Lèse Majesté

Perspective matters

The March 31st issue of The New Yorker had a long article profiling the woman who took many of the most well-known photos of prisoner abuse at Abu Ghraib. This picture of a hooded prisoner standing on a box, naked under a poncho-like blanket, arms extended with wires attached to each hand, has become one of the iconic images of that mess. In pondering the significance of that photo and others, the author makes this observation:

Of course, the dominant symbol of Western civilization is the figure of a nearly naked man, tortured to death—or, more simply, the torture implement itself, the cross. But our pictures of the savage death of Jesus are the product of religious imagination and idealization. In reality, he must have been ghastly to behold. Had there been cameras at Calvary, would twenty centuries of believers have been moved to hang photographs of the scene on their altarpieces and in their homes?

An interesting perspective... I've never thought of the very common piece of jewelry we see people wear, the crucifix, as an instrument of torture. But it really is. Can you imagine wearing a rack or an iron maiden around your neck? Or an electric chair? Or a bucket of water?

Random notes about old midwestern rock

In a bizarre brush with semi-celebrity, I discovered last week that a member of REO Speedwagon lives upstairs from me. This got me thinking about some old, old musical connections. Back in my high school days, REO was one of the regional bands we saw a lot of back before they became a major national act. Their rise to fame pretty much corresponded to the arrival of Kevin Cronin as the frontman. I never really could stand that version of the REO sound, though. This is the band as I knew them growing up:

http://youtube.com/watch?v=3QXHhgM_zW8

If you can get past that soporific host's introduction, you'll hear a very different band than the one that produced all the syrupy pop in the 80s. A friend of mine from back in the good old days used to say the best part of REO Speedwagon left to create Starcastle. He was referring to Terry Luttrell, the singer in that clip. But they also suffered a bit later on from the loss of Gary Richrath.

And to get seriously deep into prog rock trivia, Starcastle is still around too. They played the Rites of Spring festival last year, and guess who joined them on vocals? Annie Haslam ! I was so in love with her five-octave voice back in the 70s when she was fronting Renaissance. Ironically for a band that was often knocked for being a Yes clone, the guy now playing keyboards for Starcastle is none other than Rick Wakeman's son. And to tie this all to tech geek trivia, their original keyboard player was none other than Herb Schildt. Yes, that Herb Schildt.

Still to come... Is Pavlov's Dog still around? What about Head East? And are any of them performing anything worth listening to these days?

Otho

Otho is a new pan-Asian place on Portland Ave. It's on the ground level of the Skyscape highrise condo tower in the Elliot Park neighborhood. I've been driving past it for weeks and the curiosity finally got to me last night, so I stopped in for a late dinner on the way home from the office. The architectural style of the place appeals to me. Very urban-loft feel, like my own building and the neighboring ones.

Wish I'd read some reviews beforehand because I ended up ordering the very dish the Strib dissed - the alleged Cantonese short ribs. Not as bad as they said, but hardly spectacular and I couldn't tell you what was Cantonese about it. It was very tender meat with a goodly amount of fat and gelatin, served on a bed of black bean puree with green and red bell pepper strips and flavorless mushrooms. Really jarring were the shaved slices of jalapeno on top. My appetizer was really tasty, though. Four open-face steamed pork dumplings, topped with crispy bread crumbs, in a nice soy and vinegar sauce of the sort usually served with gyoza.

Service was really weird. When I walked in the hostess asked me what table I'd like. I said I just wanted some light to read by. So she stuck me at the two-top right outside the kitchen door, facing that door., even though it had no more light than a number of other tables.  It was jammed up against the wall on the right, too. I hate that, since I'm right-handed. I suppose I could have asked to be moved, but I went along with the program. Then my waitress was pretty clueless. I asked if the short ribs were served on or off the bone. She said on, but they were boneless. Mentioned the massaman curry as being unlike anything you could find in the cities. Well, I order it from Sawat Dee, eight blocks away, all the time. The style may be unique, but she seemed to be saying you could not get massaman curry anywhere else. Just clueless. The whole interaction went like that. She was clearly well-intentioned, but uninformed and/or poorly trained.

I would have liked a beer with my meal, but their bar menu showed only a few bottled beers, none of which appealed to me. But on the way out I noticed they had six taps, including Surly Furious. I stopped and chatted with the bartender for a few minutes, as he poured me tastes of a couple drafts. They have both early and late happy hours on weeknights, including a half-price martini deal from 9:00 p.m. to 2:00 a.m. on Thursday nights, so I might have to drop back in for the bar if nothing else. Well, actually, I want to give the menu some more extensive exploration too, so I'll definitely be heading back.

Poor Frank Bruni

Doesn't he live a hard life?

Expelled from Expelled

Oh man, my irony meter just pegged out, overloaded, and exploded...

You may be aware of a piece of creationist propaganda called Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed. I know at least some of you are familiar with a wonderful blog called Pharyngula written by PZ Myers, a professor of biology at the University of Minnesota.

I just spent an hour sitting next to someone who then got up in front of the conference I was attending and told this story. Last night there was a screening of Expelled at the Mall of America. Attendees had to register in advance for tickets. Myers appears in the film and even gets an acknowledgment of gratitude. So he registered, along with his family and guests, one of whom is the guy who told this story.

While waiting in line to sign in for the screening, a cop came up to Myers and told him he was not going to be allowed to enter. A producer had recognized him and told the cops to, well, expel him from the premises. Apparently his intelligence and scientific knowledge were not welcome. Maybe he'd contaminate the vibe or something.

So he went downstairs to the Apple store while his family and guests went ahead and watched the flick, which by all accounts ranged from laughable to pathetic.

The irony level is obviously screaming towards the stratosphere by this point. But here's what pushes it over the edge. Myers' guest, who apparently was not recognized and who told this story this morning was...Richard Dawkins!