Pretty soon this page will start redirecting folks, but for now I'm too lazy to bother with the required template-hacking. Meantime, check out the new pad. Me likey.
A question derived (as per usual) from my reading: is the goal of art to better society, to bedeck and bejewel the metaphorical shrine of civilization in hope of achieving some ultimate state of truth/beauty? Or is art something we create because we have to, because it is an integral and therefore inescapable part of being human? On the other (third?) hand, perhaps the entire discussion of aesthetics is trite and meaningless, as Wittgenstein suggests.
I tend to lean somewhere toward (if not against) the likes of Heidegger, insofar as I think of art--in particular lingustic/poetic art--as revealing in itself the essence of being. ("Being" being, of course, an all-time favorite word and compunded root of ol' Martin's.) Luckily for you, dear reader, I'll not delve into the business/commodification/death of art, nor the more nuanced (and arguably more interesting) aspects of these many debates, because frankly I've neither read nor thought nearly enough on the subject/s.
These are, after all, only the meandering lunch-time musings of a disgruntled corporate whore. Take them with a healthy pinch of salt and be on your merry way.
One definite perk of working in downtown Seattle is the sudden presence, during these warmer months, of promotional edibles on every other corner. Today I passed a trio of dubiously employed college dropouts* hawking some newfangled ice cream bar, and I've no doubt the next few weeks will bring all manner of experimental breath mints, candy bars, coffee-based slushes and other assorted crap that no one really wants but everyone grabs three of because, hey, it's free!
-rrr
* Okay, I admit to a slight bit of editorializing here.
At 3:30 today I received an email inviting me to a company BBQ featuring free sausage, salmon, steak, beer, volleyball, frisbee, and for all I know unicorn rides and swimming pools full of money. Thing is, this party takes place today. At 3:30. In Lynnwood.
Woo hoo yay!
So instead I get to spend the afternoon shuffling paper and listening to theoretical physicists expound on nonadimensional space and the weakness of gravity. Actually that last part is pretty cool, but still can't hold a candle to free sausage & beer.
As I've just this morning embarked upon David Mitchell's "Cloud Atlas" (thanks Bibbeth), today has me pondering--among other, less important (read: work-related) things--the Chatham Islands, and more generally the New Zealand archipelago. Which I miss. Dearly.
Colonial Britain had its grubby little fingers just about everywhere during its heyday, and tiny South Pacific islands were no exception. That said, the original Kiwis, and especially the Maori, posed some distinct and unusually bloody challanges--challenges I won't detail here, as that's why God invented Wikipedia. Nevertheless let it be typed that nonviolent movements, albethem pretty durn grand, can by no means accomplish everything.
In this spirit of armed resistance, then, some words from Hollywood's own First Lady:
Wild Ginger certainly has its share of critics. I agree that they're a little overpriced, that even with reservations there's often a needless wait, and that their seemingly bipolar service swings between overbearing and apathetic, but..
..what they do well, they do very well. The duck with sticky buns is marvelous; the little bowl of pineapple dipping sauce they serve with spring rolls is habit-forming; and the seven element soup makes for one of the more satisfying $9 meals around. As someone who doesn't much care for (and certainly can't afford) the upper crust of downtown dining, I appreciate Wild Ginger's attempt to mimic the finery of a Tom Douglas joint while catering at least partly to the bus-riding masses.
Not that I paid for my meal or anything. I ain't stupid.
There's nothing pleases me quite so much as wandering down an alley and happening accross some of the best pizza in Seattle. My only complaint is that the (apparently very serious, life lessony) conversation at a neighboring table kept distracting me from my book--Bernhard Schlink's "The Reader," which is great once you allow yourself to ignore Oprah's seal of approval on the cover.
In other news, I'm told Florida suffers from a want of hills, thus making the progress of amazed toddlers up ours that much more entertaining. Feel free to spirit a few home, kiddo. We have steepness to spare.
Some detractors might prefer that I eat tacos or something, but I decided on this great day of traditional, um, tequila consumption, to stuff with Mexican goodness not my stomach but my mind.
As very few people care to remember, Cinco de Mayo is a celebration of unlikely victory at the Battle of Puebla in 1862. In the wake of numerous costly wars--in which they gained independence from Spain but lost half their country to the U.S.--Mexico had stopped payment on its foreign debts. The French took this rather badly, and marched 6,500 soldiers toward Mexico City. Along the way they were engaged by Ignacio Zaragoza and his outnumbered, ill-equipped forces.
As you may already have inferred, the French lost the battle. Unfortunately they won the war, took the capital, and installed Maximilian, which might lead one to question the ultimate cause for celebration.
Then again, who am I to rain on parades? Any excuse to party is a good excuse, especially when your history is ridden with colonialism and drenched in blood.
Spelling things in Thai is never easy, as there's no standardized Roman analogue to the incomprehensible Sanskrit-derived Thai alphabet. Some folks attempt phonetic accuracy by differentiating aspirated consonants and using a bunch of diacritical marks to represent tone, while others (read: menu authors) dumb things down to the point where any resemblance to the original language has disappeared.
I'd been wondering of late where all the dingy noodle shops could be hiding downtown, and today I found out: under the viaduct. Seriously, there's a whole slew of cheap "ethnic" eateries sandwiched between 1st and the water near where I work, and unfortunately none of them interests me all that much. Five bucks may sound like a steal, but it's still too much for a plate of piddling mediocrity. Maybe the substantial lunch crowd (at 1:45, no less) got my hopes up, because for some reason I expected more.
Note to disappointing Thai restaurant: shape up and start serving som tam and khao neaw, else risk the wrath of my infrequent visits. I would also appreciate some condiments other than pizza joint pepper flakes.
-rrr
(hey, look! an entry that stayed on topic! ain't you proud?)
