Last week I once again attended an informal breakfast where Elizabeth Warren spoke. In case you've been away from the papers, she's the Harvard law professor who has directed the oversight panel reviewing the TARP expenditures. She's probably the leading expert in the U.S. on bankruptcy and consumer credit. She struck me as exceedingly able and aware on all aspects of the subject and especially oriented toward the interests of consumers and middle-class people. At the same time she understands what credit is all about and how the financial system works--she just doesn't think that the only interest worth recognizing is the bankers' lobby. I do hope the President names her to head the new consumer protection agency. It's the rare occasion when there's a perfect candidate. He'll take some flak from the interests but that goes with the job.
What to make of all the recent deaths in the Yankee world? Steinbrenner and Bob Sheppard and Major Ralph Houk. I suppose I'll miss Sheppard the most because he was such a class act as the public address announcer for the last million years. I enjoy Keith Olberman's program but his move to get Steinbrenner immediately into the Hall of Fame is a misjudgment; I'm sure he'll get there eventually but the stories about those left out who are more deserving these past few days include Curt Flood and Marvin Miller and even Col. Jacob Ruppert. I'd vote for all of them before him, but George had enough impact to merit selection, especially when you have someone like Charley Comiskey in there. Buck Weaver should replace him.
Deborah Voigt will do Annie Get Your Gun next summer at Glimmerglass Opera. Sounds fine to me, because even opera singers have trouble matching up with Merman. At least they won't use amplification. I found myself warming to the bill announced for next year at George Mason down here by Virginia Opera: Rigoletto, Cosi, Die Walkure, and Butterfly. Hard to beat that for pure enjoyment. I missed the event of the summer: the Will Crutchfield Norma at Caramoor with the new sensation, Angela Meade.
I've been working on proposals for projects all across the Balkans and the Caucasus, two of my old stamping grounds. Too much has not changed in too many of these places. I read the specs of the RFPs and realize that so many of the Rule of Law projects fail to achieve their entirely unrealistic objectives. Not that we have anything much to boast about here of late: the Supreme Court refused to review a Texas case where the judge and the prosecutor were having it off. No problem there, I suppose.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Back on the Adirondack
En route on Amtrak No. 68, The Adirondack—Right now, we’re passing Lake George, just went by Crown Point, which fell during the Revolutionary War shortly after Ethan Allen and the Green Mountain Boys surprised the British by taking Fort Ticonderoga, a few minutes ahead, “in the name of the great god Jehovah and the Continental Congress.” It’s just past three in the afternoon and we left Montreal at 9:30 this morning, which tells you that this train doesn’t exactly highball its way to New York.
As with the train we took to Montreal, this one is filled with Montreal Jazz Festival attendees, which may be why U.S. customs took almost 1½ hours to clear us at the border. We’re also running late because the northbound train was late in reaching the siding at Westport, on Lake Champlain, where each train must wait for the other because there are no other places for them to pass. I’m not sure why they were late, given that there’s a long stop at Albany, which I hope our train will shorten in order to make up some time.
All of which sounds pretty ridiculous when discussing an 11-hour train trip that covers 381 miles. I figured the major stretch on the old Delaware & Hudson route, which begins north of Schenectady, would be the slow part and I was right. Part of the cause must be the condition of the roadbed, and also that the route is curvy. Having said that, I’m entranced by the beauty of Lake George, with its islands and the Adirondack backdrop out the other side of the train. Lake Champlain is more formidable—at times, you think it might be another of the Great Lakes where you can barely see Vermont on the far side—but this stretch from Ticonderoga to Whitehall is spectacular.
I do wonder if this train is normally this crowded—a sell-out both ways. By Amtrak’s standards, especially if you buy a ticket well ahead of travel, this trip is a bargain. There’s a café car that’s not much different from the ones on the Northeast run between Washington and Boston. No old New York Central or D&H dining cars on this day train—as in all-day. And no observation car as may be found on some of the Western routes and the famed VIA Canada Toronto-Vancouver Canadian route. Nothing fancy, not even Amtrak’s pale imitation of the old Pullman car: business class.
We’ve had fantastic weather on this trip—sunny and clear every day, which I suppose gives a somewhat misleading impression of both Montreal and this North Country of New York State. On the right I keep seeing still water and verdant meadows with mountains in the background, right out of one of those Frederic Remington paintings of the Adirondack scene. All you need is someone out there in a canoe.
You do get to see Albany, with all those wonderful old buildings such as the old D&H Gothic marvel, modeled after the Weavers Hall in Ypres, Belgium, or even the old, massive and overdone State Capitol. Rocky’s Stalinesque Mall looms in the background and then it’s over the bridge to Rensselaer, where the station serving Albany is actually located.
As with the train we took to Montreal, this one is filled with Montreal Jazz Festival attendees, which may be why U.S. customs took almost 1½ hours to clear us at the border. We’re also running late because the northbound train was late in reaching the siding at Westport, on Lake Champlain, where each train must wait for the other because there are no other places for them to pass. I’m not sure why they were late, given that there’s a long stop at Albany, which I hope our train will shorten in order to make up some time.
All of which sounds pretty ridiculous when discussing an 11-hour train trip that covers 381 miles. I figured the major stretch on the old Delaware & Hudson route, which begins north of Schenectady, would be the slow part and I was right. Part of the cause must be the condition of the roadbed, and also that the route is curvy. Having said that, I’m entranced by the beauty of Lake George, with its islands and the Adirondack backdrop out the other side of the train. Lake Champlain is more formidable—at times, you think it might be another of the Great Lakes where you can barely see Vermont on the far side—but this stretch from Ticonderoga to Whitehall is spectacular.
I do wonder if this train is normally this crowded—a sell-out both ways. By Amtrak’s standards, especially if you buy a ticket well ahead of travel, this trip is a bargain. There’s a café car that’s not much different from the ones on the Northeast run between Washington and Boston. No old New York Central or D&H dining cars on this day train—as in all-day. And no observation car as may be found on some of the Western routes and the famed VIA Canada Toronto-Vancouver Canadian route. Nothing fancy, not even Amtrak’s pale imitation of the old Pullman car: business class.
We’ve had fantastic weather on this trip—sunny and clear every day, which I suppose gives a somewhat misleading impression of both Montreal and this North Country of New York State. On the right I keep seeing still water and verdant meadows with mountains in the background, right out of one of those Frederic Remington paintings of the Adirondack scene. All you need is someone out there in a canoe.
You do get to see Albany, with all those wonderful old buildings such as the old D&H Gothic marvel, modeled after the Weavers Hall in Ypres, Belgium, or even the old, massive and overdone State Capitol. Rocky’s Stalinesque Mall looms in the background and then it’s over the bridge to Rensselaer, where the station serving Albany is actually located.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
All That Jazz
Montreal--We're here for a long holiday weekend, occasioned by the scheduling tomorrow (Sunday) of a wedding of one of Eileen's friends. I'd never spent much time here--in fact, I'd been here only once before, on a quick run up from Vermont way back when I was doing some court studies there. A friend insisted on taking us then to the famed Schwartz's deli to have smoked meat, the Montreal answer to pastrami or corned beef. Since everything here has to be labelled in French, Schwartz's has become Chez Charcuterie Hebraique Schwartz officially and I haven't been there this time because I didn't especially go for the smoked meat then either (it doesn't taste good, like pastrami and corned beef)--or, for that matter, their version of bagels, which are sweeter and smaller than the home variety.
But enough about Mordecai Richler's Montreal, which is as far gone today as he is. Montreal, in every other respect, is one great place. The weather has been fantastic, cool and sunny. The city is amazingly attractive--old and new buildings, lots of nice parks, a wonderful botanical garden, and as fine a range of restaurants as you will find anywhere. The standard there is very high. We've gone in three days to Greek, local French, and Portuguese restaurants--all three were superb, each in its own special way. The Greek place had a delightful Greek salad, lots of cucumbers and truly ripe tomatoes, and good octopus and fish generally; at the Frenchd one, Eileen had a top-notch steak frites and I had marvelous field greens salad with chives and venison done in osso buco style--oh yes, there was this chocolate mousse concoction too; and lastly, the Portuguese, Ferreira--one of the finest places in town, we were told--where we had a cataplan, which is a bouillabaise Portuguese style cooked in a pan with a cover called a cataplan, and black cod with porcini and a port-based sauce, preceded by grilled calamari and a tomato, melon, and arugula salad. A number of places we passed on Boulevard St. Laurent and environs were having a Lobster Festival, which I haven't managed to try out yet.
We're here in the middle of the Montreal Jazz Festival and last night went etto a large theater in the Place des Arts to see and hear Laurie Anderson, Lou Reed (her husband as well as the originator of The Velvet Underground and Walk on the Wild Side), and saxophonist John Zorn in concert doing improv. She played violin and a keyboard, Zorn only his sax, and Reed all kinds of guitars and banjos, but wildly amped with a keyboard and synthesizer and who knows what other electronic gear. I wanted to give it a chance and Eileen really wanted to bug out about three minutes into the barely more than a hour-long program but we stuck it out...and it didn't get any better. It was incredibly loud, but I sort of expected that--I didn't figure, however, how it fits into anyone's definition of jazz or even music. Most of the audience applauded and seemed to like it all right, but one dissatisfied customer shouted out that they should play music, to which Zorn responded--in the group's only spoken words onstage--that if he didn't think it it was music, he should "get the fuck out of here." Today's Montreal Gazette review said that everyone was a loser: those who didn't like it and even those who did, because of the short set.
The Atwater Market has wonderful comestibles of all kinds and the Jardin Botanique (botanical garden) is huge and very engaging. It contains Chinese, Japanese, and First Nations (Canadian tribes) gardens, amid all kinds of other gardens--aquatic, plants grown for food and fiber, roses, lilies--that are in bloom now that it is really summer here. The French language law seems to be honored in that every sign and label is in French but everyone speaks French and English, except, it seems, the Metro, on which everything is in French. It figures, since the whole operation could readily be switched to the Paris original without anyone noticing the difference. I think the French signage, despite views to the contrary, is good for visitors in that it emphasizes the difference that underlies the whole society in Quebec--this isn't like visiting any other place nearby in the U.S. or even Toronto or Ottawa.
I didn't mention yet that we travelled here (and will return) on the Adirondack, Amtrak's 11+ hour special from New York's Penn Station to Montreal' s Gare Centrale. I'm not sure the train is always packed as it was the other day with Jazz Festival-bound riders from New York, but the trip is spectacular, as you first travel all the way up the Hudson east bank to Albany, on the old New York Central main line as far as Schenectady, then it's the old Delaware & Hudson route up past Lake George and Lake Champlain. It's a day train--which means all day. The cafe car is standard Amtrak. The trip takes as long as it does because the track alongside the lakes and the Champlain Canal is both curvy and probably not the most up-to-date so speeds get slow. We also killed almost 1 1/2 hours at the border with Canadian customs, who probably take as long as they do because I assume their U.S. brethren do the same. By comparison, it only took an hour each way at the border between Greece and Macedonia, where we all had to get off the train and give them our passports, and those countries aren't on good terms; it took even less when we crossed the old Iron Curtain by train west of Pilsen in Czecho back into then-West Germany.
We also managed to be the last on your block to see Billy Elliot on Broadway as we passed through New York. The show is a bit slow-paced, probably runs too long as well, and has just average music by Elton John and unmemorable book and lyrics, but--the cast, especially its dancers, make it work and leave the audience on its feet. We were right up there applauding with them. It was great theater.
But enough about Mordecai Richler's Montreal, which is as far gone today as he is. Montreal, in every other respect, is one great place. The weather has been fantastic, cool and sunny. The city is amazingly attractive--old and new buildings, lots of nice parks, a wonderful botanical garden, and as fine a range of restaurants as you will find anywhere. The standard there is very high. We've gone in three days to Greek, local French, and Portuguese restaurants--all three were superb, each in its own special way. The Greek place had a delightful Greek salad, lots of cucumbers and truly ripe tomatoes, and good octopus and fish generally; at the Frenchd one, Eileen had a top-notch steak frites and I had marvelous field greens salad with chives and venison done in osso buco style--oh yes, there was this chocolate mousse concoction too; and lastly, the Portuguese, Ferreira--one of the finest places in town, we were told--where we had a cataplan, which is a bouillabaise Portuguese style cooked in a pan with a cover called a cataplan, and black cod with porcini and a port-based sauce, preceded by grilled calamari and a tomato, melon, and arugula salad. A number of places we passed on Boulevard St. Laurent and environs were having a Lobster Festival, which I haven't managed to try out yet.
We're here in the middle of the Montreal Jazz Festival and last night went etto a large theater in the Place des Arts to see and hear Laurie Anderson, Lou Reed (her husband as well as the originator of The Velvet Underground and Walk on the Wild Side), and saxophonist John Zorn in concert doing improv. She played violin and a keyboard, Zorn only his sax, and Reed all kinds of guitars and banjos, but wildly amped with a keyboard and synthesizer and who knows what other electronic gear. I wanted to give it a chance and Eileen really wanted to bug out about three minutes into the barely more than a hour-long program but we stuck it out...and it didn't get any better. It was incredibly loud, but I sort of expected that--I didn't figure, however, how it fits into anyone's definition of jazz or even music. Most of the audience applauded and seemed to like it all right, but one dissatisfied customer shouted out that they should play music, to which Zorn responded--in the group's only spoken words onstage--that if he didn't think it it was music, he should "get the fuck out of here." Today's Montreal Gazette review said that everyone was a loser: those who didn't like it and even those who did, because of the short set.
The Atwater Market has wonderful comestibles of all kinds and the Jardin Botanique (botanical garden) is huge and very engaging. It contains Chinese, Japanese, and First Nations (Canadian tribes) gardens, amid all kinds of other gardens--aquatic, plants grown for food and fiber, roses, lilies--that are in bloom now that it is really summer here. The French language law seems to be honored in that every sign and label is in French but everyone speaks French and English, except, it seems, the Metro, on which everything is in French. It figures, since the whole operation could readily be switched to the Paris original without anyone noticing the difference. I think the French signage, despite views to the contrary, is good for visitors in that it emphasizes the difference that underlies the whole society in Quebec--this isn't like visiting any other place nearby in the U.S. or even Toronto or Ottawa.
I didn't mention yet that we travelled here (and will return) on the Adirondack, Amtrak's 11+ hour special from New York's Penn Station to Montreal' s Gare Centrale. I'm not sure the train is always packed as it was the other day with Jazz Festival-bound riders from New York, but the trip is spectacular, as you first travel all the way up the Hudson east bank to Albany, on the old New York Central main line as far as Schenectady, then it's the old Delaware & Hudson route up past Lake George and Lake Champlain. It's a day train--which means all day. The cafe car is standard Amtrak. The trip takes as long as it does because the track alongside the lakes and the Champlain Canal is both curvy and probably not the most up-to-date so speeds get slow. We also killed almost 1 1/2 hours at the border with Canadian customs, who probably take as long as they do because I assume their U.S. brethren do the same. By comparison, it only took an hour each way at the border between Greece and Macedonia, where we all had to get off the train and give them our passports, and those countries aren't on good terms; it took even less when we crossed the old Iron Curtain by train west of Pilsen in Czecho back into then-West Germany.
We also managed to be the last on your block to see Billy Elliot on Broadway as we passed through New York. The show is a bit slow-paced, probably runs too long as well, and has just average music by Elton John and unmemorable book and lyrics, but--the cast, especially its dancers, make it work and leave the audience on its feet. We were right up there applauding with them. It was great theater.
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