Friday Cat Blogging: Mogley Gets an Elizabethan Collar

Mogley Gets an Elizabethan Collar, Mount Pleasant, Washington, D.C., 31 October 2007

S. is very protective of Mogley. When we’ve gone away for any length, she has put together a package of information about his medical history and the location of the emergency veterinarian and whatnot. She sends an e-mail to the cat-sitter about precautions to observe while watching him that is so detailed and imaginative that one friend commented that is seems like we are on suicide watch with the cat.

So it figures that when S. went to Ontario for a client visit last week, Mogley had been left in my exclusive care for all of one day when he went and injured himself. He was fine when I got home, but while I was ignoring him to his wild chagrin, he put on his usual show of running up and down the hall like a maniac. When next I looked at him, he was missing a pencil eraser-sized patch of fur on his face and had grown a red knot where the fur was missing. I presumed this was some sort of blunt-force injury from an uncontrolled turnabout at one end of the hall.

After a few days in which the spot wasn’t healing, but seemed to be getting worse, it was off to the vet for Mogley. I joked that he was going to get one of those lampshades around his neck to prevent animals from chewing and low and behold, here he is with what I learned is called an Elizabethan collar. His is more like a martini glass. I am tempted to throw a few skewered olives in with his head.

And 3M sure manufacturers an eclectic range of products. Who knew Elizabethan collars were among them?

It was funny at first, but the vet had warned S. that it was going to be difficult to keep the collar on him. They didn’t say why. It turns out that he has sunk into a serious deep blue funk. In addition to preventing him from rubbing his wound, the collar prevents him from taking a cat bath so he is despondent and has taken to licking the inside of the collar as a substitute. His fur has started to get shabby and he has acquired a distinct odor. He slinks around like a decrepit elderly cat and whenever he tries to do something athletic like his usual sprightly self, the collar invariably catches on something making his stunt go awry.

He has no idea of the world of human intentions and designs, hence no idea that this is temporary and for his own good. He thinks this is his life now and it’s like one of the rings of hell (OCD ass lickers dawn an Elizabethan collar for all of eternity).

As much as I like a pet that looks like a cocktail, I can’t wait to take it off him.

Book Catalog Geek-Out

Cataloging my books on LibraryThing, Washington, D.C., 28 September 2007

S. bought me a lifetime membership to LibraryThing and I found that scanning books into a web database is the perfect distraction from sleep at 2:00 in the morning on a work night. Whenever I had a few minutes I would pull a cubby off the shelf and scan maybe a dozen books at a time. It took a few weeks like this, but soon enough I had the entire collection in.

Now if only LibraryThing had a tool to run off Dewey decimal number labels.

Here is my collection. It presently stands at 800 volumes. I dread having to move out of my basement apartment. The new place will undoubtedly be a third-floor walk-up and a studio to boot.

If any reader with a particularly large collection decides to catalog their books too, I highly recommend the CueCat barcode scanner. It’s cheep, ships quickly and turned a job that could have taken months into one that was only like two weeks of a few minutes each night.

Anyway, here’s a picture with most of the back side of the bookshelf to the right still stacked around my PC. It’s also the station where one third of the magic here at This Is Not A Dinner Party happens.

Friday Cat Blogging: Mogley Loves Bread

18 October 2007, Mogli bellying up to the bread

It’s been a sleepless week of some rather arduous posts as well as a long time since the last Friday Cat Blogging. So here is a little Friday frivolousness.

Kitty is almost entirely indifferent to human food — eating it at least: if it stinks, he will try to bury it. The one exception, oddly enough, is bread. For some reason he is fanatical about the stuff. He pricks up when it goes out on the table and will launch round after round of attack on a baguette.

And it’s not some unknown factor: he wants to eat it. If I pinch off a bunch of buds of bread and lay them out for him, he eagerly chews them down as best a pure carnivore’s fangs will allow.

Here he is at last night’s dinner, bellying up to the bread basket like his claim to its content was legitimate and going to go down unharried.

Disparaging Comparisons Between Washington, D.C. and New York

16 September 2007, the Financial District from the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway

Every visit I make to New York is a painful reminder what a grim and slender existence one leads living in Washington, D.C. For some time now two large comparisons have been part of my usual refrain.

  • The people in New York are so much more interesting and varied than in D.C. In Washington, D.C. it seems as if there is one perfect model and everyone is judged according to how closely they can approximate that one right way to be. To be fashionable in D.C. is about conformity. In New York everyone is struggling to differentiate themselves and people are judged by how unique they are. Every aspect of personae and identity is part of the pallet (though beyond one’s creative control, most unusual or inscrutable combination of ethnic background is in play).

  • People talk about a New York minute: everything in New York is so fast paced. But when I’m in New York I feel like I may as well be in Paris. New Yorkers understand joie de vivre. They do it in enough ways that it would be difficult to catalog. People take time to enjoy themselves. Everywhere you go there are little cafés where people are having a leisurely meal and talking with a friend or watching the crowds pass. Kitchens are small so food is most commonly very basic, focusing on quality of ingredients rather than labor in preparation. People lavish a lot of attention on their animals and are almost universally excited about the pets of others. The city may be gigantic, but the neighborhoods are small and everywhere you go there are meetings, planned and accidental and people talking. Everyone has an avocation to which they are very devoted.

A few other observations about New York and D.C.:

  • New York is a city with a staggering number of restaurants. On Saturday night S. and I were out wandering and decided that we wanted some Italian food. We simply wandered, confident that in a short time we would stumble upon exactly what we wanted. And in a few blocks we came to a tiny Italian place with tile floors, dark walls, little tables, a cramped bar half-way back surrounded by about a dozen older male waiters in white shirts and black ties running in every direction. The food was unpretentious, but quality. There are probably so many restaurants like that in New York than one couldn’t locate them all without the aid of technology. In Washington, D.C. there are maybe three or four such restaurants and they may be a dying breed (I’m thinking Giovanni’s Trattu on Jefferson Place or Trattoria Italiano in Woodly Park). Probably just the number of new restaurants that open and old restaurants that go out of business in New York exceeds the total number or restaurants in the entire District of Columbia.

  • While I was away for the weekend, Matthew Yglesias made an exuberant post about a new place in town serving late night breakfast (“Late Night Late Night Breakfast Blogging,” 16 September 2007). This is indeed a very big deal in D.C. To date, just about the only place in the city where breakfast was available at any time other than breakfast time was The Dinner. In fact, just about the only place that anything was available late — or at least later than the post-last-call places on bar rows — was again, The Dinner. This is unbelievable in a major city. In New York, as is well known, the opening or closing of such a place is a nonevent, so common are such places. And in New York they all deliver with a $5.00 minimum order. In D.C. the standard minimum for delivery is $20.00.

  • Both New York and Washington, D.C. are noisy cities. I find that increasingly I like the noise of New York. It is the noise of life and work: delivery trucks dropping things off, garbage trucks taking things away, crowds of people. In Washington, D.C. the noise is that of the delusions of the national security state: police sirens, emergency vehicles rushing around from one nonevent to the next, convoys for VIPs.

  • It’s amusing the degree to which New Yorkers match their city. New York is crumbling and second hand. So are a surprising number of its residents.

  • For months now I have been wanting to get to Mark Israel’s Doughnut Plant. Their signature, the Tres Leche, is indeed one dope-ass doughnut! When I walked up, there was a “back in five minutes” sign up in the window and a small crowd gathered around outside waiting. The store is completely inauspicious, consisting of just a little counter and a window back to the kitchen and some storage overflow, but if you find yourself in the Lower East Side it is definitely worth a jaunt.

Starry Night

The Reigning Queen of Everything, Starry Night, 13 September 2007, 216 Franklin Street, Greenpoint, New York

I probably won’t be making any posts over the weekend as I will be up in New York for the opening of a friend’s burlesque / variety show.

In case any New Yorkers stumble across this page, the show is on Thursday, 13 September 2007 at 9:00 PM at the East Coast Aliens’ Studio at 216 Franklin Street in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. Tickets are $12.00 at the door. After the first show, there will be a new lineup every month for the next six months.

A Root Extravaganza

5 September 2007, crockpot root extravaganza

Something that has been on my list for the longest time is a crockpot. I have been fantasizing about being able to come home, chop up a bunch of vegetables, throw them in a pot, and put the pot in the refrigerator. Then, before leaving for work the next morning, put it on low, leave for ten or twelve hours and come home to hot, stewey goodness.

5 September 2007, crockpot Mediterranean stew with squash

Anyway, S. and I finally picked one up this weekend. Yesterday it was Mediterranean stew with yams, tonight it’s Mediterranean stew again, substitute squash for yams (pictured above). The best will be in a few days though. I’ve never eaten a turnip before and have been dieing to try one for months now, but been at a loss as to what to do with one (is it like a giant radish, or is it more like a potato?). Anyway, next up on the crockpot experiment schedule is root extravaganza: turnips, rutabagas, beets, parsnips, carrots, potatoes, leeks and onions. Throw ’em in a pot and cook em’ up, yum!

The model we bought even comes with a canvas tote bag so next time MoveOn hosts a meeting of the neighborhood activists or we volunteer at the retirement community we will be all ready to go. Now if only they would make a combo bag for both the crockpot and my yoga mat so that I could go strait from yoga class to whatever volunteer opportunity / activist get-together I had in store, it would be perfect.

Before I leave the subject of the crockpot, a word of defense regarding structure food versus smash food is in order. Structure food is all the stuff that you see on the cooking shows: a tremendous amount of energy is given over to fussing at how all the different little pieces and individual flavors are arranged and laid out in often elaborate designs on the plate. Then there’s smash food. Smash food is where everything is just jumbled together in one admixture of flavor. The quintessential smash foods are all lowbrow. Nachos, burritos, Italian food, breakfast foods are all perfect examples. For a greasy spoon breakfast you take your egg and hash browns and run them all together and use the toast like an extra utensil to fork it all down. Even eggs Florentine is smash food masquerading as structure food. I mean, come on, the poached egg yokes and the hollandaise sauce are calling out to be all stirred around and mopped up with the English muffin.

The Post-August Assault on the Media Budget

August is the slow month in the publishing industry. Everyone goes away on vacation and isn’t thinking about reading, so to help the first week sales figures, publishers don’t release titles in August. Being forward-looking in my book buying, I can see that September and October are make-up months and are going to decimate my book buying budget.

In economics there is the already much talked about and guaranteed to make waves title by U.C. Davis Economics Department Chairman Gregory Clark, A Farewell to Alms: A Brief Economic History of the World. Oddly enough, Mr. Clark has chosen a completely general sounding title for what is, in fact, a highly polemical and specialist book. For a taste of the controversy, see the New York Times article on the book (Wade, Nicholas, “In Dusty Archives, a Theory of Affluence,” 7 August 2007). Seemingly just in time for the next economic crisis is Robert Bruner and Sean Carr’s book, The Panic of 1907. In the immense shadow of the Great Depression no one thinks about all the lesser economic crises that preceded it, but as Bruner and Carr argue, the crisis of 1907 was really a watershed. It would, among other things, play a part in bringing about the Federal Reserve six years later in 1913. Robert Reich, one of my favorite writers, has his latest offering, Supercapitalism: The Transformation of Business, Democracy, and Everyday Life out. The cleaver cover is a dollar sign with a forked tongue. His thesis is previewed in the current issue of Foreign Policy (“How Capitalism Is Killing Democracy,” September / October 2007, pp. 38-42). The barn burner this month will undoubtedly be Alan Greenspan’s The Age of Turbulence: Adventures in a New World (due out 17 September 2007). As I previously observed (“Alan Greenspan’s Memoir,” smarties, 6 July 2007), while the title may be accurate, it is, to me, still a little off.

In history I seem to have developed a fixation on the Soviet Union and the Cold War. First is the most recent after some time without, a book on the origin of it all, Evan Mawdsley’s The Russian Civil War. Jumping ahead to the crucible of the century is a book, the title of which does not do justice to the controversial rampage beneath its covers, Norman Davies’s No Simple Victory: World War II in Europe, 1939-1945. To get a flavor for his book, one may consult Benjamin Schwarz’s paragraphs devoted to in his review, “Stalin’s Gift” (The Atlantic Monthly, May 2007). Mr. Davis is an iconoclast come to raise the American mythos, a la Stephen Ambrose, of the Second World War as the good war, to show in fact that it was really a war in which one totalitarian dictator, Joseph Stalin, crushed another, Adolph Hitler, under the sheer weight of men and machines. On the Eastern Front 400 Soviet and German divisions squared off along a thousand mile frontier. There Germany would sustain 80 percent of its war casualties. By comparison, the Western Front, were 15 U.S. and U.K. divisions faced 15 German divisions, was little more than a harassing operation. The battle of Kursk remains the largest armor battle in history and saw the most deadly single day of aerial combat. Mr. Davis sets himself to exploding such myths of the Second World War. Less polemical, Benjamin Schwarz recommended the more scrupulously historical Thunder in the East: The Nazi-Soviet War, 1941-1945 by Evan Mawdsley. But he warned that in the deluge of books on the Eastern Front, even the latest research has “already been overtaken by new sources.” One such book will, I presume, be Chris Bellamy’s Absolute War: Soviet Russia in the Second World War.

Moving on in history, one of the most prominent Cold War historians, Melvyn Leffler has a new title coming out, For the Soul of Mankind: The United States, the Soviet Union, and the Cold War. It’s another that keeps up the theme of titles not really adequately descriptive of the content. It sounds as if Mr. Leffler’s book might be about the ideological struggle between the West and Communism or about the contending views of human nature, but it is instead a book about five occasions when either side contemplated winding down the Cold War. Though he was killed in an automobile accident in April, what David Halberstam considered to be his finest book, The Coldest Winter: America and the Korean War will be published posthumously on 25 September 2007. Most significantly for me is volume three of what Richard Rhodes is now calling his Making of the Nuclear Age trilogy, Arsenals of Folly: The Making of the Nuclear Arms Race, about what is perhaps my favorite single subject.

But this monomania is all inadvertent and I remain on the lookout for broader histories. Also on the list are the longer histories of Rome and Jerusalem: The Clash of Ancient Civilizations by Martin Goodman and The Great Arab Conquests: How the Spread of Islam Changed the World We Live in by Hugh Kennedy. Mr. Goodman has edited both The Journal of Roman Studies and The Journal of Jewish Studies and has been a professor of both Roman and Jewish studies at Oxford so I presume that he is uniquely positioned to do justice to the difficult subject of the clash of Rome and Jerusalem.

In philosophy and intellectual history is Charles Taylor’s A Secular Age which will hopefully be the first title for the book group on this blog and E.M. Cioran’s Notebooks, translated by Richard Howard who has done so much for Cioran’s English language readers. It’s been given a new release date of 3 October 2007 which will hopefully be met as publication has been delayed since, I think, 2005.

Finally, in the snark department, I am eagerly awaiting Stephen Colbert’s I Am America (And So Can You!).

Taken together that’s 7500 pages and $475 (sans tax) of book. Fortunately I only ever really peck at a book so at least the pages shouldn’t be too much of a problem, but the money remains another issue. I just have to shrug my shoulders and confess to a hopeless case of bibliophilia. At least it’s pulp and not poppies.

Back from Seattle

29 July 2007, Seattle

I haven’t posted in a while as I’ve been visiting my family in the Northwest. It’s 10:00 in the morning here. S. and I took a red-eye back from Seattle and have been in airports, planes and airport shuttles since 10:00 PM Pacific time last night (eight hours). I will resume regular posting shortly, but first about ten hours of sleep.

And yes, it did rain while we were there.

Plymouth is Back!

Plymouth English Gin, the original and the redesigned bottles

I learned to drink from four people: my parents and two college fiends, Bill and Mariella. I say that I learned to drink from them because upon reflection, I am frequently impressed at the gems of booze-related insight that I have taken from these four. One evening, while over at Bill and Mariella’s place, the drink on offer was Gordon’s Gin in the one gallon plastic easy pour bottle. I sniffed: “Gordon’s is some pretty bad stuff.” Bill remonstrated with glee, “Bad gin? What are you talking about? They don’t make bad gin.” This is one of those peaces of alky wisdom that I have carried with me since.

But while they don’t make bad gin, not all gin is equal. And so at the beginning of May the New York Times ran a review of gins (Asimov, Eric, “No, Really, It Was Tough: 4 People, 80 Martinis,” 2 May 2007), and despite my concern that the over-excited pretension of a New York Times food review might sour one of my affections, I pressed on and found the article interesting and useful. Unfortunately the useful went catastrophically awry.

I have been in something of a gin doldrum lately. I now blame this on the fact that I have stuck too loyally with Bombay Sapphire. While a complex and flavorful gin, it is also powerful, sharp and nearly overcome by its alcohol. It’s great for a gin and tonic, too busy to blend well in a martini and I have recoiled from it on the rocks. With the New York Times article marked up and in hand I stopped in my neighborhood liquor store looking for what the tasting panel selected as their number one, Plymouth English Gin.

I have to say, I have been amazed at how good the Plymouth is. It really is a perfect, well balanced gin with the canonical amount of juniper. I can’t remember the last time I polished off a bottle of liquor so quickly — no, really, I can’t remember. A week later I was back for another bottle — in college I could have dusted it in a night or two, but I’m not so resilient or stupid anymore. At the end of week two I was back for a third bottle. This time the clerk told me that he only had two left and couldn’t get any more. It turns out that I am not the only person who reads the New York Times and distilling a gin isn’t something that can be done over night. There had been a run on Plymouth and the distillery was rushing to catch up. I took two and the next day at lunch went to the liquor store near my office and snapped up a few more for a store to carry me through the lean season.

My supply was dwindling and I was beginning to get nervous and eye the shallow gin row every time I opened the liquor cabinet and ration my intake. This week I stopped by previously mentioned neighborhood liquor store to pick up a bottle of wine to accompany the dinner-directed bag of groceries in hand. While being rung up I got a premonition and circled back to the end of the counter where the gins are massed and there was a suspicious looking familiar bottle. “What is that square bottle right there?” I inquired. Despite this being my favorite liquor store, the clerk is constantly trying to push me into the popular brand names and refuses to learn that I am always on the prowl for the Plymouth now. He gave it a half turn. “Oh, we just got in a new shipment of the Plymouth.” Saved! Confident that the drought was past I availed myself of only one.