Hats Made of Meat

Yesterday, at our staff meeting, one of my fellow employees pulled up the web-site for hats of meat (that goes to show you how formal and serious our staff meetings are).  Please look at it – you’ll laugh yourself silly.  “One always looks neat in a hat made of meat.” 

My favorite is the Brisket Yarmulke: “Made of 100% kosher brisket, this one-size-fits-all ‘beefy beanie’ come emblazoned with a horseradish Star of David.”

After perusing the photos, go to the FAQs, where you can find answers to all your meat hat queries, such as, “Is wearing a hat of meat harmful to my hair?” (no, the natural juices are good for your hair), or “How do I discourage flies or dogs from pestering me when I am wearing a hat of meat?” (hairspray on your hat will keep the flies away), or “How do I combat the foul smell that sometimes comes with older hats of meat?” (baste your hat with teriyaki). 

Let’s Go Fly a Kite

Inspired by my recent reading of The Kite Runner and by a beautiful day, I went to the Kite Festival at Dorey Park this past weekend.  Saw some pretty kites and lots of happy, laughing children.  There wasn’t much else to see or do.  One criticism: they were loudly piping some very cheesy music (think adult contemporary/easy listening) which kind of ruined the exhilaration of the day (the freedom of running and letting the kite alight from your hands).  I was trying to determine if the large kite flown by a professional (see photo below) was being dipped and twisted in time to the music, but I could not tell:

I had never been to Dorey Park before (it is in Eastern Henrico near the airport), so I did some exploratory hiking around the pond there and through the Disk Golf course.  It was nice but too manicured for my tastes.  Here is a photo from one of the trees at the side of the lake:

                                                                

The Kite Runner

I know, I know I’m late in my reading of The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseni.  This novel, partly set in Afghanistan, was a long-time bestseller and was a favorite of many of my friends (including Tim).  I was ready to be impressed, but wound up being disappointed.

The novel begins in Afghanistan, describing the relationship between Amir, a wealthy Pashtun, and his father’s servant’s son, Hassan, who is poor and of a lower caste called Hazara.  Amir and Hassan are very close companions, spending most of their spare time together, although I am uncertain as to why.  Amir treats Hassan horribly, using his wealth and education to constantly insult Hassan or make him feel stupid and inferior; Amir also uses Hassan to take care of him – make and serve his food, complete tasks that Amir then takes credit for.  Hassan is such a one-dimensional character - he does not get angry or show any resentment toward Amir; he just good-naturedly loves him and continues to accept the way Amir treats him.

The main action of the novel occurs in the beginning, when Amir witnesses something horrible happening to Hassan.  Instead of intervening or running to get help for Hassan, Amir just watches.  After the incident, back at their home, Amir becomes more ruthless in his behavior toward Hassan – he is cruel and tries to ignore him (mostly because of the guilt he feels for not rescuing Hassan).  Eventually, Amir frames Hassan for a crime he did not commit, causing Hassan and his father to leave Amir’s household.

Soon thereafter, the Russians invade Afghanistan and Amir and his father flee the country to settle in San Francisco.  There, Amir grows up, becomes closer with his father, goes to college, decides to become a writer, and marries.  Amir is living a pleasant life when an old acquaintance from Afghanistan telephones, asking Amir to meet him in Pakistan.  Amir flies to Pakistan, learns what has happened to Afghanistan since he has left (the rise of the Taliban), and what has happened to Hassan and his family (Hassan and his wife are murdered by the Taliban).  Amir’s friend asks Amir to return to Afghanistan and rescue Hassan’s son, Sohrab.  Amir is frightened and feels he lacks the courage to face his old home and his past, but eventually opts to try in order to atone for his past sins toward Hassan.

Amir does rescue Sohrab after some hardship, and decides to adopt him as his own son.  There is further hardship with getting adoption papers and a green card, and with developing a trustful relationship with Sohrab.

The story seems exciting and the Afghan background is interesting.  However, I found the characters unbelievable and portrayed as overly-emotional caricatures of real humans.  I did not connect or empathize with any of the characters or with the novel (and I do not believe this was because of cultural differences).  Hosseini’s writing was satisfactory but not exceptional, although the novel was easy to read.  The book is fine, but I do not highly recommend it.

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My Dark Places

My Dark Places is the story of the investigation into the murder of Jean Ellroy.  Her son, James Ellroy, a well-known author (he wrote L.A. Confidential and The Black Dahlia) wrote this book, I believe as a way to come to understand his mother and the role she and her death played in his life. 

Ellroy was ten years old when his mother was found murdered.  His parents had recently become separated and he lived primarily with his mother, although he idolized his father and desired to live with him.  The young Ellroy believed his father’s negative propaganda against his mother in his ardency to come live with his father.  When she was killed, Ellroy did not seem particularly affected by her death (although I think her death shaped his notions of gender roles and his seemingly hidden hatred/love for women), and gets his wish and goes to live with his father.

We follow Ellroy as he grows up fascinated by crime, sex, and graphic violence.  He is an outsider with few friends.  In his late teens, he begins delving into drugs.  His father dies, and Ellroy is on his own.  Eventually, he spends almost a decade living on the streets or on the couches of friends, drinking and doing drugs.

Ellroy has an epiphany when his health is ruined.  Doctors tell him he could die if he continues with his lifestyle.  That doesn’t long deter him from continuing to drink.  It isn’t until his brain becomes numb – he has a fit where his brain does not seem to work; he cannot remember things or process simple thoughts – that he decides to stop the drug abuse.  Ellroy is sincerely frightened about losing his cognitive abilities.

Later in his life, after he has become a renowned author, Ellroy decides to investigate the true crime that affected his life the most: the murder of his mother.  He has always been fascinated with other Hollywood-esque true crimes involving somewhat slatternly yet beautiful women: why hasn’t he delved into his mother’s death?  He hires an ex-police officer to help him with his investigations.  They read old files and police notes, re-interrogate witnesses to a crime that is more than 30 years old, and travel all over the country chasing down leads.  Ellroy eventually has to face his past: he needs to know who his mother truly was in order to attempt a reconstruction of her life and understand the patterns that led her to her fate.

Ellroy writes in a terse and vivid way.  He uses strong language that is effective for a crime noir, and uses straightforward and explicit details to describe crime scenes, bodies, people, motives, etc.  In the following passage, he describes a woman who was a victim of a sex crime:

She reinvented herself with youthful panache and convinced herself that she was something original.  She miscalculated.  She wasn’t smart and she wasn’t self-aware.  She recast herself in a cookie-cutter mold that pandered to long-prescribed male fantasies.  The new Betty was the old Betty bushwhacked by Hollywood.  She turned herself into a cliche that most men wanted to fuck and a few men wanted to kill.  She wanted to get deep dark down cozy with men.  She sent out magnetic signals.  She met a man with notions of deep-dark-down-and-cozy cloaked in rage.  Her only complicitous act was a fait accompli.  She made herself over for men.   

I liked the book: it was fascinating, tough, and interesting to see Ellroy change in his opinions and perspectives of himself, his mother, and their relationship, although there were moments that seemed too emotional given Ellroy’s style and tone.  It was disappointing to not find out who the killer was, but perhaps that was a proper ending to the book.  I recommend this true crime memoir, although I was not absorbed by it.

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Kobe

A group of us visited the Japanese steakhouse Kobe a few weeks ago for Chris’s birthday.  I had never been to this Shockoe Slip restaurant so was eager to check it out.  Tim and I met Chris and John early and enjoyed a drink from their ground floor bar.  The decor on the ground floor was modern and well-lit.  Jenn and Ray arrived soon after, and we headed down into the basement to eat.

The basement was more dimly lit and full of scattered grills surrounded by seats.  The six of us were seated at one grill.  Another couple was soon seated at our table.  We were quickly brought miso soup by our waitress and then settled in for a wait.  The soup was good, but was very onion-y.  Our waitress took our food orders (because we were downstairs, our choices were limited to steak, chicken, scallops, shrimp, filet mignon, or some combination of these items).  After taking our order, we were each served a small salad, comprised of iceberg lettuce, tomatoes, and a delicious ginger peanut dressing.

After eating our salad, we settled in for a wait until our chef arrived.  Finally he did and started his performance.  If you have not been to a Japanese steakhouse before, the chef cooks at your table, flipping the meat, eggs, veggies, etc. with some prowess.  One of our chef’’s tricks was to saute shrimp and then flip one to each person seated at the table.  Only Chris and John had the skills to catch the shrimp in their mouths.  This was a typical experience for a Japanese steakhouse, although John was disappointed – he had recently been to other steakhouses and thought that the chefs showed more skill.

After the show, we were served our food.  I had the chicken with vegetables and it was delicious.  The meat was tender and moist.  I loved the spicy mustard/soy sauce combination we were each served with our dish, and dumped most of it on top of my meat and veggies. 

I enjoyed Kobe, except for the atmosphere.  It was difficult to hold a conversation with your table-mates due to the open layout and all the chefs cooking in front of you.  It was also quite warm due to all the open grills.  Kobe was satisfactory, but nothing particularly special (except that mustard/soy sauce).

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Sometimes in April

Tim and I recently watched the movie Sometimes in April, which deals with the Rwandan genocide.   We follow the story of Augustin, a moderate Hutu married to a Tutsi, Jeanne.  Augustin is a soldier, but leaves the military as the slaughter begins in order to protect Jeanne and their children.  Augustin entrusts his family to his brother Honore, hoping that Honore’s vocal support of the slaughter will help him to move Jeanne and the children to safety.  Augustin then begins his own struggle to find safety and winds up at the Mille Collines (the hotel from Hotel Rwanda fame).

The movie shows action during two time frames – during the 100 days of the 1994 genocide and to a time 10 years later, when we see Augustin as a teacher and with a girlfriend, Martine.  In 2004, Augustin travels to the United Nations tribunal in Arusha to witness the trial of his brother, Honore.  Eventually, Augustin and Honore are able to visit, and Augustin discovers what happened to Jeanne and his children (they perished during their attempted escape and its aftermath).

Of course, this movie makes you feel sad and angry.  There is a sub-plot following an American Undersecretary of State who is trying to get the United States to take more decisive action in Rwanda, but who, of course, is met with resistance.  You can actually hear the collective sighs of relief from the American officials when the 100-day slaughter seems to abate, a “well, we did the best we could do given the circumstances and our lack of national interest in this area – glad it didn’t last any longer or else we might have had to actually act.”  However, I think this movie was more effective then, for example, Hotel Rwanda, because it seemed more personal and because we get an understanding of the aftermath of the genocide on Rwandans.

This was the first film I saw on this genocide that spread the blame to many.  Unlike in past films, which may have been designed to provoke Western audiences and make Westerners feel guilty for their indifference, this film showed how the individual killers have to be held responsible as well.  Yes, America, the United Nations, and the world should have done something, anything to help, but what causes a person to open fire on a group of twenty girls hiding in a convent?  How has this perpetrator’s soul been decimated, what can make a person chop up his neighbor with a machete?  This film does cast a spotlight on the indifference of the world, but also exposes the passionate hatred of individuals.

I also liked how we see Augustin ten years later as he tries to rebuild his life knowing his beloved family is dead but not understanding how or why.  We see snippets of the UN trials, which Augustin finds somewhat useless until he speaks with a plaintiff, a woman who was forcibly and repetitively raped by rampaging Hutus.  This woman is scarred, but she feels proud and somewhat healed by facing her accusers and telling her story.  We also see glimpses of local tribunals, run by leaders of villages.  These seem more effective in healing than the austere courtroom proceedings of the UN.  Any interested parties gather around a tree in the local village.  An official calls out the accused’s name and asks the crowd if anyone can bear witness against this man. People stand and tell their stories to their neighbors, their friends, their countrymen.  It seems an effective way to try to heal, to come to a collective and national understanding of the truth behind this massacre.   This is important: I remember a salient point from my reading of Gulag that, because no one discusses the Soviet past, accepts that people were unjustly imprisoned, or works to right this injustice, that Russians have no qualms with current repressive policies.  Will genocide happen again in Rwanda?  I don’t know, but in Sometimes in April, although it shows numerous horrors, we feel that it will not.  And not because outsiders will be watching and acting (because we won’t) but because the nation has started to heal itself.

The Thirteenth Tale

I began reading The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield on a cold, rainy Friday when I was home from work recovering from one of the worst sicknesses I ever had.  It was a perfect selection for a dreary day as the story is very Gothic in tone.  The protagonist, Margaret, who lives a secluded life working with her father in his bookstore and penning some little-read biographies of minor historical figures, is contacted by Vida Winter, one of the most prolific and popular writers in Britain.  The reclusive Vida is nearing death and would like Margaret to write her biography.  Margaret decides to take the job and comes to Vida’s estate to listen to her story.

Most of the book is filled with the recreation of Vida’s life.  We learn about her grandparents, her twin sister, and others who intersect with her upbringing.  There are many twists in the plot and lots of guessing as to the present roles of characters from the past and how characters from the past are living and effecting the present.  It is an interesting tale, although not particularly meaningful.

I liked Margaret as a main character: she was serious, smart, adventuresome, and sad.  By the end of Vida’s story, Margaret is as engrossed in the tale as the reader is.  The book is well written with a definite gothic tone.  It was a very easy read and a captivating story.  I would recommend it for a dark stormy night when you don’t want to think too much but still want to be consumed by a book.

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