The Uglification of Betty

My new guilty pleasure - Ugly Betty - seems to be everyone else's as well. ABC's ugly duckling hit caused a ruckus at not only the Golden Globes but the SAG awards. The very pretty in real life America Ferrara won for Best Performance by an Actress In A Television Series - Musical Or Comedy. America also gave a tear leaking acceptance speech in which she lauded Betty for embracing the true beauty in everywoman. Perhaps I'm a sucker for cinderella stories or for happy endings. I tend to think I'm more motivated by transformation - whether it be physical or spiritual. Viva la Ducklings!

Most Depressing Day of the Year

Apparently today is the most depressing day of the calendar year. Apparently a psychologist named Cliff Arnall in Wales created a formula to calculate this occurance = [W + (D-d)] x TQM x NA. It basically devolves to the badness of weather + debt accumulated from the holidays + time since the holidays + time since New Years resolutions have been abandoned + general state of motivation + the need to take action.

While there is no real science behind this equation, and Arnall has been goaded for devising 'pseudo-science' there could be some truth in this theory. Come on, regardless of Global Warming, more likely than not it's going to be brutally cold in early January. Even if you didn't spend enough to bail Newfoundland out of national debt, you're probably a few bucks out of pocket. How long did your resolutions last? Did you make any? Now that the holiday hoopla has died down, what do you have to look forward to? The Superbowl? Valentines Day? Easter? Come now, it makes perfect sense. Read more about the most depressing day and you be the judge.

Smoker's Voice

Of all the news in recent media surrounding Senator Barack Obama, the most surprising is the fact that he smokes. The Slate http://www.slate.com/id/2157523/ even rhapsodizes about his voice - claiming that "hardened cynics go weak at the knees when they hear him." Could it be the sound of his voice or the sound of politican speaking logically? Something we have not seen in the past 7 years with the current administration.

According to the Chicago Tribune, the senator's wife has always had a nit against the smoking. And let's face it, who wouldn't be concerned about her husband's health, especially a primo candidate such as Obama. Let's see if he can kick the habit prior to the election rounds. All cigars aside, it couldn't do anything but help his cause.

The Carborator

My Indian genes have preserved my body remarkably well. I always got carded well into my late 30s. That's about the age that my metabolism decided to shift from brisk to a mosey. I found myself contemplating a diet for the first time in my life. Now, now. Don't be hating.

The only reason I don't diet is beccause I am a adamant exerciser. Gym workouts 3 - 5 days a week. Tennis on weekends. Walking the dog. Let me clarify - walking my Jack Russell. Long vacations at the beach bodysurfing, boogeyboarding and just plain flailing about in the ocean. That and the fact that a size 4ish size body, sometimes 6 when it feels in a lumpy mood, is okay by me. But with an upcoming wedding and the nagging notion that the old bod isn't as vibrant as it ought to be, a change of pace is called for.

So I performed the obligatory review of exercise books on Amazon. Checked out the South Beach diet, the Aktins, the Thyroid and Nutrisystem. In reading the philosophies, I had to conclude that a lower carb option was my best best. So I put myself on a modified Atkins which I cleverly called a "Detox". And in truth, it really was. No carbs, no sugar and (drumroll) no alcohol for 6 weeks. The first few weeks produced the best results. Not that the pounds magically melted, but the gut receded and my arms began showing visible definition from weight lifting. More to come as the Detox progresses. Stay tuned.

Jacques, my hero

Watching cooking shows these days can be a frustrating affair. And if you're like me, you watch then all the time. Of the Food Network crew I like Giada De Laurentis the best. Although at first I feared that her head would roll off her body, so large was it in comparison to her frail shoulders that my fiance and I called her bobble-head. All that's changed and I feel she's proven her mettle (knowing that she received a pastry certificate from the Cordon Bleu pushed that a long way into acceptance). I like the composition of her dishes, the beauty of the ingredients and utensils (love that dark wooden cutting board!). But mostly I like her enthusiasm for food. And she doesn't oversell herself like, oh say Rachael Ray with 23 cooking shows, a monthly lifestyle magazine, a talk show and God knows how many cookbooks. Which is not to say if Oprah knocked on my door and said would you like me to be your Fairy God Mother? would I by any means say no.

While I enjoyed De Laurentis' latest travel food show (man that girl can eat!) all it took was one PBS episode to put all of the FoodTV stars to shame. An episode by the name of Jacques Pepin's Fast Food My Way! What a thing of beauty that man is. 72 years old, chopping with a flourish, roasting and toasting, combining luscious ingredients and tossing in quick cheats that would make Martha grind her teeth. Like his recipe for a Pear Betty. He basically saves all the old pastries from the week - half a danish, a gnawed upon chocolate croissant, stale bread. These he chops into crouton-sized bites, combines with sugar, spices and fruit and pops the whole concoction into the oven. And voila! A crusty, oozy dessert begging for whipped cream.

What I like most is the sound from his kitchen. Not the voice, disarmingly gentle and persistently accented after decades of living in America. It was the sound of his spoon against a metal or glass bowl. A thud-clink as he mixed and finished ingredients for presentation. What a divine noise and boy does it make me drool something awful. As much as I love my cooking shows; Barefoot Contessa (what a glamorous life she leads - living in the Hamptons, cooking for all those gay men), Michael Chiarrelo (Dammit! Why doesn't my family own a vineyard?) they all fade away when it comes to one of the last living masters from the old cooking school.

Grandpa Celebrates 100 Years

In a few days we'll celebrate a landmark milestone in my family. My grandfather the Patriarch of the gang will turn 100 years. What does a man show for 100 years of life? He's seen the advent of the automobile, even more forboding - the origins of the Industrial Age. He's come a long way from a boy who grew up in a tiny village in the south of India. Where boys climb trees for coconuts, goats are slaughtered for weddings and girls stop wearing dresses at 14, and upgrade to the traditional sari.

In his old village, in the old days he used to herd buffalos, work in the rice paddies, walk for miles to the mud-thatched hut that served as school. Nowadays he's lucky to find a swath of grass that spreads for more than a mile in residential Takoma Park, Maryland, to say nothing of the 10 miles he walks everyday for "exercise". Instead of muddy riverbanks he walks beside concrete highways, an activity that mortifies his daugthers. Where where else can one find a suitable stretch of land to stretch your legs?

When my grandmother died 10 years ago she left no will, no last statement, no earthly riches. She died - as many Indian women live their lives, carrying her wealth on her body - on her neck and arms in heavy gold chains and bangles. Her only wealth resided in two gray Samsonite suitcases ful of heavy gold embroidered saris. 6 yards of silk - the hallmark of Indian beauty got distributed first to her daughters, then her daughters in law, then her grand daughters and finally her great granddaughters. This is all the remains of her legacy. No rosebud teaset. No pearl earrings and necklace sets. What remains of my grandmother are pictures and memories that get startled into awakening whenever I smell my father's chicken curry. Whenever I wear her sari. And whenever I take time to resurrect her in works such as this. Tis a fine memorial.

Road Trips

While I spent New Years Eve watching totally unnecessary amounts of Ugly Betty - my newest guilty pleasure - I saved new year's day to catch a movie I've long desired to see Little Miss Sunshine. Quirky story, incredible cast (Toni Collette, Steve Carrell as a gay Proust professor and Alan Arkin as a herion-addicted grandfather). The premise is a forced family roadtrip to take young daughter Olive to the Little Miss Sunshine beauty pageant. The roadtrip in a yellow VW bus brought back memories of my family's travelling exploits. Not that my brother held a vow of silence, or that my Dad was a motivational speaker, or that a gay uncle tried to commit suicide.

Nothing of the sort. My family trips were gargantuan affairs, intricately planned and always, always focused on food. Matter of fact food played the key role in roadtrips. Starting with the Egg Filling sandwiches that Mom would wake at 3:00 am to make. Those and a large thermos of Ovaltine would set us off to Toronto or Ann Arbor or Daytona Beach. Dad, bleary-eyed but bossy would yell us into the old Chrysler that doubled as his taxi cab. With a prayer and a click off of the FOR HIRE sign, we'd be off. All trips began at the ungodly hour of 4:00 am, a time which my Dad fondly believed would relieve us of any traffic. And it usually did, for a few cities but when we arrived in the next state we'd be spot on time for rush hour in, say Virginia, or New Jersey.

Mom would hand out Egg Filling Sandwiches, which were comprised of onions, tomatos, scrambled eggs and hot green chilies. Yum! These were washed down with the afore-mentioned Ovaltine, seeing as how my family didn't partake of caffeine products like coffee. However, now that I am older and do partake of caffeine products, especially like coffee I can attest that coffee makes a far better accompaniment to those delicious sandwiches.

Pelosi in the House!

So it begins. The first woman has been elected as Speaker of the House. Madame Speaker, if you will. Whohoo! And what a class act Nancy Pelosi brings to the deeply partisan, corruption-riddled House of Reps. "I accept this gavel in the spirit of partnership, not partisanship," she said as she jubilantly grasped the symbol of power from Minority Leader John Boehner. One of my favorite websites that is truly intended for the study of Astrology, but offers a remarkable filter on the politics of this nation is the Daykeeper website. Take a look at their thoughtful overview of the background and future potential of Madame Speaker.

Bizarre Farewells

As 2006 dissapated Gerald Ford has been accepted into the annuals of American history as a noble president. Nowhere were hints of Chevy Chase satire that symbolized the Ford presidency that I remember in the 1970s. Instead were patriotic clips of a President claiming he was not a Lincoln, dammit, but a Ford! Saddam Hussien hung in definance - both admired and feared as he succumbed to death. As I recall, history was also kind to Richard Nixon - gushing over his love for Pat his wife while glossing over that little embarassing gaffe called Watergate. And didn't Nobel Prize panel see fit to bestow Yassir Arafat, head of the PLO, with the Nobel Peace Prize? While Bono only made nominee last year.

Meanwhile the Animal Planet featured a 2 hour tribute to fallen animal activist - Steve Irwin. Holy cow what a gusher! Excerpts from Justin Timberlake, Russell Crowe, Hugh Jackman were peppered by tributes from staff at the Australia Zoo, from Steve's dad and best mate and from Bindi Irwin, his young fiesty daughter who seems to have inherited her father's zeal for animal-kind, not to mention a squinty-eyed charisma that translates splendidly on the camera. In between it all were shots of of widow Terri, cuddling baby Bob and trying to look brave behind large dark glasses.

What a strange beginning to the year.