nytimes, you are so much snark sometimes. and that is probably why i love you so.
“Someday, you might build a wood-burning oven — right after you start making your own vinegar, raising honeybees and churning butter with cream from cows you milk. Until then, you can make pizzeria-quality pizza with the perfectly normal oven in your kitchen.”
“In many ways, journalism is a young person’s game. When the phone goes in the middle of the night and you’re 25 and you’re asked to go to Beirut, it’s the greatest thing. But when that happens at 50, less so.”
above is a snippet from an interview roger cohen did with the independent a few years back. yes, in many ways, journalism is a young person’s enterprise, and as someone who is on the other end of the “career” arc, cohen is definitely on my list of journalists i have come to admire, if not only for his lucid writing, then for the compassion that is evident in his writing (an example).
cohen on south africa:
“The other day I was talking to a distant relative, an economist named Andrew Levy. He said: “I don’t fear for my life, and that’s the miracle of South Africa. I say hello to a black in the street and he’ll say hello to me in a friendly way. I know I might get killed in the course of a robbery, not because I’m white, not because they hate me, but because there’s poverty. I’m a patriot in the end. I love this country’s beauty. And when I see the unity and good will the World Cup has created, I believe we can succeed.”
cohen on poland and the world:
“So do not tell me that cruel history cannot be overcome. Do not tell me that Israelis and Palestinians can never make peace. Do not tell me that the people in the streets of Bangkok and Bishkek and Tehran dream in vain of freedom and democracy. Do not tell me that lies can stand forever.”
while doing my iran research, ever so often, i would come across his columns. and the co-existence of gentle and firm in his writing struck me.
here is what i have found out about your man, roger.
cohen was born in london. when he was eighteen, him and his friends traveled all through the middle east, triving in a volkswagen kombi named after the grateful dead frontman.
after oxford, he moved to paris, then was hired by reuters and sent to brussels on a one year assignment. he later joined the wall street journal and was transferred to beirut. later, upon joining the new york times, he covered the bosnian war and the genocide that soon followed. returning to its paris bureau, he continued to work from its berlin bureau, and became the foreign editor after 9/11. cohen now files columns for the tribune and the times.
what illustrious career! i can’t help but wonder if such a career might be no longer possible in the age of outsourcing and live blogging. but one can only hope.
i had to stop the music just now.
i have this thing. this thing that helps me rest at night: there is a way i know that i am on the right path. this conviction lets me know that i am doing okay.
allow me to explain.
just yesterday, i watched vbs tv’s toxic garbage island for the first time. it follows three brooklyn hipster/artist/documentary makers on a three-week journey in search of the pacific ocean gyre where all the world’s debris and plastic waste come to rest. thomas, who is one of the main characters, explain that the area is twice the size of texas. or something like it.
it is pretty raw (they point out that on their journey in search of plastic morsels, all the food they are consuming will be wrapped in plastic) and at times blatantly commercial (very clear northface product placement) but mostly pretty touching. it makes you really think about all the plastic you consume. from dawn – the tupperware i use to pack my lunch in the morning, the toothpaste container i reach for to brush my teeth – to desk – keyboard, mouse, remote control, mobile phone – to dusk.
the part that irked me the most was when the captain points out how all the plastic morsels found in the sea are either in shades of blue or green. it is because the rest, the ones of red or orange hue, had been devoured by unassuming birds and fish, assuming it is of shrimp – thus edible – variety.
and then.
an earthquake, a ghana victory, a wine bottle, and a dinner later.
just began reading this article on nytimes about concord, the hometown of famed thoreau, which might become the first place in america to ban plastic bottles.
intrigued, i carry on. before coming across the below paragraph, that is:
“Mrs. Hill’s crusade began a few years ago when her grandson, then 10, told her about the so-called Pacific garbage patch, a vortex of plastic and other debris floating between California and Hawaii, thought to be twice the size of Texas.”
!!!!!!!!!!!! nytimesisreadingmymind !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
i know there must be some rational explanation of this – how vbs and nytimes are both fairly left-leaning media sources and bound to have a quota of plastic/garbage/recycle related article at least once every news cycle; or how because plastic island was on my mind, i had naturally gravitated towards the plastic bottle article.
but still.
whenever these serendipitous happenings occur, i am astounded by how small the world seems. a wiser person once told me that when these magical things happen, it means that you are on the right path in life.
so perhaps that is what the sentient beings are telling me. “carry on, may. you really are on the right path.”
true say. toronto is in the throes of serious love making with all things meat-y.
also doesn’t help that all three places profiled here by nytimes are within a short walking distance from my doorstep. troubling.
but this is the thing. hoof serves up delicious spreads of, yes, meat-based dishes that many vegetarians might cast stern frowns at. but they are presented oh, so, delectably, and they make it abundantly clear that much creativity and care has gone into preparing the dish. and sanagan’s! where do i start? they are wonderful. no, really. everything from the neighbourhood-shoppe decor, to the friendly butchers who will take your inane questions and run with it, to the locally sourced meat they take great pride in serving up, it’s quite lovely. and caplansky’s just hits at my love of knish and kishka.
i am a late comer to this meat-y reverie. i did not eat meat for a long time growing up, and to this day, i am not an aficionado by any measure. in my paradigm of a world more caring and wholesome, no animal would be slaughtered. that being said, i also do not think there is anything wrong with eating meat as long as it is done consciously and deliberately.
well anyways. perhaps meat eating will go the way of homophobia – an outdated convention that seems so crass and ill-informed in hindsight. but until that day comes, sanagan’s will still be my best friend.
please read this article from nytimes on writer john bowe and consider the following:
1. is it just me, or are you also convinced that the reporter is madly falling in love with the writer (“..later, in one of several late night phone calls when mr. bowe seemed less guarded…”). she also spends two paragraphs talking about the actual book (americans talk about love) before willingly and dreamily entering bachelor land of florid wall decor. you can almost hear her giggling at all his new york deadpan jokes.
2. john bowe is such an easy sell: he is not just for “women with a soft spot for social issues.” a man who put up with julian schnabel and wrote “basquiat” and uses mortar and pestle for preparing dinner? please.
3. kidding aside, this article directly references a talk i had with my friend while coursing through the holiday season in holland. rianne shares this deeply insightful observation. ready? so: this society urges us to focus on our professional careers, to do everything in our power to establish ourselves as productive members of this economy and to be gainfully employed, to climb to teh top and stay there. and yet, it is only after years have passed and only after it is too late to change the tide, that you will be criticized for being blinded by fame, and for not pursuing the great passions of your life. we live in a schizophrenic world that professional growth leave no room for passionate embrace. we live in a world where even willing writers cannot seem to find love.
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