12.21.2008
Time Goes By
I have not looked at hc's photos for a long time before today. Makes me think about how much time has passed, and how it's not really very long at all in the scheme of things. Things are so different now. As a thick blanket of snow falls all around me I click through photos of beaches and flowers and summertime. It's an odd feeling to think of seasons past, of homes and things and lives that are no longer here.
12.08.2008
Surviving the dark winter solstice
By James Carroll
NOW BEGIN the darkest days of the year. This phenomenon of the revolutions of the Earth has long defined one pole of the human psyche. For the next two weeks, the days shorten, the nights grow longer, and the eyes of all people lift to see what's coming. Now is when theaters should mount "Waiting for Godot," or "Waiting for Lefty," bringing alive the national melodrama, which could be called, "Waiting for Barack." In fact, it is appropriate to these weeks that America's election euphoria has given way to the low-key stasis of, as we say, an administration-in-waiting.
Of course, what the nation overwhelmingly awaits is the economy's recovery, a hope that has been magically tied to the coming inauguration. Waiting is normally the most passive of experiences, yet in these weeks ahead of the comeback of the sun, waiting is positively exhausting. The seasonal observances - whether religious feasts, the festivals of light, the parties, or only shopping - all give expression to a fundamental longing, which in turns reveals the built-in contradiction of awareness.
On the Christian calendar, this is the time of Advent, which means coming. The genius of the sacramental imagination is to recognize in the givens of nature signals of the transcendent, and so the birth of the Lord was located at the winter solstice so that the lengthening of days could be seen as an emblem of the coming of the absent God, also known as Light of Light. But Christianity was merely lifting themes that adhere in the broad perceptions of the planet's cosmic dance. Before God's presence can be felt, God's absence must be reckoned with, and absence is the first present of December. "Oh come, oh come, Emmanuel," Christians sing, picking up on Isaiah's prophecy, but primordial longing for what does not yet exist is the point.
What does the season's shopping frenzy reveal, even in an economy when shopping makes little sense? Humans are conceived with a constitutional inability to be satisfied with the present moment ("conceived," as the tradition says, "in original sin"). That in-built dissatisfaction is so efficiently appealed to by ideas of acquisition and consumption that an entire financial system has been constructed around it. The darkest days of the year, when the unconscious is most at the mercy of longing, inevitably trigger the commercial mechanism of desire. Shoppers are after not what they buy, but the pure effervescence of buying. That lightheadedness substitutes for light, but it is fleeting. Capitalism is founded on an illusion. It is not only the delayed pain of the credit card bill that comes later, but the inevitable regret when, once home, the purchase disappoints. Is it possible that the present economic crisis is a final reckoning with the lie that happiness can be purchased?
Curious, isn't it, that depression is the word for both economic collapse and nervous breakdown. Of the latter, they say that depression is a three-part disease: Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's. Our bad luck this year is that the economic and emotional letdowns have arrived together, perfectly timed for an epidemic of the solstice blues, which are sometimes diagnosed as seasonal affective disorder. Poignantly known as SAD, that condition is directly tied to the absence of light, and the provision of light is its treatment. But perhaps darkness is less the source of our anguish than the medium in which it is most painfully felt. Memory and expectation define the days of December - nostalgia for holidays of yore, the letter to Santa - because the past and the future are the unpolluted zones of consciousness. The present is always less than we imagine it could be, and that aspect of awareness most profoundly shapes the human condition.
I began by saying that darkness defines one pole of the psyche. Darkness is not its axis: there is something else. The double-mindedness that insists in the time of long nights that long days are surely coming back is itself the antidote. Humans cannot have the experience that something is missing without supplying it through an unwilled act of imagination. That is why, finally, longing and desire weigh so much more than nostalgia and regret. To want, in the true economy, is already to have. What we know of the light, we learn in the dark.
NOW BEGIN the darkest days of the year. This phenomenon of the revolutions of the Earth has long defined one pole of the human psyche. For the next two weeks, the days shorten, the nights grow longer, and the eyes of all people lift to see what's coming. Now is when theaters should mount "Waiting for Godot," or "Waiting for Lefty," bringing alive the national melodrama, which could be called, "Waiting for Barack." In fact, it is appropriate to these weeks that America's election euphoria has given way to the low-key stasis of, as we say, an administration-in-waiting.
Of course, what the nation overwhelmingly awaits is the economy's recovery, a hope that has been magically tied to the coming inauguration. Waiting is normally the most passive of experiences, yet in these weeks ahead of the comeback of the sun, waiting is positively exhausting. The seasonal observances - whether religious feasts, the festivals of light, the parties, or only shopping - all give expression to a fundamental longing, which in turns reveals the built-in contradiction of awareness.
On the Christian calendar, this is the time of Advent, which means coming. The genius of the sacramental imagination is to recognize in the givens of nature signals of the transcendent, and so the birth of the Lord was located at the winter solstice so that the lengthening of days could be seen as an emblem of the coming of the absent God, also known as Light of Light. But Christianity was merely lifting themes that adhere in the broad perceptions of the planet's cosmic dance. Before God's presence can be felt, God's absence must be reckoned with, and absence is the first present of December. "Oh come, oh come, Emmanuel," Christians sing, picking up on Isaiah's prophecy, but primordial longing for what does not yet exist is the point.
What does the season's shopping frenzy reveal, even in an economy when shopping makes little sense? Humans are conceived with a constitutional inability to be satisfied with the present moment ("conceived," as the tradition says, "in original sin"). That in-built dissatisfaction is so efficiently appealed to by ideas of acquisition and consumption that an entire financial system has been constructed around it. The darkest days of the year, when the unconscious is most at the mercy of longing, inevitably trigger the commercial mechanism of desire. Shoppers are after not what they buy, but the pure effervescence of buying. That lightheadedness substitutes for light, but it is fleeting. Capitalism is founded on an illusion. It is not only the delayed pain of the credit card bill that comes later, but the inevitable regret when, once home, the purchase disappoints. Is it possible that the present economic crisis is a final reckoning with the lie that happiness can be purchased?
Curious, isn't it, that depression is the word for both economic collapse and nervous breakdown. Of the latter, they say that depression is a three-part disease: Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's. Our bad luck this year is that the economic and emotional letdowns have arrived together, perfectly timed for an epidemic of the solstice blues, which are sometimes diagnosed as seasonal affective disorder. Poignantly known as SAD, that condition is directly tied to the absence of light, and the provision of light is its treatment. But perhaps darkness is less the source of our anguish than the medium in which it is most painfully felt. Memory and expectation define the days of December - nostalgia for holidays of yore, the letter to Santa - because the past and the future are the unpolluted zones of consciousness. The present is always less than we imagine it could be, and that aspect of awareness most profoundly shapes the human condition.
I began by saying that darkness defines one pole of the psyche. Darkness is not its axis: there is something else. The double-mindedness that insists in the time of long nights that long days are surely coming back is itself the antidote. Humans cannot have the experience that something is missing without supplying it through an unwilled act of imagination. That is why, finally, longing and desire weigh so much more than nostalgia and regret. To want, in the true economy, is already to have. What we know of the light, we learn in the dark.
11.23.2008
To color or not to color, obsessive list making and the difficulty of buying jeans
There are many things that I dislike about the winter. But three things are really coming to a head at the moment. In the winter everything seems so drab and dull and dark and so on. To counter this trend I'd like to color my hair; something I used to do on a very frequent basis. But suddenly, since my hair has grown out into all it's natural glory, I'm having a hard time taking the plunge into blond highlights. It just seems like so much of commitment. It's official, I have too much time on my hands.
In the winter I live in the same pair of jeans every single weekend, which leaves me with literally nothing to wear when I "go out." And by "go out" I mean the one time a month when I can tear myself away from my puppy, facebook and the couch and go out to a bar for two hours. No matter, it still calls for a good outfit which brings me to the trials and tribulations of buying a pair of jeans. I look online at expensive jeans and become disgusted at the prospect of spending $200+ on a pre-distressed piece of denim. Then I look at look at inexpensive jeans and scrutinize the poor cut, the crappy wash... By the time I get to the store I'm already in a foul mood (since I'm away from my puppy) and if I make it to the dressing room, I'm sweating, hungry and ready to leave. Needless to say, these trips are always unsuccessful; and I sit now, blogging, in my one pair of decent jeans, which I can't even wear to work on Fridays anymore because my puppy ripped a hole in the leg.
This brings me, finally, to list-making, one of my favorite pastimes. On my lists are, of course, are "buy jeans," and "get hair cut and dyed????" I have always made lists and usually it's a useful exercise bu in the winter it gets COMPLETELY out of control. I start making lists of: holiday events, people I will send holiday cards to, what I want for christmas, what I'm getting others for christmas, holiday menus, what I need to clean before holiday guest arrive, what I need to clean after they leave, what time to ask for off from work, how much I will spend on all of the above. It's a problem. I make lists of lists that I need to make. I usually don't make new year's resolutions, but I think this year I might have to.
11.03.2008
9.07.2008
I'm getting all psyched up for my first and last Yankee game at Yankee stadium. Summer won't be over 'til we get in a little more Brooklyn, a little more baseball and a little more beer and pretzels (not that I usually drink Budweiser, the kind of beers) but for certain occasions I'll make an exception.
8.17.2008
My First Crack at a Tart
I'm going away for a week and I wanted to use up the half pint of half-and-half in my fridge and the $4 box of raspberries that I bought in a moment of weakness at the farmers market. So I decided on a tart. I used the recipe in "The New Best Recipe," a mammoth book from the editors of Cooks Illustrated Magazine. The book isn't so much stuffed with recipes, as stuffed with lengthy explanations of what techniques work for particular recipes and why and what not to do and why and how to do it better, easier and more precisely... you get the idea. Also important to note: there is no gastroporn in this book; all the pictures are illustrations. I digress.
I started by making the pastry cream. I should have started with the crust, but I didn't. I also should have used a tart pan, rather than a cake plate. But after spending $150 on an ER visit for Lenny (bee sting) I decided not to spring for a tart pan.
The pastry cream was fairly easy. It called for 2 cups half-and-half and six tablespoons sugar. I used four. Combine the two in a heavy sauce pan over med. heat. Simmer and stir to dissolve sugar.
Meanwhile separate five eggs and whisk the yolks together with 2 tbs sugar. Whisk in 3 tbs cornstarch until smooth.
When the half-and-half mixture reaches a simmer whisk it into the bowl with the eggs to temper. Then pour the mixture back into the pan, using a rubber spatula to scrape. Whisk over medium heat until it thickens and a few bubbles burst at the top.
Whisk in 4 tbs cold unsalted butter cut into pieces. Strain through a fine-mesh sieve into a bowl. Cover with plastic wrap, pressing it over the surface, so it doesn't form a film. Put in the fridge for atleast 2 hours before using.
Crust: If you've never made a pie crust before, consult a cookbook on this one. You'll need more instruction.
In a food processor combine 1 1/4 cups flour, 2/3 cup sugar and a pinch salt and 8 tbs butter cut into pieces. Pulse until it reaches a cornmeal like consistency. With the blade running pour in an egg yolk, 1 tbs heavy cream, 1/2 tsp vanilla extract whisked together. Form the dough into a disk and wrap in plastic. Put in fridge for an hour. Roll out between two sheets of plastic wrap and mold into a tart pan. Freeze for 30 minutes. Cover with in foil and pie weights and cook at 375 for 30 mins. Remove tin foil and bake for 5 more minutes. Cool it completely.
To assemble. Use a rubber spatula to evenly disperse the pastry cream into the shell. Use whatever fruit you want to decorate the tart. Make glaze by boiling a few tbs water and apricot, apple or any light colored jam. Glaze using a brush. Chill before serving. Viola.
If you want to read more about tarts: http://www.joyofbaking.com/tarts.html
8.14.2008
Vermont
The three of us have been spending a lot of time in Vermont this summer. It's very quiet and peaceful there. Sometimes too quiet. It's been a different kind of summer for me for several reasons. Having a dog is a huge amount of work. Working a 9 to 5 job is a departure from last years week day trips to the beach. I've spent way more time in the woods than next to the ocean. The weather is bizarre combination of tropical heat and rain storms and cool evenings and cloudy mornings. But, I can't complain. I keep resolving to get more exercise and I finally went to a yoga class last week and biked around doing errands today. We'll see how long the streak lasts.
5.28.2008
2.12.2008
Recycle Your Electronics, Old CDs and VHS tapes
The gcycle website locates places near you to recycle, donate, or safely dispose of electronics, CDs, and VHS tapes. Just type in your zipcode, then pick what kind of electronics you are trying to get rid of and it pops up with the address and what types of equipment they accept.
2.08.2008
The Chocolatier of Somerville - Somerville News 2/5/08
"You stop liking candy, but you never stop liking chocolate," says Brendan Gannon, 28, owner, founder and sole employee of La Tène Chocolatier. Gannon, who grew up in Maine and now calls Somerville home, creates hand-crafted artisan chocolates with a contemporary touch.
Gannon is self-taught in the art of chocolate. Trained as a stage actor, he spent a brief stint as a DJ and music writer before beginning to experiment with chocolate in his kitchen about five years ago. He worked as an assistant manager at the award-winning chocolate maker L.A. Burdick in Harvard Square for several years. During his tenure at Burdicks he was able to garner much chocolate knowledge and even spend a weekend at the New Hampshire location where the chocolates are made. Gannon began to realize that no one was offering the kind of chocolates that he wanted to create. So, he moved his operation out of the experimental confines of his kitchen and began renting a space from Taza chocolates, where he now works at night dipping chocolate well into the wee hours.
There has been a renewed interest in chocolate amongst foodies and laymen alike. This trend is riding the back of the local, organic and free trade food movements. Gannon upholds such values in his company by using dairy from a farm in Milton, Massachusetts and butter from a Vermont creamery. But the freshness of the dairy products isn't the only thing that flavors these little squares of heaven.
Gannon says La Tène is unique in that its flavors are half traditional and half avant garde. He applies the traditional European techniques of fine chocolate making and adds a modern flare to his bonbons. Raspberry, Irish stout, champagne, pomegranate and Sichuan peppercorn with lemon zest are amongst the pleasingly subtle flavors that you'll find in La Tène chocolates.
The process of making these tiny delicious treats is arduous, but worth it. First Gannon makes the ganache, the chewy rich flavored center of the chocolates. The ganache is poured into slabs and sits overnight to solidify. He then spreads a very thin layer of melted chocolate over it, which hardens and acts as a "foot" so that the slabs can be cut and handled. Gannon cuts the slabs on what looks like a giant egg slicer and places the small squares onto large baking sheets. For the heart-shaped chocolates he cuts each one individually, using a pastry cutter, which looks like a tiny cookie cutter. "You can see why most people don't make chocolates this way," he muses as I watch him cut hundreds of little hearts, pushing each one out of the cutter onto the baking sheet.
Gannon has built his business from the ground up. He has taught himself everything from the chemistry of chocolate to how to build a website. He demonstrates his understanding of the underlying principles of chocolate making as he explains in detail every part of the process. Each piece of ganache is dipped in the liquid chocolate which has been carefully heated and mixed. Finishing touches like candied ginger are put on the chocolates, which then must sit for about 24 hours before they can be handled and another 24 hours before they completely solidify. The process takes roughly three days of work. But you can taste the creamy freshness and all the hard work in each truffle.
Gannon hopes to grow his operation slowly, but steadily. To watch a demonstration and taste these morsels, check out his joint open house with Gaza Chocolate at 561 Windsor Street, Somerville, on February 9th from 1-6pm. You can purchase La Tène from laTènechocolate.com and at Formaggio Kitchen and Lionette's in the South End.
Gannon is self-taught in the art of chocolate. Trained as a stage actor, he spent a brief stint as a DJ and music writer before beginning to experiment with chocolate in his kitchen about five years ago. He worked as an assistant manager at the award-winning chocolate maker L.A. Burdick in Harvard Square for several years. During his tenure at Burdicks he was able to garner much chocolate knowledge and even spend a weekend at the New Hampshire location where the chocolates are made. Gannon began to realize that no one was offering the kind of chocolates that he wanted to create. So, he moved his operation out of the experimental confines of his kitchen and began renting a space from Taza chocolates, where he now works at night dipping chocolate well into the wee hours.
There has been a renewed interest in chocolate amongst foodies and laymen alike. This trend is riding the back of the local, organic and free trade food movements. Gannon upholds such values in his company by using dairy from a farm in Milton, Massachusetts and butter from a Vermont creamery. But the freshness of the dairy products isn't the only thing that flavors these little squares of heaven.
Gannon says La Tène is unique in that its flavors are half traditional and half avant garde. He applies the traditional European techniques of fine chocolate making and adds a modern flare to his bonbons. Raspberry, Irish stout, champagne, pomegranate and Sichuan peppercorn with lemon zest are amongst the pleasingly subtle flavors that you'll find in La Tène chocolates.
The process of making these tiny delicious treats is arduous, but worth it. First Gannon makes the ganache, the chewy rich flavored center of the chocolates. The ganache is poured into slabs and sits overnight to solidify. He then spreads a very thin layer of melted chocolate over it, which hardens and acts as a "foot" so that the slabs can be cut and handled. Gannon cuts the slabs on what looks like a giant egg slicer and places the small squares onto large baking sheets. For the heart-shaped chocolates he cuts each one individually, using a pastry cutter, which looks like a tiny cookie cutter. "You can see why most people don't make chocolates this way," he muses as I watch him cut hundreds of little hearts, pushing each one out of the cutter onto the baking sheet.
Gannon has built his business from the ground up. He has taught himself everything from the chemistry of chocolate to how to build a website. He demonstrates his understanding of the underlying principles of chocolate making as he explains in detail every part of the process. Each piece of ganache is dipped in the liquid chocolate which has been carefully heated and mixed. Finishing touches like candied ginger are put on the chocolates, which then must sit for about 24 hours before they can be handled and another 24 hours before they completely solidify. The process takes roughly three days of work. But you can taste the creamy freshness and all the hard work in each truffle.
Gannon hopes to grow his operation slowly, but steadily. To watch a demonstration and taste these morsels, check out his joint open house with Gaza Chocolate at 561 Windsor Street, Somerville, on February 9th from 1-6pm. You can purchase La Tène from laTènechocolate.com and at Formaggio Kitchen and Lionette's in the South End.
1.26.2008
Green Street Grill
Had dinner last night at the Green Street Grill in Cambridge. The bartenders were friendly and attentive and knowledgeable about the many micro brews they serve. When we were seated things went downhill. For anything and everything we had to flag down the waiter or waitress, who seemed to both be handling our table. He didn't ask how our appetizers. Then our entrees took 45 minutes to come out. C's monk fish was a surprisingly small portion. I had a lukewarm bouillabaisse, with over salted broth, topped with a deep friend piece of cod that was reminiscent of a meal at Long John Silvers. I'm not asking for perfection, or for a doting affectionate waitstaff, but servers in a half full dining room should be able to check in on us a few times in the space of 2 hours. That's the last meal I'll be having there.
1.21.2008
Spent the weekend in Vermont. Did some snowshoeing, a lot of reading and a little bit of writing. I pulled Chris Bohjalian's The Law of Similars off the bookshelf and was immediately engrossed. It's a homeopathic thriller. If that's not enough to peak your interest then I don't know what is.
1.19.2008
John Bustine - Waltzes & Pleas
My friend Justin, who records under the name John Bustine, just released his first full-length album Waltzes & Pleas.
You can listen to the album on his Myspace Page or purchase it from Gypsy Records. Justin is a talented musician, father and mail carrier who lives in D.C. His music, like his personality, is both dark and wonderful.
1.07.2008
My Essay in Lovely Magazine
Lovely Magazine is an Internet fashion and beauty magazine run out of Boston. Check out my essay in the January issue.
Lovely Magazine
Here's the original essay. The version in Lovely Magazine is slightly edited.
This Time Last Year
Yet another year has fluttered past and as January is about to wrap its cold arms around us the upcoming New Year looms as an undeniable mile marker. New Year’s resolutions have never really caught my fancy. Especially over the past two years I’ve come to realize that one lofty, and often un-kept, resolution or goal for the coming year is a flimsy, one dimensional way to inflict change. It also does not lend itself to helping me realize and understand the changes, both positive and negative, that have occurred in my life and in myself.
Things have changed a lot for me over the past couple of years. After a long time I am no longer a student. I have struggled with, re-thought, and transformed my ambitions and goals. My relationship with my family has changed and I have begun to want a family of my own. I have come up against difficult and often painful obstacles in my job, in my friendships, and with my boyfriend. I have experienced a kind of sadness and longing that I had not known before.
Sometimes while driving down a stretch of highway, or waiting on a subway platform, or lying in bed in the morning as the minutes tick by, I ask myself, “Where was I this time last year?” When I ask myself this question I slide back into the past for several minutes. Where was I? Who was I with? Most important is the emotional quality of the memory: tenderness, anxiety, bittersweet love, longing, rage, hopelessness, tranquility. This exercise is not always pleasant; it may be a painful process, cumbersome, bitter, grievous, oppressive, and even pitiful, but its saving grace is that it allows me to observe change. I don’t do this to paint a grandiose picture that each New Year is filled with hope and promise, but simply to remind myself that change comes. It comes in painful waves. It comes in gentle currents. It comes in the form of joyful noises and incomprehensible cacophonies. But surely it will come.
It is hard to recognize subtle change in ourselves as we go about our everyday lives. My failures and accomplishments stand out as bold lines on the grid of my life. But these emotional trysts with the past are clear and palpable ways to place my emotions in this greater context. Such reflection makes it possible to see the curve in the arc of my life. Not how I overcame sadness and anger but that I did, and am capable of doing so again. This exercise shows me how far I have come. What changes I have made. What changes I have failed to make. It shows me that longing is often misplaced, that sadness does diminish over time, that strength can come at totally unexpected times and also be mistaken for weakness, that I may not always know myself as well as I thought I did.
Reflection need not always be a soul searching and difficult process. After all, this time last year I was no doubt sitting at this very desk, drinking from this very same mug, and writing as I waited for the heat to kick on and warm my numbing feet. This year I won’t make any resolutions, but surly I will visit that decision again as I look back on the memory of writing this essay.
Lovely Magazine
Here's the original essay. The version in Lovely Magazine is slightly edited.
This Time Last Year
Yet another year has fluttered past and as January is about to wrap its cold arms around us the upcoming New Year looms as an undeniable mile marker. New Year’s resolutions have never really caught my fancy. Especially over the past two years I’ve come to realize that one lofty, and often un-kept, resolution or goal for the coming year is a flimsy, one dimensional way to inflict change. It also does not lend itself to helping me realize and understand the changes, both positive and negative, that have occurred in my life and in myself.
Things have changed a lot for me over the past couple of years. After a long time I am no longer a student. I have struggled with, re-thought, and transformed my ambitions and goals. My relationship with my family has changed and I have begun to want a family of my own. I have come up against difficult and often painful obstacles in my job, in my friendships, and with my boyfriend. I have experienced a kind of sadness and longing that I had not known before.
Sometimes while driving down a stretch of highway, or waiting on a subway platform, or lying in bed in the morning as the minutes tick by, I ask myself, “Where was I this time last year?” When I ask myself this question I slide back into the past for several minutes. Where was I? Who was I with? Most important is the emotional quality of the memory: tenderness, anxiety, bittersweet love, longing, rage, hopelessness, tranquility. This exercise is not always pleasant; it may be a painful process, cumbersome, bitter, grievous, oppressive, and even pitiful, but its saving grace is that it allows me to observe change. I don’t do this to paint a grandiose picture that each New Year is filled with hope and promise, but simply to remind myself that change comes. It comes in painful waves. It comes in gentle currents. It comes in the form of joyful noises and incomprehensible cacophonies. But surely it will come.
It is hard to recognize subtle change in ourselves as we go about our everyday lives. My failures and accomplishments stand out as bold lines on the grid of my life. But these emotional trysts with the past are clear and palpable ways to place my emotions in this greater context. Such reflection makes it possible to see the curve in the arc of my life. Not how I overcame sadness and anger but that I did, and am capable of doing so again. This exercise shows me how far I have come. What changes I have made. What changes I have failed to make. It shows me that longing is often misplaced, that sadness does diminish over time, that strength can come at totally unexpected times and also be mistaken for weakness, that I may not always know myself as well as I thought I did.
Reflection need not always be a soul searching and difficult process. After all, this time last year I was no doubt sitting at this very desk, drinking from this very same mug, and writing as I waited for the heat to kick on and warm my numbing feet. This year I won’t make any resolutions, but surly I will visit that decision again as I look back on the memory of writing this essay.
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
I read The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (Le scaphandre et le papillon)several years ago and was deeply moved by it. I was skeptical about the adaption to screen, but it is a beautiful and touching film. The story, both book and movie, serve as a reminder about the power of words, language, communication, stories and memories.
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