On deciding whether I am a Shoshana or a Marnie or a Hannah, Jessa being obviously not an option

So I have watched the first two episodes of much-talked about HBO's Girls, which looks at the lives of four twenty-something women in Brooklyn. As I said in another recent post, apparently it must be compared to Sex in the City because everything must be, although Lena Dunham's decision to center the story around the lives of four female characters rather than, say, three or five is probably not helping matters on that front. It is not perhaps the deepest thing ever; I hesitate to say just yet that Lena Dunham is the voice of her generation or even a voice of a generation.

But it is well-written and enjoyable, and the characters are often neurotic in very familiar ways. Enough so that I plan to watch the next couple episodes once they land on the internet. I once had a conversation with an undergrad roommate about how our parents were really lucky that,  despite our shared nutty interests in writing and literature Ph.Ds and piles of clothes on the floor, at least we weren't drug addicts or pregnant. This was uncannily similar to Hannah's conversation with her parents in the pilot episode. I also fear that there is a faint physical resemblance between Lena Dunham and me, particularly to a couple of particularly bad Facebook photos that make me wish it were technologically possible to char pixels to ashes, though maybe I flatter myself. At the same time, Hannah is an anti-heroine... we are clearly meant to cringe at the scene near the end of the pilot in which she picks up both the envelope of cash addressed to her and the one addressed to the maid. But although I know I am not supposed to like her world or my world, I find myself doing so anyway, because hating the familiar seems both too complicated and too cruel.

The show's perhaps gotten the most press for its lack of racial and ethnic minority characters, spawning an entire eight entry Room for Debate series in The New York Times. As several of my Facebook friends sardonically pointed out, the Room for Debate contributors are themselves not as diverse as the country. In some ways, the rush to judgment based on just two half-hour episodes is oddly perplexing; the viewer's barely had time to get a feel for the contours of Hannah's character and those of a couple of her friends. We've barely scratched the surface of Hannah's world; most people have more than three close friends and more than one co-worker.  I suspect that it is precisely because there's so much in the show to appeal to the politically progressive... the four major characters are all some stripe of pro-choice who are in general agreement with Jessa's choice to abort her baby, all appear fairly comfortable with frank discussions about sex and so forth.... that the lack of racial diversity rubs one the wrong way more than it would on a campy latter-day Full-House-like sitcom with no voice-of-a-generation pretensions. About the most sensitive and intelligent pieces I've read on the topic come from Alyssa Rosenberg and Ta-Nehisi Coates. For my thoughts on this topic, see generally also the second paragraph of this old post.

Lamb Sliders with Neal's Yard Colston Bassett Stilton

 A close friend of mine from undergrad recently sent me a cookbook based on the menu at Caseus New Haven, one of her favorite restaurants in the town in Euphemistic Connecticut where her fiance is working on his Ph.D. A few look too complicated by half, but this one is quite do-able. N.b. that the pea shoots are in season right now and are available pretty cheaply at Trader Joe's in my neighborhood.

The book recommends adding cured lemons to these. It apparently takes three weeks to make the cured lemons. Maybe I'll tackle curing lemons the next time that I'm looking for a weekend project; maybe some of you will, too. Still, these are delicious without them.


You need:

1 shallot, chopped fine
1 lb. ground lamb
1 clove garlic, chopped fine
Salt
A little butter for the pan
Mayonnaise (whatever brand you like; I went cheapskate because that's what I had in the fridge)
Neal's Yard Dairy Colston Bassett Stilton (available at Whole Foods, in our neighborhood at least. If you can't get it, another Stilton or a Roquefort would also probably be OK. )
Rolls
Pea shoots


1. Preheat the oven to 350.

2. Combine the lamb, chopped garlic,  shallot, and salt in a bowl. Combine into patties with your hands. Drop them into a pan with butter and cook until they're brown on each side on medium-high heat.  This will vary according to your stove and the thickness of your patties, but five minutes-ish on each side is a reasonable guesstimate of how long it'll take.

3. Slice and butter the rolls and put them in the oven to toast, along with the burgers. How long this will take will vary a bit, but I estimate about two minutes. At that point, take the burgers out and put a small slice of the Stilton on each. Toast for another minute.

4. Spread the mayonnaise on the bottom half of the rolls. Add the burgers on top. Top burgers with pea shoots.

I served these with a simple spinach salad because it's light enough to contrast well with such a rich dish. Lightly sauteed mushrooms might also be really good, though.

Unfortunately, Willow also had a bout of excessive enthusiasm about these. While Ilya was trying to get another helping, she... uh... jumped up on the counter and stole one from under his nose. Apparently dogs love rare and expensive Stilton! Good to know. Well, we'll work more on the counter-surfing this week. And we'll look forward to possibly picking up useful tips about it in exciting Intermediate Obedience. 

Libertarianism and merit: once more, with feeling

Cato's Trevor Burrus has written a good essay titled "Bad Arguments for Libertarianism: Merit." I couldn't agree more. See also this and this.

Very deep thoughts about shoes

Phoebe is right; it is silly to equate having an interest in shoes with an interest in very high heels that are nearly impossible to walk in. I suspect this is one more example of the lingering imprint of Carrie Bradshaw on pop culture. It's bad enough that every National Review column about the kids these days must reference a television show that's been off the air for nearly a decade. Must it also poison lighter-hearted writing about shoes, too? So yes;  it is most emphatically possible to like shoes without being particularly driven to teetering around on stilettos. My own personal weakness runs to very colorful ballet flats, most recently these (which are also quite comfortable for walking), although I have other variations on the theme on my shoe rack that are no longer featured on the internet.

That said, as a naturally short person who occasionally likes passing herself as a not-naturally-somewhat-less-short person, I've had the good comfortable to come across some beautiful shoes that give height but without rendering the kind of pain Hadley Freeman describes in her piece. These pumps in adobe are the most comfortable heels that I've owned in a long time. They are not six inch stilettos, it's true, but three and a quarter extra inches of height is not so shabby either.  I will never attempt a marathon in them -- or, let's be real, a lame quarter-mile interval on the treadmill before going back to weights or abs. But,  like, in contrast to various cheap pumps I had as a summer law intern, I don't feel like I have to slip on flipflops to walk three blocks from my office to the corner deli for a sandwich. For Caucasian women at least, they will also match just about anything and thus are likely to work out well for many on a cost-per-wear basis; recommended.

On why modernity is awesome

Reading this New Yorker article titled "Narcissism in Pink and Blue," I feel like I must have been born without some critical gene that might help me grok the author's point. Ostensibly, the author's argument is that there is supposed to be something horrifying about parents throwing "reveal" parties, in which they announce the sex of their soon-to-be-born child by either whisking out pink and blue balloons as appropriate or color-coded cupcakes. What exactly is so horrifying about this is never quite made clear, although perhaps that is the sunny Whig techno-optimist genetic disability kicking in again. It doesn't seem specifically to be about the amount of cash spent. The costs of cupcakes and balloons seem decidedly modest anyway. There are repeated references to "narcissism," but that doesn't quite clarify things either. Isn't it normal for parents-to-be to be excited about a baby that's on the way? And isn't finding out the sex of the approaching newborn supposed to be one of the more exciting milestones of the pregnancy? Like, is the appropriate response to just refuse to tell people what is the sex of your child? Are you just supposed to stare at your shoes when asked and say, "Gosh gee whiz, but I didn't think you care about it?" And isn't wanting your friends to share in your excitement about your upcoming baby by inviting them over for a cupcake and balloon fete friendly rather than narcissistic?

Yes, there are some references made to the importance of the author's work in re-integrating felons with society. I completely agree that it is deeply unfortunate that many paternalistic licensing regimes keep willing employers from hiring ex-felons, even if they want to. It's absurd that in any state in the Union, an ex-felon cannot get a manicure license. I probably do differ with the author of this piece regarding the wisdom of laws that try to prevent employers from looking at potential employees' arrest and conviction records; I fear that such laws only make it harder for employers to get information that may be genuinely job-related and may even increase unemployment among racial and ethnic minorities. These differences of opinion on policy issues aside, though, surely people devoted to important social causes can be expected to set aside their labors for a few hours for parties every once in a while? Perhaps it is, dare I say it, narcissistic to look down on one friends' relatively harmless fun because it prevents them from being devoted 24/7 to one's pet social causes?

So, too, I am puzzled by the claims about the search for meaning. Is it odd that I have never felt at a loss for meaning, despite having been a skeptic about organized religion since about the age of 12? It is true that I have invented social rituals, such as Pnin's and my annual Hayek Party, in which we gather a group of mostly libertarian friends together to eat traditional Austrian foods. I have not done this out of a search for meaning or anomie or rootlessnes. My thought process was more like, "I will do this because it seems like fun and is a good excuse to make Sachertorte! If it sticks and becomes a tradition of sorts, then so much the better!" This points also to the oddity of looking down on "contrived" or "invented" events: weren't traditional rituals once also contrived or invented ones a long time ago? How would any traditional events ever come into existence if not contrived or invented by someone at some historical point?

It is also hard to say for certain, but I tend to doubt that the fall of religion or tradition explains the credulous reaction of people to extremist political movements or to anti-vaccination crazes. Suspension of science and credulity have been problems in many different societies, including some much  more religious than ours. See, e.g. (I am not sure when disenchantment with modernity is supposed to begin in the eyes of this article -- are we talking "modern" in the sense of "Now there is Facebook," e.g. circa 2004, or are we talking "modern" in the sense of "not medieval," as historians might use it, e.g. circa 1400?) I am confused.

I am 54 pounds of AWESOME, flying at you with a tennis ball in my mouth

Because of my recent hiatus from blogging, I realize that it may have been some months since readers have seen a recent photo of Willow. In case anyone cares, I have sought to remedy this defect by supplying the above recent shot of young Miss Willow, age ten months.

Of course, Willow's also been very concerned about certain developments in the news. Specifically, Puppygate. Some of her Republican friends have even gone so far as to tell her, "You know, Willow, if you had a son, he would look a lot like the dog Obama ate." To which she has replied, "No, because that dog was just some kind of stupid Indonesian mutt, and I am a golden retriever." She then proceeds to stare back as if to say, "Yes, Prada and K-Mart both sell things called 'handbags,' but to pretend the two products are the same in any sense beyond the semantic is to miss the point. So, too, is calling a golden retriever just a dog." Her interlocutors have then usually backed down.

Yes, Puppygate marks yet another low in the silly season of American politics. For one thing, the scandal ought to have been old news: Dreams from My Father was in print well before the last election cycle. I suppose the dog story is supposed to support the narrative that Obama is somehow deeply foreign, a creature far more alien and weird than your average liberal Democrat politician. One of the stranger things that I've read in this vein is this Pajamas Media piece, which picks out a quote about the rhythms of the Indonesian marketplace in contrast with the Chicago housing projects to illustrate Obama's deeply anti-American sympathies. This is... odd... because while full context is missing from the PJ media piece, the Obama quote presented there is perhaps fairly read as lamenting the lack of a rich, vibrant civil society in the Chicago housing project . Indeed, the welfare state's displacement of such networks of thriving small businesses and custom has long been a major conservative and libertarian criticism of social welfare projects. It's unfortunate that Obama didn't connect the dots better and take this typical criticism of the welfare state to heart better. It is also especially odd that the PJ media writer Spengler here views a Chicago housing project as a stand-in for the rough and tumble of American capitalism.

But... meh. At least all of this will be displaced next week by some equally ridiculous non-news story.

In which I realize that I am more libertarian than bourgeois

My mother informed me tonight that a childhood acquaintance of mine, who is a couple years younger than me, is now living in an agricultural commune in Southern California. She is not paid wages but is allowed to eat some of the food that she helps to produce. What horrified my mother most about this entire set-up is that she has never paid any money into Social Security. "She's 27 now," my mother intoned, "and she has no quarters of employment piled up yet." I think I mumbled something empathetic but vague. I guess I cannot bring myself to feel much if any horror, given that I would not really mind it so much if the entire Social Security apparatus were to just wither away.