troops. It profoundly affected my view of the troops, if only for the day. Both exalted and vilified in the national eye, our armed forces risk their lives for the United States and its people, regardless of viewpoint. For that fact alone, they deserve our gratitude.

Really. Good. Culture.

2009-05-24T22:45:00.001-04:00

Living in New York City, I get frustrated when I see a poorly acted play, or eat at a restaurant with subpar cuisine. This is NYC! This is the center of the universe! Why should I bother eating food that isn't really, really tasty? Why should I bother visiting a museum exhibit that's badly conceived? If I'm going to eat out, I want the meal to be exquisite. If I'm going to read a book or listen to an album, I want them to change my life. It's ok if the meal or the book or the album fall short of perfection, but the closer they get, the happier I am.

The thing is, even if one has a desire to experience really good culture, it's hard to know where to start. How does one find a really good restaurant or play or exhibit? Friends praise too highly and critics damn too quickly. Where, oh, where to find an arbitrary, critical, objective opinion, reviewing and recommending a broad array of culture for you?

That's where I come in.

I'm starting this blog because I'm blunt and I don't like to settle for second-best. I'm starting this blog because I want to help others read great books, eat great food, lounge in great parks, attend great events, and generally become fabulously cultured beings. I'm starting this blog to try to be your guide, your personal compendium of culture, through the zillions of cultural opportunities in New York City and beyond.

Think of Glitter Sleuth as your opinionated, cosmopolitan best friend. I will review any culture I experience that strikes me, including restaurants, museums, movies, theater, events, concerts, albums, and the odd monument or two. I will review both the good and the bad, and I will be completely honest with you about my thoughts. Most of my reviews will be of culture found in NYC, but I will also discuss locales abroad. Glitter Sleuth will spend its inaugural summer of 2009 in Washington, D.C., while I work as an intern for Congress.

I hope that you come away from this blog inspired to try more culture, and more types of culture, than ever before. Peruse my reviews, choose your favorite and go out and experience it for yourself. Tell me your thoughts when you do.

Love,

Meb