Desicritics Author: smallsquirrel

The Catholic Church Once Again Proves It Cares More About Dogma than Humans

smallsquirrel — Thu, 12 Mar 2009 11:27:29 EDT

A shocking report out of Brazil details the saddening situation of a nine year old girl who was repeatedly raped by her step-father. The young child became pregnant with twins, and her mother decided that the best thing for the child was to have an abortion.

When the Catholic diocese of Recife, Brazil heard of this act, the Archbishop excommunicated the doctor who performed the procedure, the team that assisted him and the mother of the assaulted child.

The stepfather, who committed the brutal raped and impregnated a child was allowed to remain in the church.

To add insult to injury, Archbishop Don Jose Cardoso Sobrinho added the following statement: "A graver act than (rape) is abortion, to eliminate an innocent life."

This whole situation proves to me that the Catholic church is much more interested in rhetoric and dogma than it is in the physical and spiritual well-being of its parishioners. They have offered no support to this child, this horribly abused and now physically and mentally broken child. But they will publicly pass judgment on her. And yet they take no stand against a man who is a pedophile and a rapist. The church need not change its views on abortion, but in extreme cases such as the well-being of a nine year old child, it is perhaps appropriate that they remain on the sidelines. Or maybe they could offer counseling to the family. Something, anything other than criticism, rhetoric and hateful judgment.

In my eyes it does not get more depraved and disgusting than this. This act by the Archbishop is not only indefensible, it is also inexcusable. The church is supposed to be a refuge for people to bring them closer to God. It is not meant to stand in judgment publicly and turn an already bad situation into a heinous media circus.

And perhaps not surprisingly, the Vatican has decided to stand behind the decision of the Archbishop. Not really newsworthy, as it recently defended the Holocaust-denying Bishop, and reinstated him into the church even though he continued to espouse anti-semetic and generally offensive views.

The Catholic Church has sunk to the lowest of the low.

Burgers and Fries - Redux

smallsquirrel — Mon, 23 Feb 2009 14:32:44 EST

Are you simply yearning to indulge your cravings for burgers and fries but are trying desperately to stick to a healthy diet? Here are two options for burgers that will help keep your waistline in check, and a much more healthy option for fries. Salmon and turkey are a healthy alternative to beef. Salmon is chock full of Omega 3 fatty acids, and is considered a super food! Sweet potatoes are also considered very healthy, and are a great option when you're craving a starch but want to make your calories count.

Kids love these recipes, although I might recommend cutting down the chili paste and green chili when serving to anyone quite small.

Again, I am very bad with measurements. You'll have to eye-ball it. I made up these recipes and often just use what I have, so nothing is them has cut-and-dried proportions.

SALMON BURGERS

one tin of salmon OR a nice piece of raw salmon cut into small chunks
chili-garlic paste (about 1 tablespoon)
coriander (a handful, chopped)
red onion (about 2 teaspoons chopped)
one egg (beaten)
bread crumbs (unseasoned- about 1 tablespoon)
olive oil

in a bowl, combine the salmon, a handful of chopped coriander, the chopped red onion, and chili-garlic paste according to taste. These are nice when spicy, so if you can stand it, use liberally! Add salt and pepper. Add about one tablespoon of breadcrumbs to the mix, and a little bit of the beaten egg and mix with your hands. Keep adding the egg and breadcrumbs until you feel the patty will hold together, being careful not to add too much or you will spoil the taste of the burger. Make patties that are fairly thin so that they will cook through without becoming tough. Cook on medium/low flame in a small amount of olive oil, being sure to brown but not burn the patties. Do not overcook or the burgers will become tough.

one tin will make 2 burgers.

TURKEY BURGERS

ground turkey (92 percent lean) about 1 lb.
cilantro (a handful, chopped)
red onion (about 2 teaspoons chopped)
bread crumbs (about 1/4 cup)
grated fresh ginger (about a tablespoon)
soy sauce (2 teaspoons)
green chili (one whole, chopped)
salt
pepper

Combine all ingredients, form into patties and cook in a pan in a small amount of olive oil. Brown on both sides, then cover and leave on low heat to ensure the patties are cooked all the way through... about 5 minutes. Should make 4 patties.

SWEET POTATO FRIES

preheat oven to 425

cut 1-2 medium sweet potaoes into thin, french fry-like slices (or wedges if you prefer, but they will take longer to cook) and place into an over-proof baking dish in a single layer. Thinly slice 1-2 cloves of fresh garlic and add to the dish. Drizzle on some extra virgin olive oil and make sure garlic and potatoes are coated lightly. However, there should not be a layer of oil on the bottom of the pan, use just enough to lightly coat the potatoes. Add salt, pepper, and bake until the potatoes are crispy, stirring occasionally to prevent sticking. Just before removing from the oven you can add some chopped coriander, or any other kind of fresh herb that you like.

Valentine's Day 2006

smallsquirrel — Thu, 12 Feb 2009 15:49:35 EST

I knew it wasn't going to be easy. In fact, I was terrified in a way that I had never felt before. I was all dressed up in my brand new salwaar suit, hair neatly pulled back into a clip, with barely a shred of makeup on my face. My fiance was recounting the plot of some Bollywood film he'd seen years ago just so he could keep himself from thinking. I was staring out the window looking at the shops with my thoughts flying past and then coming to a dead halt. This could be the beginning of my new life, or it could be a colossal disaster.

We were in a taxi on the way to his parents' home. We were hoping to get their blessings for our marriage. A firang and the good baby son of every-day, working, middle-class Kannadigas. Who would have thought? Well, certainly not his parents when he told them less than a month before my arrival. They bargained, they argued, they ignored. They persuaded, they cried, they stonewalled. But the day had arrived. I was real, and I was coming for tea at 3 PM sharp.

Everyone knew it wasn't really a friendly kind of visit. There would be no friendly banter, no cheerful "getting to know you" banter. It was an audition. It was a chess game. Both sides felt they had a lot to lose, and no one knew exactly what to expect.

The taxi arrived at the compound gate. I wiped the sweat from my upper lip, got out of the car and adjusted my dupatta. I saw heads pop out from terraces all down the block, and I felt the humid air grow still. The door opened and we were invited inside. I stepped over some faded rangoli and entered a darkened hallway.

I wanted to look around, take in the childhood home of the man I was in love with. I had pictured this place in my mind so often, and it was nothing like I had imagined. There were pictures in the showcase, and I wanted to see them desperately, but this was not the time to get up and explore. My fiance spoke in Kannada asking his mom to come out from the kitchen. His father sat at the table with perfect posture in his shirt and dhoti. He looked kind enough, but he was not smiling. I sat in a small but comfortable chair, and my fiance sat in an identical one. We were separated by an end table that held two old phones and a bronze Nataraja.

The mother came out with tea, and she would not meet my eyes. We all held our metal tumblers and sipped in silence. I was almost overcome with a desire to run right out the door, past the small but neatly kept garden and back out to the main road where I could surely find an auto.

Finally the father spoke, and the interrogation began. He asked about divorce in my family, and my education. He asked about my views on marriage, how I argue, my religion, my flexibility with change, my work history. He asked about my ability to cook and my views on non-veg food in the home. He never once moved from his position at the table except to cross and uncross his legs, and his expression never changed.

He asked about our plans for children, so my fiance and I spoke about how we planned to raise children while honoring both cultures. I explained that I was already from a multi-cultural background, and so while there were certainly things to take into consideration, it was not impossible. The mother remained silent, and looked out the window, the pallu of her sari folded neatly around her like a shield. She asked me nothing, and seemed to not even be paying attention. Then the father asked "How do you think this will work?"

"I am going to move here." I said resolutely. This was solution that clearly neither parent had considered. There was a very heavy pause. The mother seemed to hold her breath while the father breathed a long sigh, stood up and held out both hands with his palms turned upward.

"OK then!" he said, smiling. "You seem to have thought this through. Anything you need, you let us know. We will help to pay for the wedding if you require it." The mother's eyes darted at him in disbelief. I could tell that she had not counted on this turn of events. And now it was done, he had given his blessings. It could not be undone. He said namaskara, and excused himself. It was time for pooja. There was nothing more to discuss.

The mother walked us to the door. I thanked her for her hospitality, and told her I would see her soon. She said something to her mystified son as I walked into the garden, head spinning. I watched the people on the terraces lean back out to watch us go. The maid, who had been silently listening from the back of the house, ran off through the gate to go spread the amazing news.

It was done. I was getting married. I looked up at the hazy Bangalore sky and smirked a quick thank you at God.

Slumdog Millionaire Nominated for Best Picture at Golden Globes

smallsquirrel — Thu, 11 Dec 2008 17:35:11 EST

I realize that the film Slumdog Millionaire has not been released world-wide yet, so I will try not to divulge too much in this piece. But I warn you now, there are bound to be spoilers, so if you're going to get angry about learning about plot twists and such, stop reading now.

Directed by Danny Boyle (of Trainspotting and 28 Days Later fame) and based on a book by Vikas Swaroop, this film is set in present day Mumbai and follows one Jamal Malik through a series of life events that truly could only happen in India.

To call this film brilliant would be both an understatement and taking the easy road. This is a complicated film. And although a lot of people are watching it and praising it, I am not sure they GET it.

Jamal is your average slum-dwelling Mumbaiker. His childhood is fraught with things children should not have to think about or endure. He eventually becomes a street kid, along with his brother and a girl named Latika, and the three of them struggle to make life work. The movie focuses on what happens to all three of them as life goes on.

I will be honest with you. I watched this movie on Thanksgiving weekend, smack in the middle of the Mumbai "situation". I thought it would do both my husband and I to go and see a movie about Mumbai in better times. Whoa. Bad call. Honestly, 30 minutes into the movie, both of us were in tears and struggling to stay in our seats. Brilliant does not always translate into easy to stomach, and we had already maxed out on human suffering and the depravity that some people can sink to.

The issue for us was that the film pinpoints (and then focuses on) many of the negative aspects one can find in India, including: extreme poverty, religious violence, police brutality, exploitation of children, organized crime, violence against women, violence against children, torture, rape, coercion, caste issues, and the list goes on.

What the film doesn't do is highlight the positive aspect of India. Which is fine. This is meant to be one story, and is not responsible for representing the full picture of India. However, when seeing only the negative, it all becomes overwhelming. A bit raw. And this seems to be the bit that is sticking with many non-desis that I have talked to.

"Is India really like that?"
"Did you see any of that?"
"Oh my GOD how did you cope?"

Well, yes and no. Yes. And the answer is not that easy. I saw it but I did not experience it. And as most of us know, while India can be raw and horrifying and all the negative things I mentioned above do happen in India. But it certainly is not the complete picture. India has so much beauty, history, love, warmth, compassion. But this is not a story about those things. And that is alright.

This film has to be among the best-made films I have ever seen. Boyle did not attempt to get any licenses to film in Mumbai, and so many scenes in the film are shot "guerrilla" style. There is even a shot of a real cop telling them to stop filming which has been left in.

It is also an interesting marriage of styles. Boyle is a Brit, but much of the dialog is in Hindi. The soundtrack is by film music giant A.R. Rahman, and much of the cast and crew for production are local Mumbaikers.

None of the leads are very well known. The guy who plays Jamal is Dev Patel who is on a British serial. His brother Salim is played by Madhur Mittal, who has been in some other Bollywood movies, but is not really well known either. And the woman who plays Latika used to be a model. Of course, there are some big names in the supporting cast such as Irrfan Khan and Anil Kapoor.

I would highly recommend this film to everyone. Just do not go to it thinking you're going to get some happy, joyful, feel-good movie. It is a slice of one life, somewhat disturbing, but ending with a message that I think we can all get behind. Oh, and one very tongue-in-cheek nod to a typical Bollywood dance number.

When Desperation Overwhelms

smallsquirrel — Fri, 17 Oct 2008 10:53:50 EDT

In today's online version of CNN, I saw the following headline: Woman Beheads Man, Parades It Through Streets.

Disgusting, but intriguing. Then I look at where the story is filed from.

Lucknow, India.

Apparently, a woman was working in a field and was attacked from behind. A man who apparently had been stalking her for months and threatening her, decided to make good on his threats. She suffered bite marks on her face and neck during the attack. According to the article, in an attempt to save herself, she used the sickle she was working with in the field and cut off the man's head.

Wow.

When questioned, she said she realized she would be charged with a crime, but she did not care. She said she felt no regret about killing him.

Imagine how scared she must have been to resort to that kind of violence. Did you know that a massive percentage of women (some report as high as 80 percent) in prison in the US are there because they took revenge on a partner or spouse following prolonged domestic abuse? Those are astronomical figures. And they tell us something else. That women feel they have nowhere to turn when things are going horribly wrong. They feel they have no one to save them from the abuse, so they take matters into their own hands.

Now apparently women in India are starting to wake up and realize that they are not powerless to effect change. Do I advocate this kind of violence? Of course not. All that happens is that the victim then is turned into the perpetrator, and generally innocent children are left withouth both parents.

It is high time that India put in place some real resources for women who are victims of stalking, assault, and domestic violence. Maybe if there were effective tools for them to use, they would not resort to violence or other unproductive means of stopping the terrible situation they find themselves in. Sadly, even in a "developed" country like the US, those resources are few and far between.

One of my closest friends runs a shelter for women in a city near me. She has all kinds of tales of what happens to her clients. One woman's husband had threatened to kill her if she left him. She left anyway, because she could not take the abuse anymore, and she moved into the shelter. She tried to get an order of protection against him, but the judge said there was not enough evidence. So right on cue, the husband came and shot her dead right in front of their two children.

So why do most women not leave? Because abusers are even more dangerous when you do finally pick up and go. They escalate. Without resources to help woman, and without people in positions of power who are willing to help, women will be forced to do the unthinkable. And that is not acceptable to anyone.

One Last Song

smallsquirrel — Thu, 11 Sep 2008 00:29:44 EDT

I am sorry Mary.

I think it's been fifteen years. Maybe more. Last we spoke I was standing in my closet getting ready for my very first day of graduate school. We had not spoken in years before that. You called to ask me if I could get you out of rehab. You swore they were drugging you there. There must be something in those vitamin pills.

It was your fifth DUI. I could not help you. I actually did not really even want to.

I remember as a child you were always my favorite. When I was that young I did not see that you were skin and bones. I did not notice the drinking. I did not know about "alternative lifestyles." I liked that you could play the guitar. I loved when you sang. You played games with me. That was all I needed.

I remember the July you came to visit me. I was so excited to see you. It had been a couple years since I had seen you, and I was bored of my summer reading and working on my tan. I told all my friends how amazing you were. You sang back-up for famous people. You were witty and sarcastic, the backbone of admiration for most 13 year-olds.

I was horrified when you stepped out of the car. You were like something from those frightening concentration camp liberation movies. The clothes looked like they were mocking you, all angles and jutting bones. Your hair was wiry and you didn't look cool to me any more, you looked like a cartoon. I could not even meet your gaze. I was embarrassed by your enthusiasm to jump back into our friendship. I wanted to run away.

I remember the year you gave me my first (and only) acoustic guitar. You tricked me. All I wanted was that Yamaha and you hid it away until the last minute. I had time to sing you only one song that day. I pretended that I had written it, but really it was by the Golden Palominos. I do not know why I lied. I wanted you to be proud of me, but you would have been anyway, even without the song. I still felt guilty for hating your sicknesses.

You looked no better at Nonna's funeral, but since I was in college then, I was a bit more empathetic. I knew that you were drinking 4 beers to my every one. I knew I would never see you eat a thing that whole weekend, a near impossibility at an Italian funeral. But when we sang together, I saw you again like I did when I was a child.

I don't think I ever saw you again after that. Just the one phone call, and I was back to being an embarrassed teen. Why did you call me that day? What made you think I could help you? Why did you never trust me with your real secrets?

My husband gave me the message today that you had died. So I am sorry Mary. I will not be at your funeral. But I suppose later I can sing you one last song. This time it will be my own.

What I Learned in China

smallsquirrel — Wed, 13 Aug 2008 11:09:26 EDT

Watching the opening ceremonies of the Olympics in Beijing brought back a lot of memories for me. Long ago, in what seems like another lifetime, I was once engaged to a Chinese man. All those endless rows of Chinese men beating their drums in perfect synchronization, tireless, faces showing what seemed like rehearsed emotion, reminded me of my strange adventures with that culture.

I met this man, we'll call him Zhong, in graduate school. We were peers. We dated and eventually planned to marry. During our relationship I tried very hard to understand his culture. He was from Beijing. Both parents were very successful. What I knew about China then I could fit in a single paragraph.

We eventually traveled to China so I could meet his family. I remember once Zhong had stringently told me that foot binding was a myth. It was "made up by the stupid Americans to shame China." So imagine my shock when his aunty answered the door to the family home tottering on teensy nubs. I learned later from a family friend with a penchant for chatter that she had been married off as a young girl to a successful Army man. As a symbol of his wealth, so that she would be forever reliant on servants, her feet were broken after the marriage, folded over on themselves and bound tightly in cloth. Not two months after they were wed, the aunty's husband was killed and she was shipped back to her family... crippled. When I tried to ask Zhong about the aunt, he ignored me. When I persisted, he wheeled around and hissed at me that we would never speak of it again.

This was my baptism into China.

China is an amazing place, full of beauty and preternatural grace. Walking through the streets of Beijing I felt as if I was in a movie. But just under the surface something was lurking. It made me uneasy. Now this was thirteen years ago, and I am sure that some things have changed. But I cannot imagine that the strict structure that girds that culture has shifted much at all.

I noticed that everything in China seemed to have a purpose. Nothing was random. No one said anything in an offhand manner. Words were measured. Even emotions seemed calculated. I started to be able to place a finger on what was causing the nagging doubts I had been feeling about my engagement. I wondered, also, when I would be given the script so I could at least play my part competently. It never came.

I did come to learn that everything in China revolves around appearances. I finally understood that I would need to ask Zhong to brief me on how to act before every meeting with a family friend or relative. The instructions would go something like: "Wear something conservative. Mention your Master's degree but only after he mentions his PhD, so he knows so are inferior to him. And make sure you look down when you talk to him. Also tell him that you like to garden and other simplistic tasks." Um, I hate gardening. No matter? Oh right, I have to create an image.

At one point we had to go visit an old friend of Zhong's father. I found out on the way there that he was a former ambassador. He would be serving us a certain kind of tea, which I despise, but I was to drink it. I was to drink two cups, actually, and praise it. I was to say the bare minimum, and I was to answer all the ambassador's questions in a deferential manner. Under no circumstances should I talk plainly with the man, and I should not mention my degree in Political Science. My hands should remain folded in my lap.

We got to the ambassador's house, and it all went wrong from the start. I am a terrible liar, and so when the ambassador asked me what my undergraduate degree was, in I stumbled. As a result he came to know I was a student of politics. Even though he seemed very friendly and eager for honest discussion, I tried to keep my views very benign. Then I excused myself to use the restroom, as I had begun to feel quite sick.

As soon as I was done spilling my guts into the toilet and tried to gracefully recover, I realized that the toilet would not flush. I was horrified. I stood in silent panic for what seemed like eons. I tried it again, begging it "please please please flush, dammit!" but nothing was happening. Finally I peeped my head out the door and whispered for Zhong. He could not hear me. But the ambassador saw me, and came to my aid.

"Oh!" he said jovially "the flush is broken, you must do this..." and began to fill a bucket with water. Zhong glared at me as if I had done this all purposefully. I stood by in horror as the ambassador worked to flush my vomit down the toilet, all with the same demeanor as he had when we had earlier been discussing the former Soviet Union.

In the taxi on the way home the only words that were spoken to me were: "Do you have any idea how much you have shamed me? My family? I cannot look at you. Do not speak. I asked you very simple things and you cannot even do that much."

Later I did not even bother to argue when his parents insisted that the whole "Tienanmen Square fiasco" was mostly invented by the American media. Interesting view, considering that the family's apartment was close enough to the Square that they would have heard the whole "misunderstanding" clearly. They actually would have been stuck inside because of police barricades in that whole area. Never mind that we all saw it live on TV. But we never spoke of that again, either.

The list of things I was never to speak of grew to epic proportions that month. Human rights, alternate sexuality, my views on democracy, my views on anything, really, except scholarly insights into neutral topics like linguistics. I was not even allowed to have an opinion on cooking, since each time I ventured into the kitchen I made terrible blunders. For example, once when chopping vegetables to help with the evening meal, I was met with strange sideways glances from Zhong's mother. When I was done, I noticed that she shooed me out, and threw the carrots away. When I asked Zhong what had happened he informed me that "everyone knows that the carrots for that chicken dish must be julienned. You made slices. And they were uneven."

When we returned home I broke the engagement. It was better for everyone. I simply do not know how to beat my drum exactly in rhythm with 2007 other people.

Movie Review: La Finestra di Fronte (Facing Windows)

smallsquirrel — Mon, 7 Jul 2008 10:32:59 EDT

La Finestra di Fronte (English title: Facing Windows) is a 2003 Italian film that flew under the radar of many, including myself, until recently. The movie opens with a scene in a bakery in the 1940's. Something is happening, there is a struggle, someone runs into the shadows. Then the film starts.

Set in a typical Roman middle class neighborhood, Giovanna lives with her husband Filippo and their two children. They are walking through the city and arguing. And it is not your typical marital fight. They actually just do not seem to like each other very much. But then they run into an old man who is lost and confused. Filippo wants to help him, and Giovanna wants to get home. Eventually they agree to drop him by the police station on the way back.

From here nothing goes as planned. Filippo wants to watch the football match on TV, and the old man ends up spending the night, much to the annoyance of Giovanna. She's scared for her children, and this old man seems more confused than ever. But he seems to have a name. Simone.

The rest of the movie focuses on how life gets derailed, in big ways and small. It is a film about what happens when you do not follow your passions. About how your soul can get trampled by the day-to-day, and about how we sometimes crush another's dream without meaning to. It is about how nothing is as it appears on the surface, and about the choices we make in life... both easy and monumental.

I won't uncover the rest of the plot of this movie, because I genuinely recommend watching it. It has some surprising plot twists that are worth following. The acting was particularly good, especially for an Italian film, which are sometimes hit-or-miss. And the writers have done a good job building characters that have layers. You really can't put your finger on any of them.

For example, the film takes its name from the fact that Giovanna and Filippo's apartment faces that of a man named Laurenzo. Laurenzo is a very handsome single man who leaves his blinds open, and Giovanna and her girlfriends like to look at him and wonder about his life. He seems oblivious to the world around him - but again, in this movie nothing is at it seems.

Or Giovanna. She seems harsh, even with her kids. She seems to lack patience and always appears on edge and ready to burst. Fifteen minutes into the movie you're ready to dislike her wholly. Then you start to understand that under her hard exterior, there is a much softer woman lurking around. And then you start to empathize with her. Her life is not easy.

I particularly enjoyed this movie because it had some wonderful typical Roman dialog. You won't catch it on the subtitling because of the translation, but it involves the use of phrases like "gata morta" (translation: dead cat) to mean "dead end." There were also many times during the movie that the plot changed just when it was veering close to predictability.

Its a thinking movie. Don't watch it expecting a laugh. It kept me awake for hours after, but it was well worth it.

Easy Warm Summer Vegetable Salad

smallsquirrel — Wed, 25 Jun 2008 00:15:17 EDT

Summer is my favorite time of year to cook. There are plenty of great vegetables available, and it's so easy to throw together a nice and easy salad.

This colorful salad is great served warm when it is first made, but it gains flavor as you let the leftovers (if there are any!) sit and marinate in the fridge. You can easily double the recipe, and it is guaranteed to spruce up any picnic!

I do not have a lot of exact measurements because I never learned to cook using them, so please don't get mad at the approximations.

This recipe takes about 20 minutes to make.

What you'll need:

-1 large red pepper
-8-10 baby red potatoes. you can use baby white ones too in a pinch.
-approx 1/2-3/4 lb of fresh string beans
-a lemon
-extra virgin olive oil
-spring onions
-salt
-black pepper
-a light vinegar (either rice wine or white wine. don't use balsamic as it is too dark and will discolor the potatoes)
-your favorite herb (I prefer basil for this, but you could use oregano or whatever you fancy!)

Set a medium sized pot of water to boil. Add the whole potatoes to the boiling water. When they are fork tender, take them out, cut them in half and place them in a large bowl. Do not over cook them!

While the potatoes cook, roast the red pepper. You can do this in your broiler, if you have one, or take a fork and hold it over the burner on your stove. It will take about 7-9 minutes to properly char the pepper. It should be well burnt on the outside. When it is done, slice in half and place inside a clean paper bag and close it. Or put inside a bowl and cover it. After about 5 minutes take the pepper off and the burnt skin will come off easily. Scrape out the seeds, cut into strips and set aside.

In a large bowl put about 3 tablespoons of vinegar, the zest of about 1/2 the lemon (be sure not to get the pith!!!), some salt, black pepper, and about one tablespoon of chopped fresh or dried herbs. Also squeeze some of the lemon juice into the bowl. Then while whisking, add about a 1/2 cup of olive oil. Taste it. If it is missing something, add it! It should be tangy/lemony and herby. It has to be strong enough to light up the veggies, so don't be shy! Pour contents over warm potatoes and toss.

Clean the string beans and chop them in half. Put them in the boiling water you just took the potatoes out of. Do not over cook them. I usually leave them in for about 4 minutes tops! They should be bright green and crunchy. Drain and add to the potatoes.

Clean and slice one green onion and add to the bowl. Add roasted pepper strips, toss and you are done!

Rachael Ray Serves Iced Coffee and Jihadi Donuts

smallsquirrel — Sat, 31 May 2008 00:02:11 EDT

I am no fan of Rachael Ray. Let's get that out of the way up front. I am much more solidly in the Anthony Bourdain camp. I do not do cutesy, especially when it comes to cuisine.

But when I read this article I nearly lost my mind.

Rachael Ray is now shilling for Dunkin Donuts here in the States. And apparently for one of her commercials, her stylist added a silk black and white paisley scarf as a wee fashion accent. But then Jewish blogger Pam Geller comes on the scene and accuses Ray of wearing a keffiyeh and being a "jehadist tool."

What the f**k?

I wish I could use nicer language, but really! I just can't. Ray as a jihadist? This woman could not find her way around a political debate with a map and Kissinger as her personal guide. She would quickly change the topic to EVOO and making "easy peasy fruit stacks."

Geller's outcry was followed by equally ridiculous ranting from Michelle Malkin. Malkin went on to bring up beheadings and hostages in what can only be described as typical far right-wing posturing at very best. She also said that wearing keffiyeh has now been adopted by left-wing icons and calls it "hate-coture." (insert eye-roll here) It is hard to take this seriously coming from a woman who has found it acceptable to justify racial profiling. And she's a minority. Can we say self-hatred?

Anyway, Dunkin Donuts did the only thing it could do and yanked the commercial.

Oh Jesus! Can we give this a rest please? Seriously. First of all if you look at the item in question it's nothing more than a damned scarf. I might be wrong, but I don't think that a keffiyeh even has fringe, does it? This is a simple scarf.

The woman did not march onto the set with an "I heart Hezbollah" t-shirt. She did not promote a new breakfast sandwich with all proceeds going to the PLO. No, the woman wore a scarf.

How far is this ridiculousness going to go? OK, well here we go. Let's make a list. No red because of the Bloods, no blue because of the Crips. Holy people of many religions wear saffron so that is out. Black is symbolic of evil, so scrap that. Green is symbolic of envy and that is one of the Seven Deadly Sins... nixed. No short skirts as they are too provocative, no long skirts because they are too puritanical. No suits because they are elitist. Better avoid ethnic wear altogether because someone will feel left out.

But let's take this even further. What's with the anti-Arab sentiment? As far as I know, the keffiyeh is worn by all sorts of Arab men, and it's worn to protect them from the heat and sun. OK, right, so Arafat was also famous for wearing one, yes. But Palestinians are not the only Arabs. And even if they were, not all Palestinians are terrorists. So how is that characterization even acceptable? And is that what we do now? We don't like something so we link it to terrorism? Yeesh!

All this hyper over-reaction makes me nutters. It is one thing to react strongly to overt displays of offensive behavior. But to come out with both barrels smoking over something that is not even riding the line of acceptability is one thing that is seriously messing with.. well, everything. People are so angry. So reactionary. So partisan and ready to posture and find fault.

I am sorry to get so existential here, but all I can wonder is "where the hell are we headed?" Sadly, I think the answer is "to hell in a hand basket."

Just be sure to accessorize appropriately.