tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12610661149649191142024-03-19T10:53:18.713-07:00A Vegas of My OwnAn East Coast Girl writes about Books, Food, Family, and Life in the Desert Southwestbrosenberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10126439199824523033noreply@blogger.comBlogger5125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261066114964919114.post-27260728980123275342012-05-13T10:03:00.000-07:002012-05-14T08:38:35.445-07:00<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">The Day Before Mother’s Day</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I sit
at my desk and it is covered with the most urgent projects you can think of. But
today is Mother’s Day, and I feel an even greater need to acknowledge it than
those things in front of me. Tonight my husband will make dinner for me, my
mother M, and my daughter L. My mother is 77-years old and has lived in Las
Vegas for about six years. She has her own apartment, does not drive, and has become
comfortable living in a 55-years and older complex. I call everyday and go
over at least once a week. I write her bills for her and make sure she has what
she needs.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Yesterday
morning, the day before Mother’s Day, I went to Whole Foods to pick something
up for Mother’s Day dessert (I agreed to make this part of the meal). It was a
typical beautiful Las Vegas morning, blue sky, temperate air, mountains in
the horizon. I was out relatively early and had that yummy feeling that it would
be a productive day. Outside a vendor was selling hot dogs. A woman in her late
30s was asking her two young girls if they wanted to share one. “Yes,” they
giggled. The woman’s mother, a 60-something, well dressed and energetic woman,
called out as she grabbed a cart, “Get two, we’ll share one too.” The woman
replied, “No, we’re having dolmades.” They continued on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>By
the time I entered the store I had an overwhelming feeling of sadness, and when
someone I knew wished me a happy Mother’s Day, I almost burst into tears. The
poignancy of the exchange I witnessed hit home deeply. That woman was me. When
she said, “No, we’re having dolmades,” I knew exactly what she meant: “ It’s
Mother’s Day, we’re spending time with the kids, we agreed we'd do something
special and eat dolmades, dolmades are better than hot dogs, I want dolmades.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Through
the years my version of “We’re having dolmades” has evolved from first person
plural to second person singular “You.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I now find myself saying, “You have to eat well, you have to go to the
trainer at the gym that I pay for, you have to take the vitamins I bought for
you, you have to keep in touch with your doctor, you have to walk everyday so
your old muscles don’t atrophy, you have to stay organized and constructive, you
need a quality life and all that it entails.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My intention, contrary to how it appears, is
not to be mean or controlling. Yesterday, the day before Mother’s Day, I
realized my words are the reflection of a terrible desperation. My mother is
aging, and I can’t see my life without her presence in it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Before
I left the Whole Foods I picked up a cantaloupe, my mother’s favorite. It was
fragrant with ripeness. I was going to keep it for myself, but instead sent it
to my mother’s house with my daughter when I dropped her off for her Saturday night
sleep over. I imagine my mother will cut it in half and scoop the seeds into
the sink. She will slice it into wedges right on the counter and call L over
to join her. They will stand over the sink , eat the fruit right off the rinds,
and let their fingers get sticky sweet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I have
done that with my mother too. Today I remember.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig90cNWQr7s50Saz1Rm_pb3IJT-AcQHnoUTZZVtps8ExzfIs1-duQiQ8BRUJTqPdsjPe7yzZNnzDxCZMhbSw5oLhmWMqK0ybhvbDAguutNQSTSU6VkYc_6I2IJP1CC7ZPAP5ol_H57XDTR/s1600/June+2010+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig90cNWQr7s50Saz1Rm_pb3IJT-AcQHnoUTZZVtps8ExzfIs1-duQiQ8BRUJTqPdsjPe7yzZNnzDxCZMhbSw5oLhmWMqK0ybhvbDAguutNQSTSU6VkYc_6I2IJP1CC7ZPAP5ol_H57XDTR/s320/June+2010+001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>brosenberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10126439199824523033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261066114964919114.post-21992587345355498152012-04-03T18:17:00.002-07:002012-04-04T13:55:23.879-07:00Savory, Not Sweet<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>If you were to offer me a choice between
a chocolate truffle or an olive stuffed with blue cheese, I would choose the
olive hands down. I see the world of gourmands as divided between the savory
and the sweet—those who will pick chocolates and fruit tarts over olives and
cheeses. I am of the savory genre; give me the olives and cheeses(the stinkier
the better), salt and garlic (I was into kosher salt long before sea salt
became vogue), a quiche for breakfast over pancakes, and, yes, anchovies on my
pizza. For those of you who identify with my palate I have for you the
ultimate in savory treats—the cheddar cheese scone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_2" o:spid="_x0000_s1029" style="height: 295.2pt; margin-left: 342.4pt; margin-top: 0px; mso-position-horizontal-relative: margin; mso-position-horizontal: right; mso-position-vertical-relative: margin; mso-position-vertical: top; mso-wrap-distance-bottom: 0; mso-wrap-distance-left: 9pt; mso-wrap-distance-right: 9pt; mso-wrap-distance-top: 0; mso-wrap-style: square; position: absolute; visibility: visible; width: 393.6pt; z-index: 251662336;" type="#_x0000_t75"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I discovered the cheddar cheese scone at
my favorite NYC bakery and café </span><a href="http://www.onceuponatart.com/index.html"><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;"><span style="color: blue;">Once Upon a Tart . . . .</span></span></a><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;"> It is located in SoHo, just south of Houston at 135
Sullivan Street (and Prince), and has been there for almost twenty years. It is owned by
Frank Mentesana and Jerome Audureau, who do all the baking. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I recommend a sojourn to this mecca of savory
delights to my NYC friends and those who plan a visit. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I first discovered it as a graduate student in
the early 1990s. I was constantly looking for somewhere quiet to read and study
and get a good cup of coffee. I must have passed Once Upon a Tart . . . <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a hundred times (I had been living in NYC for
almost 8 years) before I worked up the courage to go in and sit for an
afternoon. It is a small space, yet cozy and quaint. Outside the café is room
for two small tables. It was their windows that called to me, full of glossy fruit
tarts and scones of all sorts. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;"> When I finally walked in, I was beside myself to find that not only did
they have the most beautiful pastries I’d seen, but they served sandwiches such as goat
cheese, roasted ratatouille, and frisee on a sourdough baguette, and fresh mozzarella
with oven-roasted tomatoes and pesto on onion focaccia; individual savory tarts
were laid out on the counter—leek and celery, mushroom and potato, carmelized
onion; there were chicken pot pies and lentil soup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then my eyes turned toward the cheddar
cheese scone. A scone—cheesy, soft on the inside, crunchy on the outside— with a
fine cup of coffee and a book to read was all I needed. <span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When I got my job in Las Vegas, as happy
as I was, I knew I would miss this bakery. There was not, and to this
day there is not, a single cheddar cheese scone to be found in Las Vegas. On my
subsequent visits to NYC I would make sure to make a trip to Once Upon a Tart .
. . and buy a dozen scones; in their pink bakery box tied with white string,
these precious morsels were held tightly on my lap for the
six-hour flight back home. After a couple of years Trader Joe’s began to carry
cheese scones in a package of two. They weren’t too bad, though absolutely not the same.
Then Trader Joe’s discontinued them. I had almost forgotten about my love for
these savories, when one morning watching The Today Show (anything for a glance
at my favorite city) I saw Frank and Jerome, pushing their new cookbook, <span style="color: blue;">Once
Upon a Tart . . .</span>. I immediately ordered it. The recipe stayed true to my tastebuds’
memories, and I have been recreating these tasty scones in my Las Vegas suburb ever since.</span><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_3" o:spid="_x0000_s1028" style="height: 280.8pt; margin-left: 0px; margin-top: -32.7pt; mso-position-horizontal-relative: margin; mso-position-horizontal: left; mso-position-vertical-relative: margin; mso-position-vertical: absolute; mso-wrap-distance-bottom: 0; mso-wrap-distance-left: 9pt; mso-wrap-distance-right: 9pt; mso-wrap-distance-top: 0; mso-wrap-style: square; position: absolute; visibility: visible; width: 374.35pt; z-index: 251658240;" type="#_x0000_t75"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>These scones are great in the morning
with a cup of coffee and even better with a cup of coffee for an afternoon
pickup. I think each scone is fairly high in protein because the recipe is
packed with cheese (cheddar AND parmesan). My guesstimate of calories is 350, a
lot, I know, for those who count. But with the coffee for a snack you won’t
need anything else since they are so satisfying. A recipe yields 8 scones. I
freeze each separately in a baggy and then reheat in the oven when I’m ready. Or
just let them thaw, but never put in the microwave—they lose their special
crunch.</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNUUcGRKao5ikImNQHiwLglkGgVDqNOQDyQFSCPsvGw0K2RCIBKcOVnTbTJ4U0mIsnctuAaWTfoOb8vtlEcygrzSkHycS-woUelj_ht_08hWn3ypKVHhsU3M_LuGRaVXawW496pnm3-KEI/s1600/March+2012+012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNUUcGRKao5ikImNQHiwLglkGgVDqNOQDyQFSCPsvGw0K2RCIBKcOVnTbTJ4U0mIsnctuAaWTfoOb8vtlEcygrzSkHycS-woUelj_ht_08hWn3ypKVHhsU3M_LuGRaVXawW496pnm3-KEI/s320/March+2012+012.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The recipe calls for a food processor,
which I have, but I find that I always over mix the butter. Getting the butter
consistency is crucial for a good scone, so I’ve taken to using my hand pastry
blender. It doesn’t take that much longer, and you’ve got a 95% chance of
getting it right (and it’s easier to clean up). </span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;">Grocery List</span></b><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;">:</span></div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;">2
and 2/3 cups unbleached all-purpose flour</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;">1
tablespoon baking powder</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;">Pinch of cayenne pepper (a secret ingredient)<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;">½
teaspoon salt</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;">8
tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into ¼-inch cubes</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: x-large;">3 large eggs </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;">½
cup cold milk</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;">2
tablespoons fresh dill (another secret ingredient)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;">2
cups grated cheddar cheese</span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;">1/3 cup grated Pecorino
or Parmesan cheese (the third secret ingredient)</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;">What You Need to Do:</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;">Place oven racks in the
middle, preheat to 400, line baking sheet with parchment paper (not necessary
but it helps).</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;">Dump dry ingredients
into big bowl and mix well (a fork is a great way to stir dry ingredients).</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Add butter to the bowl all at once and mix
with pastry blender until there are no chunks of butter left and the mixture
looks like most crumbs. BE CAREFUL NOT TO OVERWORK.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;">In another bowl whisk
eggs to break up yolks, whisk in milk, whisk in dill and cheeses.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;">Pour wet ingredients on
top of flour-butter crumbs, and stir with a wooden spoon until no flour is
visible. It may seem a bit dry, but keep stirring and it will eventually come
together.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;">Use a ½-cup measuring
cup or your hand to scoop the dough and plop it onto baking sheet, leaving 2 inches
between them.</span><br />
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 20pt;">Place baking sheet in
middle of the center rack, bake scones for 20-25 minutes, until the tops are
golden brown and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.</span><br />
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Bon Appetit !</div>
</div>brosenberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10126439199824523033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261066114964919114.post-55518597088299064772012-02-01T09:22:00.000-08:002012-04-03T15:15:47.443-07:00Why We Should at Least Think About Boycotting Apple<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am an IBM user. But it is just a fluke of my technological education. Had I first been introduced to computer
technology through the Macintosh, I would be an Apple lover I’m sure. I don’t
own an iPhone or an iPad. Not because of any ethical stance or loyalty to
another brand, but because I’m broke and making myself use what I have. I’ve
envied my colleagues who've used Apple products for decades. So cool, so sexy. Even
now, there are all those apps that can be downloaded and no more paper files to
carry from meeting to meeting.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I first I heard about the human rights violations in China from </span></span><a href="http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/454/mr-daisey-and-the-apple-factory"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri;">Mr. Daisey</span></span></a><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">.
Like Steve Jobs and Apple, I ignored him. Then I read a full expose in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The New York Times <a href="http://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.nytimes.com%2F2012%2F01%2F26%2Fbusiness%2Fieconomy-apples-ipad-and-the-human-costs-for-workers-in-china.html%3Fpagewanted%3Dall&h=-AQHfLkXg" target="_blank">here</a></i>, which was followed
by </span><a href="http://opinion.latimes.com/opinionla/2012/01/should-consumers-boycott-apple-.html"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri;">this</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">L.A. Times</i> and <a href="http://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.guardian.co.uk%2Ftechnology%2F2012%2Fjan%2F29%2Fapple-faces-boycott-worker-abuses&h=bAQExjZr5AQFJaAH1LzEusMqXqF_euA9ijS9kmAMhLbdRPw&enc=AZN_Pr8_yH5RakdER7M32TmkKuh5SQBVCpr2tMEp0vI39gPuKh0KE_xGmwoZ3kPZpei6h62zt9J3IJ4439Qo89MbKHhsvHN_4xqVmRVFBY2URg" target="_blank">this</a><em> </em>in <em>The Guardian</em>. I was initially surprised
to hear that Apple’s manufacturing plants in China were so deplorable. I don’t
know why I associated Apple with earth friendly and humanitarian issues. Maybe it
was because Steve Jobs seemed like a New Age man, with his eye well into the 21<sup>st</sup>
century. My husband, a scientist, tells me I shouldn’t be surprised because
Research (which Jobs headed) is totally separate from Manufacturing (which I
suppose is headed by someone else). Jobs may or may not have known about what was
happening, but from a scientist’s perspective, my husband assures me, one can understand why
Jobs would be oblivious.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have many, many friends and
colleagues who are loyal and devoted Apple users, and my intention is not to
deny them their tools. But when Guy Debord writes about the future of
capitalism manifesting itself in the spectacle of technology, where we appear
more connected but are actually more alienated (from the conditions of others
around the world?), the strange paradox he points out is not so strange after
all. What is going on in China is no different from the Western Imperial
impulse of the 19<sup>th</sup> century to bring spices, teas, silks, gold, as well as beautiful and refined objects home to the mother country. This time, though, it’s Technological Colonialism,
where we mine for abstract human effort rather than raw materials to make the
objects we find so awesome.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Jobs’ genius was to show us
the beautiful and aesthetic qualities of his technological innovations, to make
us think that beauty and pleasure reside in technology. Like a hard gem-like flame that
hangs in front of our eyes, Jobs' rhetoric of aestheticism mystifies and
seduces. I’m not asking that people give up their Apple gadgets (as though it
were even possible), but that we should at least think about the global cost of
our avant-garde sensibilities. Ultimately, it will be the Apple devotees who
make the difference.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>brosenberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10126439199824523033noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261066114964919114.post-48788349339217647452012-01-01T15:10:00.000-08:002012-01-02T11:39:48.553-08:00The New Year in Las Vegas<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #783f04;">The Las Vegas local news reports the New Year has been good for our town. Hotels are at a 95% occupancy rate and the holiday brought in tens of thousands of visitors, up for the third year in a row. We have suffered greatly during this Great Recession, so the news bodes well for 2012. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Calibri;">However, I wasn’t at the Strip for New Year’s Eve, never have been. It’s the equivalent to going to Times Square in NYC. I never did that either. My New Year was spent at home. My husband cooked for my daughter and mother and me what he cooks best—chicken cacciatore. I baked an apple pie and provided a nice 2005 Pinot Noir. We were all in bed before midnight. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Calibri;">I have never been one for New Year resolutions, so I won’t make any here. But I have a very big year coming up (which you will hear about in later posts), and I’m getting old (which you will also here about in later posts), so I’m determined to make time for the things I’ve wanted to do for myself. This blog is one of them. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Calibri;">After reading a blog about blogs </span><a href="http://lorelle.wordpress.com/2006/09/07/one-year-anniversary-review-blogging-and-blogging-tips/"><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: Calibri;">here</span></a><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #274e13;">,</span> I learned three very important things. First, a blog is about making new friends. Okay, I can get with that, who can’t use a few extra friends? The second is that my readers are looking for information. Third, that the blog should have a focus. As you can tell from the bio I tagged my blog with, “an East coast girl writes about books, food, family, and life in the desert Southwest,” I have lots of information to give and not so much focus. The last suggestion from my blog about blogs is to plan the subjects of my posts and to set deadlines. So my goal this year is to write one post per month and to limit each entry to 500 words (so as not to bore you, my dear reader).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tERm584uhLI/TwDqHuBGX2I/AAAAAAAAAEs/LonABNDzHIU/s1600/December+2011+%25282%2529+045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tERm584uhLI/TwDqHuBGX2I/AAAAAAAAAEs/LonABNDzHIU/s320/December+2011+%25282%2529+045.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #783f04;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Calibri;">Here are some titles of posts I hope to bring to you this year:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Walking on the Ocean Floor </span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Calibri;">Cheddar Cheese Scones</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Calibri;">Turtlehead Peak</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Calibri;">Hieroglyphs: A Review</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Calibri;">Virginia Woolf Comes to Vegas</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Calibri;">Spectacle in the Desert</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Calibri;">My Nuclear Family</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Calibri;">Street Names</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Calibri;">New York City from the Other Side</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Calibri;">Adventures in Technology</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Calibri;">How Public Libraries Saved My Life</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Calibri;">It is a potpourri of delightful topics. Who knows what else 2012 will bring and that’s the fun of it, I guess. Like writing itself, the year will only unfold as I enter into it. So here’s to us, my friends, a toast to a New Year, to unknown opportunities and unthought-of experience, to love, to passion, to creativity.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #783f04;">Happy New Year to you all from a Vegas of my own.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>brosenberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10126439199824523033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261066114964919114.post-85032004694195569732011-11-26T15:49:00.000-08:002012-05-14T07:23:08.610-07:00Welcome to My WorldWhen I graduated in 1992 from a private New York City university with a Ph.D. in English literature, I was ready to be employed. As usual, there were no jobs in the humanities, but I did not give up. Looking in my library at all the books on Virginia Woolf (the topic of my dissertation), I found which cities the publishers were in, called information for their phone numbers, and then asked for the editors and what they wanted me to submit. Lo and behold, one press, a good one at the time, sent me a contract after looking at my material. This was the beginning of my new life.<br />
<br />
I was unmarried and desperate for work, so I was open to moving anywhere. Staying in the Northeast was my greatest desire, but parts of the South were okay, and even the Midwest or California had possibilities. There were also the places I wouldn't go. Not Florida, North and South Dakota, Iowa, Alaska, Montana, or Idaho. One place not on either list was Las Vegas, Nevada. But when I sent out my 50+ applications and went on my painful on-campus interviews, it was a large public university in Las Vegas that offered me the job. <br />
<br />
June came around and I was packed and ready to go (they had summer school teaching for me). I left the East coast and looked out my airplane window at the stretch of homes, businesses, and highways that are NYC and its surroundings. When I arrived in Las Vegas (after looking out the window only to see nothing but desert on initial descent), a new colleague, who offered to let me stay at her home in Blue Diamond (just outside of Las Vegas), picked me up. As we stepped out of the air conditioned elevator into the parking garage a wave of dry heat overwhelmed me. Through the concrete poles of the garage I could see the lights of the LV Strip, foreign and disorienting, and my colleague, waving her arm with a flourish of delight cried, "Welcome to your new desert home!" <br />
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At the time, I resented the statement. My plan was to leave as soon as I found another position. Not in my wildest imagination did I ever think I would be here 17 years later. I would like to tell you how this East coast girl survived her struggle to adjust to the life and landscape of the desert Southwest, but that would be a lie. I still struggle with the place that has given me so much--an awesome job teaching Virginia Woolf, a daughter who is a native of this place, a husband who allows me the structure and time to be creative, and friends who laugh at my jokes and with whom I share secrets. <br />
<br />
In spite of myself here I am, living in a Vegas of my own. And you, too, are welcome to it.brosenberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10126439199824523033noreply@blogger.com2