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Showing posts with the label Andrew

Onions

A work in progress.

In a rice cooker, combine:

Yellow onions, peeled, 2
Water, 2/3 cup
Butter, 1 tbsp
Pasta (e.g., bowtie), 2–3 oz
Meat: bacon, 1–2 oz; tuna, canned, 5 oz; leftover fried chicken; or what have you
Seasoning: oregano, cayenne pepper, mustard, what have you

The goal is to end up with tender, buttery, whole onions. Their layers should slide off each other at the touch of a fork. They should be slurpable.

The pasta adds calories and soaks up water. Some of it gets seared to the bottom of the pot (especially if it’s cooked with tuna). I like this.

But sometimes I eat the onions over toast instead.

Karin can’t stand onions, so when I cook this dish, I open the windows and turn on the ceiling fan.

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Speed Is NOT a Die Hard Clone!” says my friend Andrew.


Turns out, Die Hard is basically just 12 Angry Men. An “everyman” vanquishes foes one at a time in a contained space.

This invites us to consider other riffs on the 12 Angry Men plot. (Actually, they precede 12 Angry Men.) (1) And Then There Were None. Murderers on an island get their comeuppance one at a time. The difference: there’s no “everyman”; the avenger is unknown. From this comes the “slasher” genre. (2) The Man Who Was Thursday. Anarchists are brought over to the side of law and order, one at a time. The difference: the location isn’t contained; the action spills over into several countries.

Those precedents are from the same century. What older ones might there be? Making this or that allowance, we might consider such questers as Jack the Giant Killer, and then Herakles, Odysseus, Beowulf, and Sinbad. Perhaps this would be straying too far.

The defining limitation appears to be how contained the setting is. 12 Angry Men has all the others soundly beaten along this dimension.

As for overcoming foes: in Kind Hearts and Coronets, an “everyman” bumps off, one by one, heirs to a coveted inheritance. If Thursday is kind-hearted and redemptive, KH&C is deathly cynical. You can support contrasting morals on the same frame.

I said Thursday’s setting isn’t contained, but, in a sense, it is: all the foes are together in an early scene, eating breakfast on the same veranda. And maybe spatial containment is just the most obvious kind. What matters is that there are foes one is given, as opposed to foes one seeks out. In 12 Angry Men, givenness is visceral because the foes are all in the same room, all story long. But there are other ways of depicting this. Foes can all show up for the same meal, or in the same family tree.

The best players, manager, referee, goal, and game of this World Cup

Check out my friend Andrew’s YouTube channel, “This Was a Movie”: “An ongoing series of overly-elaborate film essays focusing on peculiar films on the bizarre periphery of film history.”

The channel won’t just review horror movies, Andrew assures me.

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All rightie! This is my list. My First XI are italicized.

Goalkeepers: Bounou (Morocco), Livaković (Croatia), Szczęsny (Poland).

Left-sided defenders: Estupiñán (Ecuador), Théo Hernandez (France), Mazraoui (Morocco).

Right-sided defenders: Dumfries (Netherlands), Hakimi (Morocco), Molina (Argentina).

Central defenders: El Yemiq (Morocco), Gvardiol (Croatia), Otamendi (Argentina), Saïss (Morocco).

Defensive midfielders: Brozović (Croatia), Casemiro (Brazil), Kovačić (Croatia), Tchouaméni (France).

Attacking midfielders: Gapko (Netherlands), Griezmann (France).

“Mixed-use” midfielders: Amrabat (Morocco), Idrissa Gueye (Senegal), Leckie (Australia), Modrić (Croatia), Valverde (Uruguay).

Left-sided forwards: Mbappé (France), Perišić (Croatia).

Right-sided forwards: Álvarez (Argentina), Saka (England).

Central forwards: Giroud (France), Messi (Argentina).

Yes, I realize I’ve listed thirty players even though a roster is supposed to have just twenty-six. Feel free to draw four of the non-italicized players out of a hat and demote them to “alternate player” status.

Meanwhile, I’d like to add two more alternates: Aboubakar (central forward, Cameroon) and Méndez (defensive midfielder, Ecuador). They were flawless, except that they earned suspensions for accumulating yellow cards; Aboubakar accumulated two in the same match.

Not to be too patriotic, but I really don’t think that anyone apart from Hernandez and Mazraoui was a better left fullback than Estupiñán, even though he only played in three games and his third game was a letdown. (I chalk that performance up to a faulty tactical scheme.)

Besides, he was robbed of a goal.


Most valuable player: Messi.

Best-all-around player: Modrić.

Outstanding young player: Bellingham (England), with 19 years. One could make a case for Gvardiol, who is only 20 (almost 21).

Outstanding old player: Pepe (Portugal), with 39 years; he is of the immortals.

Best managers: Dalić (Croatia) and Regragui (Morocco).

Best referee: On the whole, I was most satisfied with Wilton Sampaio of Brazil. Szymon Marciniak, of Poland, will take charge of the final; he, too, is deserving.

Best goal: There were lots of excellent short-range goals in this tournament. Brazil seemed to specialize in them. But I suppose the best one was Argentina’s third goal against Croatia, scored by Álvarez and assisted by Messi.

Best game: Brazil vs. Croatia (quarterfinal).

Bonus award – best commentator: I watched on Telemundo/Peacock. My favorite commentator was the Uruguayan Sebastián “El Loco” Abreu.

The happiness before the sadness

I’m halfway through, and keenly absorbed in, H.W. Brands’s Dreams of El Dorado: A History of the American West, a “distressed” copy of which I found at Barnes & Noble.

How does one survey such a broad topic?

The chapters are built around vignettes. In one chapter, the fur trapper Joseph Meek hides himself from a grizzly bear, under a blanket. Then he hides in the shrubbery while Crow Indians disembowel another fur trapper.

Later in the book, Meek leaves his daughter in the care of the missionaries Marcus and Narcissa Whitman. The Whitmans are killed by Cayuse. Some other youngsters, the Sagers, die with them. I remember these children from the 1974 “family Western” Seven Alone.
In 1843, the Sager family was traveling from Missouri to Oregon. Along the way, the parents died, leaving the seven children to fend for themselves in the wilderness. This movie documents the miraculous and heartwarming story of survival, which has now entered the realm of Oregon legend.
As I recall, the movie never mentions that the children were doomed to be caught up in the massacre of the Whitmans.

The Indians blame the Whitmans for spreading diseases. Other pioneers are downright murderous. Violence and greed are the two great themes of this book. I expect that, in future chapters, these themes will be pitted against, or at least invoked to darken, Frederick Jackson Turner’s Frontier Thesis, the subject of an “independent study” course I took in college. (Turner’s long book is here; some commentary on his Frontier Thesis is here.)

I am all for studying grand historical themes. I have less enthusiasm for grand historical theses. I, personally, subscribe to just one grand historical thesis, which is captured in an exchange at church between my old collegemates Andrew and Joel.

Andrew: Your child seems happy enough right now.

Joel: This is just the happiness before the sadness.

Andrew: But isn’t all happiness the happiness before the sadness.

(Case in point: the Sager children.)

Actually, because I am a Christian, I think this grand historical thesis is false; but my thesis that this thesis is false is a theological thesis, not an historical one.

Football in español and inglés

Yesterday, Karin & I got COVID-19 booster shots, and I got a flu shot. I feel ill. I slept poorly last night. Both of my shoulders are sore, and it hurts to lie in bed.

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I turned on NBC to watch the Chiefs-Steelers game. The commercials’ sound and picture were unsynched, and when the game appeared the commentary was in Spanish. What was going on? Was this broadcast meant for Telemundo?

Not that I minded. I’ve listened to Spanish NFL commentary plenty of times. I’m always delighted by the subtle terminological differences: for example, the term for a false start is falsa salida.

I also enjoy the cultural differences, which are rather more conspicuous. The Chiefs fans were doing “The Chop,” and the commentators were (unironically) like, Qué lindo ambiente, what a lovely atmosphere.

Sometimes the TV would show Chris Collinsworth and Al Michaels of NBC speaking on mute while the Mexicans talked over them. I think the Mexican play-by-play guy might actually be better than Michaels.

The best commentators had just finished calling the 49ers-Cowboys game on CBS. Tony Romo knows what he’s talking about, and he says it promptly and without fussing; and because he’s so quick, he says a lot. It spills out of him good-naturedly. He wears his learning lightly, as the late John Madden did (besides, he sounds like my friend Andrew). And Jim Nantz, Romo’s play-by-play man, is appropriately artless, not as incisive as the late Pat Summerall but pleasingly self-effacing.

Nantz, before a fourth-quarter, third-down play: “Is this the play of the game, Tony?”

Romo: “Yeah. It is. But there will be, like, four more of them after this one.”

Turns out, he was right; his feel for the pace is dead-on. It’s as if he were still quarterbacking. His precision is a joy to listen to; no other commentator is nearly as good in this way.

Our trip to the east, pt. 2

The plan for tomorrow is for Karin to see Downtown Ithaca, where I used to live. Today, we’ll explore Cornell’s campus and its environs.

Our hosts of last night and tonight are my advisor and his wife.

Yesterday, we arrived in Ithaca after an arduous drive from Brooklyn, where we spent a night with our friend, Andrew, and his wife, Tanya. It was Karin’s first visit to New York City. She was delighted to view Times Square – and the subway rats. She was less delighted with the drivers, who’d ruthlessly cut her off or park their cars in the middle of the road and walk away. On our return to Ithaca, we were on the FDR (the expressway along the east of Manhattan) when an accident halted traffic. We decided to make our way through Manhattan to glimpse Central Park. Two consecutive wrong turns put us onto the Queensborough Bridge, and so Karin got to view that part of New York instead. We made our way up through Queens and the Bronx to the George Washington Bridge, which sped us through to New Jersey. It’d taken us two hours just to leave New York City.

But, as I said, we’re back in Ithaca, where the pace of life is much slower – but still not as slow for most inhabitants as for the Salvationists.

On Sunday, we had joined my old Corps for a lakeside picnic and a performance by the brass band.

We’ll return to my Salvationist friends tomorrow night.

Some advice concerning children

Xanga still hasn’t expelled me. Come on, Xanga! I’m weary of the suspense.

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Some good news: the English Department at IU South Bend is hiring me to teach first-year composition. Unexpectedly, I’m even being offered two class sections. So after a year outside of the classroom I’ll be teaching more students than ever, and in a new discipline.

This job should make me a lot better at teaching writing. At Cornell I taught writing-intensive philosophy courses, but this course at IU is pretty much only about writing.

I’m excited.

Credit goes to my buddy Andrew for encouraging me to apply and for agreeing to be my faculty mentor.

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One more thing: it’s been fourteen days since I was last in the church nursery, watching the little kids during their mothers’ weekly prayer meeting. I miss those kids. It took about a month for them to decide that they could have fun with me, but as soon as they did, it was a hoot. The breakthrough came when I pretended to throw up. Everybody, if you want children to like you, just pretend to throw up.

I expect to use this tactic in my courses at IU.