Monthly Archives: April 2009

American Left with a sense of humor?

I’ve been reading The American Left in the Twentieth Century by the historian John P. Diggins. Published in 1973, the book covers the three main leftist movements in America from 1900 to 1973: the “Lyrical Left” of the teens, the “Old Left” of the thirties, and the “New Left” of the sixties. Each of these movements ended badly: the Lyrical Left was crushed upon America’s entry into the First World War; the Old Left began to die during the Second World War, and then was destroyed by the McCarthy witch-hunts of the late forties and fifties; and the New Left fell apart after 1968 due to internal factionalism and ineffectiveness, and external repression. Here’s a depressing thought: since there hasn’t been an American Left movement since 1968 (sorry, folks, but Barack Obama is Center-Right), you wouldn’t have to add much to make The American Left in the Twentieth Century cover the rest of the century.

My favorite American leftist movement has to be the Lyrical Left of the teens. They actually had a sense of humor. The only leftist movement that I knew personally was the remains of the New Left, and Lord knows they were mostly a humorless bunch. I guess that’s why I’ve always assumed that to be a Leftist, you had to be overly serious and inflexible, which would explain my extreme unwillingness to join any American Leftist organization, even though I’m a Leftist myself. But one of the primary publications of the Lyrical Left, a periodical called The Masses, said this on its masthead: “A magazine with a sense of humor and no respect for the respectable: frank, arrogant, impertinent, searching for the true causes: a magazine directed against rigidity and dogma wherever it is found…” Historian Diggins writes, “Free from doctrinal strains, The Masses gave radicalism a well-needed lift of laughter.”

Like American religion, most American leftist politics is rigid and humorless. So imagine that, if you can: an American Left with an actual sense of humor. Those were the days.

Comment spam

I have been seeing a sudden increase in comment spam. (Apparently other bloggers are seeing this increase as well.) I strengthened spam barriers, and so far my spam protection is holding up pretty well. However, you may find that a legitimate comment gets caught by my spam filters — if you think this has happened to one of your comments, please let me know via email.

Spring watch

My younger sister called me early this evening to say hello.

“I’m outside trying to find the robin that’s been singing,” I said. Abby knows that I’m a birder, so she did not find this statement to be unusual. “I keep hearing him in the mornings, and I want to see if I can see him. And there he is!”

I finally saw him high up in a tall tree’s branches, his red-orange breast lit up with the reddish light of the setting sun.

“Good Lord, I can hear him, too,” said Abby over the phone. “That’s one loud robin.”

“Yeah, he is,” I said. “He’s way up in this tree that’s right next to the Seaman’s Bethel.” Then to be polite, I deliberately walked away from the robin’s tree, and had a nice long chat with Abby. Tomorrow I’ll go back and see if I can see his mate, and their nest — surely there must be a nest. It would be quite something to find a robin’s nest in the middle of the city.

Congee, mmm…

Through an interesting chain of circumstance, today I wound up meeting my cousin Nancy in Boston. It was lunchtime, and we were both hungry. We talked about where we might have lunch, and I mentioned that my stomach is still feeling queasy and all I really wanted to eat was some nice white rice and soft vegetables. Nancy, who is a fluent Chinese speaker and who worked in the Chinese community in Boston twenty years ago, said, “I know just what you need. Come on.”

So we walked down to Chinatown, and then walked around looking at restaurants. When we got to the Windsor Dim Sum Cafe on Tyler Street, Nancy said, “Here, let’s try this one. See in the window?” She pointed to a neon sign with Chinese characters and the word “Congee” in Roman letters. “They have congee here.”

We went inside. Nancy ordered various dim sum dishes for herself, and chicken congee for me. It turns out that congee is white rice made with eight or ten parts of water to one part rice, and cooked slowly for an hour or more. The end result is a warm, comforting rice porridge. The chicken congee had chicken broth and bits of chicken in it. “Comfort food,” said Nancy, “people eat it when they’re sick, too.” I liked the chicken congee so much I ordered a bowl of plain rice congee. My stomach felt much better afterwards.

Now I shall have to try to make congee on my own. I found this recipe for basic congee on a software devceloper’s blog.

Gelatin desserts

My stomach is still pretty queasy from the nasty viral infection I had last week, so I am still eating lots of bland foods. In particular, I am eating lots of gelatin desserts. For those who might be in the same situation, I offer this brief guide to gelatin desserts.

Be careful of Royal brand gelatin desserts: some flavors include aspartame as a sweetener, in addition to sugar. I discovered that aspartame can (how can I put this politely) further inflame the gastro-intestinal tract, leading to unpleasant consequences.

As for Jell-o brand gelatin desserts, stick with the old tried-and-true flavors. Some of the more exotic flavors, like “Berry Blue” and “Black Cherry,” taste chemical-y. Whereas good old orange Jell-o tastes like Tang orange-flavored drink. Actually, come to think of it, Tang tastes chemical-y too, but at least it tastes like chemicals I’m used to tasting.

I will be glad when I can return to eating normal food.

Spring watch

Saturday morning, the first light of the new day brought me awake. I lay on my back, staring up at the skylight over our bed. I could just make out the roofline of the building next door. Everything was quiet — even the Herring Gulls nesting on our roof were quiet for once.

Suddenly, I heard an American Robin start singing: Cheeriup, cheeriee, cheeriup, cheeriee. I quickly sat up and looked at the clock: it was 5:24 EDT. I lay back down wondering when, exactly, that American Robin started singing each morning. Did he begin to sing when the brightness of the sun passed a certain level; in which case, did he begin singing later on days with heavy dark clouds? Or was is simply that he began singing when he awakened, whenever that might be? I had some vague idea of trying to awaken myself each morning just before dawn to time when the robin started singing, but then I fell back asleep and forgot the whole thing until just now.

Spring watch

This viral infection has left me with little energy, and I’ve spent a good bit of time lying on the couch, looking out the windows, and listening to what’s going on around our building.

Several days ago, on one of those gray days we’ve been having, I swore I saw a brief flurry of snow. But it could have been a fever dream.

I’ve been watching the Red Maple across the street come into full bloom. By now it is covered with clusters of tiny little red flowers.

Very early one morning, I listened to a Mourning Dove calling from one of the trees across the street. But I don’t think I have heard him calling since. I’ve also heard House Finches calling most mornings; I suspect they favor the trees along the street where I often park my car, on which they often leave their droppings.

The Herring Gulls are nesting again on our rooftop, and on other nearby rooftops. I can hear our Herring Gulls stomping around up on our roof, and having fights, and squawling at each other. The variety of cries they can make is quite wonderful; even though each different cry is more discordant than the next, you have to be impressed by the inventiveness and loudness. I love to complain about the gulls nesting on our roof — that they are loud, combative, abrupt — but at the same time, when you have energy for nothing more than lying on your back and staring up through the skylights, what could be more entertaining than listening to gulls screeching and squabbling?

Note to self

Self: Please remember that if you have strained your abdominal muscles from a bout of power-barfing in the past seven days, it is not wise to watch old episodes of the Muppet Show. You will just strain your abdominal muscles all over again from laughing so hard. Especially if you watch the show featuring Carol Burnett.

On the other hand, your overall attitude will improve enormously.