Summer Reading

Have you considered your summer reading roster yet? I have just been exploring how other people pick their list and the parameters of their decisions. Most suggestions include:

1. Books you own, but have not read.
2. Read a classic that you should have read in High School, but never did.
3. Include a History book.
4. Read a Biography.
5. Don’t forget a book of Poetry.
6. Don’t think for yourself and read what your favorite magazines choose.

What I found interesting is that none of the suggestions I found, suggest picking an author to focus on or even discover.

If this produces an “ah-yes” moment for you, I have an author for you.

The most refreshing work that I have come across recently is from Roberto Bolaño, the Chilean poet and author of twelve novels. He has received some of the Hispanic world’s highest literary awards. Born in Chile, he lived much of his life as a nomad, living in Mexico, El Salvador, France and Spain. He was at the front, as a founder, of an Avant-garde group of poets and writers in Mexico who called their work infarealism. Living in Spain, he died in 2003, at the age of fifty, of liver failure while waiting for a transplant. Years of hard-living finally paid their toll.

To make it simple, I would suggest starting with Los detectives salvajes (The Savage Detectives- now in English translation), winner of the 1999 Romulo Gallegos Prize (Venezuelan). The novel centers on the poetic movement of visceral realism, which can be seen as an echo of Bolaño’s own infarealism. It is a road-book that is anything but linear.

Locations, characters and plot-threads expand to reflect a sense of displacement. Not unlike Bolaño’s own life, the characters travel in search of roots. This may cause some work on your part, because of the non-linear story. But remember, “Easy” is for magazines and such. Good literature should challenge you. Look for the tones, for it is there where you find more than just a story. Find yourself enmeshed in figuring out how Bolaño artfully weaves together his patchwork of poets.

As he points out, “All poets, even the most avant-garde, need a father. But these poets were meant to be orphans.” It is no wonder that the establishment figure of Octavio Paz is so brutally assailed. Let the person, inside of you, who loves to rebuff authority get some catharsis this summer.

Even if you have become the establishment- take a little time to explore the inner orphan in you.

Got Soup?

For those who are taking part in the new gastronomic rage and, perhaps dare I say- fad, overtaking this country, their deputation has just taken a disturbing turn. The butter and cream sauces of Julia Child, James Beard’s Chicken Risotto Topped With Caramelized Apricots, or Craig Claiborne’s Acini di Pepe, are now as passé as Brontosaurus burgers (Sorry Fred).

Stepping up to the plate are dishes like boiled sheep’s lung. Brains, tongue, feet, stomach, intestines, and other internal organs are now all fair game. Remember when you were a kid and your mother took you to the grocery store with her. When you passed the butcher’s stall, all the above were there specifically to gross you out. Maybe she said something to you like, “that’s for the poor people.”

Most Americans consider themselves to be “foodies” now. The proliferation of cooking shows, trendy restaurants, along with a host other influences has manifested a nation of daring gastronomes. Only a few years ago, the biggest threat to our sensibilities, was to watch people consume the hottest Hot Sauce they could without bursting into flames or stripping the lining out of their intestinal tracts.

But Americans love to out do each other. This is a basic creed. And the new arena is what I call “the gross out factor.” I know that it has long been fashionable to gross us out with foreign food in the movies and TV. Remember the monkey brains in Indiana Jones and The Temple of Doom, or Napoleon Solo and the goat’s eyeball (this one dates me). Well guess what, Anthony Bourdain will down a raw seal’s eyeball for you, if only you tune in to his show.

There used to be a rule: if it moves don’t eat it. The haute couture of the day is: if it is still moving, this will be a moment of culinary transcendence. The slugs, bugs, and creepy-crawlies of Survivor, has become the satisfier of deeper appetites; the food odyssey.

"Testicles appear on menus under various euphemisms, which prevent the diner from confronting too directly the contents of the plate," writes Alan Davidson in the Oxford Companion to Food. I’m not sure how to deal with this one, but for the brave of heart, there is no doubt a restaurant for you. Just don’t ask me to come. Which brings me to a phobia of mine? I tend to avoid those new fashionable places that offer cuisine from other countries. They are opening up all over mid-Ohio; Russian, Turkish, Thai, North African, West African, etc.

If I have to go, you had better bring a good translator with you. And don’t forget, there is always a good burger somewhere on the route home (make mine Brontosaurus, please).

The Question of Americanism

In his paper, “The Quest for the National Character”, David M. Potter raises some interesting questions concerning our national character. To paraphrase; I would say that unlike most countries in the world today, the United States is not ethnically rooted in the land where we live. We, for the most part, are recent arrivals, which may effectuate our compulsive preoccupation with the question of our Americanism.

He doesn’t believe that anyone would argue the fact that when one’s ethnic, religious, linguistic, or political heritage is amalgamated, nationality can not exist without the form of a common commitment to shared values, an approbation for certain qualities of character, and a common set of transient traits and attitudes.


Here are two images for you to ponder: (A) Americans can primarily be seen as individualists and idealists, and (B) They are conformists and materialists.

The individualist theory starts the moment when a person made that decision to migrate. It is a story as old as the country itself, no matter what the country of origin. It is a story that is happening today. Someone in Mexico, or Morocco, or any other number of countries, is making that decision today. Our myth of ourselves tells us that it is related to the resourcefulness of the early pioneers, constantly confronted with circumstances in which he could rely on no one but himself. I guess we can thank Frederick Jackson Turner for this. Thomas Jefferson’s argument was for equalitarianism.

Here is a question for you: Are equalitarianism and individualism inseparably linked, or even a sanctioned ambiguity in the American creed? Alexis de Tocqueville didn’t think so.

According to him, “When the inhabitant of a democratic country compares himself individually with all those about him, he feels with pride that he is the equal of any one of them; but when he comes to survey the totality of his fellows, and to place himself in contrast with so huge a body, he is instantly overwhelmed by the sense of his own insignificance and weakness.”

As for the other side of the coin, in 1823 William Faux proclaimed, “Two selfish gods, pleasure and pain, enslave the Americans.” The American pursuit of happiness took a detour very early in our history. It was Washington Irving who coined the phrase, “the almighty dollar, that great object of universal devotion throughout the land.” Yet we have grown to become one of the riches nations in the world. So, is this a bad thing?

So where am I going with this? I guess I’m contemplating whether some kind of identifiable American character exists.

I tend to consider the intangibles. One, for sure, is that I can pick out another American at any airport in the world. I’m not sure if it is how we carry ourselves, look, or act, but rest assured, I’ll pick you out of a line-up. And don’t think any of you Canadians think you can get past me. I can smell your European pretentiousness, a mile away. I understand that this is not an original idea, but it is 100 per cent fool proof.


"The essential American soul is hard, isolate, stoic and a killer," claimed D.H. Lawrence. Is this what we see in each other? For those of you, who read history, remember they used to carry guns in the House of Representatives, and fire them off when they were upset about something. ... Andrew Jackson walked around with two bullets in him for most of his life. Theodore Roosevelt once told a reporter that the grizzly bear should be the symbol of America, not the eagle.

Barack Obama argues in his new book The Audacity of Hope, "We are becoming more, not less, alike.” So, are we just looking into a mirror?

Or do we just have an uncanny ability to recognize the ambiguity of individualism and acquisitiveness in each other’s eyes?

Euro 2008

Did you know that the United States is the only country in the world that doesn’t consider soccer to be the top sport? In fact we have even changed its name: its real name is “Football”. Interestingly, the rest of the world views our version of football, in the same way we view Australian Rules football—quaint but silly.

We American soccer fans often feel like we are culturally isolated from the rest of our citizens. But there we are; often you can see us strolling down a grocery store aisle, in one of our funny looking replica jersey’s. I have an assortment from around the world, but will most likely be seen sporting Arsenal (England), Fulham (England), or Argentina (National Team).

There is at this moment, one of the biggest and most important sporting tournaments in the world happening in Europe. It could be considered second only to the World Cup in popularity. I’m talking about the Euro 2008. Ask your neighbor and he’ll probably say, “The what?” The US National Team, don’t get to go because, well, they aren’t European. But we do get to choose teams to root for.

As Americans, we soccer fans tend to pick the team representing “the old country”, in order to take pride in our ancestral heritage. This is easy for this tournament, considering that most our immigration came from European countries. So in my case, I have one team to route for. My first choice would be for Wales (father’s side), but since they didn’t qualify, I can’t. Now my team will be Holland.

My mother’s family is a Dutch family from Shaker Heights Ohio. There used to be a Dutch community in part of the area where Shaker would later be incorporated as a city, where my grandfather grew up on farm. At one time, I used to own a home on land where this farm once stood. One of my cousins has the letter that our great-grandfather had to sign, renouncing the King of Holland, in order to become a US citizen.

I was also raised in Shaker Heights and this community did not gather around the television every four years for the World Cup. We were never indoctrinated into tribal allegiances by soccer-crazed families and neighbors. But somewhere along the line, I got bitten by the soccer bug. The sport is simple, yet beautiful. And I can’t get enough. With soccer on cable TV, I can watch up to six games a week, from all over the world.

So this month, while our entire nation doesn’t walk off the job or wake up at two in the morning to watch games, the way they will in the rest of the world, I will be all alone in front of my TV cheering for the Dutch.

GREAT NEWS!!!

Holland just thumped Italy 3-0. Hurrah for the men in orange.

Through My Lonely Window

Last month, the Holy Family Soup Kitchen and Pantry in the Franklinton area of Columbus Ohio, was robbed of two large refrigeration compressors and copper piping. Two months’ worth of food was spoiled, and the Kitchen had to shut its doors.

It will open again soon, due to many donations from people in the Columbus area. Perhaps this is because it has garnered much publicity in the local media.

Before this event, most people of Columbus had no idea that this kitchen even existed. But let me tell you, that it has diligently been feeding people (they went from feeding fifty people a week to up to a thousand in one day) for a long time. It is located in an area, where most suburbanites would have nightmares about finding themselves stranded with a flat tire. It is called home to many of the street people that most of us turn an eye to.

The Pantry also gives food to 0ne hundred families.

It is a Catholic charity. I am not Catholic, but a couple of years ago I found myself devoting one day of my week to volunteering there. It’s funny how these things happen. My friend, who is Jewish, was a volunteer there, and she asked me if I would be interested coming with her to help one day. After that Monday, the rest of my Mondays were penciled into my calendar.

Don’t you just love America- Here we are, my Jewish friend (who was married to a Congregational minister) and me, a WASP, working in a Catholic Church basement.

Now my job, ended up as the dishwasher. In the summer months, it could get to around 140 degrees back in the kitchen. In fact, often times I could lose five pounds of weight in just one morning shift. And it was hard work; fast and furious (one thousand trays sprayed down and put through a sanitizer). Weirdly enough, I found it to have a Zen type of quality to it. I could un-clutter my mind.

Now, my view to the dining hall, was through a little window, and I guess the view of me from the hall, was of a non-descript man passionately throwing his arms about, twisting and turning.

This brings me to why I’m bringing this all up-

Something happened one day that I’m still wrestling with. At first, I took it as a complement. As time has passed, it has taken on deeper meaning. One of the diners, when putting his tray through the window (he looked like someone straight out of central casting for the homeless), looked straight at me and said, “You know, you’re going to Heaven”, turned around and walked away.

This is something that is certainly beyond my capacity as a flawed human being to understand, but I have locked it away for those times when I have needed it; to put me back on track and put my life into perspective.

It is little things like this, that happen to us in our life, which helps us to acquire security, true happiness, forgiveness, freedom from guilt, an adequate purpose for living, and insight for living. And most importantly of all, when I get too self absorbed, it can provide me with the power for change. As far as my spiritual life is concerned: doing seems so much more practical than praying. If this message through the window was an answer, well who can argue.

Hillary Clinton's Concession Speech.

What Does Hillary Really Want?

Tuesday night, it was: We’ll See (Oh, you’re such a tease).

Then the New York congressional delegation stood up to the balcony and cried: Let our people go!

So Saturday, it was; don’t cry for me Argentina. Mrs. Clinton produced her “concession” speech. We waited in anticipation of how she would portray defeat. Would a concession convey an impression of victory?

Here is what we have come to expect from concession speeches- They are intended as a professional courtesy, with a deferential acknowledgement of the loss and a pat on the back to the winner. They take the opportunity to thank their supporters and staff. They can even construct it in a way to leave open the door for a future run, usually by indicating that they are committed to the cause (what ever that may be).

Did I just hear the score from Evita, playing in the background?

Adlai Stevenson in 1952 said it the best, “The people have rendered their verdict, and I gladly accept it.” He went on to put things into perspective, “Someone asked me, as I came in, down on the street, how I felt, and I was reminded of a story that a fellow townsman of ours used to tell- Abraham Lincoln. They asked him how he felt once after an unsuccessful election. He said he felt like a little boy who had stubbed his toe in the dark. He said that he was too old to cry, but it hurt too much to laugh.”

The truth is- Americans don’t pay attention to concession speeches. The only people interested in this one, I’m sure, were the Hillary supporters and cable news junkies. I guess this includes me (Junkie that is). They need some kind of closure.

But Wait!

Was there closure? Or were the Clintons just getting in the last word, again. The campaign is only being suspended, not ended.

My first inclination, realizing that the Clintons are lawyers, is to consider that they are finding a loophole to payoff the enormous campaign debt, thought to be around $20.88 million. I have no doubt that this was discussed at “THE” meeting on Friday, in some kind of deal. Maybe the fact that she only suspended her campaign might indicate that she might not have gotten the relief from the Obama camp that she was hoping for. If it is suspended, perhaps contributions can still be collected, to pay this debt.

The United States Campaign Finance Glossary defines Debt Retirement as, “The practice of raising additional funds after the election is over in order to pay off the candidate’s campaign debt.”

Assumption of debt as a political bargain goes all the way back to the beginning of this country, when Alexander Hamilton promised the national capital to the south in exchange for federal government assumption of state debts.

And of course, the lawyers can tell you; that all these debts, at least to the vendors (business expenses) can be deducted as business losses if not repaid.

Don’t think that the Clintons won’t think and act like lawyers? Remember the “it depends on what your definition of is, is?”

Solitary Signs

i come from this wall,
but not as graffiti,
with cryptic lettering
that declares the
boundaries of suffrage,
extracted from a child’s
innocence – blood still warm.

i am not a thick
moss, the mold of suffocation come to
seal forever an offensive mortar, a tomb for our
sins under a lush
and deceptive green.

i am born of a seed,
deposited unseen by a
breath that was gentle
as a lover’s sigh, to
draw support through
the decay, a blooming,
simple and susceptible.