Saturday, February 28, 2004 :::
 
Is there anything more beautiful than Washington in the springtime? Well, lots of things, actually, but it ranks up there. And it's not really Spring. We're having an Indian Spring. In the winter with the coldest day in a 100 years, we get this vacation from suffering. It has happened before. Perhaps 7 years ago, we had this Indian Spring, and the spring bulbs all thought it was time to come out. This perhaps is the origin of the phrase "dim bulb," because they are not really very smart. Up came the crocuses and daffodils, and down they went again when the snows came back. One suspects "dim bulb" refers to lights, but it does seem to have a broader application. A week of this weather in March, and we are likely to have a real Spring with no bulbous flowers in April. Pity. They are so ephemeral, and so beautiful.

Friday found A Mind That Suits all at sixes and sevens. Heretofore, he has invariably spent Friday nights at Ye Olde Neighborhood Pub parked at the bar eating a hamburger and reading with Young John offering hours of entertainment. But everything is gone from Ye Olde Neighborhood Pub except the fixtures, and those are probably walking out the door as this is being written. What to do, what to do? Why, head up to the Ye Newe Neighborhood Pub where Young John and friend Jorge now work. Add one extra Metro ride ($1.20) and subtract the lower taxes on food in Maryland (perhaps $.40) and you get an increase in cost of eighty cents. (If one spends one's time reading, the extra ten minutes each way on Metro have no value plus or minus at all.)

The staff from Ye Olde Neighborhood Pub was moved up to Ye Newe Neighborhood Pub exactly because Ye Newe Neighborhood Pub was a disaster. The only place where A Mind That Suits could chat with Young John and friend Jorge was sitting next to the waiter station where the waiters picked up their drinks, and he must say, after many years managing food service staffs, that among the existing staff at Ye Newe Neighborhood Pub, there are four waiters who should be forced out as soon as possible. (It's easy to do: give them all the bad shifts, and only four of those. And when arguments break out, side presumptively with whoever is arguing with them, as the other staff are, presumptively and almost indubitably, in the right.) It was a brutal corporate decision, but it was in fact a wise one.

Plus, A Mind That Suits, who by profession is surrounded by youngsters and enjoys that for all the right reasons, became instant friends with the other bartender, a young lad named Bryan who actually convinced the venerable University of Virginia to give him a degree in poetry. But he is not a "poetic" lad. In fact, he looks as if he played soccer at a smaller, underfunded Division III liberal arts school, and he is very masculine, despite the blonde features that make him look too young to even enter Ye Newe Neighborhood Pub, much less work there. He displays the roly-poly physique of the writer, it is true, but he could shout with the best of them. Food service is a toughening experience for lads who live in their minds. A Mind That Suits knows this very well. Going into food service was the best decision he ever made, after becoming a Christian.

Old friend Young John is a basketball-playing biologist, all spatial relationships and speed, and new friend Young Bryan is plodding and deliberate and about a foot shorter, so it made from some funny sights, with arms reaching under and over and a blonde bowling ball nearly knocking over a black-haired pin.

But those waiters. Oh, my.

One transcendantly incompetent young lady did the inexcusable, which is enter a drink order and then immediately wander over to ask the bartenders, who were obviously swamped, where it was. She also has bad judgment in words, because she blurted out, "How's my wine?" Young Ryan burst out "Don't do that," but Young John, whose likely profession does not involve words in the sense that his wil for Young Bryan, came up with the much better, "Pretty good." That answer earned well deserved kudos from both New friend Young Bryan and A Mind That Suits. Put the question and answer together, and you will see why A Mind That Suits has a hard time repressing smiles while disciplining recalcitrant boys.

Have a good one...

::: posted by A Mind That Suits at 12:59 PM



Friday, February 27, 2004 :::
 
Lots to write about today, but the whole day was taken up with a big submission, so probably not until tomorrow. Two quick notes:

Mel Gibson has little to worry about. It's really very simple: Jay Leno loved The Passion of the Christ and gave him ample time last night. Jay's good-bye to Mel? "Thanks for having the courage of your convictions." All other reviewers, you can stick the reviews in your portfolio, but the man who most reflects mainstream American tastes (after the mighty Steven Spielberg) has weighed in and all your scribbling pro or con is largely for naught.

Over "On the Taste Page" of the indispensable Wall Street Journal, Stephen Prothero, who has just written a book on how Americans try to make Jesus cuddly, has an excellent discussion of why the movie is so violent. And as it is Friday, of course, we should all read our Daniel Heninger, and today's column is a real bracer.

More tomorrow, folks.

::: posted by A Mind That Suits at 4:01 PM



Wednesday, February 25, 2004 :::
 
You know, my late uncle, Allen Drury, started out as a reviewer for the Stanford paper and decided almost right then that reviews were for the birds. He told a friend of his that in so many words when she interviewed him toward the end of his life. He moved on to editorial writing his senior year, and so far as sorting through about 2000 papers that sit on my desk (and the thousands of other kept at Hoover) can tell me, he never committed a review again, except to praise one or two books he thought were worth noting.

And I myself sat in wonder through the acres of reviews of Titanic and waited for one of them to catch the most glaring error. I have always been fascinated by the story, and I thought the movie was a masterpiece, if you cut out the love story. As Mr. Cameron put great stock in the historical accuracy of his re-enactment, criticizing him was fair game. The lake that Jack supposedly almost drowned in as a child, for instance, was created 5 years after the Titanic went down. Hmmm. However, not one single reviewer noted that the French name for the blue gem at the center of the film--Le Coeur de La Mer--is properly translated "The Heart of the Sea," and not "ocean," as they do in the movie itself. The friend sitting next to me when I saw it in the theater spoke Spanish and he caught that. Not one reviewer that I ever saw did. (Looking up the spelling of "coeur" revealed that it is masculine, and I do believe the movie as it as feminine. Have to listen next time I put it in late at night.)

This comes up because I have been catching the reviews of The Passion of the Christ as they have been popping up on the old computer screen, and I must say reviewers have not gotten more careful. Some are pure nastiness--saying that the only people identified as Jews are the villains, when many other people have said otherwise, including more than one Rabbi who has seen it--and some are ill-informed, such as stating that Vatican II "cleared" the Jews of something that the Church had in fact never accused them of, though enough of Her children, lamentably, had. Another says that it was Gibson who started the furor over the film, when it was in fact a group of what appeared to me to be academic hacks who did that. Not that Mel ol' buddy wasn't quite adept at riding the wave, but he didn't start it. So too are there other details that imply that the reviewers are simply peering over the shoulders of other writers and repeating things that have been said, or that they have decided were true. My uncle, the most successful political reporter of his day before he hit it big with Advise and Consent, hated reporters who did that, and felt that most did. Apparently old journalistic traditions die hard.

I have found most Post reporters not to be that way, by the way. They are the most likely to write back to you and say, "Can you give me a source for that?"

However, I must say that reading a review one agrees with is a really, really boring passtime, and I will keep the criticisms in mind as I try and pry my way into a showing through the crowds.

By the way, one of the funniest examples to me of how bureaucracies work is the non-story over whether or not the Pope said what he clearly did say after he saw a DVD of The Passion a little while ago. "It is as it was," was the quote in the initial reports. And then, after about a month, suddenly people in the Vatican started saying that it wasn't true. I suspect that Mr. Gibson's rather broad way of expressing himself publicly may have caused some bureaucrats to want to trim his sails (and his sales) a little, or someone may have sent them all a copy of Mr. Gibson's excellent Conspiracy Theory, where his nutty cab driver includes in his list of sewers "the Vatican--don't even get me started on that place" or words to that effect. In any case, far too many people were on the record as saying that the Pope had in fact said that, or were in a position to deny it and didn't. Anyone who has lived in Washington knows that bureaucracies work in their own weird way, and, alas, with the Pope being so ill, it is highly unlikely that anyone has told him about all these denials that suddenly cropped up. Peggy Noonan had an amusing and infuriating run-down on the silliness. Sadly, whoever had it in for Gibson did a good enough job that that quote has now disappeared from public consciousness.

A note on those Drury papers: the result of 8 weeks of culling and zeroxing have now been sorted by decade. The 1970's are done, with everything in chronological order and in sheet protectors. The worst decade--the 1960's--is almost done. Worst, in the sense that those years must account for 25% of the documents. There are two problems. Stuffing things in sheet protectors is mindnumbingly boring, first, and second, my uncle was incapable of writing a boring letter. I don't have authorization to quote from them yet; that will come from when the book gets written. But the temptation to read and read again some insightful or really obnoxious comment from the nation's premier political novelist,and one of my best friends, is nearly irresistible. Of course, I am supposed to know what's in all of them, and the only way to do that is read and reread them countless times. And they are in folders, by decade, and getting done. (A couple of people have come in to work on the computer and moved things, and I nearly died.)But dear me, filing is just not my forte.


::: posted by A Mind That Suits at 3:21 PM



Monday, February 23, 2004 :::
 
Why the Justin-Janet hoopla was a serious matter. Please see what the 12-year-old boy has to say in this article.

::: posted by A Mind That Suits at 3:26 PM


 
What a Difference a Bad Restaurant Makes

Last night saw the sputtering demise of the neighborhood restaurant known on this distinguished blog as "Ye Olde Neighborhood Pub." It was, in fact, nothing more than a corporately owned pizza-and-burger place, but it was the only place that we older insomniacs could sit and watch TV together. Or get in arguments about the war. Or study Latin.

Or just sit.

The truth is, if you got above the burgers and pizza, the food was atrocious, and, as with nearly all corporate restaurants, they had a terrible time keeping waiters. Why that is, is something of a mystery, but it is true. The recently installed manager, while humorless and grim, did have a way of balancing shifts such that reliable waiters felt they could make a living wage, and so it had stabilized.

What will be most sorely missed is friend Jorge, a Bolivian, who, in keeping with the style of immigrants in nearly every restaurant in DC, ignored management bad or good and did his job up to the level of his own very high standards. He also hung on through thick and thin until he got "section one" every night, on the nights he wanted. Good service and a pleasant smile are the only way to make money as a waiter, and Jorge comes by those naturally. Jorge was also a remarkable artist, very well educated, and a good conversationalist when things were slow. When this writer wanted to read, he let him read, and when he wanted to talk, he talked. And his family is the beneficiary of the endless bounty that is possible when one family member has a good job in the United States.

Sorely missed too will be John and Young John, the bartenders. John was reserved and hard working, but could crack a good joke when things lightened up. He also kept the bar in good shape, and the waiters. Young John was bubbly and always on the move, a bundle of energy and ready with a joke. He had what the Greeks would call the " arete' " of youth--the virtues appropriate to his age and station in life. It's kids like him that make college teaching enjoyable, on the days when it is, though this writer may be the only English teacher who likes it when he comes into work and finds the furniture suspended from the ceilings. It shows initiative, and Young John is the kind of young man that the authorities go ask first when harmless pranks have been pulled.

The restaurant decor, typically for this chain, was dark and isolating, but the bar was brightly lit and pleasant. And, most importantly, the only place in Cleveland Park where bachelors and others who work until 10 could chill out before heading home. Everyone was heartbroken, at least if "everyone" had a Y-chromosome, though all admitted the food stunk. Where else is one likely to bump into one of the country's leading leftist economists, a ranking member of the Council on Foreign Relations, a brash young media consultant, various neighborhood characters, and A Mind That Suits?

Speaking of whom, he has spent a lot of time in Palo Alto in recent years, and the old stomping grounds resemble the neighborhood where he has setttled a lot. Neither has a good pub. Strange. For those crazy enough to go into restaurant management, it would seem to be a no-brainer.

But for A Mind That Suits, his life has been radically altered, and he has to do some rethinking. Like all males, he is a creature of habit. And a big one just got broken.

That actually happened once. The furniture thing. Done safely and expertly. And it was just a stool. But very funny.

The Invaluable MEMRI. A Mind That Suits altered his own style the last time he mentioned the indispensable MEMRI and referred to it as the "invaluable MEMRI." Indeed it is, and many others seem to think so. Googling "invaluable MEMRI" yields hundreds of hits. You should get a free e-mail subscription. You will hear translations of a whole range of Arabs, pro-Western and anti. The anti's will make your toes curl, but it beats out the feelgood treatment that that part of the world gets, and they really do cover "all sides." (Yes, mainstream coverage of the Middle East is as "feelgood" as it can possibly be.) So MEMRI: read it regularly. And A Mind That Suits will go back to calling it the "indispenable MEMRI," as it is also that.

::: posted by A Mind That Suits at 11:08 AM

What doesn't kill me, makes me laugh... usually.