[This was written on the flight out of NY this afternoon]
Today, I checked out the place where I’ll be spending not a small number of days this year. I have no complaints – it’s a nice contrast to the slower-paced, quiet neighborhood in Madison.
Recently, someone pointed out to me that I should consider myself more of a New Yorker than a Varsovian, since I have lived an equal number of years in both, but with some of those Warsaw years being awfully young ones, thus hardly memorable. Nonetheless, I am hesitant. How can I say that I am of hardy peasant stock and a New Yorker at the same time? And my adolescence – that was completely spent in Warsaw. You are from the place of your first great adolescent love, aren’t you? Mine resided in Warsaw.
Okay, so I’m not a New Yorker. But I do like the city and I especially like that in my new ‘home’ I can look out and see this:
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
New York – my second home for the year
[This was written on the flight out of NY this afternoon]
Today, I checked out the place where I’ll be spending not a small number of days this year. I have no complaints – it’s a nice contrast to the slower-paced, quiet neighborhood in Madison.
Recently, someone pointed out to me that I should consider myself more of a New Yorker than a Varsovian, since I have lived an equal number of years in both, but with some of those Warsaw years being awfully young ones, thus hardly memorable. Nonetheless, I am hesitant. How can I say that I am of hardy peasant stock and a New Yorker at the same time? And my adolescence – that was completely spent in Warsaw. You are from the place of your first great adolescent love, aren’t you? Mine resided in Warsaw.
Okay, so I’m not a New Yorker. But I do like the city and I especially like that in my new ‘home’ I can look out and see this:
Today, I checked out the place where I’ll be spending not a small number of days this year. I have no complaints – it’s a nice contrast to the slower-paced, quiet neighborhood in Madison.
Recently, someone pointed out to me that I should consider myself more of a New Yorker than a Varsovian, since I have lived an equal number of years in both, but with some of those Warsaw years being awfully young ones, thus hardly memorable. Nonetheless, I am hesitant. How can I say that I am of hardy peasant stock and a New Yorker at the same time? And my adolescence – that was completely spent in Warsaw. You are from the place of your first great adolescent love, aren’t you? Mine resided in Warsaw.
Okay, so I’m not a New Yorker. But I do like the city and I especially like that in my new ‘home’ I can look out and see this:
BTW, on the commuter train ride from New Haven my bags were sniffed by dogs, and the trooper onboard had so many guns, sticks and cell phones that I can’t imagine he would possibly remember what was were.
Later, as my cab pulled up to the tollgate at the Triborough Bridge (en route to La Guardia), I took out my digital camera to review the handful of photos I had taken in New York. The toll guard instantly demanded that I put away my camera during the ride over the bridge, for security reasons. Then, in a lovely tone reserved for the naïve, first-time-in-NY tourist he asked me “is this your first visit to New York ma’am? Did you have a good time in the big city?” I said yes to both with what I hope was a big, wide-eyed look, and a swipe through my hair to catch, you know, those remaining wisps of hay from back home in Wisconsin. New Yorkers, knock it off! You’re way too smug.
Later, as my cab pulled up to the tollgate at the Triborough Bridge (en route to La Guardia), I took out my digital camera to review the handful of photos I had taken in New York. The toll guard instantly demanded that I put away my camera during the ride over the bridge, for security reasons. Then, in a lovely tone reserved for the naïve, first-time-in-NY tourist he asked me “is this your first visit to New York ma’am? Did you have a good time in the big city?” I said yes to both with what I hope was a big, wide-eyed look, and a swipe through my hair to catch, you know, those remaining wisps of hay from back home in Wisconsin. New Yorkers, knock it off! You’re way too smug.
BTW, on the commuter train ride from New Haven my bags were sniffed by dogs, and the trooper onboard had so many guns, sticks and cell phones that I can’t imagine he would possibly remember what was were.
Later, as my cab pulled up to the tollgate at the Triborough Bridge (en route to La Guardia), I took out my digital camera to review the handful of photos I had taken in New York. The toll guard instantly demanded that I put away my camera during the ride over the bridge, for security reasons. Then, in a lovely tone reserved for the naïve, first-time-in-NY tourist he asked me “is this your first visit to New York ma’am? Did you have a good time in the big city?” I said yes to both with what I hope was a big, wide-eyed look, and a swipe through my hair to catch, you know, those remaining wisps of hay from back home in Wisconsin. New Yorkers, knock it off! You’re way too smug.
Later, as my cab pulled up to the tollgate at the Triborough Bridge (en route to La Guardia), I took out my digital camera to review the handful of photos I had taken in New York. The toll guard instantly demanded that I put away my camera during the ride over the bridge, for security reasons. Then, in a lovely tone reserved for the naïve, first-time-in-NY tourist he asked me “is this your first visit to New York ma’am? Did you have a good time in the big city?” I said yes to both with what I hope was a big, wide-eyed look, and a swipe through my hair to catch, you know, those remaining wisps of hay from back home in Wisconsin. New Yorkers, knock it off! You’re way too smug.
Blogger dinner comment (written in transit, in Detroit)
In my previous post, I fretted about what to feed the bloggers who are to dine at my place this Thursday. Thanks, all, for the suggestions. Yes, yes, surely there’ll be something Italian. Obviously. I’m all about Italian food at the moment. But I also appreciated the tip from the one reader who wrote: “Scrambled eggs, tea and toast. That's what my mother made for me when I was sick and cranky and fussy and wouldn't eat normal food.” A clever plan. If I lose my creative impulse, I should just reach for the eggs. But is that going to be problem-free? Can’t you just see a blogger nose turned up at eggs that are too runny or too hard or too fried or too something? And I know for a fact that one of the bloggers hates tea. NOTHING is easy anymore.
Blogger dinner comment (written in transit, in Detroit)
In my previous post, I fretted about what to feed the bloggers who are to dine at my place this Thursday. Thanks, all, for the suggestions. Yes, yes, surely there’ll be something Italian. Obviously. I’m all about Italian food at the moment. But I also appreciated the tip from the one reader who wrote: “Scrambled eggs, tea and toast. That's what my mother made for me when I was sick and cranky and fussy and wouldn't eat normal food.” A clever plan. If I lose my creative impulse, I should just reach for the eggs. But is that going to be problem-free? Can’t you just see a blogger nose turned up at eggs that are too runny or too hard or too fried or too something? And I know for a fact that one of the bloggers hates tea. NOTHING is easy anymore.
Monday, August 30, 2004
A blogger dinner – coming up!
If you cook dinner for people, you want them to be into the food and so in anticipation of a blogger dinner at my house later this week, I polled the bloggers about their food preferences.
At first, I got a timid “just about anything is fine!”-type response. But take note of what happens once just one person reports a preference (To protect the bloggers, I’ll refer to them as P, Q & R):
P writes “I'm pretty flexible, but I hate two foods: coconut and scallops. Hating coconut is a childhood article of faith. That scallops are vile is an adult realization.”
Q contributes, ever so kindly: “You are unlikely to serve the things that I don't like, like clams on the half shell. I tried them once and it took over 24 hours to get that vomit-inducing taste out of my mouth. Cook whatever you want. I don't have many food restrictions and you are a good cook. You'd probably make lima beans taste good to me.”
R pipes up: “My hated food list is short, and P has already named one at/near the top: coconut. But also: squash; beets; anything with even a nanogram of coffee flavoring; green tea ice cream. Just typing all those in such short succession has caused me to shudder. Otherwise, and except for the whole pescatarian thing, I'm quite flexible.”
FLEXIBLE??
P responds and I concur, that R seems to be dissing seafood. R clarifies that this is not the case. No meat, but critters that swim appear to be fine.
However, all this food-talk has unleashed Q, who now says: “I just want to add that I hate coconut too. I like most fish and *some* [nc: emphasis added] shellfish. And I love red meat. Please, no brussel sprouts, peas or okra. But, really, make whatever you like. [nc:?????!!!!!] Would it be too much trouble to make separate meals for me, P and R?”
P summarizes this exchange nicely: “This thread seems like the lyrics to a Stephen Sondheim song or "Yes, I remember it well." The refrain is all about how you can make what you want and we're flexible, we'll eat anything, but the verses keeps listing of all the various things we don't like.”
Okay, readers, tell me, what should I make for this “flexible” group of bloggers? I’m just a wee-little cook, trying to keep her diners happy. Ah well, I asked for it. I really did want to know.
At first, I got a timid “just about anything is fine!”-type response. But take note of what happens once just one person reports a preference (To protect the bloggers, I’ll refer to them as P, Q & R):
P writes “I'm pretty flexible, but I hate two foods: coconut and scallops. Hating coconut is a childhood article of faith. That scallops are vile is an adult realization.”
Q contributes, ever so kindly: “You are unlikely to serve the things that I don't like, like clams on the half shell. I tried them once and it took over 24 hours to get that vomit-inducing taste out of my mouth. Cook whatever you want. I don't have many food restrictions and you are a good cook. You'd probably make lima beans taste good to me.”
R pipes up: “My hated food list is short, and P has already named one at/near the top: coconut. But also: squash; beets; anything with even a nanogram of coffee flavoring; green tea ice cream. Just typing all those in such short succession has caused me to shudder. Otherwise, and except for the whole pescatarian thing, I'm quite flexible.”
FLEXIBLE??
P responds and I concur, that R seems to be dissing seafood. R clarifies that this is not the case. No meat, but critters that swim appear to be fine.
However, all this food-talk has unleashed Q, who now says: “I just want to add that I hate coconut too. I like most fish and *some* [nc: emphasis added] shellfish. And I love red meat. Please, no brussel sprouts, peas or okra. But, really, make whatever you like. [nc:?????!!!!!] Would it be too much trouble to make separate meals for me, P and R?”
P summarizes this exchange nicely: “This thread seems like the lyrics to a Stephen Sondheim song or "Yes, I remember it well." The refrain is all about how you can make what you want and we're flexible, we'll eat anything, but the verses keeps listing of all the various things we don't like.”
Okay, readers, tell me, what should I make for this “flexible” group of bloggers? I’m just a wee-little cook, trying to keep her diners happy. Ah well, I asked for it. I really did want to know.
A blogger dinner – coming up!
If you cook dinner for people, you want them to be into the food and so in anticipation of a blogger dinner at my house later this week, I polled the bloggers about their food preferences.
At first, I got a timid “just about anything is fine!”-type response. But take note of what happens once just one person reports a preference (To protect the bloggers, I’ll refer to them as P, Q & R):
P writes “I'm pretty flexible, but I hate two foods: coconut and scallops. Hating coconut is a childhood article of faith. That scallops are vile is an adult realization.”
Q contributes, ever so kindly: “You are unlikely to serve the things that I don't like, like clams on the half shell. I tried them once and it took over 24 hours to get that vomit-inducing taste out of my mouth. Cook whatever you want. I don't have many food restrictions and you are a good cook. You'd probably make lima beans taste good to me.”
R pipes up: “My hated food list is short, and P has already named one at/near the top: coconut. But also: squash; beets; anything with even a nanogram of coffee flavoring; green tea ice cream. Just typing all those in such short succession has caused me to shudder. Otherwise, and except for the whole pescatarian thing, I'm quite flexible.”
FLEXIBLE??
P responds and I concur, that R seems to be dissing seafood. R clarifies that this is not the case. No meat, but critters that swim appear to be fine.
However, all this food-talk has unleashed Q, who now says: “I just want to add that I hate coconut too. I like most fish and *some* [nc: emphasis added] shellfish. And I love red meat. Please, no brussel sprouts, peas or okra. But, really, make whatever you like. [nc:?????!!!!!] Would it be too much trouble to make separate meals for me, P and R?”
P summarizes this exchange nicely: “This thread seems like the lyrics to a Stephen Sondheim song or "Yes, I remember it well." The refrain is all about how you can make what you want and we're flexible, we'll eat anything, but the verses keeps listing of all the various things we don't like.”
Okay, readers, tell me, what should I make for this “flexible” group of bloggers? I’m just a wee-little cook, trying to keep her diners happy. Ah well, I asked for it. I really did want to know.
At first, I got a timid “just about anything is fine!”-type response. But take note of what happens once just one person reports a preference (To protect the bloggers, I’ll refer to them as P, Q & R):
P writes “I'm pretty flexible, but I hate two foods: coconut and scallops. Hating coconut is a childhood article of faith. That scallops are vile is an adult realization.”
Q contributes, ever so kindly: “You are unlikely to serve the things that I don't like, like clams on the half shell. I tried them once and it took over 24 hours to get that vomit-inducing taste out of my mouth. Cook whatever you want. I don't have many food restrictions and you are a good cook. You'd probably make lima beans taste good to me.”
R pipes up: “My hated food list is short, and P has already named one at/near the top: coconut. But also: squash; beets; anything with even a nanogram of coffee flavoring; green tea ice cream. Just typing all those in such short succession has caused me to shudder. Otherwise, and except for the whole pescatarian thing, I'm quite flexible.”
FLEXIBLE??
P responds and I concur, that R seems to be dissing seafood. R clarifies that this is not the case. No meat, but critters that swim appear to be fine.
However, all this food-talk has unleashed Q, who now says: “I just want to add that I hate coconut too. I like most fish and *some* [nc: emphasis added] shellfish. And I love red meat. Please, no brussel sprouts, peas or okra. But, really, make whatever you like. [nc:?????!!!!!] Would it be too much trouble to make separate meals for me, P and R?”
P summarizes this exchange nicely: “This thread seems like the lyrics to a Stephen Sondheim song or "Yes, I remember it well." The refrain is all about how you can make what you want and we're flexible, we'll eat anything, but the verses keeps listing of all the various things we don't like.”
Okay, readers, tell me, what should I make for this “flexible” group of bloggers? I’m just a wee-little cook, trying to keep her diners happy. Ah well, I asked for it. I really did want to know.
A last look at New Haven…for the time being
I’m biding my time here, waiting to switch briefly to New York and then to hustle back to Madison tomorrow, in time for the beginning of the Fall semester (did anyone besides me think classes started on Wednesday?).
I’ve been coming to New Haven twice a year – end of August and mid-October, for some six years now. I’m a fan. New Haven, though technically smaller than Madison (NH pop = 120, 000, split evenly between different racial groups), feels like a city. Consider these scenes. City, through and through.
I’ve been coming to New Haven twice a year – end of August and mid-October, for some six years now. I’m a fan. New Haven, though technically smaller than Madison (NH pop = 120, 000, split evenly between different racial groups), feels like a city. Consider these scenes. City, through and through.
A last look at New Haven…for the time being
I’m biding my time here, waiting to switch briefly to New York and then to hustle back to Madison tomorrow, in time for the beginning of the Fall semester (did anyone besides me think classes started on Wednesday?).
I’ve been coming to New Haven twice a year – end of August and mid-October, for some six years now. I’m a fan. New Haven, though technically smaller than Madison (NH pop = 120, 000, split evenly between different racial groups), feels like a city. Consider these scenes. City, through and through.
I’ve been coming to New Haven twice a year – end of August and mid-October, for some six years now. I’m a fan. New Haven, though technically smaller than Madison (NH pop = 120, 000, split evenly between different racial groups), feels like a city. Consider these scenes. City, through and through.
Sunday, August 29, 2004
A hot day toward the tail end of the summer
I’m still on the East Coast, reading about the protest march in NY, but staying put in Connecticut, not having the time to do much beyond helping others move (my back retaliated against my blog put-down of laughter as the cure-all and is now acting finicky again, but there are things to do and one can not be wimpy about one’s infirmities).
I did note the summer jazz festival on the New Haven Green last night. It was loud and filled with townspeople who set up blankets for the evening of music, much in the way that Madisonians set up blankets for summer Concerts on the Square. [The analogy ends here. The event could not have been more different in all respects.]
IT WAS REALLY LOUD MUSIC! Isaac Hayes was the guest artist and he certainly drew the crowds.
In truth, it was an insane mixture of happenings. On the one hand, a thousand parent-types lugged bookshelves (no, I do not know why Yale does not provide bookshelves in dorm rooms, it makes absolutely no sense to me) and boxes and milled around campus, while the “band played on” on the Green, with the rowdy townfolk having the time of their lives. I wish I could replay the night. I wish I had spent more time milling around the Green, watching the hundreds and hundreds of families enjoy the free night of music. I was past lugging shelves by then, but my pernicious back made me retire early. But not so early that I would miss the exuberance, the smells of grilled foods, the sticky feel of melting popsicles and rousing sounds coming from the speakers on the Green.
I did note the summer jazz festival on the New Haven Green last night. It was loud and filled with townspeople who set up blankets for the evening of music, much in the way that Madisonians set up blankets for summer Concerts on the Square. [The analogy ends here. The event could not have been more different in all respects.]
IT WAS REALLY LOUD MUSIC! Isaac Hayes was the guest artist and he certainly drew the crowds.
In truth, it was an insane mixture of happenings. On the one hand, a thousand parent-types lugged bookshelves (no, I do not know why Yale does not provide bookshelves in dorm rooms, it makes absolutely no sense to me) and boxes and milled around campus, while the “band played on” on the Green, with the rowdy townfolk having the time of their lives. I wish I could replay the night. I wish I had spent more time milling around the Green, watching the hundreds and hundreds of families enjoy the free night of music. I was past lugging shelves by then, but my pernicious back made me retire early. But not so early that I would miss the exuberance, the smells of grilled foods, the sticky feel of melting popsicles and rousing sounds coming from the speakers on the Green.
A hot day toward the tail end of the summer
I’m still on the East Coast, reading about the protest march in NY, but staying put in Connecticut, not having the time to do much beyond helping others move (my back retaliated against my blog put-down of laughter as the cure-all and is now acting finicky again, but there are things to do and one can not be wimpy about one’s infirmities).
I did note the summer jazz festival on the New Haven Green last night. It was loud and filled with townspeople who set up blankets for the evening of music, much in the way that Madisonians set up blankets for summer Concerts on the Square. [The analogy ends here. The event could not have been more different in all respects.]
IT WAS REALLY LOUD MUSIC! Isaac Hayes was the guest artist and he certainly drew the crowds.
In truth, it was an insane mixture of happenings. On the one hand, a thousand parent-types lugged bookshelves (no, I do not know why Yale does not provide bookshelves in dorm rooms, it makes absolutely no sense to me) and boxes and milled around campus, while the “band played on” on the Green, with the rowdy townfolk having the time of their lives. I wish I could replay the night. I wish I had spent more time milling around the Green, watching the hundreds and hundreds of families enjoy the free night of music. I was past lugging shelves by then, but my pernicious back made me retire early. But not so early that I would miss the exuberance, the smells of grilled foods, the sticky feel of melting popsicles and rousing sounds coming from the speakers on the Green.
I did note the summer jazz festival on the New Haven Green last night. It was loud and filled with townspeople who set up blankets for the evening of music, much in the way that Madisonians set up blankets for summer Concerts on the Square. [The analogy ends here. The event could not have been more different in all respects.]
IT WAS REALLY LOUD MUSIC! Isaac Hayes was the guest artist and he certainly drew the crowds.
In truth, it was an insane mixture of happenings. On the one hand, a thousand parent-types lugged bookshelves (no, I do not know why Yale does not provide bookshelves in dorm rooms, it makes absolutely no sense to me) and boxes and milled around campus, while the “band played on” on the Green, with the rowdy townfolk having the time of their lives. I wish I could replay the night. I wish I had spent more time milling around the Green, watching the hundreds and hundreds of families enjoy the free night of music. I was past lugging shelves by then, but my pernicious back made me retire early. But not so early that I would miss the exuberance, the smells of grilled foods, the sticky feel of melting popsicles and rousing sounds coming from the speakers on the Green.
Saturday, August 28, 2004
What’s New Haven like?
1. It is like Florence. It has too many one way streets that lead you astray, so that if you go down a block to check out curbside parking and there isn’t an open spot, you may as well reconcile yourself to a thirty minute detour just to get back to the same block again. The city is best explored without a car.
What’s New Haven like?
1. It is like Florence. It has too many one way streets that lead you astray, so that if you go down a block to check out curbside parking and there isn’t an open spot, you may as well reconcile yourself to a thirty minute detour just to get back to the same block again. The city is best explored without a car.
2. It is like any University City, USA. Strip it of the university and you would have a cone without the ice cream, a shell without its inhabitant, a lake without water… you get the point. Is it an unhappy alliance? I wouldn’t say so. More like a love-hate, push-pull affair. When I lived in Hyde Park, home to the University of Chicago, it was push & hate all the way. Here, it depends whom you’re talking to at what time in the day. I find New Havenites generally a friendly bunch, unreasonably so, considering how much they can be left out of the university powerhouse.
2. It is like any University City, USA. Strip it of the university and you would have a cone without the ice cream, a shell without its inhabitant, a lake without water… you get the point. Is it an unhappy alliance? I wouldn’t say so. More like a love-hate, push-pull affair. When I lived in Hyde Park, home to the University of Chicago, it was push & hate all the way. Here, it depends whom you’re talking to at what time in the day. I find New Havenites generally a friendly bunch, unreasonably so, considering how much they can be left out of the university powerhouse.
4. It is like every urban center in the States: its commercial periphery is too vast, too abundant, too cluttered, too heavily trafficked. Consider this: yesterday, I needed to purchase a small coffee maker – a simple machine that would brew small quantities of the caffeinated beverage. I could now list you 100 places within a ten mile radius that sell them, from Walmart, to Linens and Things, Walgreens, Sam’s Club, etc etc. Why do we need so many stores?
5. It is an ocean port without any visible sign of the ocean. I can be here for five days and never see any body of water. But sea gulls are everywhere.
6. It is like New York City – overflowing with a great number of mid-range eateries (and like NY, it has an abundant upper range as well, but I’ll pass on that). There are more excellent (typically ethnic) restaurants within a 10 block range than I have ever seen anywhere (5 terrific Thai places alone to choose from, 3 Indian, several Ethiopian, Malaysian, etc etc).
7. It is like the island of Fiji in that it is in love with pure (bottled) Fiji water. I personally do not understand why one must go half way across the earth to find water suitable to sell in New Haven, but there you have it: you want bottled water, you have to buy the Fiji stuff.
5. It is an ocean port without any visible sign of the ocean. I can be here for five days and never see any body of water. But sea gulls are everywhere.
6. It is like New York City – overflowing with a great number of mid-range eateries (and like NY, it has an abundant upper range as well, but I’ll pass on that). There are more excellent (typically ethnic) restaurants within a 10 block range than I have ever seen anywhere (5 terrific Thai places alone to choose from, 3 Indian, several Ethiopian, Malaysian, etc etc).
7. It is like the island of Fiji in that it is in love with pure (bottled) Fiji water. I personally do not understand why one must go half way across the earth to find water suitable to sell in New Haven, but there you have it: you want bottled water, you have to buy the Fiji stuff.
4. It is like every urban center in the States: its commercial periphery is too vast, too abundant, too cluttered, too heavily trafficked. Consider this: yesterday, I needed to purchase a small coffee maker – a simple machine that would brew small quantities of the caffeinated beverage. I could now list you 100 places within a ten mile radius that sell them, from Walmart, to Linens and Things, Walgreens, Sam’s Club, etc etc. Why do we need so many stores?
5. It is an ocean port without any visible sign of the ocean. I can be here for five days and never see any body of water. But sea gulls are everywhere.
6. It is like New York City – overflowing with a great number of mid-range eateries (and like NY, it has an abundant upper range as well, but I’ll pass on that). There are more excellent (typically ethnic) restaurants within a 10 block range than I have ever seen anywhere (5 terrific Thai places alone to choose from, 3 Indian, several Ethiopian, Malaysian, etc etc).
7. It is like the island of Fiji in that it is in love with pure (bottled) Fiji water. I personally do not understand why one must go half way across the earth to find water suitable to sell in New Haven, but there you have it: you want bottled water, you have to buy the Fiji stuff.
5. It is an ocean port without any visible sign of the ocean. I can be here for five days and never see any body of water. But sea gulls are everywhere.
6. It is like New York City – overflowing with a great number of mid-range eateries (and like NY, it has an abundant upper range as well, but I’ll pass on that). There are more excellent (typically ethnic) restaurants within a 10 block range than I have ever seen anywhere (5 terrific Thai places alone to choose from, 3 Indian, several Ethiopian, Malaysian, etc etc).
7. It is like the island of Fiji in that it is in love with pure (bottled) Fiji water. I personally do not understand why one must go half way across the earth to find water suitable to sell in New Haven, but there you have it: you want bottled water, you have to buy the Fiji stuff.
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