Balls and Walnuts
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What you never hardly ever see
With regard to race, Stephen Colbert has a running gag. “I don’t see race. People tell me I’m white, and I believe them because . . . ” Insert punchline. Last week, in the context of the preferential prosecution of black people for drug-related crimes, the ‘because’ was, “. . . because I get my drugs from a pharmacy.” He’ll also claim (with his typical in-character, right-wing intransigence) that racism no longer exists in America because, hey, look, we have a black President!
I doubt any of my readers would see this as anything but satire. What may not be immediately obvious, however, is the pervasive intolerance of the American entertainment industry to anyone who is other. Other than white, middle or upper class, and for the most part male. My question is, for the major media — TV, movies — how often do you see someone who is other in a role in which that otherness is not central? I would argue that the answer is hardly ever, with the notable exception of male black actors, especially Will Smith, Morgan Freeman, Samuel L. Jackson, and Denzel Washington. The big box office black actors are cast in blockbusters in which their blackness is not an issue. There can even be an interracial romantic angle without that interracial-ness becoming central (e.g., Will Smith’s relationship with Charlize Theron in Hancock). Other non-white males? Not so much.
I began thinking about this after reading the May Rolling Stone interview of Peter Dinklage, the 42-year-old, New Jersey-born star of HBO’s Game of Thrones, who happens to have achondroplasia.
Folks who watch Game of Thrones will immediately note that Dinklage’s character is not only a dwarf, but his dwarfism is central to the role, and indeed not an episode goes by in which someone (usually in a pejorative way) points out his dwarfism. Yet the role of Tyrion is a far cry from the usual Wizard of Oz style little-man, or the cute/bumbling/avaricious dwarves of Time Bandits. Tyrion is a wonderfully complex character, easily one of the most noble characters in the story.
According to the Rolling Stone interview, Dinklage is particularly proud of his role in Death at a Funeral, in which his role was not written for a dwarf. Dinklage, a tremendously talented actor, may have broken into the mainstream. Time will tell.
But think about all of the roles we rarely see in American-made TV or movies:
We rarely see Asians cast in major roles in which their Asian-ness is not somehow an issue. Charlotte Sometimes, in which all three major characters are Asian, may be a notable exception — I don’t know, I haven’t seen it.
Hispanic actors: ditto, although a few actresses (Jennifer Lopez, Michelle Rodriguez, or Rosario Dawson — who is very, very multi-ethnic) have broken the mold. And the men? Edward James Olmos is the only one who comes to mind.
And when have you ever seen a Native American cast in a “normal” role? I’m talking about actresses or actors (such as Wes Studi, or Russell Means) who are recognizably indigenous. Being 1/16 Cherokee like Cher doesn’t count.
LGBT. If they’re there, they’re there BECAUSE of their otherness, or they’re there for comic relief (which I guess is the same thing).
Disabled people: same thing.
I suspect it’s all about box office receipts (or the TV advertising dollar), or really, producers’ perceptions as to what will be financially successful. Whether their perceptions comport with reality is an excellent question. I would like to think that Americans are ready for a gay Asian woman starring as the lead detective in some big box office serial killer flick, but who knows.
Okay, enough procrastinating. Time for me to get back to my writing.
D.
LINE PIECE!
Whoever decided that the game Battleship should be turned into a movie must have seen this video.
D.
Tough. Old. Bird.
My father got through his four-vessel bypass today and (last I checked) he’s doing fine in the ICU — undoubtedly because my brother had been “sending him strength all morning.” (His words.)
Hmm. I am reminded of that study that showed that ill people who were prayed for actually did poorer than those not prayed for. Well, let’s hope my brother was only sending strength and not praying.
So the first hurdle is past. He still has five to seven days in the hospital, and a long rehab after that, but at least now he doesn’t have a time bomb in his chest. I’d say that I’m relieved (and I am), but the surgeon told him that most of the deaths occur post-operatively. He quoted him a 4-6% chance of dying after surgery. My father the gambler liked those odds.
Stay tuned.
D.
From Third
Portishead’s “Nylon Smile,” surely one of the best songs ever written on depression. Lyrics here.
BTW, Third IMO is Portishead’s best, but it does take a little getting used to. But isn’t that often true of the best albums?
D.
The joys of research
So . . . if I find myself learning about onion routing one day and teat dips the next, it has to be an interesting book, right? Or at least an eclectic one.
My writing has also led me to the yaksha (if any of my readers are reading this, do NOT follow the link on yaksha) and a Sanskrit poem called The Cloud-Messenger. Not sure how much of that will filter in to the end product. Some seeds never sprout. I’ve placed a whopping huge reference to Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States early in the novel, but I may ultimately have to swap out for another book, or perhaps nix that scene entirely.
Now I’m off to read more about goat milking, wind turbines, and Arcadia — not the city-of-my-childhood Arcadia, but the pastoral Eden Arcadia.
But first, I’m going to do a bit of writing.
D.
It’s on!
As I think I might have mentioned, one of the reasons I haven’t been around much (aside from the usual reasons of the family, the WiP, and career stuff) is my dad’s health, which has meant two trips to Vegas in the last six weeks or so.
One of the things I’ve noticed, both in myself and in my patients, is the subtlety of aging. Often, the patient doesn’t notice how old he is until something bad happens, and something bad can be as trivial as a cold or a pneumonia. In my dad’s case, it was pneumonia. His body tried very hard to kill him, but hey, this guy survived the entire American involvement in WWII, a little thing like pneumonia and a heart attack and kidney failure and severe anemia wasn’t going to slow HIM down. He spent 11 days in the hospital, during which a cardiothoracic surgeon told him there was no way on earth she would operate on him. No way, no how. Not your grandmother's CABG.
I took a disk with his angiogram back to Bako and showed it around. The consensus here was, “Your father needs a bypass. Make him get a second opinion.” And so I called a pal of mine who is a cardiothoracic surgeon at Scripps in San Diego. He was my chief when I was an intern, and I spent at least two months with the guy. When you’re an intern (or med student, for that matter), you grow to love your chiefs, the good ones anyway. The two I loved best both became cardiothoracic surgeons. I called Rich and he said, more or less, do it. And he gave me the name of a cardiothoracic surgeon who had done his fellowship at USC, and who was practicing in Vegas.
So my dad met with the guy today. My father had already decided to go through with this provided he had better than a fifty-fifty chance of surviving (hey, he’s a poker player. Old habits die hard). The surgeon told him there was only a 4 to 6% chance of failure (or as you folks call it, death). My dad’s going for it.
This is a good thing. My mother has a bit of dementia and depends on him heavily. Having him predecease her would be a disaster. (Is this a bad thing to say? Should I be more sentimental about this? Is our selfishness shining through? . . . Because my two sibs are all on the same page with this one: we do not want to see him predeceasing her.)
I told him tonight, “Don’t drop dead before this guy has a chance to save you, okay?” and he said, “Yeah, don’t worry, I won’t.”
Cuz that’s how we roll.
D.
Firing range targets, 2012
Some observations:
1. My keen medical eye suggests a curious observation: zombies one through four all have torticollis.
2. Not shown: two other Middle Eastern (and, significantly, non-zombie) targets. Racism against Arabs is okay.
3. Not shown: several non-zombie criminal perpetrators — who are all white. Racism against blacks in NOT okay.
4. You can blast the hell out of Santa, however, as long as he is a zombie.
D.
some help, please . . .
I need to talk (email) someone who knows more about the workings of the internet than I do. Specifically, I have some ideas as to how one could create an absolutely untraceable computer, one that would allow you to browse anywhere with no fear of being identified. But I don’t think I can write this out without it looking really, really naive. Like, “the internet is a series of tubes” naive. So if there’s anyone out there who’s savvy enough to help, can you chime in, please?
Thanks!
D.
La lengua
Not only have I blogged beef tongue before, I did a decent job of it, too. That was seven years ago, I’ve since become allergic to beef, but my method of preparation has not changed a bit. I’ll throw in some commentary along the way, but here we go with beef tongue, baby:
One of these things is not like the other . . .
Glorious beef tongue. Why is it that so many foods I despised as a child I now regard as delicacies? Tongue, chopped chicken liver, eggplant, pine nuts, cantaloupe: as a kid, these foods brought me to tears, but when I eat them now, I have happy memories of childhood. Where’s the logic in that?
Boiled Tongue
(Adapted from Julia Child and Simone Beck, Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Volume II)
A tongue bought fresh from the market is already several days old. Don’t leave it around in the fridge for another few days — it won’t improve with age. Instead, scrub it under cold water and then soak it in cold water for two hours.
Next, cover with a thick layer of Kosher salt and wrap in plastic. Store in the refrigerator for two days, flipping it after day 1.
If your tongue weighs 3 to 4 pounds, you won’t need to soak it afterwards. Simply rinse off the salt and toss your tongue into a stock pot. Cover it with water — Julia recommends five inches over the tongue, but I think you’ll be fine if the water just barely covers it. Add a bouquet of herbs. Garlic and bay leaves are essential; add juniper berries if you want a corned beef flavor (but if you come over to my house, I won’t serve you that kind of tongue, nosirree). This last time, I used whole allspice, which worked well. I add celery, onion, and carrots to the stock pot as well. Quarter the onions and keep the skin on (similarly, for the garlic, just cut the bulb in half and throw the two halves into the stock pot).
This is where people mess up. They don’t cook it long enough, and they end up with a fibrous nightmare which, yes, licks you back when you eat it. Simmer it at least 3 hours, preferably 3.5 or 4. You ought to be able to easily pierce the base of the tongue with a knife.
Plunge the cooked tongue into ice water. Slit it down the side with a sharp knife or razor, and then peel the tongue the way you would pull an undersized glove off a very sweaty hand.
The end result should remind you of pot roast, but with far more richness. Well simmered tongue has a melt-in-your-mouth quality. If it’s chewy, you screwed the pooch and undercooked it. Too bad.
Classically, tongue is sliced thin and served on rye bread with stone ground mustard, red onion, and pickles, but I prefer soft tacos. For that, you need a quarter-inch dice of tongue meat. Quickly stir fry it over high heat (only to warm it — it’s already cooked) and serve over fried corn tortillas with a garnish of finely chopped white onion and cilantro. Top with salsa.
For our most recent tongue, I prepared a somewhat Indian tomato sauce in the following manner:
1. Saute one medium onion, finely diced, with one teaspoon finely chopped ginger and two finely chopped garlic cloves.
2. Add two 14 ounce cans of tomato sauce along with the following spices: 1/4 teaspoon fenugreek, 1/4 teaspoon cardamom, 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin, 1 tablespoon white sugar, and 1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes (or any hot red chile flake). For saltiness, I added about a tablespoon of fish sauce.
3. I also added one heaping teaspoon of roasted tahini paste as a thickener. I doubt this added much to the end result . . . perhaps a bit of complexity. Omit this if you like.
4. Simmer for about 30 minutes, then serve it over the sliced tongue.
Yum!
Eat anything fun lately?
D.
What’s up
Anyone still reading? I seem to have become another one of those infrequently updated blogs. Anyway, here’s what’s up:
1. Writing proceeds apace. I passed the 50K word mark a little while ago. Currently hung up on one damned exchange that bugs me because it’s too Hollywood, too trite. I need to go back and cut the thing and think up something fresh.
2. My dad’s been dealing with some health issues, so I’ve been back and forth twice to Vegas in the last month or so. He’s looking at a bypass and has decided he’ll go through with it. Whether he can find a surgeon who wants to take the case is another story. It’s taking an amazingly long time for the surgeon to get back to him — honestly, how many records do you need to see to make this decision?
3. Currently dealing with lower back pain issues that are resolving verrry sloooowly. It’s from exercising, so for a change I can’t seem to exercise my way out of it. But I’m still exercising (just not doing weights, which is what I think caused the trouble in the first place) and doing lots of steam room and hot tub and stretching. But I need a massage.
4. Re-reading Mieville’s The City & The City. Yeah, I like it that much.
5. And I’m currently braising a beef tongue, which I won’t be able to eat.
Ow.
D.