For Sunday: Trixie Friganza does her "Bag o' Tricks"

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My friend Apollonia told me about Trixie a long time ago, and I never forgot the name. Trixie (born Delia O’Callaghan in Grenola, Kansas) was a vaudevillian, a singer and comedienne and musician. She was a powerful supporter of women’s rights also: go read about her and it will make you proud. (Trixie was a nickname, which she kept because she always hated the name “Delia.” “Friganza” was her mother’s maiden name. When an interview asked her about the name, she said “I didn’t marry it,” and this was considered a borderline-scandalous thing to say. My goodness, how times have changed!)

This is Trixie’s gift to later generations: a Vitaphone film recorded around 1930. The first few minutes are audio only; around halfway through, we get the full Trixie, complete with her solo on the double-bass.

Enjoy.

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Froggy the Gremlin

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A long time ago, back in the 1950s, there was a radio/TV show for kids sponsored by Buster Brown Shoes. It had characters like Midnight the Cat, who only ever said “Nice!”, and a mouse who played the piano.

Also it feature Froggy the Gremlin.

Froggy was invoked with the words, “Plunk your magic twanger, Froggy!” He always appeared with a big BOINGGG, with the words: “Hiya, kids! Hiya! Hiya!”

Froggy was an ugly little frog puppet who made people say and do stupid things against their will.

Regardez:

You will notice that Froggy the Gremlin is completely without remorse. He makes people do stupid things, and then he laughs at them, and then (once in a while) he makes believe that he meant something else, or that it wasn’t his fault.

You are never for a moment without a doubt that it was all Froggy’s doing.

Froggy is evil and relentless. He laughs at misfortune. He promises to be good, and he never makes good on his promise.

I think he may be my spirit animal.

One more:

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Paula Deen deglazes herself on the "Today" show

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Some emotions don’t have names in English – “Schadenfreude,” for example. Another, for which I know no word in any language, is sympathetic embarrassment: watching someone make a fool of him/herself, and becoming embarrassed on his/her behalf.

Watch this video of Paula Deen on Wednesday’s “Today” show with Matt Lauer, if you think you can endure it:

Here’s the story in brief: back in May, Paula was deposed in a case in which she and her brother were accused of sexual and racial harassment. She was asked if she’d ever used the N-word, and said, “Yes, of course.” She also said (under oath) that she was sure she’d said it more than once. (She later defended her use of the word in two ways: she was once held up by a black man, and she’d heard black people use the word among themselves.)

When the deposition became public, the Food Network and Smithfield Foods dropped her like a hot buttered potato with extra sour cream.

She apologized on video, not once but three times. Each apology is more excruciating than the last. They are the apologies of someone who’s angry at being caught, and who doesn’t understand exactly what she’s done wrong. In one, she begins by apologizing to Matt Lauer for cancelling her Friday appearance on “Today.” Yes indeed, Matt Lauer’s the offended party here!

She is deeply unrepentant, and deeply insincere. If you didn’t have the bottle to watch the video above (I don’t blame you for that), the most salient point is that she’s deeply hurt by all this, and all those liars, and all the evil people who are working  against her!

What liars? Who’s lying? People are reacting to her own statements. But she doesn’t get that.  “I is what I is,” she says at one point to Matt in the Wednesday-morning interview, as if that’s a justification for doing whatever the hell she likes.

Yes, Paula Deen. You is what you is. You is a not-very-bright person who doesn’t really feel for other people, and you really don’t care about hurting their feelings or offending them.

Late update: Wal-Mart and Caesars Entertainment (who have Paula Deen-themed buffets in four of their casinos) have dropped her, after seeing the Wednesday-morning interview.

(Listen, those of you who love her: Paula will be just fine. There are enough Paula Deen fans to keep her going, for a while, especially in the American South. Her nationwide operation may be a little – hm – cut back, but she’ll probably survive this.

(Her brother and her sons (who have linked their careers to hers) may be cooked, however.

(If so, however, I hope they’re cooked in deep fat and served with gravy, the way Paula would like.)

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Three good things: refrigerator, DOMA, Proposition 8

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My poor heart can’t stand it. Three good things happened in one day!

First of all: our old feeble refrigerator got replaced. I wrote a mild email to our landlords two nights ago about how the food in our freezer didn’t seem to be freezing properly, and the landlords replaced the fridge the very next day! And it’s lovely, and they’re lovely people over at the landlord’s office, and we love them and thank them.

Also: the lovely folks in the Supreme Court – five of them, anyway – believe that they should not overturn the California Supreme Court’s rejection of Proposition 8, and as a result, gay marriage is once again legal in the great state of California (as of July 25, 2013, at any rate).

This is nothing to me really, because I’m not a citizen of California. I’m delighted, however, for the gay people who married in California while it was legal, and who are legal again; I’m also delighted for the other gay Californians who can now line up for marriage licenses. And I’m delighted to see one more state added to the illustrious roster of states (including Little Rhody) which have legalized gay marriage.

The third good thing that happened today was this: DOMA – the Defense of Marriage Act – was found, in essence, unconstitutional.

This is key.

Partner and I have long debated the issue of marriage. We’ve lived together for fourteen years, which makes us married in the eyes of any deity who matters. Rhode Island legalized gay marriage a few months ago – hooray! But would it be of any advantage to us to get married? Not if the federal government doesn’t recognize it. It would have no tax advantages, or estate advantages.

But now, after the Supreme Court’s snappy 5-4 decision, it’s a different story.

Do I hear wedding bells?

Or is it just our new (and more efficient) refrigerator humming?

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Grammar, social status, and success

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I dislike people who are grammar purists, who quibble over “who” and “whom.” or over “that” and “which.” (This is mostly because I have trouble with these myself.)

But when people can’t tell the difference between “to” and “too” and “two,” or between “their” and “they’re,” or “its” and “it’s,” I get a little riled up.

So I suppose I’m one of those damned grammar purists too.

I am on the Internet a lot, and I see the way people write. I know how spell-check works, and I am very forgiving as a result. But there’s no possible way that spell-check can change “their” into “they’re.”

Well, what’s the difference? Our ancestors didn’t worry much about spelling. Well, I say, they had an excuse to write phonetically. We, having gone to Modern Schools, don’t have that excuse.

This is exactly the point made by Michael Skapinker in a recent Financial Times article. We can speak however we wish, in any circumstance. But if we want a good job, or a position of responsibility, we need to be able to speak Proper English (with grammar rules and everything) upon command. We need to be able to write memos in it, and letters, and spell correctly.

Skapinker makes a couple of other good points too: grammar is a good mental exercise, rather like logic, and helps us speak and think more clearly. This is also a good argument for learning a foreign language: it makes you think about grammar in the abstract, with rules different from those you grew up with, and allows you to switch back and forth because it’s natural to do so.

(I knew merchants in the Tunis medina who were able to cajole and haggle in six languages. I was walking through the medina with a Hawaiian friend when one of the local merchants yelled “Konichi-wa!” at us, and we both laughed. “That’s because of you,” I said. “They know a little Japanese. But I bet we’ll never hear Chinese.” And just as I said it, one of the local merchants yelled out: “Ni hou ma!” And we both laughed like hell.)

Language is a tool, and grammar is a tool. Learn them, and learn to use them cleverly, and they will take you a long way.

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John Cazale

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John Cazale was an important actor who appeared in exactly five movies. You have almost certainly seen him in at least one or two of them.

To wit: he was in “The Conversation” with Gene Hackman, and in both “Godfather” and “Godfather II” (as poor doomed brother Fredo), and in “Dog Day Afternoon” (as sad-sack gunman Sal), and in “The Deer Hunter.” All five of these movies were nominated for Best Picture. Three of them won.

John Cazale was peculiar-looking, but strangely sweet, with a gigantic forehead. He was dying of cancer when he appeared in “Deer Hunter,” and the producers were thinking about replacing him, but Meryl Streep (who was his romantic partner at the time) threatened to leave the production herself if Cazale got booted.

And what would “The Deer Hunter” have been without John Cazale or Meryl Streep?

Strange how such a short career can make such a big impact. I mentioned him to someone recently, and she said: “Oh, he was amazing. He was in so many movies!”

“Only five,” I said.

“Only five?” she said, crestfallen. “It seems like he was in so many more!”

It does indeed.

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The great Durante

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I’ve written before about the ephemerality of fame. How many of you remember Jinx Falkenberg, who was such a big star in her time? And, worse yet, how many of the “celebrities” that she wrote about in her autobiography are still remembered? Almost none. Here’s a great line from her book:  “Tex [Jinx’s husband] asked a whole group over to ‘21’ for dinner – the Jack Strauses, Joanne Sayres and Tony Bliss, Carl Whitmore, the Howard Twins.” 

To this day, I have no idea who any of these people are. I salute them, and their ephemeral celebrity.

But sometimes a celebrity has more – ahem – memorability.

I was strolling down the biography aisle in the library the other day when I saw H. Allen Smith’s “Low Man on a Totem Pole.” My heart leapt up. I think I may have a copy of this great classic somewhere in the house, but it’s probably buried under layers and layers of other books. So I checked it out, to give it a twentieth read.

It has all the wonderful stuff I remember. It has the interview with Lupe Velez, the Mexican Spitfire, like so: “I am a wild prize-fighting fan. I go all the time. One night the last fight is on, and I see it is just a couple palookas – that means bums, no goods – so I say to myself why should I sit there and look at these palookas playing waltz with each other and I leave and go to the Clover Club. After that someone comes to my table and says I should not have left the fight because they start throwing pop bottles and almost kill Ruby Keeler.”

(I don’t care if you know who Ruby Keeler is or not. This line almost killed me with laughter.)

Smith also interviewed John Grimek and Steve Stanko, early Mr. Americas, who insisted that they liked girls, and that they weren’t musclebound, and could scratch their backs as much as they want.

Also, best of all: Smith interviewed Jimmy Durante.

Jimmy was a vaudeville comedian, who became a stage comedian, who became a movie comedian, who became a radio comedian, who became a television comedian. He worked and worked. I remember an interview he did, probably in the 1970s, when he said he intended to work until he died. And so he did.

He was very funny, and he had a big nose and a comical way of speaking. Here he is:

Jimmy Durante is immortal. He is even more immortal than immortal, because he’s in a Cole Porter song:

You’re a rose,

You’re Inferno’s Dante;

You’re the nose

Of the great Durante.

Here’s the song.

Go watch “The Man Who Came to Dinner,” with Monty Woolley and Ann Sheridan. Wait for Durante. He comes into the movie about halfway through. You can’t miss him. He’s wonderful.

Unlike poor Jinx Falkenberg, the great Durante will live forever.

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He wH

For Sunday: the Beatles sing "Here, There, and Everywhere"

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Everyone knows the big Beatles songs: “Hey Jude,” “All You Need Is Love,” “Help!”, “I Want To Hold Your Hand.” But there are literally dozens of smaller songs that are really just as good: three-minute masterpieces.

This, from their album “Revolver,” is one of those three-minute masterpieces. It’s a gentle ballad with a few soft French-horn notes late in the song, just for effect. The lyrics play with the words of the title back and forth: “here,” “there,” “everywhere.”

The result is one of those love songs that we’re still listening to fifty years later.

Enjoy.

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Vile-tasting vitamins

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Partner and I go into GNC once in a while, and we both get carried away with all of the healthy stuff, and we invariably buy things. Partner came out last year with a box of mega-vitamins which happened to be on sale. “Do you want these?” he said not long ago. “I don’t think I’m going to take these. They don’t appeal to me.”

“Fine,” I said.

I opened the box. Inside were thirty nice little foil packets of six pills each. Each pill was about the size of a piece of driveway gravel. Two were vitamins, minerals, etc.; two were various botanical extracts – dillweed, ginkgo, etc.; and the last two were various amino acids (citrulline, arginine, and glutamine).

Healthy, eh?

Then I opened the first packet.

Jesus, the smell! It was sort of like a chemistry lab, or a fire in a pesticide factory. And they tasted as bad as they smelled.

I’ve been taking them for about a week now. I do believe I feel a bit better – maybe a bit more energetic.

But every day I have to choke down these repulsive horse pills that taste like dirt-flavored cyanide.

Maybe I’m healthier. But is it worth it?

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For the first day of summer 2013: A taste of winter

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I like to commemorate special days, and the first day of summer – today, by the calendar – is a special day.

I’ve lived in Rhode Island for almost thirty-five years, but I – a child of the cool foggy Pacific Northwest – still haven’t accustomed myself to the steamy uncomfortable summers here. I suffer (mostly in silence) for about two months, from late June to late August, while we fluctuate between hot / warm / humid / stormy / insufferable.

So here are some photos from last winter’s snow.

I hope you find them refreshing.

See you next January, when the world is cool and quiet again.

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Salt is evil. Or is it?

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Mark Bittman recently wrote about how people talk about food in good-and-evil terms. Salt is always bad. So is sugar. Fat is always bad too. Gluten is the devil. Quinoa and spelt, on the other hand, are wonder foods. Soy used to be wonderful, but now it’s suspect. Same with sweet potatoes.

Here are some facts: Salt is a necessary nutrient. Sugar is just a carbohydrate, like many others. Fat is concentrated energy in food form, which is why we find it so appealing. Gluten is just wheat protein; some people may have a sensitivity to it, but most people really don’t. Quinoa and spelt are nice additions to the diet, but don’t cure cancer. Soy is generally fine, as are sweet potatoes.

Now go online and read the reactions from Bittman’s readers! Some of them were furious. He was telling them something contrary to their own beliefs.

Beliefs!

Now here’s a somewhat different case. Watch this video and think about it, and then continue reading:

This is “Sam Sandwich,” an animated character created by the Disney Channel. Sam teaches kids to eat healthily. There are lots of episodes, and I invite you to watch some; they’re cute, and some of them teach valuable lessons, like don’t eat candy for lunch, etc.

But what lesson did you learn from the above video?

If you’re an adult of average intelligence, you will have noticed Sam’s comment that “a pinch of salt makes food taste better, but too much is bad for you.” If you’re a child, you will hear: SALT IS BAD FOR YOU.

I heard about Sam Sandwich from a colleague, who found that her little boy wouldn’t eat anything salty anymore, because “Sam Sandwich says it isn’t good for you.” Evidently he’s a picky eater to begin with, and this has made matters even worse.

Bittman has shown us that adults are credulous enough. Sam Sandwich shows us that children are even more so.

Enough, already. Stop frightening children. And let’s have a little reasonable conversation.

If possible.

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The Jack Kerouac commandments

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There is a website called brainpickings.org, which posts all kinds of interesting things: book recommendations, repostings, quotations.

Sometimes they recopy the advice of great writers. Usually, sadly, the advice is crap.

The following is a list the Beat author Jack Kerouac (supposedly) wrote and tacked to the wall of Allen Ginsberg’s hotel room in 1954, a year before Ginsburg’s most famous poem, “Howl,” was published.

Take this list for what it’s worth. I think, for a change, it has a few worthwhile items on it.

1. Scribbled secret notebooks, and wild typewritten pages, for yr own joy
2. Submissive to everything, open, listening
3. Try never get drunk outside yr own house
4. Be in love with yr life
5. Something that you feel will find its own form
6. Be crazy dumbsaint of the mind
7. Blow as deep as you want to blow
8. Write what you want bottomless from bottom of the mind
9. The unspeakable visions of the individual
10. No time for poetry but exactly what is
11. Visionary tics shivering in the chest
12. In tranced fixation dreaming upon object before you
13. Remove literary, grammatical and syntactical inhibition
14. Like Proust be an old teahead of time
15. Telling the true story of the world in interior monolog
16. The jewel center of interest is the eye within the eye
17. Write in recollection and amazement for yourself
18. Work from pithy middle eye out, swimming in language sea
19. Accept loss forever
20. Believe in the holy contour of life
21. Struggle to sketch the flow that already exists intact in mind
22. Dont think of words when you stop but to see picture better
23. Keep track of every day the date emblazoned in yr morning
24. No fear or shame in the dignity of yr experience, language & knowledge
25.  
26. Write for the world to read and see yr exact pictures of it
27. Bookmovie is the movie in words, the visual American form
28. In praise of Character in the Bleak inhuman Loneliness
29. Composing wild, undisciplined, pure, coming in from under, crazier the better
30. You’re a Genius all the time
31. Writer-Director of Earthly movies Sponsored & Angeled in Heaven

For me – stupid aging me – “Accept loss forever” and “Like Proust be an old teahead of time” are the two most immediate dicta here.

Also #25, which is a blank. I choose to believe it means: “Insert your own truism here.”

Although I am crazy about “You’re a Genius all the time.”

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The one, the true, the good, and the beautiful

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I was taught classical philosophy at Gonzaga University, a Jesuit institution. This means that I was taught Aristotelian philosophy, by way of Thomas Aquinas.

I learned, in my Metaphysics class taught by Father Carney back in 1977, that there are four transcendental properties: the One, the True, the Good, and the Beautiful. Everything in the world partakes of these four properties. Take a tree, for example. It’s one tree: it’s a unity, a thing in the world that can be pointed at and identified. It’s a true tree: it’s identifiable, it’s a unique tree, it’s that tree there in the front yard, and it definitely conforms to every definition of a tree you ever heard of. It’s a good tree, in that it conforms to the definition of trees, and in its nature it has never consciously committed any evil deed. And it is a beautiful tree, because it, in its present state of being, is admirable and beautiful, whether or not it’s perfectly symmetrical or delightful.

Then, recently, I ran across this old dialogue between Albert Einstein and Rabindranath Tagore:

TAGORE: . . .  Science is concerned with that which is not confined to individuals; it is the impersonal human world of Truths. Religion realizes these Truths and links them up with our deeper needs; our individual consciousness of Truth gains universal significance. Religion applies values to Truth, and we know this Truth as good through our own harmony with it.

EINSTEIN: Truth, then, or Beauty is not independent of Man?

TAGORE: No.

EINSTEIN: If there would be no human beings any more, the Apollo of Belvedere would no longer be beautiful.

TAGORE: No.

This hurts me.  It strikes at the True, and at the Beautiful.  (Well, the Beautiful was little shaky to begin with, in case you didn’t notice.)

Basically, Tagore is saying that, if there were no people in the world, the transcendental properties would not apply.

Uh-oh.

Beauty becomes a fashion show of stuff that doesn’t matter, and Truth becomes just a set of things that equal other things.

And it goes without saying that the Good goes right out the window.

And – given what we know about the subatomic universe – who can say what’s a unity? What’s the One?

The Universe is a scary place, kids, when you take away the transcendental properties.

Somebody please hold my hand.

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The most trusted people in America

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Partner and I subscribe to quite a few peculiar periodicals: Consumer Reports, Conde Nast Traveler, the Vegetarian Times, Mother Jones.

But I do believe that Reader’s Digest is the most peculiar of all.

Decades ago, I loved Reader’s Digest. My sister Susan used to renew my subscription year after year as a birthday gift, and I loved it. I actually learned from it. I remember whole chunks of things I read in it. My god, back in the 1960s, they did a summary version of “The Naked Ape”!

Times have changed. It’s a conservative publication now. They print 100% American articles about Our Troops, and Everyday Heroes, and What Your Doctor Won’t Tell You.

Recently they did an article on the Most Trusted People in America. O dear god, such a list they did! Evidently Tom Hanks is the most trusted man in America. Why, for god’s sake? I’m sure he’s a perfectly nice man, and he’s been in some good movies (and some stinkers, like “Joe and the Volcano”). But “trusted”? For Jesus’s sake, why?

Also, evidently, we trust Alex Trebek, who recites trivia answers that he receives through an earpiece. Also Sandra Bullock, who is the female Tom Hanks. Also (most confusingly) several Nobel Prize-winners, two chemists and an economist, of whom I’ve never heard. How did they even get on the list?

The ridiculousness continues. Tony Dungy. Johnny Depp. Tim Tebow!

All of these rate above Barack Obama, by the way.

What is this “trust,” anyway? I actually read the article twice, to make sure I was extracting all of the vital information. It appears to have something to do with making us feel good, and making our brains release oxytocin. Evidently Tom Hanks and Sandra Bullock make us release gallons of oxytocin.

What rubbish!

Get this, from the article:

“The real winners aren’t here. We removed the three top answers: ‘my doctor,’ ‘my child’s teacher,’ and ‘my spiritual advisor’ – from our results, to make the list more universal.”

Tom Hanks is universal? Tony Dungy is universal?

We have left Earth and entered a parallel dimension, in which Tony Dungy is more important than anyone you might know in your private life.

I suppose you’d better get used to it. Reader’s Digest says so, so it must be true.

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For Bloomsday: Stracotto di maccheroni a la James Joyce

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Today is Bloomsday: June 16, the day upon which James Joyce’s novel “Ulysses” takes place (in the year 1904). Joyce fans and scholars celebrate the day by reading aloud, and dressing up, and doing all kinds of odd things.

This recipe I discovered on Facebook, in a nice blog called “Paper and Salt.” It was (evidently) one of Joyce’s preferred dishes, which he first tasted while living in Trieste. He asked his wife Nora (nee Barnacle) to cook it for him, in a letter to her: “I would like roast beef, rice-soup, capuzzi garbi, mashed potatoes, pudding and black coffee. No, no I would like stracotto di maccheroni, a mixed salad, stewed prunes, torroni, tea and presnitz. Or no I would like stewed eels or polenta with… Excuse me, dear, I am hungry tonight.”

(I find upon research that most of the Italian recipes for stracotto call for more interesting and exotic spices, like cinnamon. Partner doesn’t like beef with cinnamon, so, if/when I make this, I’ll make the version below – probably in a slow-cooker (except for the rigatoni):

2 pounds boneless chuck roast
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
2 large onions, finely chopped
2 carrots, in 1-inch pieces
2 celery ribs, in 1-inch pieces
6 cloves garlic, minced
1 cup red wine
2 cups beef or veal stock
1 can (14 ounces) crushed tomatoes
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1 teaspoon dried oregano
2 bay leaves
1/2 teapoon red chili flakes
Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste
1 pound dry rigatoni
Grated parmesan, to taste

1. Pat roast dry with paper towels and season with salt and pepper. In a large pot over medium heat, add 1 teaspoon oil until hot but not smoking. Add meat and brown on both sides, about 12 minutes total. Transfer to a platter and set aside.

2. To the same pot, add remaining 1 tablespoon oil and onion, carrot, celery and garlic. Sauté over moderately high heat until softened and golden, about 5 minutes. Add wine, stock, tomatoes, thyme, oregano, bay leaves, and chili flakes and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low.

3. Return roast with any juices on platter to pot and cover. Braise, turning over once every 30 minutes, until tender enough to shred with a fork, about 3 hours. Add additional wine as needed, if sauce reduces too much.

4. Transfer meat to a cutting board and allow to cool slightly. Meanwhile, discard bay leaves from sauce and, using an immersion blender, purée sauce until texture is thick and even. Cut meat into 2-inch chunks, then shred with 2 forks. Return shredded meat to sauce, and season with salt and pepper.

5. Cook rigatoni in a pot of boiling salted water until al dente. Drain, reserving 1/2 cup of pasta water. Stir water into sauce, then add pasta and stir to coat. Top with grated cheese.

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Eat your books

Natalie Babbitt (the wife of one of my old bosses, and the author of “Tuck Everlasting”) is a terrific person who writes and illustrates pretty good books. She was featured in a documentary called “Library of the Early Mind” a few years ago. Some of the documentary’s participants complained about the publishing industry. Natalie, being smart, did not complain about it, probably because it's like being an oxygen breather complaining about breathing oxygen. 

Instead, she talked about her own love of books.  “I write books for children,” she said, “because my childhood was the most important part of my life to date.  And I'm seventy-two.”  Later she talked about her love of “Alice's Adventures in Wonderland,” noting that Alice was the smartest person in the book, and that the adults were “idiots.”   “And,” she added, “I grew up to find that that's true.”

That’s one of those sharp little zaps you get from a really smart observer. Myself, I didn't read the Alice books until high school, and I was immediately taken with Alice's brisk businesslike manner, and how she deals with the various kinds of nonsense around her.  She can be brusque, as with the Queen of Hearts; she can be nannyish and mothering, as with the White Queen; she can be sweet and sentimental, as with the White Knight. Alice, at the age of seven, is the only really adult-acting person in either book.

Children are generally not surprised by this. Children love their books. I know I loved mine.

I once read a wonderful Maurice Sendak anecdote, which I hope is true:

“Once a little boy sent me a charming card with a little drawing on it. I loved it. I answer all my children’s letters — sometimes very hastily — but this one I lingered over. I sent him a card and I drew a picture of a Wild Thing on it. I wrote, “Dear Jim: I loved your card.” Then I got a letter back from his mother and she said, “Jim loved your card so much he ate it.” That to me was one of the highest compliments I’ve ever received. He didn’t care that it was an original Maurice Sendak drawing or anything. He saw it, he loved it, he ate it.”

So: you really liked that John Grisham novel, did you?

Let’s see you eat it.

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Meat sweats

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Apollonia told me recently that one of her sons had a little disturbance after having dinner at her house. “I don’t know, Ma,” he said. “Maybe it’s the meat sweats.”

Meat sweats?

I have done some research on this, and if you want to have a good time with Google, you should do the same. Just do a search for the phrase “meat sweats” and see what comes up.

Long story short: people who eat a lot of meat at one sitting often begin to feel very warm, and then they begin to perspire.  Picture the contestants in a hot-dog eating contest, or somebody in one of those restaurants that give you another five-pound burger for free if you finish your first one.  In your mind, they’re sweating, aren’t they? Of course they are.

There are lots of explanations. Myself, I get a funny choking feeling if I eat a lot of beef; it turns out to be something called “esophageal stricture,” which can be caused by lots of things, including eating too much meat. Also, your body metabolizes protein differently, and large amounts of protein can activate all kinds of strange processes . . .

But no. Most doctors agree that there’s no such thing as “meat sweats.” It’s a symptom of fullness; your body is signaling to you that it’s full, and no more food is necessary.

So let’s have some dessert.

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Appreciation: Maria Ouspenskaya

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I usually write these “appreciations” about hunky guys like Channing Tatum and Victor Mature and Aldo Ray.

Well, this time it’s a tiny little old lady.

Maria Ouspenskaya was a small regal actress who graced a number of classic films. She came from Russia, studied in Poland, and came to the USA in the 1920s. She liked it here so much that she decided to stay.

Her heart was in the stage, but the financial troubles of the late 1920s / early 1930s made it necessary for her to look toward Hollywood.

Her first film was “Dodsworth,” with Walter Huston and Ruth Chatterton. She plays a steely old European martinet who forbids Ruth to marry her son. She’s terrific, and she got an Academy Award nomination for the role.

Many more roles followed. She played Charles Boyer’s darling grandmere Janou in “Love Affair.” She’s the mysterious Maleva the gypsy in “The Wolfman” with Lon Chaney, who intones:

Even a man who’s pure of heart

And says his prayers at night

Will become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms

And the autumn moon is bright.

Ouspenskaya was reputedly difficult. She was scornful of her fellow actors. She knew herself to be a brilliant actress, and acted accordingly. According to her IMDB biography, she relied on celebrity astrologer Carroll Righter to tell her when she should and shouldn’t perform.

This did not endear her to directors and fellow cast members.

My favorite Ouspenskaya performance is in 1939’s “The Rains Came.” She is (to perfection!) the bejeweled Maharani of Ranchipur, smoking her cigarette in a long holder and playing bridge. She is dryly ironic, and she is wonderful.

She was injured in a fire in 1949, which was (probably) caused by her smoking in bed.  She was taken to the hospital, and died of a stroke a few days later.

Poor thing.

Honor her memory by seeing one of the movies cited above.

You’ll thank me for it.

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