The Elf King

Promise

For the first day of March, it's the first day in some time that I don't have to wear gloves. Lamb, for those keeping score.

Hate It

... when Metro passengers loudly switch to D.C.-speak early in the morning, before I am ready to hear it.

"We're ready to focus on ag for the time being." "I had a conversation with our stakeholders." "We're waiting to see what Lieberman is doing."

Our Home and Native Land

Watching the closing ceremonies, I just heard the farewell statement: "Thank you for learning the humble Canadian story." I think I didn't learn enough, because I don't know the story. Maybe the important part of the story is the fact that it is humble?

Things I did learn: Curling was invented in medieval Scotland; a large proportion of the early Canadian settlers were from Scotland; as a consequence of this historical backdrop, Canada can be thought of, in an important sense, as Scotland; Canada's national anthem is much better than our national anthem; the lyrics in the French version of "O Canada" are different than in the English version, as the song was originally in French and later revised in English, but not revised in the original; the French lyrics speak of "thy brow" (as in, Canada's brow) as "wreathed with a glorious garland of flowers"; and Canada, as sung in French, is "ready to carry the cross."

That is, to porter la croix: Ton histoire est une épopée des plus brillants exploits. Which means, relying on Wikipedia for translation: "Thy history is an epic of the most brilliant exploits."

Fragments

I'm warming up to Bolaño's poetry. "The Romantic Dogs," the title poem of a posthumous collection, sums up Bolaño more than anything I've found yet. Full poem, in Spanish, here. Excerpts below, omitting the line breaks because my interface is terrible, and with partial translations so you hear the vowels:

Back then, I'd reached the age of twenty, and I was crazy [estaba loco]. I'd lost a country, but won a dream [ganado un sueño].

He goes on to say that as long as he kept that dream (undefined), nothing else mattered. Not even "standing in the morning light, alongside the romantic dogs." 

I don't know what the romantic dogs are; more than likely a Chilean reference that has escaped me. The line, coupled with "in the morning light," makes me think of town squares in Central America where stray dogs always seem to congregate; little dogs, nonthreatening, but half-heartedly following you in search of food.

And the nightmare telling me: You will grow up. You'll leave behind the images of pain and of the labyrinth, and you'll forget. But back then, growing up would have been a crime. I'm here, I said, with the romantic dogs [estoy aquí, dije, con los perros románticos] , and here I'm going to stay.

Running Log

Wind makes running lonely.

Distance: 8 miles

Landscape: Frozen ponds, collapsed pines, fallen bamboo

Fauna: Lively bluejays

Another test

Posting from my mobile. It feels great here in 2006.

Test

In the End, It Tastes Like Brown Sugar

In rebellion against my Midwestern heritage, I rarely eat pork and almost never cook it. A recipe I found, however, was advertised as an "Iowa" pork sauce and I couldn't resist it. A very simple blend of pork and apple flavors, the only component that takes any time is the sauce. Use onions, carrots and about one part apple cider to three parts beef broth. I was told to use brandy, but I didn't have any and neither do most Iowans. Add peppercorns, bay leaf and other seasonings. Cook the stew for a couple of hours, thicken with starch, drain; with the leftovers, you have a vegetable stew. Meanwhile, grill or boil pork chops and cook apples on the stove in a blend of sugar and lemon. I don't know if it tastes like Iowa. My chief associations with the state are chicken, spaghetti and meatloaf.

Running Log

If the Washington region were a ski resort, now would be the mud season.

Distance: 8 miles, I think. The snow altered my route.

People: Cars swerving to avoid the snow, which has frightened them. Excitable dogs, children with snowballs in their hearts.

Fauna: On a street corner, the family of birds whose mother deliberately flew into my head last spring, several times in succession, to punish me for disturbing their peace.

Fish, Cats, Swords

This weekend (my birthday, Valentine's Day, Lunar New Year and Presidents Day) we went on an excursion to Georgetown. Considering how often I ever visit that neighborhood, it was like a vacation in an unfamiliar city, but quite all right -- we had fun watching the arrow that represented our bus inch along the street on the GPS map. So yes, we had dinner at Hook, a seafood restaurant that intrigued me because the menu changes  based on the availability of seasonal fish and vegetables. I tried something like sea bass, with lemon and rosemary. "The essential characteristic of sustainability is flexibility," says their website -- a statement that could be profound, if it's true. Sustainability, the way I have thought of it, on the contrary means being inflexible: following a rigid plan to conserve resources over time. If flexibility means finding creative ways to meet an abstract end decided in advance, this requires a subtle mental adjustment (for me) over how to think about plans, contingencies and chance. More on Hook: they have an award-winning pastry chef. There were tiny slices of crumbly bread that drove me to wild heights of pleasure.

Also this weekend, we saw a Synetic Theater production of Antony and Cleopatra. I'd recommend it, just as I'd recommend any Synetic dance interpretation of Shakespeare. They are some of the most exciting theater in D.C. Cleopatra's maid crawled under and around her like a cat, appropriately given the country represented; and the Roman senators wore identical masks that succeeded in turning them into political machines with no souls. Still, the scenes from Egypt could have been more invovled and deadent; they spent much of the beginning with a prologue that went back to the events of Julius Caesar, which allowed for a lot of acrobatic swordplay, but then reduced the available time to explore Antony and Cleopatra's romance. I'm not really sure why they liked each other, though it's possible Shakespeare wasn't either. In the finale, they reenact the Battle of Actium by swinging from ropes with their swords.

Return to Mead

As we prepare for the second historic snowstorm of the week, it's time to remember what's really important in life: Mulled wine. Tomorrow, I intend to raid wine stores, again (insofar as they are still open) to find a red wine that is good warm; one jam-flavored wine from southern Austria worked well in the previous blizzard. One thing I cannot find: Cardamom pods. The Indian and Pakistani grocery stores near me are only accessible by driving, which is impossible. I will thus have to make do with honey, cinnamon and cloves. I do love my cloves. One recipe I found suggested poking cloves into orange slices and throwing them into the wine, which seems a bit much. (A bit much, that is, with respect to the citrus flavoring, not the cloves).

Now, the mulled wine article on Wikipedia is perhaps in need of elaboration. Yes, it dutifully catalogs the different names for mulled wine in European countries: in German, glühwein, which is famous in the Christmas markets in Munich and Vienna. In Romania they call it vin fiert, and it is made using "red or white wine, sometimes adding peppercorn." In Latvia, is karstvīns, and is combined with a vodka mixture called Riga Black Balsam. In Scandinavia, of course it is glögg (Danish gløgg, Estonian glögi), and I'll get to that in a moment. So far, so good: Wikipedia has taken me on a trip around the world, just as it has many another time. But what if I wanted to have a Northern European costume party and serve gløgg out of one cauldron and glühwein in another? From this article, I would not be able to do it. There are no recipes, and no clarification of the essential differences between one variation and another. Gløgg is described as wine with cinnamon, cardamom, ginger, citrus and cloves, with spirits optionally thrown in. Glühwein is much the same thing: wine, cinnamon, vanilla, citrus and sugar ... with optional liquor. In Chile it appears they have navegado (from navigar, to navigate, not from Navidad), and the recipe is almost identical. 

Now, there are many varieties of human experience in which I am still untried. One thing that I have done, and more than once, is sample the Christmas wines of Europe. And I recall that there is a very pronounced distinction between glühwein and gløgg. If I had to guess, the gløgg sold in the street markets has schnapps and cognac added; the glühwein does not. I don't know. I am only the consumer. The Danes also add nuts and raisins to the drink and give you a spoon, so that by the end you're finishing a snack instead of a libation. Wikipedia says the Swedes serve glögg with gingerbread. My ... that sounds very good. Also, the Germans sometimes give you a mug that you have to return to the booth or else lose your cash deposit -- a very German way of doing things. The Danes seem to give out paper cups, mostly, which is very American. There is no difference that I noticed between the glühwein in Germany and that of Austria; having never been to Sweden, I don't know how closely they follow Denmark's method for brewing gløgg or glögg. (After staying in Denmark for two weeks, I still do not understand the difference between Denmark and Sweden. This troubles me.)

A cursory search through the Internet does not turn up any reliable cultural fault lines or consistent recipes; I simply found many variations of red wine (cheap, they stress,without too much oak) with alcohol added if you want it, and mixed with spices, citrus fruit or rinds, honey or sugar, and maybe some nuts and raisins. They note that you should not let it boil, which is true. And that you should heat it slowly for an hour to let it all settle in.

Snow

Yes, we had snow.

    

Whiteout

 

I would like to say (but would need to think about it further) that Americans need little excuse to prepare for a disaster, natural or otherwise; that we are more comfortable in a state of emergency than in the doldrums of routine. So a few years ago, we were told to use duct tape and plastic sheeting to protect ourselves from terrorism, and today we get instructions to "shelter in place" because it's going to snow this weekend. I say this because these disasters, so-called, keep on happening; multiple once-in-a-lifetime storms are now routine each year, and each time, no one could have predicted that it would happen again. ("No one could have predicted," incidentally, was George W. Bush's favorite phrase and would be the proper title for his next biography.)

With snowstorms every other week, and surely another crisis to follow once it gets warmer, it might be that we're living in a state of permanent emergency. It might even be (though I hesitate to say it) that we enjoy this state. And at the same time that we worry so much about snow, hurricanes, and war, we won't even take minimal steps to fund long-term preparedness for emergencies. We won't spend money or intellectual energy on public health, meaningful security or adaptation to climate change. What I'm saying is that the D.C. government could stand to buy more snowplows. In the meantime, we'll wait in line at the grocery store to buy toilet paper, which everyone seems to need all of a sudden. The above photo is the pastry shelf at Whole Foods. 

Running Log

I'm running a marathon this year. I don't know where or when.

Distance: 6 miles

Weather: Sun reflecting on white lawns

People: Cars moving very, very slowly, so as not to anger the snow 

Creative Response Concepts

There's been way too much good news these days when it comes to American politics. That's why I thought it worth mentioning, via Kate Sheppard, that Creative Response Concepts, the PR firm behind Swift Boat Veterans for Truth, has started some kind of climate change campaign.

Half-Pleasures

Snow. We hate snow in Washington because nobody knows how to drive in it, nor do homeowners understand they are expected to shovel it. Snow buries us in a soft avalanche and we can't move, more or less. It is only good for making the windows of coffeeshops picturesque while people sip their hot chocolate (and in many establishments around here the hot chocolates are made very well, the milk well-heated and an integral bubbling part of the whole) and they play on their laptops, or read Murakami, or complain they will never be able to rent out their two-bedroom condos for a fee sufficient to cover the mortgage; therefore, they will only watch their properties decline in value, and they will never move, ever.

Stew. I made beef stew today (thanks again, Julia Child) to celebrate the winter. In the spirit of the winter, I didn't attempt to add any fresh herbs, just pepper and an oignon pique. Once reduced sufficiently, the sauce was poignant enough to make the potatoes and root vegetables intense and satisfying.  

Outside World

I had a little free time on my last day in Copenhagen and decided to ride the train north of the city. I wish I could say I had a destination in mind, but I just needed to rest and thought I would find a train more restful than a room. This is the castle from Hamlet in Helsingør (Elsinore), behind the construction. I didn't go in, but maybe you can see ghosts on the ramparts.

The layout of the town is not unlike a Mediterranean beach village where one can wander the cobblestone streets in search of a cappuccino and a trinket, except it was cold, and I wasn't in the mood for anything but a quick smørrebrød. Like in Copenhagen, they have a Ferris Wheel.

Snow-covered woods and fields, which I gather is not a regular sight in Denmark, on the train ride back.

From the tracks:

Back in the city, a wind farm in the Øresund.

      

Uncertainty, and Why It's Hard to Talk About

Turning again to Haiti, a place where I am sure they would love to have the luxury of a debate about how much health insurance should or should not be subsidized: It's admirable that the news outlets, TV included, have kept this at the top of the headlines for a week. But I have a thought experiment. What if someone had tried to report about Haiti before the earthquake happened? 

Imagine if there had been a report on CNN two years ago, for example, about daily life in Haiti. (I am confident that prior to the earthquake, there were approximately zero CNN reports on Haiti in the past few years.) Perhaps this imaginary report could have even included the latest scientific predictions that an earthquake in Haiti was possible. Why not? Americans wouldn't care? Predicting the future isn't what the news is all about? True, they would have needed a creative approach to what are dry topics on the face of it (sociology and seismology), but that's supposed to be part of the fun.

But projections, in general, are not something we're good at talking about through our usual methods of communication. We aren't good at it, even though so much depends on our ability to make educated guesses about what could happen a few years later. The likely pathways of an infectious disease, for example, and how to prevent it; or whether an economic bubble will or will not burst; or climate science, or the likelihood of natural disasters. A few things we do enjoy predicting, it seems; like whether or not this or that party will retake this or that branch of government next year. Likewise for stocks and sports. We seem to find these things endlessly fascinating.

"This is My Truck"

An actual line from a Scott Brown campaign ad, as quoted here, in what I can say, without exaggeration, is the most masterful Jon Stewart performance I have ever seen.

Places To Go

Once again, the people have spoken, and once again the people have said they would like to be governed by Republicans. That is nice, but it is increasingly clear that Republicanism (if that's a word) is the permanent de facto governing philosophy of the United States. For those of you who are Republicans, congratulations; I wish you many years of happiness living with the consequences of your ideas and actions. For those who are not Republicans, or even those who are thinking about trying something new, the real question is about where we are going to move. I don't think Canada will work. Outside of major cities they can be just as conservative (i.e., Republican) as we are, and the oil sands of Alberta mean their energy policies are worse than in the United States. Scandinavia seems pleasant, but somewhat insular (at least from my experience in Denmark) and not as multicultural as I would prefer, and in winter, except for the salmon and herring, the food is not fresh. It would be a worthy adventure to go to Argentina, El Salvador, Ethiopia, China, or any number of other developing economies, but the purpose of this exercise is to find a place where one's own beliefs are in accord with the governing philosophy of the majority. There is Germany, but I still have a grudge against the entire country because of the Frankfurt airport. And anyway, they don't have a beach. Eliminating all other countries that are either too conservative or too dysfunctional, I suppose that leaves Spain and France. Don't tell me to go to Japan. I couldn't handle it. I confess to not having a complete grasp of French politics and culture, and their lack of anything like a first amendment leaves me wary, but on the other hand, I just saw on the news that they are trying to institute a quota system to require that women constitute a certain percentage of the workplace. Or some particular workplace, or a government agency; I wasn't clear on the details. Anyhow, what an outlandish idea that is. If I lived in France, I would probably be a conservative Republican. In Spain, gay marriage is legal, but the economy is even worse than in other places (or so I hear) and jellyfish are overrunning the Mediterranean. But we can't have everything.