JATB News
Online story release:
"What it Takes to Begin Again"
with bonus ode “The Compost Throne”
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09.03.11. Time to cook!
Pasta al pesto con pollo alla panchina londinese
Chicken pesto pasta, London bench style (bench pictured above)
Serves 1-2
recipe by Westley Aubergine
as seen on To The Happy Many
London is not known to be the epicenter for many culinary delights. Nor, more generally speaking, is the United Kingdom. One may enjoy mushy peas, another may not; one may appreciate beans at breakfast, whereas another, sadly, may not. Of late, the picture has become rosier with the addition of foreign flavors, namely from the Indian sub-continent. But what if one wants a dish truly local, born out of the metropolitan mash-up that is London?
The answer is today’s featured recipe: pasta al pesto con pollo alla panchina londinese.
28.01.11. Jurass-tastic!
My river baptism as a Trinity College student is complete. I first dipped my toes in a year ago in embarking on the overnight Christmas Mystery Tour ("7 Buses, 300 Students, 3 Cities"), and I sunk down to my sensibles as I attended a pair of debates put on by the Phil. Now I have reached full submersion, and have just managed to re-emerge, following last night's "prehistoric glam-rock nightmare" Jurass-tastic! put on by the hyperactive DU Players.
This prodigious drama society stages multiple shows each week for the duration of the term. I had the great fortune to be present for the transgenerational and interspecial update of Steven Spielberg's classic by writers Keith Monaghan and Simon Power, and directed by Catherine Sanz.
Jurassic Park is one of two films to have captivated me fully. I could not recite the movie line-by-line as I could with my other favorite (everybody together now: Pootie Tang), but I can summon to mind John Williams' soundtrack at any moment, bringing me full-body shivers. I had therefore set my expectations high for this so-called "dinosaur musical extravaganza," a campy, song-and-dance thrill that could in fact have been the offspring of Jurassic Park and Pootie Tang.
21.01.11. Irish independence day.
Today, 21 January, is the anniversary of Irish independence. Ireland broke from England 92 years ago, in 1919.
I discovered this magnificent event because I read about it on a trash can. To be precise, I read it on a flyer taped to the trash can. But this is little better.
I haven't capitalized "Irish independence day" because it doesn't seem to warrant special grammatical attention. It certainly struggles to attract attention in the physical world, where those with nothing to throw away were likely to be ignorant about what was to occur at the Lord Mayor's residence on this otherwise ordinary Friday in January.
20.01.11. The Phil.
Each time I visit Dublin I do two things: I get my hair cut at the Knights School of Barbering on Grafton St., and I attend a debate at Trinity College.
This is the sort of thing I never did when at the University of Oregon, when I had four years to attend debates and when I knew several debaters. But I relish the idea of an Irish debate too much not to go.
Every Thursday evening, whether I am there or not, the University Philosophical Society (popularly, the "Phil") offers a proposition and invites students as well as other prominent personages to come have their say. I have not yet been called upon to speak, although I am free at any time to stand, extend my arm with open palm, and say, "On that point--."
These debates are well-attended, befitting "Trinity College's leading student society," and they are triply Irish: the members' Irish DNA emerges during these evenings in the form of continued bouts of drinking, heavy doses of irreverence, and a red passion.
On this Thursday the proposition was: "That This House Believes Capitalism is the Only Way." …
11.01.11. The Natty LIVE from Strasbourg.
Being across the sea cannot stop me from sharing in the collective Eugeneian experience of all time: Oregon versus Auburn, the BCS Championship Game. Here I offer a few thoughts as I watch.
22:00. Monday night fades away in France. I gather my Duck gear, computer, and notebook to the kitchen to prepare for a 2:30 am wake-up call.
2:39. I enter the kitchen to find a note, "GO DUCKS!", from my girlfriend, who is sleeping (in her Natty shirt).
2:50. I find the game online on a streaming Web site. I refuse several offers to pay for viewing until I succeed in finding a free stream. Despite the magnitude of this event, I still seem unable to pay to watch online as the Ducks face Auburn. This is why Internet start-ups always fail.
2:52. Thomas throws interception. The universe tilts.
2:58. Newton throws interception. The universe corrects.
3:17. "Oregon strikes first!" Oregon 3, Auburn 0
3:28. Auburn scores. Oregon 3, Auburn 7
3:31. Chip Kelly is my father, and Jeff Maehl is my girlfriend. After getting too "cute" on a kickoff return, Thomas unleashes a 81-yard pass to Maehl to the Auburn 10.
3:37. Chip Kelly is my grandfather, too. We decide to meet next week at the family cabin in the woods, where we used to take walks when I was little, to rehash old stories. Touchdown and two-point conversion, Oregon 11, Auburn 7
3:55. "Safety." That's not how it feels to me. I feel suddenly cold, and alone. Jeff Maehl is ignoring me out on the field, and my real girlfriend is once more sleeping after popping in at 3:31. I am not safe. Who is safe? Oregon 11, Auburn 9
3:59. Still not safe. Oregon 11, Auburn 16.
4:01. Penalty flags on the field! Says commentator Brent Musburger: "Something happened." I'll give him a pass, because, although he was born in Portland, OR, he grew up in Montana.
4:02. Screen pass right to Jeff Maehl.
4:02. Screen pass right to Jeff Maehl. He then waves to me.
4:13. Intermission! Oregon 11, Auburn 16.
4:26. The Oregon Duck, fatigued after a long day at the office, sees his fellow flappers floating on the pond outside. Sigh. This is SportsCenter.
4:36. Begin second half. My energy waning, I begin to make chocolate chip cookies. How important is baking soda? Can it be replaced by more chocolate?
4:48. Fairley flagged for personal foul on tackle. In further fowl play, Thomas connects with Tuinei for 13 yards.
4:51. In another lonely moment, number 79 on offense has held. Scorn seeps into Europe.
5:04-5:09. The punter throws to Johnson! Thomas tosses to Tuinei, whose fairy fingers pull it in! The Ducks march to the goal line. They run, and they are stuffed. They run, and they eek forward. They are on the 1. They run—and do not cross the plane. I don't like to cry in my cookie batter, but these moments are just important to me, you know.
6:56. The game is over. The last few minutes I passed with my girlfriend and a spreading moat of chocolate chip cookies (whether or not I needed the baking soda, the excess of butter was my undoing). I thought we could have seized it. Our coach played his aces, and our guys performed with the grit and grace of a goose. I wish I could say a duck, but ordinary mallards lack grit. Ours don't.
I wish things would have ended differently. As the stadium turned into a field of pumpkins (as my girlfriend put it) after the final seconds ticked away, I was disappointed. I was jealous. But I wasn't bitter. What makes a Duck fan a Duck fan is that he can offer his full support until the decisive moment, and if things turn sour, he can kiss his wife and pat his kids on the back and go on living. So will I, trying not to imagine how it might have been, how sweet it would have felt to hear the SportsCenter anchors kick off their show with, "Congratulations to national champion Oregon."◊
Still from Lady Gaga's music video "Bad Romance."
03.01.11. My bad romance.
as first seen on To The Happy Many
Midway through New Year's Eve, the night of the hendecapus—that eleven-tentacled beast of lore—Lady Gaga's “Bad Romance” came on the stereo. I fell into step and began to reënact the claw dance. Those around me looked on with surprise, and perhaps consternation: what business did Chris Bradley have knowing the claw dance?
What the other partygoers meant was that I was not the kind of person who ought to know about Lady Gaga and her claws. I live abroad and study languages, and my belt buckle shows Johnny Cash.
Yet must I, as an intellectual, be doomed to pop-cultural ignorance? In many cases I am content to be ignorant about pop culture, but I don't see why I can't know the claw dance. Not when the official “Bad Romance” video on YouTube has reached 330 million views. Not when the University of Oregon's male a cappella group, On the Rocks, offers its own inspired rendition on YouTube. This spinoff has itself garnered millions of views.
I know little about Lady Gaga and am not familiar with all of her songs, but the notion that a cultured, intellectual person ought to be above watching, enjoying, and dancing to “Bad Romance” is erroneous. As a song it is captivating, and as a music video, it is epochal.
Finally, then, out with the thesis: “Bad Romance” by Lady Gaga has garnered so many views and has spawned On the Rocks' passionate cover because it is represents a new genre of music video. It offers a barely comprehensible blend of sensuality, supernaturalism, mystery, and emotion that enthralls the viewer by gripping his heart, his brain, and, inescapably, his penis. And then it torches him. …
25.12.10. On Christmas.
Today, after inviting Santa Claus into our home, we took our turn playing St. Nick. As usual, it was Dad's idea, and after he found the two open stores in town, we drove around handing out fruit, candy bars, hats, gloves, and blankets to the local homeless.
Besides the clear need that such charity fills, it is also one of the most sensible ways to use one's money and resources around the holidays. As my brother mentioned this morning while we opened our presents, just under half of all spending during the Christmas season goes wasted. Perhaps not in the truest sense of the word, because this consumption fuels our economy and gives people work. But it is true that much of what is given ends up in drawers, in closets, on hangers, unused and perhaps unwanted. There it remains until re-gifting or donation, or perhaps for all time.
I dislike waste and am beginning to find it offensive. The unused, un-consumed clothing and food filling our nations closets and pantries could dress and feed the third world. Of this I am sure.
So, even if we cannot, or simply do not want to, empty our and our friends' houses to save the world, we can at least be responsible about how we employ our resources around the holidays. Providing food and warm clothing to the homeless is probably the best way to do this. So where was my enthusiasm, and that of the rest of us, as my dad mentioned once, twice, three times the idea of bringing Christmas to the homeless? …
27.11.10. Spotlight On: HEATTECH Japan Technology
Stretching along Oxford Street in central London are many famous English department stores, of which Selfridges in particular impresses for its acres of merchandise and forest of staff. Oxford Street is also home to international powerhouses the likes of Nike and Disney. But the district is not under Western monopoly.
The odd shop out is HEATTECH Japan Technology, a multi-level clothing store. Developed by UNIQLO and Toray Industries, HEATTECH is supposed to allow people to "dress more inventively in cold weather" due to their clothes' ability to retain, and also generate, heat for the wearer. …
02.11.10. It takes one spirit to drive out another.
Father Pat Collins believes in the devil. Not in what he would consider the liberal Christian way, where the devil is a projection of the evil within us. Rather, there are, according to him, ''evil spirits among us.''
I spent an hour on Monday night listening to Father Pat, a Roman Catholic priest and exorcist, discuss exorcism in today's world in an event organized by the theological society of Trinity College. It was a full house of about 150 people, and I was the fly on the wall (at least until the Q & A session and reception which followed). …