Un-American: This Week

This morning, turning right on the sidewalk in front of my building, I walked past a burly guy loudly announcing to his friend, "Amerika hat das gemacht!" ("America did this!")

I didn't pause to listen but quickened my pace, not looking back--not wanting anyone to know I was one of those people. Here in Germany, my accent betrays me as foreign, but usually people imagine I'm English.That's not the best of deals either. A British MP, Danny Kruger, is already talking about removing women's rights to bodily autonomy. One bright spot: Germany's just made it easier for women to get abortions, setting a tone I hope will characterize all of Western Europe. But in my hometown, New York, you can now pack a pistol. 

We've heard Christine Blasey Ford's graphic testimony about her experience with Justice Kavanaugh, who when they were both in high school covered her mouth with his hand and held her down, turning up the music when she struggled and screamed. We saw Amy Coney Barrett sign her name in 2006 to an ad declaring that it was “time to put an end to the barbaric legacy of Roe v. Wade.” I am old enough to remember the Clarence Thomas who called his employee, Anita Hill, into his office to ask her who had left pubic hairs on his can of coke (see 10:03)

He told her if she ever repeated any of his remarks, this would "ruin his career." Who can forget the man's comments about the "Long Dong Silver" porn films he saw--about "large breasts?" This is who's removing the right to abortion, and apparently going after contraception and gay marriage. This is whose wife called Anita Hill to demand she apologize for "lying." This is whose wife tried to get Arizona to give the election to Trump. Persuade Mike Pence to throw out the 2020 election results on January 6. And this is whose wife attended the "stop the steal" rally on January 6, 2021.

Cassidy Hutchinson, thanks for going once more into the breach, and please, keep exposing the gangster who rode shotgun and thank goodness didn't wrest the wheel from a cooler head. But the evil that men do lives after them.

 

Coming-Down-With-Covid-Chicken Soup

It's probably just a cold--tested negative. But this soup is delicious, inexpensive to make (about eleven euros for at least ten servings) and filled with flavor. 

I took one important hint from Martha Stewart: start by putting the chicken in cold water. I didn't take her other piece of advice, which is to add a tablespoon of salt. Forget that. Start very simply: a large Dutch oven--I used my trusty Le Creuset. You will need:

One pack of chicken wings or drumsticks--or if you want to get fancy, what Germans call a "soup hen."

One pack of "Suppengrün" (800 grams) which typically comes with a big hunk of celery root, three or four carrots, a leek or two, and fresh parsley.

Garlic, fresh, lots

Ginger--to taste, fresh

A red onion or two

Turmeric--fresh or powdered

A strip (about eight inches) of kelp (available in most stores selling Asian food products)

Olive oil

Dry vegetable broth

The recipe:

Remove the chicken wings from package and place them in the Dutch oven. Fill almost to top with water, cover, and set on stove to boil.

Slice the red onions, the garlic, the leeks and the ginger and sautée them in olive oil. Set aside. Rinse the celery root, carrots, parsley. Slice but do not yet add.

Check the chicken broth. After 20-30 minutes, scum will appear--take a small sieve, skim it off. Rinse the sieve and skim again. Cover chicken and let simmer around fifteen minutes more. Skim again. 

Add turmeric, leeks, ginger, red onions, garlic. Stir. Let simmer around fifteen minutes. 

Add all except the parsley. Allow to simmer till the carrots are soft. Stir. Taste. Add vegetable broth--to taste. I used two tablespoons full. 

Add parsley. Stir. Consume! The chicken will be falling off the bones. You will feel much better.

Amber's Admirer: A Byzantine Romance

In a plot twist worthy of a bodice-ripper, Amber Heard's received a proposition from a Saudi man. In an Instagram voice note in Arabic, he promises her a life of "joy and happiness," adding,

Amber, since all doors are closing on you, you have no-one except me to take care of you. I’ve noticed some people hate and bully you, therefore I decided to marry you.  

I imagine the story spinning out as follows:

Chapters 1-4: Thrilled with his carpeted private jet, especially the gold toilet seats and faucets, gobsmacked by diamond earrings he gives her and her daughter, delighted by the delicious meals, foot massages, your-wish-is-my-command style of the man, who is terrifically handsome, she says yes. 

Chapter 5: The marriage takes place on the plane. He makes purple passionate love to her and feeds her figs and cream for breakfast. She is unaware of his having removed her and her daughters' passports.

 Chapters 6-12: Life around the palace gets a little dull. He's gone all day in meetings after promising to take her places and go dancing.

 Chapters 7-13: She complains. He advises her to leave him alone. She knocks his coffee cup out of his hand, spilling hot coffee over his fresh white thawb. He slaps her. She screams. (We will "draw a curtain" over the rest of the scene).

Chapters  14-20: She notices her phone is gone. She doesn't dare ask where, and begs a trusted servant for a burner. The trusted servant agrees, but does not appear at the agreed-upon meeting time; Amber never sees her again.

 Chapter 21: Amber begs another servant for a burner, handing over the most expensive piece of jewelry given to her by the Saudi prince. This time, she reaches the U.S. Embassy, and learns how difficult it may be to get her out. 

Chapter 22: She texts Johnny: "I know we've had our differences, but I really appreciate you now! I'm sorry I was kind of mean! Please, please, please, rescue me and I'll be really nice from now on!"

The Showstopper Trial: From Oscar Wilde to Johnny Depp

In 1864, when Oscar Wilde was ten years old, his parents set a bad example by getting involved in activities formerly deemed "sordid," a word having almost no meaning anymore. Wilde's dad, Sir William, so prominent an eye and ear surgeon that he was appointed to attend to Queen Victoria, in the event she was troubled with ocular or otolaryngolic problems while travelling in Ireland, was being stalked by a former lover. Sir William had given the seventeen-year-old Mary Travers money to go away and leave him alone, and in revenge she snuck into his waiting room bathroom, filled the soap dishes with garlic, penned a pamphlet suggesting he had raped her, signing it with his wife's pen name, Speranza, hired newsboys to sell copies of his love letters in front of a hall where he was giving a lecture, and printed doggerel insulting his illegitimate children, of which he had at least three, in local papers. Mary even broke into Lady Wilde's boudoir, but was booted out. Lady Wilde took her children to Bray, a seaside result, to get away from Mary, who followed them there and hired more newsboys to sell pamphlets about the alleged rape--and this time, Oscar's young sister, Isola, wondered how they knew her mother's name. Fed up, Speranza, Oscar's mother, sent a scathing letter to Mary's father asking him to control his daughter. Poking around in her father's drawer, Mary discovered the letter and sued Lady Wilde, Speranza, for libel.

What a sensation--so big a trial the London papers reported it. Mary won, in the sense that Lady Wilde's letter was judged "not true in substance and fact," but she was awarded only a farthing in damages. Since she had technically won, the Wildes had to pay the crippling court costs. 

The result? Ten-year-old Oscar became fascinated by trials, telling a schoolmate he'd love to be the hero of a cause célebre and go down to posterity as the defendant in such a case as Regina vs. Wilde (the queen versus Wilde). The rest is history.

Fatty Arbuckle . . . Lorena Bobbitt . . .  can't begin to cover them all. 

Then there was O.J. Simpson, so guilty of murdering Nicole Brown Simpson that New York Magazine's cover showed him with bloody hands. The prosecution made the very dumb mistake (who doesn't know leather shrinks in liquid?) of making him try on the leather gloves the killer had worn. "If it does not fit, you must acquit!" said his lawyer, Johnnie Cochran.

None of their stories fit, in the sense of making sense of wildly jealous, vengeful, and violent behavior. How two gorgeously talented beautiful people, Heard and Depp, dissolved into toddler-style squabbling, bottle-throwing, name-calling, slapping, and other unseemly behaviors is anyone's guess. Maybe she'll go off into the sunset with Elon Musk or another billionaire--unless she sues Depp again, as she's threatening to do. Maybe he'll get to play Gellert Grindelwald again and really feel the part if he does. Maybe I'll get some work done after weeks of my guilty habit--just couldn't get enough of the pouting, the smirking, the dirty laundry, and the glow of celebrity--at a distance. Few things make me happier than the state of being a complete unknown. Anonymity is gold!