November 2007

There’s something deeply heartbreaking about returning to work on the Monday after a vacation. It’s a lot like the Monday before you went on vacation, except that there’s no longer anything to look forward to. Even Christmas, which is only a month away, is ruined by the fact that my new workplace duties and responsibilities (paired with my current paycheck and title) start on the first of January.

I’m going to guess that the feeling - the Monday-after feeling - is created because during our string of days away from work, we forget the crappy things that we’ve gotten used to - our familiar daily routine. Perhaps before Thanksgiving I had almost unknowingly resigned myself to a life of spreadsheets and faking smiles but now, after five days of gravy-filled freedom, spreadsheets seem impossible to return to. You know, I feel like an abused kid who isn’t that upset about his childhood until the moment he discovers what he’s been missing out on: candy, go-carts, love.

Today made me wonder: is work usually this bad, or does it seem worse because yesterday I watched five hours of football and ate four different kinds of meat? I’m not sure. As I read an email from my boss informing me that my new second boss, whose wanton use of emoticons I find unsettling, would be calling me to teach me how to “do totals in Excel,” I wasn’t quite so sure. Perhaps today was a perfect storm of things I hate. Perhaps I hate way, way too many things. Perhaps, in exchange for learning something I already know - namely, how to “do totals in Excel,” I could teach my new boss the word “sum.”

On the other hand, my job paid for that Thanksgiving gravy, and for the apartment that sheltered me, and for the cable that allowed me to watch a Lifetime Movie Network marathon that included Too Young to be a Dad and The Truth About Jane. These facts lead me to believe that my job is a necessary evil in my life and, therefore, something that should be ignored to the very best of my ability.

I think I’ve taken some important steps toward this goal of apathy and sliding by in my passionless job, but I’d like to cover more and more ground in the weeks and months to come - it’s actually surprisingly hard to let go of competitiveness and perfectionism and drive. And I’d of course be thrilled if you’d like to join me as long as you have a job where you are treated kind of like a really high-end photocopying machine.

My first step is to stop checking my work email from home under any circumstances. I’ve just trashed the link to the Outlook site on my home computer. I won’t give any more time to work beyond the hours that I am paid for - no extra time at work and no extra time thinking or reading about work. And if you’re thinking that you’d get fired if you stopped staying late or if you didn’t check your messages at night, I think you better start looking for a different crappy job from the one you’ve got.

In summation, tomorrow’s Tuesday - the day that’s exactly like Monday except for the fact that you’re less rested and that you don’t have to give a one-sentence summary of your weekend to everyone who politely asks so that they can then talk about theirs. I’m going to try to go in to work an embrace my totally mediocre and apathetic attitude. And I’m really, really excited about doing an outstanding job at it.

The days after Thanksgiving are never quite as fun as Thanksgiving. After eating stuffing for the fourth day in a row — so much stuffing that the word stuffing now sounds onomatopoeic when you say it - you start to question how great feasts really are. And after washing every dish that you own in the wake of the celebration, the urge to order take out maybe for the rest of your life is almost overwhelming.

What I needed for Sunday dinner was something fast, something low maintenance, and something at the other end of the spectrum from gravy.

The answer was taco soup, a recipe I got from my Aunt Jan about a year ago. It’s a great one-pot dinner that involves very little prep work and clean up. It’s also totally delicious. I have yet to meet someone who has eaten it and been less than very pleased.

It also makes a pretty large volume of food, which makes it a good choice for football parties (if you’re tired of chili) or if you want to freeze half.

1 1/2 pounds lean ground beef (I use ground turkey)
1 onion, chopped
2 (10 oz) cans diced tomatoes with green chili peppers
1 (15 oz) can black beans, drained
1 (15 oz) can corn, drained
1 (1.25 oz) pkg taco seasoning mix
1 (1 ounce) pkg ranch dressing mix
1/4 Cup shredded cheddar cheese
1/4 Cup sour cream
1 1/2 cups water
Cilantro for garnish

In a Dutch oven, brown ground beef with chopped onion, stirring frequently. Once beef is browned drain grease from pan.

Add canned tomatoes, beans, corn, taco seasoning and ranch salad dressing mix. Mix well and let simmer over low heat for 2 hours. Add 1 to 2 cans of water to make soup the desired consistency. You can also use one can of beef broth and then add some water

Ladle into soup bowls and garnish with shredded cheese, sour cream and cilantro.

Read last week’s Sunday Dinner.

After seeing the Scott McFarland exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art a few weeks ago, I decided to learn more about the history of photography. Luckily for me, Geoff Dyer’s latest book, The Ongoing Moment, recently came out in paperback and is about just that.

The book looks at the entire history of photography, focusing mostly on pictures taken in the United States by Americans. Of course, since it’s a book by Geoff Dyer, it isn’t your normal dry study of the art - its fluid chapters focus on reoccurring images (hats, hands, signs, benches, backs, stairs, etc.) that tie noted photographers together (Alfred Stieglitz, Paul Strand, Walker Evans, Edward Weston, Dorothea Lange, Diane Arbus). The result is a somewhat successful look at how photographers have “conversed” not only through actual, physical meetings and relationships, but also through emulation and homage, whether conscious or unconscious.

The book is a great introductory for someone like me, who could only named one or two famous photographers and even then couldn’t tell you much about them ( like, “Ansel Adams likes mountains”). Dyer, who is isn’t so much an expert in photography as someone with a deep interest, doesn’t assume you know anything, and doesn’t try to teach you everything so much as to conduct closer studies about certain pictures or sets of pictures while quoting from various art critics and theorists.

Although I appreciated the book and learned a lot, though, it’s certainly not Dyer’s best work. Unlike Out of Sheer Rage and But Beautiful: A Book About Jazz, this effort is a bit drier and a bit less creative. Dyer mentions in his acknowledgments that his wife through this book didn’t have enough of him in it, and I agree - what has made his books unique (and so loved by me) is the integration of his journey researching the book with the final product - his discovery of the information and his own interest in the people behind the art he discusses makes him a truly different and innovative writer. The Ongoing Moment, though, is a more traditional approach, and, therefore, a bit harder to wade though.

There are moments when Dyer slips into his natural style - the chapters about Stieglitz, his wife Georgia O’Keefe, his protégé Strand, and Strand’s his wife Rebecca (who looked eerily like O’Keefe) are the best in the book. Through various nudes that the two photographers took of each other’s wives, Dyer illustrates the somewhat weird, somewhat touching love-square that the four shared (which finally ended with the two women abandoning their husbands for each other). It’s Dyer doing what he is best at - tying art to the personal lives of artists just as he ties may of his own books’ subjects to himself, the author. Especially after reading these chapters, the rest of the book left me wanting as much heart as I found with these four.

Still, it was a great way to learn some of the basics of American photography and some of the ideas and philosophies that surround and inspire it. It might also be an interesting read for someone who does know a lot about photography but is interested in the connections and conflicts between some of the better-known photographers over the last hundred or so years.

In the book, Dyer writes about how some photographs are more about  the subjects while others are more by  the photographer (is this photography more of  Queen Elizabeth or by  Cecil Beaton?). In The Ongoing Moment, I’ll say that it is more about photography than by Geoff Dyer. Personally, I’d rather read a book that is more by Geoff Dyer - Such as Out of Sheer Rage or his essays, Yoga for People who Can’t be Bothered to do it. Although I doubt I’d be more interested in a book about photography written by anyone else.

Read my review of Geoff Dyer’s But Beautiful 

If one thing has made me stop spending money on clothes, it’s been moving to New York City. In Montana, I would shop online for the newest trends, buy one or two things, and feel pretty plugged in and chic for a few years. I didn’t need a whole new wardrobe each season and I didn’t need to constantly be glancing around me to spot the next big thing.

But now, in the city, I see what a rat race fashion is. It’s expensive, to start. And most things go out of style faster than you can cut the tags off. Here, there are just plain too many women who care way more than me and who have trust funds. Think you’re the first person to be wearing these stupid boots? Sorry, but everyone already has them. Not only that, but they’ve already worn them once and donated them to the homeless, who quickly threw them into a trashcan fire.

But money and time aren’t the only two things keeping me from being the trendiest girl ever. I also have trouble with any piece of clothing that isn’t functional or comfortable. I’m not into really high heels or tube tops or synthetic fabrics - anything that doesn’t feel good or that I have to fiddle with or that doesn’t make much sense in the real world.

So you can imagine my horror at the newest trend that I’ve spotted around my workplace - in Madison Square Park, around Gramercy and Union Square. The short-sleeved coat.

I’ll let it sink in for a moment: the short-sleeved coat. A coat with short sleeves.

And they’re not light, breezy fun coats meant for spring or fall. They are thick wool double-breasted knee-length coats that, with the exception of their absence of sleeves, would keep someone warm in the coldest weather. I guess they’re cute in theory, but I don’t give a crap about theories when the wind starts ripping in from the East River and my arms are dumbly, fashionably exposed.

The only thing I like about these coats is, while the five-pounds-too-skinny, shop-out-of-boredom Fifth-Avenue short sleeve coat-wearers walk by, you can see in their faces that they are desperately trying to look plugged in and chic. But they just look miserably cold. And that makes me feel warm all over.

I must have been living under a rock this last week (or, more accurately, living with my face in a great book) because today was the first time I heard of the Kindle, the new “ebook” released by Amazon CEO Jeff Bezos. It’s the size of a paperback, it can download books off the net, among other reading-related functions, and it cost $399.

News of the thing is suddenly everywhere. Today, while talking on the phone with my mom and checking my email at the same time, she asked me what I thought about it at the same time that my dad emailed me wondering my reaction to it. Upon arriving home this evening to curl up with my (hardcopy of) Newsweek, Kindle was on its cover. I took the hint and read the article.

What do I think of Kindle? Well, first off, I find it kind of weird that it’s named after something that starts a fire (a non-ebook burning fire?). Secondly, I’m not sure what to think.

My first impulse is to push it away. I love books. I also love bookcases and bookmarks and bookstores and book lights and bookends. Aren’t they good enough as they are - that is, totally wonderful? Why would I want a piece of cold, buzzing technology in my hands instead of a soft, fluttering book, each with its own scent and texture and font?

My second thought was that this rejection of new things was exactly how I felt about other things that are now not so new: cell phones (if I want to call someone, I can do it at home!), laptops (it doesn’t feel like I’m using a computer!), DVD players (it’s a fad like laserdiscs!). Maybe I wasn’t giving Kindle a chance.

The most interesting part of the Newsweek article (which I recommend you read, in whatever form suits you) was a first-person account by Steven Levy of using the device to read a few books - a real world test run. There were some surprising pros that had me thinking a little differently: 1) Since Kindle connects to something called the wireless Whispernet, you can download books from wherever you want, whenever you want - no more getting stuck without a book 2) you can subscribe to newspapers and magazines for a fraction of the cost 3) you can search your books for keywords or passages and 4) unlike I would have guessed, the reading experience is pretty similar to reading a regular old book.

On the downside, it seems to have a few too many buttons and, like all devices of this kind and unlike regular old books, runs on a battery that has to be recharged every now and again. I guess the thing that bothers me a bit is that I don’t want people to try and make reading “easier” or “more fun” or “more like surfing the web”. I don’t want reading to become a victim of a gimmick or of trends (screens are everywhere - we should have screens instead of books!)

Really, though, I don’t want to be the old lady that gets left behind in the eDust. You know, the lady who refuses to use the self check out at the grocery store even though the line’s a lot shorter? Or the lady who I cannot, for the life of me, explain the concept of Netflix to? The Kindle could save students tons of money on textbooks for example. The Kindle could save trees. The Kindle could change more than how books are read, but how they are written.

What I’m getting at is that I can’t fathom my life without books - lying all over my apartment, weighing down my bag, dominating my Christmas list. But I also couldn’t fathom what the hell the internet was even ten years ago and now it’s an almost vital part of my life. One thing that I really love about my mother is that through her life she’s always embraced new gadgets - she tells us about her first ten-pound calculator, or how they saved to buy one of the first VCRs - the kind that loaded from the top. It’s an important part of life to be curious, learn new concepts, and accept change and innovation.

Let’s see how things go. It’s way too expensive right now, but I’m not going to shut the idea of the Kindle out. On one hand, I’m not convinced that Bezos has reinvented the printing press. On the other hand, I don’t want to be like that old lady in second century Rome who didn’t think anything could truly replace her precious scrolls.

You can read the Newsweek article in full here (due to the wonders of technology). 

In World War II England, 13-year-old Briony Tallis misinterprets her older sister’s love affair with their family’s gardener to be something much worse than what it is. Her innocence and partial understanding of the world begins a chain of events that tears the family apart and alters the course of the rest of the girl’s life.

Sounds a little dry, right? Wrong! I guess I forgot to mention that the book was written by Ian McEwan, the king of uncomfortable moments, weird sex stuff, the rotating third-person close perspective, and - I’ll say it! - writing about the human psyche. While I’ve found some of his earlier books to be a little too uncomfortable (or, rather, too uncomfortable without good reason) or a little too sexually deviant (again, in the way that it seemed for shock value rather than for a reason), this was a freaking masterpiece.  My definition of a masterpiece: I was jealous while reading it and cried while reading the last page.

I think the one thing that makes this book so wonderful is McEwan’s eerily accurate understanding of how a 13-year-old girl’s mind works - her understanding of the world and her emotional reaction to it. Briony is trapped between childhood and adulthood. She’s old enough to recognize the dark and startling behind-the-scenes facets of her proper British family’s life, but not old enough to properly analyze or judge them. She’s old enough to impose her will and her ideas on others, but not wise enough to know when to act or when to question herself. It’s a frustrating and fascinating (and uncomfortable) time, and he has it down pat.

McEwan also experiments with structure in ways that are truly innovative and new without being gimmicky. Briony is an aspiring writer who grows and develops her style throughout the 60 years that the novel covers, and McEwan’s novel mirrors her literary growth. Part One of the story is extremely traditional (broken into chapters, with a clear rotation of perspectives and a uniform chronology). Parts Two and Three are much more modern - the story, which switches gears to follow the gardener into WWII France and Briony to her experiences as a nurse in London, loses structure and fluidity and uses more modern storytelling techniques. Finally, the last section is utterly contemporary - the story becomes even more abstract, with unreliable narrators and more conceptual writing favored over simple narrative.

And yet these games with structure and story and perspective in no way take your focus from the story and the characters. Instead, they add to the experience of watching the main character grow and develop.

If the book suffers from anything, it might be a little slow in some places and move too fast in others. Since McEwan tends to be very thorough when it comes to interior thought, the story often slows down a bit more than it should so that he can explain how every single person felt about a certain moment in time (although the story spans 60 years, the first 200 pages span a single afternoon and evening). The slow story is a necessary evil, though, if we want to keep the detailed character studies in place. And we do. And the action-filled second half of the book, which covers the British retreat from the Germans in 1940 and the over-capacity army hospitals of London, makes up for the sometimes austere and rigorous first half. It just takes a while to get the story rolling.

Overall, if I were you, I’d get this book and read it over Thanksgiving break.

Read my review of Ian McEwen’s On Chesil Beach.

This recipe may at first look like a tacky casserole that you have to choke down at your great aunt’s house, a 1950s throwback hot dish that should have died along with plastic lawn ornaments and clear-cut gender roles. But it is not. Oh no. This is some sort of magical mixture of ordinary ingredients that come together to make something extraordinary.

If you’re looking at the ingredient list now and thinking to yourself that you would never, as a cook with self respect, ever make something that involves a can of condensed cream of mushroom soup and Miracle Whip, I again implore you to think again. My mother made this for us growing up (I’m not sure where she got the recipes) and it is the only meal from our childhood that me, my brother Mike, and my sister Rebecca, still make on a regular basis as adults - each with our special touches.

Not only that, but we have a joke among the three of us that when any one of us go through a breakup, the first time we hear back from our ex goes something like this: “Hi, I was just calling to see how you were… I hope that we can continue to talk even though things didn’t work out… by the way, do you have that recipe with the chicken and broccoli? I miss it. I miss it so much. I think about it all the time, it’s smell…”

I also like it because it’s pretty healthy - especially if you use low-fat ingredients and eat it over brown rice — and I almost always have all of the ingredients handy.

• 4 chicken breasts
• 1 crown of broccoli
• 2 cups chicken broth (reserved from boiling chicken)
• 1/3 cup of Miracle Whip (I use non-fat)
• 2 Teaspoons lemon juice
• Pepper to taste (I like a lot, it goes well with the lemon juice)
• 1 small can of sliced mushrooms
• 1/3 cup parmesan cheese
• 1/3 cup of breadcrumbs (I make my own by toasting and crumbling a few slices)
• cooked rice

Preheat your oven at 350 degrees.

Boil the chicken breasts until cooked through, about 15 minutes. While that’s cooking, cut the broccoli into bit-sized pieces and steam it until it is bright green (but not until it is floppy).

In a medium-sized bowl, whisk together the cream of mushroom soup, the Miracle Whip, the lemon juice, the mushrooms, and the pepper. When the chicken is done cooking, add two cups of the water to the mix.

Layer the chicken and broccoli in a large casserole dish. Pour the mushroom mixture over it. Sprinkle the breadcrumbs and cheese over the top. Cook in the oven for 30-40 minutes.

Serve over hot rice.

Read last week’s Sunday Dinner recipe.