2010

I'm still in Virginia, enjoying the snow and 30 degree weather. It's windy here, and the winds chill my face and my bones, but I know that I'll miss the blustery winter weather when I get back to California.

There are less than two days remaining in 2009, and I've been thinking about New Year's resolutions. I don't really believe in them because I think every day is an opportunity to resolve to be a better person and improve ourselves. Next Monday is the start of the winter quarter, and I've been thinking about how it seems like I do believe in new quarter resolutions. It seems that every quarter, I tell myself that this is the quarter that I won't procrastinate and resolve to start my class papers early in the quarter or that this is the quarter where I don't let exercise fall by the wayside or that this is the quarter where I balance my time better so I don't get stressed out around the eighth week. And so on.

So when the winter quarter starts on Monday, I will resolve to stop putting exercise on the back burner. I've been keeping up with yoga, but not as much as I would like (or need to be). I don't have a New Year's resolution, but my new quarter resolution is to exercise on a regular basis and get myself to the ARC three or four times a week.

happy holidays

Here I am, blogging to you from Virginia. It's been nice here so far, not cold and lots of snow. On Monday, we went out to cut down a Christmas tree, trudging through about two feet of snow. But it was worth it- the tree is beautiful and all gussied up with tinsel and lights. I'll have pictures for you when I return to California.

Virginia is nice- we're in the rural southwestern part. It has been a bit of a culture shock- no Asian people, funny accents, outdated hairstyles, and lots of camouflage. And people here are nice and polite- they actually say 'I'm sorry' when they bump into you and 'Excuse me.' Sales clerks actually greet you and smile. I've already been to the Waffle House once, and I'm sure there will be more visits in the future.

So I noticed the following quote floating around on Facebook: "They may want to take Christ out of Christmas, but they can never take Christ out of me. If you are proud to be a Christian and are not ashamed of Christ then post this as your status for 1 day as a light to the world. Most people will be to ashamed or scared to do this. If you agree, copy and paste to your wall."

I know that there are people (ahem, Christian) who have themselves all in a tizzy because there is a contingent of people who for a variety of reasons- maybe to be politically correct, maybe because they oppose cultural imperialism, maybe because they don't believe in god, maybe because they don't celebrate Christmas, or maybe because they want to acknowledge the existence of other holidays like Hanukkah or Kwanzaa- don't say Merry Christmas. A dominant subgroup is all up in arms because other people realize that Christmas isn't the only holiday celebrated during the month of December. And those people are all pissed off because we say Happy Holidays these days and can't have mangers and crucifixes in public places. Now we acknowledge other holidays, and boy, these people are hoppin' mad because we are taking the Christ out of Christmas.

Here's a newsflash: Christ was taken out of Christmas with the advent of Santa Claus, Black Friday, Hallmark cards, the gift giving frenzy, and Rudolph. Apparently, Christmas is about the gifts. Even in this shitty economy, people are lining up to save money on gifts and go mad to find the 'perfect' gift. Apparently, the radical notion that forgoing gifts might be a good idea at a time like this hasn't crossed most people's minds.

Don't blame the atheists or those who, in the interest of promoting cultural diversity, acknowledge other holidays. Don't blame them for taking Christ out of Christmas. Santa Claus already did that, and so did Black Friday. So if you're pissed that Christmas isn't about Christ, forgo the gifts. Put your money where your mouth is, and stay out of the shopping malls.

Oh, and happy fucking holidays.

waiting for snow

I've been waiting nearly two years to see snow. That's how long it's been since I've been to Minnesota. I say this every year since I've lived in California, and I'll say it again: it's December, but it sure doesn't feel like Christmas. Not when it's in the mid 70s and sunny. Not when I can wear flip flops. Not when I can go outside without a jacket. The giant Christmas tree in the shopping mall, the decorations, and the Christmas music all seem misplaced. I know that people here are used to all of this, but I still can't get over it.

This Christmas, I'm headed to Virginia, the southwestern part, where large quantities of snow are rather infrequent. I've been hoping to see snow, and well, I got my wish. As of this morning, Virginia got 19 inches of snow, with another 3 or 4 on the way. Even by my Minnesota standards, that's a lot of snow.

And I can't wait. I know it will be cold, but I'm looking forward to donning my red wool peacoat, a scarf, hat, and mittens. I can't wait to trudge through the snow in search of a Christmas tree. I've been talking about seeing snow, playing in the snow, and making snow angels ever since Drew and I booked our plane tickets. In less than 24 hours, I will finally get a white Christmas.

diamonds aren't this girls best friend

In the last post, I talked about blood diamonds and the fact that we can't be certain that so-called conflict free diamonds are truly conflict free. Many people have pointed out that synthetic diamonds may be a way for us to have our cake and eat it too. Not so fast there, people. Diamonds are problematic not only for human rights reasons, but also for feminist reasons too.

Diamonds symbolize love and commitment to many people, but to me, they are patriarchal. Diamonds symbolize ownership and male dominance. Engagement rings show the world that a woman is "taken," spoken for, betrothed. They show that a woman belongs to someone else. Engagement rings, and diamonds in particular, are a way for men to symbolize their possession of a woman.

Diamond engagement rings may not have this meaning today, but the practice originated in patriarchal traditions (as did marriage, of course, but that's another blog post). And the vestiges of ownership and dominance remain: ever notice how men rarely wear engagement rings? I know many married men, and only one wore an engagement ring (soon to be two). Arguably, diamond rings are so expensive (2 months salary, right?) that it's probable that there isn't much money left to purchase an engagement ring for a man.

Diamonds are also a proxy for wealth, and the size of the rock is associated with the man's capacity to provide for his future wife. Women's bodies have been used to symbolize men's wealth and value, and diamonds are one way of doing so.

People may no longer associate diamonds with ownership, wealth, or male dominance, but I supposed that tradition dictates that we continue sealing the deal with diamond engagement rings. I only wish that more people would understand the ramifications of their actions and reject the lure of pretty shiny baubles, both for human rights reasons and because it is demeaning towards women.

blood diamonds

The other day, I was reading the paper and came across an op-ed imploring holiday shoppers to forgo diamonds mined in Zimbabwe. The author says that we should reject diamonds from Zimbabwe because they could have been mined in areas under the control of rebel groups who engage in torture and use child labor to control diamond production. So the author thinks that prior to purchasing diamonds, we should ask jewelers of the diamond's origin and refuse to buy it if it's from Zimbabwe. Sure. Like that's going to happen. Society cares more about diamonds and symbolizing wealth more than African people a continent away.

I'm against diamonds for a host of reasons. I recently finished reading Blood Diamonds: Tracing the Deadly Path of the World's Most Precious Stones by Greg Campbell. The production of diamonds is horrifying and disgusting, and the United States is the largest diamond consumer in the world. This is what our consumption supports: civil war, death, torture.

The book traces diamond mining in the 1990s in Sierra Leone and how diamond profits fuels a bloody civil war. To control the diamond mines, production, and profits, rebel groups such as the Revolutionary United Front (RUF) kill, rape, and torture the people in Sierra Leone. The most common way the RUF induces terror and asserts control over the civilians is amputation- usually the arms, but also lips, ears, breasts, and tongues.

Capturing a diamond mine is easy: the RUF show up at a mine with rifles and forces the workers to hand over the diamonds. Powerless workers comply because the only other option is death. The RUF then uses its diamond profits to buy more guns and for retirement funds. Oh, and diamond profits have also been linked to the funding of terrorist attacks, most notably the September 11th attacks on the US.

Efforts to combat illegitimate diamond mining have induced peacekeeping missions by the United Nations and the Sierra Leone government, as well as export controls like the Clean Diamond Act and the Kimberley Process. However, diamond smuggling is so rampant and quite simple that one can never be sure that so-called conflict free diamonds are truly conflict free. You will never know if your diamond is legitimately mined or a result of brutality, death, and mutiliation.

Diamond mining is literally back breaking work, and even diamonds that are legitimately produced are mined under harsh labor conditions. Workers work from sunrise to sunset, and there are no lunch breaks or days off. They earn 2 cups of rice and the equivalent of 50 cents per day. Our society bemoans sweat shops and Wal Mart, but there is a lack of comparable anger over the horrifying conditions of diamond mining. Apparently, cheaply made clothes violate human rights, but diamonds do not.

Diamonds have come to symbolize love and commitment, and whenever I see them, I always wonder how many Africans died for them. I am truly ashamed that our consumerist society supports terror, death, and mutilation. Either we don't know it, or we choose to ignore this fact.

a quick update

I guess I've been kind of busy the last couple weeks. Doing what? Not really sure. You'd think it was the end of the quarter or something. I don't really have an excuse, after all, I'm not taking classes so I'm not frantically working on class papers.

I've been reading (as usual), baking (peanut butter crunch fudge, hazelnut bark, pumpkin bread), answering student emails (their final was this morning), eating (Mexican food the other day at Super Antojitos), and thinking about how 2009 is almost over and 2010 is nipping at my heels. What this really means is that I've been contemplating how I'm going to be 30 next July. But not to worry, age is just a number, right? After all, yesterday my eyebrow waxer told me that I look 15.

There was a snowstorm here in Southern California a few days ago, but I think this is a fabrication since snow is nowhere to be found. I see it on the mountain tops, taunting me. It can't be real. Drew and I are heading to VA in a week, and damn it, there had better be snow.

the most wonderful time of year?

I love the the holiday season, but not everything about it. I love the falling temperatures and the first snow (obviously, I'm not referring to California). I love seasonal flavors, like pumpkin and eggnog and gingerbread. I love Christmas decorations and Christmas music. I love baking candy cane cookies and gingerbread people. Despite my love for the holiday season, let me tell you what I hate: I hate the fact that this is the only time of year when we care about poor people.

That's right, the holiday season is the only time of year when we pretend to care about poor people. And I hate that. For some reason, we think it's tragic when poor people don't have a Thanksgiving dinner or Christmas dinner. Just the other day, I got something in the mail asking me to donate money so that poor people could eat turkey on Thanksgiving. Last I checked, people are hungry year round, and multiple times a day. Yet, we don't care when it's not the last Thursday in November or December 25th. On all the other days of the year, we think that the poor are lazy and deserve the hand they are dealt. But for some reason, we feel really bad if they miss out on holiday meals.

Other evidence that we only care about poor people during the holiday season: Salvation Army bell ringers. Apparently, donations during the holiday season are acceptable. It's okay to help out the poor during the month of December. Otherwise, they should be left to pull themselves up by their own bootstraps, right?

And finally, here's more evidence that we only care about poor people during the holiday season: toy drives. We're okay with children who lack food, clothing, and other basic essentials at other times of the year, but damn it, they better have a toy on Christmas Day.

I don't hate poor people, really I don't. I just despise that our individualistic, meritocratic society extends its generosity only during the month of December. I would prefer that we care about poor people during the other eleven months, but that's not in the spirit of American laissez faire society. So for now, I guess that a superficial generosity for one month out of the year is better than nothing. But I still don't like it.

griffith park, hot dogs, and baking bread

Last weekend was an eventful one. On Saturday, Drew and I went up to LA to check out Griffith Park and Griffith Observatory. It's kind of like Central Park, except that I actually liked Central Park. Anyway, because I've decided to be a tourist while I'm here (I don't plan to return after grad school), I'm making sure to hit up all the recommended attractions. Hence, the trip to Griffith Park. I like parks, really I do, and I like hiking. But I don't think that hiking in Griffith Park constitutes real hiking. Not when I can still see LA and not when I can look down and see roads and tennis courts. Nevertheless, it was nice to be outside and have a nice walk.

Look! Flowers grow in November here!

Anyway, Drew and I went up to the Griffith Observatory, walked around a bit, and enjoyed the view.

I'm not going to lie; the view was nice and it was cool to look out over LA.

After that, we headed over to Pink's, which is like a Hollywood legend, and waited for about an hour for their famous hot dogs. (Of course, I've already yelped about it) Pink's is overrated and not worth the long wait, but the food satisfies salty junk food cravings.

So Drew has decided that he wants to bake bread, and that's just what he did on Sunday. By the way, what is it about men and bread baking? He is the 3rd guy that I know of who has decided to learn. I know no women who bake bread. I went through a bread baking phase about 5 years ago, but it was short lived. I was never really dedicated to it; after all, I didn't get the baking stone and pizza peel. Here are the before shots:

And here is the after shot:

The bread was good and seemed pretty easy to make. He is using the book Artisan Bread in 5 Minutes a Day, whose recipes don't require kneading (Is kneading a real turnoff in bread making? I kind of like it). The 5 minutes refers to the prep time, not the resting or baking time. The recipes make multiple loaves, so the extra dough can sit in your fridge for up to 14 days. I hope he makes me a baguette next.

pie-atus

I've decided to take a pie-atus. It's been two weeks since I've made pie. After the pecan and the pumpkin pie, what was left? I was getting the hang of pie crust, and I needed a break to bake some cookies and such. I can't favor pie; it's not fair to the cookies, the muffins, and the cupcakes. During the pie-atus, I baked pumpkin whoopie pies, banana muffins, and ginger cranberry bars. I made cranberry applesauce. I even gave Drew a baking tutorial and so far, he's made devil dogs and snickerdoodles, treasured family recipes.

I will soon return to the pie. I plan to bake a real pumpkin pie, meaning that I'm going to get sugar pumpkins and extract the pulp. I'm also going to give pecan pie another go. And, the other day, I was at the public library, and I checked out two pie cookbooks. I'm a little weary of both of them; one is called Perfect Apple Pie: 100 Delicious and Decidedly Different Recipes for America's Favorite Pie and the other is Pie: 300 Tried and True Recipes for Delicious Homemade Pie. I don't trust either cookbook, and I've barely cracked them open. Seriously, how many variations of apple pie do we really need? Both cookbooks violate my personal cookbook rule: I don't believe in purchasing cookbooks that boast 100, 200, or even 500 recipes.

It is my belief that when a cookbook claims to have like 300 pie recipes, all it means is that the author failed to edit out the bad ones. Then I'm left guessing which ones are truly good and which ones are mediocre. If I wanted a subpar pie, I'd do an internet search and take my chances on the first recipe that pops up. Plus, cookbooks with way too many recipes have so many variations and weird combinations, it seems like the authors are just searching for ways to reach some magic number. Is it just me, or does Apricot-Mango Pie with Coconut Crumb Topping sound like way too many flavor combinations that it can't possibly be good? Or how about Blueberry-Peach Pie with Pecan Crumb Topping? Or Caramel-Coffee Hazelnut Pie? I think you catch my drift. You're probably wondering why I bothered to check out these cookbooks. Maybe there will be a few recipes worth trying out. I'll let you know.

On a positive note that is completely unrelated to pies but related to cookbooks, you have to try Get Saucy: Make Dinner a New Way Every Day with Simple Sauces, Marinades, Glazes, Dressings, Pestos, Pasta Sauces, Salsas, and More by Grace Parisi. You won't be sorry. Drew borrowed his mom's copy, and well, let's just say that we're going to have to purchase her a new one. So far, we've made alfredo sauce, honey mustard barbeque sauce, sesame ginger stir-fry sauce, sweet and sour sauce, ginger-orange stir-fry sauce, fried ginger stir-fry sauce. Sauces are so easy, and they really make the meal.

"surprises" in the news

You're not going to like what I'm about to say, but I'm saying it anyway. The UC regents approved a 32% increase in student fees, so tuition at a UC will increase to approximately $10,300. Knowing that the economy is what it is, and that the UCs are simply following a national trend, I don't think this increase is nearly the tragedy or atrocity that some may believe it to be.

I took a quick look at tuition rates at public universities in different regions throughout the US and this is what I found (all rates are for in-state residents). A year at the University of Minnesota-Twin Cities campus will cost $9120. Tuition at the University of Connecticut is $7632. A year at the University of South Carolina at Columbia will set you back $8756. The University of Texas at Austin has a tuition scale by school major ranging from $10,118 (liberal arts) to $10,801 (social work). And let's not forget a school in the Pacific Northwest- a year at the University of Washington at Seattle costs $7692.

Considering that practically everything is more expensive in California compared to the rest of the country, I'm not surprised that the cost of a public college education is catching up. What else do you expect in an individualistic, meritocratic society that views college education as a privilege, not a right? I'm not going to look for the statistics or crunch any numbers, but I wouldn't be surprised if the cost of a public education is somehow proportionate to the state GDP. I'm not bothered by the tuition increase because everything costs more in California. I pay $584 a month to rent one bedroom in a 2 bedroom apartment. And that's with subsidized, on campus graduate student housing. In Minneapolis, I paid $367 to rent one bedroom in a 3 bedroom house. I know someone right now who is paying $750 for a 3 bedroom townhouse in Virginia (that's for the entire townhouse). I think you can see my point here.

I have to say something else that you're not going to like. A couple weeks ago, there was a shooting at Fort Hood, an army base in Texas. Thirteen people died, and 30 were wounded. The shooter was an army psychiatrist who was about to be deployed to Iraq. I do not in any way condone violence, and I realize that this was a tragedy, but I'm just not that surprised. The military is an institution that embodies the belief that conflict can be solved with violence, bombs, force, and death. When faced with a problem that cannot be solved diplomatically, force and violence are acceptable means of resolution. Under some circumstances, war is acceptable, even justified. This is the message that the military represents.

So, now we have an army psychiatrist conflicted and opposed to a deployment that he does not want. Is it any surprise that he turns to violence as a means to resolve his problem? Isn't this consistent with the message that the military sends?

on reading

When I was young, I went to the public library nearly every weekend. I have fond memories of reading, looking for new books, and being consumed with an interesting story. My parents encouraged my reading and they let me read whatever I wanted to read. In fact, this is probably when I developed a love for reading. Since then, my taste in reading has changed. I have exchanged fiction for non-fiction, but I find that I still make weekly or bi-monthly trips to the public library. Over the summer, I discovered the Newport Beach Public Library, thanks to the newfound freedom that comes with purchasing a car. It might sound a bit odd; I spend my days reading academic books and articles, and then I curl up with a non-academic book most evenings.

I've gone through phases with books. Before I came to grad school, I read quasi-academic stuff about reproductive rights, the Supreme Court, and women's rights in my free time. Now, I rarely read books about women's rights or political science in my free time. Instead, I read books about food, cooking, history, and other social science-y topics.

I went through a Bill Bryson phase late in the spring and throughout the summer. Bryson is a humorous travel writer, and I devoured A Walk in the Woods; I'm a Stranger Here Myself; and The Lost Continent: Travels in Small Town America. I am also going through a foodie phase, reading lots of books with cooking, baking, and eating anecdotes. I recently read Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone; Julie and Julia: 365 Days, 524 Recipes, 1 Tiny Apartment Kitchen; and Garlic and Sapphires: The Secret Life of a Critic in Disguise. When I returned from my second trip to D.C. and fresh off a visit to Ford's Theatre, I went through a Lincoln assassination phase. I read Manhunt: The 12 Day Chase for Lincoln's Killer and The Assassin's Accomplice: Mary Surratt and the Plot to Kill Abraham Lincoln.

As you can see, I tend not to read a lot of fiction. I've tried to embrace fiction, really I have. I went through a Jane Austen phase and really tried to enjoy Pride and Prejudice, but I got bored after about 100 pages. (perhaps Austen isn't the best place to start when attempting to embrace fiction?) I have an old friend from college who is well read in the "classics," and I always envied her persistence and ability to read these books. She always sounded so smart and well versed when she talked about them. A few months ago, one friend mentioned that she was taking another crack at the Brothers Karamazov, and the other lamented how bored he felt when trying to read the same book. Me? I'm not even going to try.

It seems like high school literature classes misdirect their reading lists. I might be off base here, but I'm not sure any student will develop an appreciation or enjoyment of reading by having Shakespeare shoved down their throats. When I was in high school, I remember being bored with Shakespeare, The Grapes of Wrath, A Tale of Two Cities, and The Crucible. (I know there were more, but I can't remember them.) I once read that one in four adults read no books last year. One in four. Maybe high school is too blame, maybe not, but I don't see how my life has benefited from the exposure to the "classics." And hey, this is purely anecdotal, but I think I turned out just fine.

So, I'm okay with not knowing the difference between Hamlet and Macbeth. I don't feel bad that I don't know what happens to the guy who implores you to call him Ismael. And if I can't remember which times were the best and which times were the worst, then I'm okay with that too. These days, I'm reading a couple books about cooking anecdotes and an autobiography about a plus-size model. Oh, and I'm learning about blood diamonds too. I can't wait to tell you about that book. Stay tuned.

melting pot

The BF and I splurged on fondue at the Melting Pot last weekend. Here is what I had to say on yelp.

year 4

With all of the baking, the yelping, the baseball, the crocheting, my summertime discovery of the Newport Beach Public Library, and other random excursions, you have got to be wondering if I'm still in grad school or how I have time to even be in grad school. Rest assured, I'm still here, and in case you're keeping track, I started my fourth year about six weeks ago.

I'm not taking classes anymore, a moment that I have been awaiting for about the past year and a half. I'm TAing for Constitutional Law: Individual Liberties for the dean of the law school, a constitutional law god. I'm enjoying the freedom that comes from not taking classes, and I like working on my own papers instead of being responsible for weekly readings, reaction papers, and course papers for classes that are sometimes not useful. I've heard that some students face the difficulty of staying motivated and disciplined once they finish classes, but I think I'm handling the unstructured quarter pretty well so far. I'm doing a lot of reading, looking for a dissertation topic and figuring out where I fit in. I've found a home in public law, and it seems like a good fit and a good way to study women's rights, gender, race, and women's sexuality.

So there you have it. I'm staying busy, but mostly productive. I'll let you know when something more interesting happens.

pumpkin pie

I love fall, the holiday season, and all the seasonal flavors associated with this time of year. Starbucks and Peet's have barely rolled out their seasonal lattes, and I've already had my fill of pumpkin spice lattes and gingerbread lattes. Eggnog isn't in the grocery store yet, but I've already picked up a bottle of apple cider. Did I already mention that I love this time of year? All that's missing is cold weather, winter coats, and of course, snow.

After the pecan pie fiasco last weekend, I took a stab at pumpkin pie today. I don't think I've told you how much I absolutely love pumpkin pie. When October rolls around, I crave it. When I lived in New York City, I had two friends who shared my enthusiasm and love for pumpkin pie. We used to buy a pie and whipped cream, split it three ways and indulge ourselves in the pumpkin-y goodness.

Baking pumpkin pie is a lot easier said than done. Let me tell you, it is a challenge. Pretty much the only reason that I decided to learn to bake pie is so that I can bake my own seasonal pies, and so far, those have been the most challenging. I made the crust and the filling with no trouble at all, and the difficulty arose during the baking time (I blame my low quality oven). Anyway, the baking time was for about an hour, but the filling refused to set so I baked the pie for about an hour and a half. It came out dark, still a little jiggly, and the edges were burnt.

Despite my initial disappointment in the pie's appearance, it actually turned out pretty good. I'm not going to lie to you; I'm eating my second piece right now as I blog. The crust is a tad bit too done and a touch crispy, but it's not burnt. It's not too bad. The filling is heavenly. It is a conglomeration of creamy, pumpkin-y goodness chock full of cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, cloves, and a hint of lemon zest. It melts in my mouth and glides down my throat. It is a wonderful contrast to the buttery, flaky crust.

Even though I had some trouble with the baking, this is my favorite pie. Maybe that's just because I love pumpkin pie. It's not too sweet, and no single flavor overpowers the pie. Every spice melds together with the pumpkin, and the result is simply satisfying.

magic lamp

This weekend, Drew and I headed up to Long Beach and ate at the Magic Lamp. Check out my yelp review.

the omelette parlor

I am home with a cold right now, just a cold, and hopefully not H1N1. (By the way, it's not induced by Halloween, in case you were wondering.) I'm not getting a lot done, but I did manage to yelp about a recent trip to the Omelette Parlor.

bourbon chocolate pecan pie

It is the day after Halloween, so I guess this means that holiday season is here. I adore the holiday season, and I've already gotten a jumpstart on indulging in pumpkin spice lattes and apple cider. Since it is officially November, I decided to shift away from the fruit pies and into the seasonal pies. After all, part of the reason that I have made it my mission to bake good pie is so that I can bake my own pumpkin and pecan pies. (And, I'm a little bored in the baking department, and I needed a new challenge.)

I had another baking fiasco today. The good news is that I think I'm getting the hang of pie crust. I might be getting good at it. I no longer need to give myself a pre pie crust pep talk, and I no longer need to coax or cajole the dough into the pie dish. And, there are no obscenities anymore. So, the pie crust is coming along, and I'm even thinking about experimenting with different recipes.

Today I made a Bourbon Chocolate Pecan Pie, a recipe I dug up on the Food Network website, courtesy of Emeril. I toasted some pecans and put them in the pie dish. Then I mixed corn syrup, melter butter, eggs, vanilla, molasses, and brown sugar and poured the mixture into the shell. Like magic, the pecans rose to the top. Then I baked the pie, but I had some trouble. The filling refused to set, so I had to give the pie extra baking time. Well, the extra time compromised the quality of my crust. I used a pie protector to protect the edge, but the crust burned anyway. And the pie got really dark on top. After pulling the pie from the oven, I poured bourbon over the top and let it penetrate the pie. I made a chocolate ganache (is that redundant?) and spread that over the top of the pie.

I read somwehere that the average person puts on about 7 pounds during the holiday season. Now I know why. This pie was very, very rich. It wasn't very good, and that had nothing to do with the overcooked and burnt crust. The chocolate was simply overpowering and completely dominated the pie. It was kind of like eating hot fudge ice cream topping laced with pecans. (I've never done such a thing, but this is how I imagine it to be) I might be able to salvage the pie if I scrape off the layer of offending chocolate and bypass the crust.

I'll try my hand at pecan pie in a few weeks, but in the meantime, I'll give pumpkin pie a go.

operation chocolate chip cookie: trial 18

I bet you forgot all about my quest to bake the best chocolate chip cookie, so let it be known that the search is still on. We have a guest pastry chef for this latest trial: Drew. Last week, he made a batch from a family recipe, Chocolate Chip Crispers. I will have you know that he made these cookies with minimal assistance from myself. (all I did was measure the pecans, chocolate chips, and coconut)

The secret ingredient in these cookies is Rice Krispies. Since the cereal doesn't really have much of a flavor, its value lies in the crunch factor. The Rice Krispies give the cookies texture and crunch, yet the cookie is still soft and chewy. So you get the best of both worlds; crunchiness and chewiness without actually having a hard, crisp cookie.

These cookies are chock full of flavor. The dough contains coconut, coconut extract, and pecans. Drew divided the dough in half and added either butterscotch chips or chocolate chips to each half. I can't decide which version I like better. The chocolate chips are truer to the original cookie, but the butterscotch chips are a nice twist. These cookies are so sweet that it is almost like eating candy. I really enjoyed the creative take on an old classic.

violence against women

Here is a blog post in which I bemoan violence against women.

A 15 old girl was gang raped by at least seven males after a Homecoming dance last weekend. She was waiting for a ride, from her parents I think. The gang rape last 2-1/2 hours. Did I mention that about a dozen people passed by and did absolutely nothing? Some laughed. I didn't know that rape was a laughing matter. Some took pictures. I didn't know that rape was a photo opportunity.

Contrary to popular belief, rape isn't about sex. It's about violence against women. It's about patriarchy. It's about power and control. Men don't rape because they can't get laid. They don't rape because they have uncontrollable sexual urges. Men don't rape because a pretty woman walks by and they can't control themselves. Rape has nothing to do with sex. Today, a 47 year old man plead guilty to raping and murdering a 93 year old woman. I told you rape wasn't about sex. Rape is about male dominance. It's about men who think that it is their god-given right to exert power and authority over women.

I don't know why it is difficult for society to acknowledge violence against women. I also don't know why it is difficult to recognize that violence is rooted in patriarchy and the social construction of masculinity. When are we going to learn that it is problematic to equate masculinity with power, control, and violence? When are we going to learn that these qualities do not make a man?

The other day, I read an article about campus violence. The columnist was referring to a recent stabbing of a UCLA student. As usual, he cited mental health issues. Why is it that every time there is an incident of campus violence, we turn straight to mental health and point our finger? It is as if we believe that if only the perpetrator had sought help for his mental health issues, none of this would have happened. If only a professor had intervened and noticed when a student was down in the dumps. If only. Fuck you, that's what I say to mental health issues. Not because they aren't real, and not because they don't matter. But because mental health isn't to blame.

When I tick off incidents of campus violence, Virginia Tech, Columbine, and Northern Illinois come to mind. And UCI. About a month ago, a graduate student was charged with shooting his ex-wife. It was over a custody dispute. He shot her in front of their son. She died. When this information spread, naturally people wondered about this student's mental health status. Yes, grad school is stressful. Yes, it's tiring and students work a lot. Yes, grad school is isolating and there may be higher rates of depression among grad students than among the general population. But most grad students do not shoot and kill other people, let alone former spouses.

If you think about campus violence, there is a pattern. Those wielding the guns or the knives are men. All men. Show me some incidents involving women, and maybe I'll give mental health explanations some credence. But until then, I'm going to continue to blame society and patriarchy. I'm going to continue to blame our construction of masculinity and how boys are socialized to be men.

By the way, here's the latest on Roman Polanski. The 13 year old victim's testimony unequivocally shows that Polanski committed rape. He was 43. He used his power and authority as a director, a man, and as an adult to take advantage of the girl, drug her, and rape her.

Now that I have sufficiently depressed you, I'm not even going to try to make it better.

bourbon peach pie

Whenever I bake something that calls for liquor, it takes me almost as much time to purchase the alcohol as it does to actually bake. I'm exaggerating, of course. When I'm mildly familiar with the liquor, its purchase doesn't take too long. When I made vegan margarita cupcakes, I think I had the tequila on hand. But when I have to buy rum or brandy, I take so long that it's almost embarrasing. Anyway, this time I had to buy bourbon. I don't know anything about bourbon, but now I know that it's a kind of whiskey.

This weekend, I made a Bourbon Peach Pie, from a recipe that was originally for hand pies. This is a recipe that Drew had been drooling over for the past few weeks or so. In fact, he had requested this pie last weekend, but we got our lines of communication crossed and I made the Pear Ginger Maple Pie instead. (also, costco had pears, not peaches that weekend) Ha! This story sounds so 1950s and anti-feminist, but it's not. I forgot to mention in my pear pie writeup that Drew peeled the pears. And he offered to peel my peaches today. And, he almost always washes the dishes, which is what he did today.

I bought peaches yesterday (they were among the last in the store), but they were not fully ripe. So I wasn't sure if I could start baking with firm, not ripe, fruit, but after consulting Drew's mom, we learned that I could. To compensate for the firm peaches, I cooked the pie for a few more minutes and added a touch more sugar. I took a minor liberty with the recipe; in addition to granulated sugar, I added two tablespoons of brown sugar.

The pie crust is mostly all butter; the rest is shortening. I'm getting more confident with my pie crust making, and I'm starting to get the hang of rolling out the dough. I made a double crust, even decorating the top with little hearts (I'm not being sentimental; they are the smallest cookie cutters I own!). Take a look:

Even though I covered the edge with a pie protector, it still got quite dark. This made me a little nervous, but the pie was bubbling and smelled SO good straight out of the oven.
Check it out!

This pie might be my favorite so far, and this might be my best pie crust too. Even though it was a little dark, the crust was buttery and flaky. The peaches were soft and creamy, with a subtle bourbon taste. The pie held together very nicely, not too juicy or runny.

At 4pm, I lamented to Drew that I had not yet gotten any work done. He said that baking pie was work. I laughed and said that yes, this is true, but pie isn't a Ph.D. requirement.

By the way, I have nearly a full bottle of bourbon remaining. If you have any ideas on what to bake with it, let me know!

game 5, ALCS

I have a few goals in life that revolve around sports. One of my goals is to attend the Olympics, both summer and winter. Another is to go to the World Series. Turns out that attending a playoff game is another goal, though I didn't know this until about a month ago. If you recall, the Angels played the Red Sox in the first round and the Twins played the Yankees. (the winners would play each other) Since Drew cheers for the Yankees and I cheer for the Twins, as long as the Angels beat the Red Sox, we could go to a playoff game and cheer for one of our teams. The Angels swept the Red Sox and the Yankees swept the Twins, so the Yankees and the Angels would face off in the ALCS.

On Thursday, Drew and I went to Game 5. The Yankees were leading the series, 3-1. Angel Stadium was a sea of red. I wore my pink "Virginia is for Lovers" t-shirt, without even realizing that it probably made me look like an Angels fan. I didn't mean for that to happen. Since I could not bring myself to wear Yankees paraphernalia, I wore the Virginia t-shirt to privately indicate my solidarity with Drew, a die hard Yankees fan.

Before the game started, people were making their way into the stadium. There were also bible thumpers with signs basically telling everyone that they were going to hell. I couldn't resist snapping a photo:

All right, back to baseball. We sat behind home plate at the top of the stadium. Even though we had nosebleed seats, we still had a great view:

I told you there was a lot of red!

The Yankees lost, 7-6 in a super exciting and suspenseful game. The Angels scored 4 runs in the bottom of the 1st inning. Then nothing notable happened until the 7th inning, when the Yankees rallied and scored 6 runs. In the bottom of the 7th, the Angels fought back to score 3 runs. The Yankees managed to load the bases in the top of the 9th, but then Nick Swisher hit a pop fly to end the game. It was a lot of fun to attend a playoff game. The tension was palpable, and the excitement was contagious.

pear ginger maple pie

Let me start this off by divulging my semi-addiction to the Food Network. Now, I'm no couch potato, and the Food Network is hardly a priority in my life. (I don't rush home to watch the Iron Chef, for example) But when I'm crocheting or being mellow in the evening, I like to see what's on the Food Network. And I really like the reality TV/competitive cooking shows, like the Iron Chef, the Next Iron Chef, and Chopped. (damn, I DO sound like a couch potato) So the judges on these competitive cooking shows have no mercy, and they are really critical and sometimes downright mean. Let me share a snip of a funny conversation between Drew and I:

Me: Drew, do you think that chefs watch competitive cooking shows on the Food Network? Or do you think they avoid them because it's just too close to home?
Drew: uh, I don't know.
Me: I mean, do you think that a bunch of academics would watch a competition about research?
Drew: I don't think anybody would watch that show.
(hahaha! He's probably right.)

Now, strange as this sounds, these shows are good for grad school. Sounds weird, but the judges' critiques remind me that even these seasoned, trained, extremely talented and knowledgeable chefs are still subject to these brutal reviews. One judge may think the meat is done just right, or the other thinks the exact same cut of meat is undercooked. One judge may have made the dish a particular way, while another would have taken it a different direction. So, amidst the entertainment, I am reminded that even those who are extremely good at their jobs are not flawless, still subject to criticism, and not to take criticism personally.

Even though competitive cooking shows might be good for school, they may not be so good for my baking. Last week, I made a Pear Ginger Maple Pie. (the pie is almost gone, so I have no original picture) When I took a bite, I actually said "the ginger is too overpowering for me." What? I don't talk like this. The Food Network has infiltrated my mind. How is it possible that I am more critical of my pies than the papers I write? Are my efforts misplaced?

So maybe I'm not a fan of ginger. Come to think of it, I'm not. (but I do like gingerbread and gingerbread cookies) So maybe that's why I wasn't a huge fan of this pie. When I first cut into the pie, something was weird. The crust was soggy and gross. Drew was not bothered, but I was. Per his suggestion, I covered the pie with foil, and put it back in the oven. I let it cook for about 30 more minutes on the bottom rack to make sure that the crust got done. It worked, but the crust turned out kind of hard and maybe a little dark. But at least it wasn't soggy.

Drew really, really, really liked this pie. He said that maybe it was his favorite. Heidi, another ginger fan, also liked the pie. In my quest to bake good pie, I'm getting pretty good at rolling out the dough, but not so good at baking pie. I am still trying to figure out how to get really good, buttery flaky crust. Stay tuned. Next up? Peach Bourbon pie.

reubens and spamalot

When the new Broadway musical Spamalot opened a few years ago, it was hailed as a "musical for men." Or something like that. Now I know why. Last night, the BF and I went to see Spamalot at the Orange County Performing Arts Center. I scored us some sweet tickets- first row and in the center. Spamalot is based on Monty Python and the Holy Grail. The main characters are men, and the women are eye candy and in the background sporting skimpy costumes and bearing cleavage and midriffs. Regardless, the show was funny, light hearted, and the only musical I've seen in which nobody dies.

Prior to the show, Drew and I went to Jerry's Famous Deli. Here's what I had to say on yelp.

chocolate pudding pie

I don't want to jinx the pie crust making, but I think I might be getting pretty good at it. Last weekend, I made a Chocolate Pudding Pie with an all butter pie crust. The recipe is from the Smitten Kitchen, and I followed the pie crust tutorial. And I did it. There were no expletives this time.

I started with a mixture of flour, salt, and sugar. I cut in the butter, and then slowly added ice water. The dough came together quite nicely, and then instead of adding more water to pick up the wayward crumbs, I was actually patient and followed the instructions to gently knead the dough together. (but not too much or else it will get stringy) And you know what? It all worked. I formed the dough into discs, wrapped them up with plastic wrap, and put them in the refrigerator for about an hour.

Before I rolled out the dough, I gave myself a pre pie crust pep talk. This time, I didn't roll the dough between wax paper. I sprinkled flour on the table and on top of the disc. The dough rolled out quite nicely and didn't even stick to my rolling pin. It did stick to the table, but I rescued it with my bench scraper. (that might be the secret weapon) I was able to gently pick up the crust, fold it loosely into quarters, and place it in the pie plate. Sweet, sweet victory. Everything turned out just as expected. Drew was in my living room when I first started, and I had to call him over to witness my success.

I baked the pie shell using my new ceramic pie weights and let it cool. The filling is a chocolate pudding with a whipped cream topping. And chocolate shavings.

The pie held together quite nicely after I cut into it.

I really enjoyed this pie. It wasn't too sweet, and it was nice and refreshing. The crust was flaky, but seemed a tiny bit tough and chewy. I'm not sure if that is because I handled the dough too much or if it's because the pie was cold from refrigeration. Or maybe it's a combination of both.

In other semi-related news, baking just got easier: Drew and I got a Kitchenaid stand mixer last weekend. It is red. I get to keep it at my place. The baking will commence as soon as I find a place to put it.

game 163

Did you catch the tiebreaking nailbiter between the Twins and the Tigers last night? The regular season stretched to game 163 to determine who would win the AL Central title. It was a tense game that went back forth all the way to 12 innings (I tuned in until the top of the 11th). I yelled so loudly at my TV that I feared that one of my neighbors would call the police with a noise complaint. The Twins fought hard, played well, and came out on top.

Today, the Twins lost the first game against the Yankees in the first round of the playoffs. It's a David v Goliath match up, as the Twins are now 0-8 against the Yankees this season and not so good on the road. For the next week, the BF's life and mine will revolve around baseball. Drew is a hard core Yankees fan, and I'm obviously a Twins fan. Things could get a little ugly.

I barely remember when the Minnesota Twins won the World Series. They won in 1987 and 1991, and I can't think of many other things besides another World Series championship that I would like to see in my lifetime. This year probably won't be the year. Damn you Yankees.

By the way, if the Angels beat the Red Sox, we are going to a playoff game! I'm so excited by this possibility that I might not even care too much if it's against the Yankees.

garlic jo's

Drew and I went to Garlic Jo's last weekend. Click here for my yelp review. Mmmmm! Or skip my review and just go to Garlic Jo's!

missing minnesota

I always get a little nostalgic for Minnesota during this time of year. Maybe it's because I know that the leaves are changing color and the temperature is dropping in Minnesota. Maybe it's because it's playoff season. Maybe it's because I just tuned in to the last few minutes of Monday night football to see the Vikings beat the Packers. Maybe it's because the Twins are playing the Tigers in almost an hour for a chance to advance to the playoffs. Maybe it's because people in California are pulling out their hideous ugg boots and scarves, and I want to go up to them, slap them up side the head, and tell them that those things are for cold weather, really cold weather, not cool weather. Boots and scarves are equipment for cold weather states like Minnesota or Michigan, not warm weather states like California.

This morning, I checked the weather forecast for Minneapolis. It was raining, and in the next 10 days or so, the daytime high will hover around the mid 40s. The mid 40s. That's not cold, especially for Minnesota. Already at the beginning of October, it is colder in Minnesota than it probably ever will be in Southern California, at least during the day. I admit, I have acclimated to the SoCal weather. I can detect a shift from summer into fall. I no longer wear skirts and flip flops year round. But the word "cold" has not entered my weather vocabulary, and my winter coat and scarves remain tucked away in my closet.

Did I mention that the BF loves the weather in Southern California? I miss winter, and he hates it. The temperature has dropped in SoCal, down from like 80 degrees to the high 60s and low 70s. It has cooled off fairly considerably at night, and Drew has used the word "frigid" once or twice to describe the temperature. The other evening, we took a walk to return a DVD. He was wearing a long sleeve shirt and as we were walking, I stripped off my sweatshirt to reveal only a t-shirt. He was cold, and here I was, walking around in short sleeves. I offered my sweatshirt to him, but he declined. But nice guy that he is, he carried it home for me.

All right, I'm turning back to my work now. I'm trying to get some stuff done before I go home to bake pumpkin swirl brownies and tune in to the Twins game. Go Twins!

the pie that almost wasn't, part 2

And now here is part 2 of the blueberry pie saga. I got the pie in the oven, but the drama wasn't over. I followed the baking instructions and placed a baking sheet lined with parchment paper on the rack beneath the pie to catch any possible juice overflow. After about 15 minutes, I could smell something burning. Thinking it was a leftover potato wedge that fell through the rack a couple weeks ago, I ignored it. A couple minutes later, I cracked the oven door and saw blackened parchment paper and smoke. Fortunately, there was no fire or anything, but I was startled. I removed the parchment paper and returned the baking sheet to the oven.

Alas, all ended well. The pie glistened from the egg wash and looked nice and juicy inside. Here is the finished product:

It pains me a little bit when I have to cut into a pie, but I know it's the only way to eat it, right? The pie began to ooze with the blueberries and all their juices.

I'm not sure if I've ever had blueberry pie before. It was phenomenal, maybe the best pie I've made so far. Drew and I silently devoured a slice with vanilla ice cream. He even said that he wished that he could lick the bowl. The crust was really great; I think I must have slightly underbaked it the last time. The butter in the crust provided a nice taste, and the filling wasn't too sweet or overwhelming. And the blueberries just tasted...so fresh.

In part 1 of this post, I mentioned that I was considering a $69 class on pie making at Sur la Table. After mulling this over, I've decided to pass. Tonight, I told Drew that when we go to his mom and dad's over winter break, I'm not leaving Virginia until I've mastered pie crust. But this doesn't seem like a good idea either because I think I'm really only doing this to bake pumpkin and pecan pies for the holidays. So what's a girl on a pie making mission to do? Rather than take a class or wait for winter break, I'm going to follow the pie crust making tutorial from the Smitten Kitchen. So in the meantime, I'm going to try to bake a pie each weekend. Drew isn't sure that there are enough varieties of pie to keep me occupied until winter break, but I'm up for the challenge. Stay tuned.

the pie that almost wasn't, part 1

Warning: This post is laced with profanity. There. Proceed at your own risk.

Yesterday, I picked up a few things at the grocery store. I walked down the baking aisle for powdered sugar when I saw cans of pie filling and silently scoffed. Ha! I thought, it's easy to bake pie. Why would anyone use a canned pie filling? Surely it's not as good as homemade. Ha! The joke's on me. To anyone who uses premade cookie dough, cake mixes, or frostings from a can, I promise to never silently wonder why the hell you don't just bake from scratch. I promise not to judge you. Seriously. I promise. Because now I realize just how frustrating baking can be. It must be fucking frustrating to follow a recipe and fail to achieve the desired result. You probably follow the directions exactly as instructed, only to have the recipe taunt and tempt you when things go horribly awry.

All right. That was a little dramatic. I have spent this weekend, among other things, baking a freaking blueberry pie. It has taken nearly all weekend, and as I write this, the pie is currently in the oven (smelling heavenly, by the way) but I have no idea if it will turn out. In fact, there are three failed pie crusts in my garbage at this very moment.

As you may recall, I am in a pie phase and I successfully made a Chocolate Pudding Pie, Almond Apple Pie, and a Strawberry Pie. I'm still trying to master pie crust and I'm trying out different recipes. I decided to try out a recipe from Drew's mom. Instead of butter or shortening, the recipe called for a combination of peanut oil and milk. The dough came together pretty nicely, but it was incredibly flaky and failed to hold together. Then I couldn't get these fucking little crumbs to just meld with the rest of the dough. I started chatting (or bitching might be a better description here) online with Drew, who called his mother, who suggested that I try to add more milk to the dough. While all of this was going on, I was in the kitchen, silently swearing at the pie dough mess. Then I added a couple drops of milk, but nothing. Even so, I tried to roll it out, but it cracked down the center. I tossed pie crust #1 in the trash.

I went to the trusty Simply Recipes blog and decided to try the recipe for a perfect pie crust. I cut in the butter and started to slowly add in the water. The problem is that I know that I'm too impatient. When I start to add water, the dough, for the most part, starts to come together. Except for these wayside crumbs. Lots of them. And so I add more water, but then the dough becomes a gooey, sticky mess, which isn't good because pie crust is supposed to be flaky and light and buttery. I managed to get crust #2 rolled out and into my pie plate. But when I went to peel off the wax paper, I couldn't. The crust was just too fucking gooey. I tossed pie crust #2 into the trash and gave up pie making for the rest of the day.

Now, a sane and reasonable person would have just relented, gone to the store, and purchased ready made pie crust. Apparently, I am not a reasonable and sane person, and I did not want to swallow my pride. After all, I had done this before. I even purchased a pastry wheel for the event:
Plus, the picture of the pie was taunting me, challenging me to bake it. Wouldn't you feel the same if you saw this pie? Seriously, look at the oozing blueberries!

The next day, I tried to make the perfect pie crust again (that would be today). This time, I followed the directions and didn't take ANY shortcuts. None whatsoever. After I cut up the butter into cubes, I even placed them in the freezer, just like I was told. After I cut the butter into the flour, I vowed to go easy on the water so I would not have a gooey mess. I did not add any extra water, even when those fucking crumbs failed to join all the others into the dough mound. And just like one of the readers recommended, I put the dough into a plastic bag to make it easier to shape into the prescribed disk. I refrigerated the dough for an hour and let it sit out for 5 minutes before rolling it out. As I was rolling out the crust, I actually gave myself a silent pep talk. But the fucking crust did not behave. It fell apart, crumbled, and was quite uncooperative. I guess I would be too if someone kept calling me a fucker. I tossed pie crust #3 in the trash.

Still, I refused to give up so I made the recipe that I used for the Strawberry Pie. This crust called for a combination of shortening and butter, and I wonder if there is something about shortening that makes the crust easier to make and handle. Anyway, as I was making the dough, I actually had this thought: This is harder than a qualifying paper. Can you believe it? I compared pie crust to grad school, and grad school came out ahead. I rolled out the dough, and it still came out a bit gooey because I added an extra tablespoon of water. I had to coax it into the pie plate and even patch up the thin spots in the center, but I did it.

The filling was simple to make, and I was excited to use my pastry wheel for the lattice top. I was almost done. As I got ready to put the pie in the fridge before baking it, I suddenly remembered: I forgot to dot the fucking pie with the fucking butter. Good thing I made a lattice top. Here is the pie prior to baking.
I think I need someone to give me a pie crust lesson. I looked up cooking classes at Sur la Table, but a pie class costs $69. I have to decide how important it is to master pie crust. Or I could just continue to practice with massive quantities of flour, butter, and shortening until my crusts look like those in the pretty food blog pictures.

a yelp account!

I'll take a brief digression from all the Roman Polanski commentary to tell you that I now have a yelp account! Tapping into my inner secret desire to be a food critic, I'm very excited to eat, review, and write!

Click for my review for Eclipse Chocolat, a chocolate shop and cafe in San Diego and Pizzeria Luigi, a pizza joint in San Diego.

more on Polanski

Here is the link to an excellent article in today's LA Times, "Polanski's Defenders Lose Sight of the True Victim," by Steve Lopez. (I have already written to Lopez, commending him on a great article.) Lopez does an excellent job educating the readers on the trial, illustrating the disparities in power between Polanski and the young girl, showing how Polanski's defenders are completely misguided, and arguing that justice must be served.

roman polanski

In case you haven't heard, film director Roman Polanski was arrested in Switzerland and may be extradited to face sentencing for a 1977 child rape case. Since I have been studying violence against women, the anti-rape movement, and high profile rape trials (including this one), I feel compelled to comment on the case.

Here are the facts: In 1977, Roman Polanski lured a 13 year old girl to Jack Nicholson's home while the actor was away. The girl, an aspiring model, thought she was there for a photo shoot. Instead, Polanski drugged, raped, and sodomized her. He was 44 years old. Polanski was convicted on rape and drug charges, and faced with a possible 50 year sentence, he fled to France, where as a French citizen he found protection against extradition.

The revival of this case has fueled an intense debate. Some argue that Polanski , now 76, has paid the price for his crime, and it is not worth pursuing a 32 year old case. Others argue that justice must be served. I bet I don't have to tell you which I side I'm on.

In yesterday's issue of the LA Times, columnist Patrick Goldstein argues that the district attorney's efforts to apprehend Polanski are misguided, especially considering that the prison budget has been cut and prisons are overcrowded.

Below is my letter to the editor (it's short since I'm allotted only 150 words):

Contrary to Goldstein’s article, Polanski has hardly paid the price for his crime. Since 1977, he lived in France making movies. He travels, owns a chalet, and is married with two children. He won an Oscar in 2002.

Most rapes go unreported and unresolved, and not prosecuting Polanski sends the message that violence against women and children is not worth pursuing. Rape is rooted in power disparities and gender inequalities, and this is a case of an adult taking advantage of a child, a man victimizing a young woman, and a film director coercing a burgeoning model. The case has been settled and Polanski has been publicly forgiven, but it does not negate the fact that he committed a crime and justice must be served. To ignore this fact perpetuates the notion that violence against women and children is a lesser crime and not to be taken seriously.

This morning, I also took the time to respond directly to Goldstein. Here is that letter:
I completely disagree with your seeming assessment that Polanski's 32 year old case is not worth pursuing.

You seem to think that the DA’s office could better spend its resources on more worthy causes and more pressing issues. However, most rapes go unreported and unresolved, and allowing Polanski to continue to go free sends the message that violence against women and children are crimes that are not worth prosecuting. Rape is rooted in power disparities and gender inequalities, and this high profile trial illustrates the obvious disparities of power and authority. This is a case of an adult taking advantage of a child, a man victimizing a young woman, and a film director coercing a burgeoning model. Even though the case has been settled in a civil suit and the victim has publicly forgiven Polanski, it does not negate the fact that he committed a crime and justice must be served. To ignore this fact perpetuates the notion that violence against women and children is a lesser crime and not to be taken seriously.

You also write that Polanski has already “paid a horrible, soul-wrenching price for the infamy surrounding his actions.” You even goes so far as to compare Polanski’s case with that of Jean Valjean. Polanski has suffered tragedies including his escape from the Krakow ghetto, the death of his mother in the gas chambers, and the brutal murder of his pregnant wife, Sharon Tate. However, each one of these events preceded the 1977 rape. Polanski has hardly paid a price for this crime. Instead, he has spent the last thirty years living in France and making movies. He went on to marry and have two children. He travels throughout Europe and owns a chalet in a Swiss ski resort. You claim that Polanski’s career has “clearly suffered from his inability to work in Hollywood,” but I would hardly consider his Academy Award for best director in 2002 to be suffering.

By the way, Valjean was convicted for stealing a loaf of bread. Polanski drugged and raped a young girl. These two crimes are obviously incomparable and of completely different magnitudes.

So there it is. I'll keep you posted and let you know if my letter to the editor gets published.

strawberries and plums

I recently got a membership to Costco, where naturally you buy everything in bulk. Including fruit. Fortunately, it doesn't go to waste and I'm having fun baking up the excess fruit in cakes and pies. Last weekend, I made a plum upside down cake and a strawberry pie. Oh, and by the way, did I mention that we also started classes last Thursday?

Here is the plum upside down cake. Anytime a recipe begins by instructing you to whisk together equal parts of brown sugar and butter, you know it's going to be good.The cake was moist and sweet, but not annoyingly overwhelming. The plums just kind of melt in with the cake, and it was just delicious and brown sugar-y. Unfortunately for the cake, I also made a strawberry pie, and well, the pie stole the spotlight.

I'm in a pie phase right now, trying different recipes and perfecting my pie crust. Here is the "before" picture of the strawberry pie. With a lattice crust.

Here is the after picture. It smelled sooooooo good! The juices were a little bit runny (but the pie sat up quite nicely after cooling), and I could hardly wait for the pie to cool before digging in.

The crust was flaky and buttery, just the way crust should be. By the way, did you check out the lattice? Now that's real pie. The pie was juicy, fruity, and well, words just can't describe how good it tasted.

queen mary

Hey, remember when it was a couple weekends ago? I sure do. Drew and I went up to Long Beach to cheer on Carol, who was completing the Avon 2 Day Walk for Breast Cancer. She walked 39 miles in 2 days, and we met her at the finish line.

The finish line was at the Queen Mary events park, so after cheering for Carol, Drew and I went on a tour at the Queen Mary.

I forget when the ship was built (and when it docked at its final location in Long Beach), but it was bigger than the Titanic. Oh, yes, this was mentioned multiple times (must be why I can remember it) If the Queen Mary could talk, I'm sure she would boast about being bigger than the Titanic AND not sinking.

Anyway, the ship is now a hotel and tourist attraction. Drew and I walked around the ship, and we went on a couple of ghost tours. The Queen Mary folks sure play up the allegations that the ship is haunted. Some people died on the ship (some in horrific ways) and I guess that there have been ghost sightings and reports of paranormal activity.

The first tour was pretty over-the-top, complete with special effects and sound effects. We went to the first class swimming pool and the boiler room, among other places. On the second tour, we saw more of the ship and the hotel. There were no special effects, and it wasn't much better than the first tour. Basically, it was like, someone died here and there have been lots of ghost sightings and paranormal activity. Take lots of pictures and you might see something in your pictures. The end.

But, the ship was cool and it was nice to walk around. AND I got a Rosie the Riveter lunchbox.

That is all.