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July 30, 2005

And Fish Blogging, Why Doesn't Anyone Fish Blog Anymore?

This isn't exactly something that might keep you up at night, but have you ever wondered why cats seem to enjoy the bulk of online animal celebrity, leaving man's best friend in the websites-with-cult-following dust? The New York Times has a hypothesis, and it involves fun things like voyeurism and the usual personality profiles of frequent bloggers. As an added bonus, the links scattered throughout the article will undoubtedly cheat you of minutes you can't get back:

And, yes, I think Whittier would blog if given the mental capacity.

Posted by elissa at 08:05 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

July 28, 2005

For the Sculptor Who Loves Painting(s)

Oh yes, appropriation is alive and well!

J. Seward Johnson, Jr., has an exhibit up at the Nassau County Museum of Art. The sculptures in this show are all three-dimensional representations of well-known Impressionist or Romantic masterpieces. You can walk into Van Gogh's bedroom at Arles, spin around Renoir's dancing couple, and lounge next to the enigmatic and wardrobe-less female in Rousseau's dream.

See more fun pictures from someone who saw it first hand. This just sounds fun.

Posted by elissa at 07:13 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

July 27, 2005

The only time that "fo" can function as an infinitive

NPR had a fun audio postcard today about "pidgin," the unofficial official language of Hawaii locals. Hawaii's "pidgin" is technically a "creole," a language whose vocabulary is largely drawn from other languages but has its own syntax. Because of it's mash-up origins, pidgin is often snubbed as a corrupt form of English, a sure sign of uneducated, "country" folk. But pidgin can't be sub-standard English because it isn't English; it is a distinct language with consistent rules for grammar and pronunciation.

Most people in Hawaii can speak and understand both Standard American English and Hawaiian Pidgin and switch seamlessly between each as the situation demands. It's a wonderful thing to have our Samoan tree trimmers come to the door and hear my usually grammatically-correct mother slide into sentences like, "Cut dem shorta, yeah?" or "You guys need one glass of watta?"

She's not being lazy; she's just trying to be understood.

(Bonus: a spoken pidgin dictionary online)

Posted by elissa at 04:09 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

July 26, 2005

The Day I Forgot How To Drive

My troubles began on my drive back from Ft. Oglethorpe. As I pulled up to the stoplight by Wendy's I was startled to observe a patrol car, blocking both lanes of traffice across the intersection, lights flashing but siren mute. As our light changed to green, the police car aligned itself properly in the right hand lane and drove off, silent lights spinning.

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the road, an 18-wheeler, flanked by smaller sedans, was slowly pulling back onto the highway from the shoulder. In fact, wholesale dis- and re-placement seemed to be rippling down that side of the road.

Vehicles in the east-bound lanes were acting a little peculiar as well. The police car, instead of speeding off importantly, persisted in hovering between lanes a ways up. Uncomfortably, I realized that my left lane companions had quietly evaporated, presumably to join the more august right lane. Some had their hazards blinking, some didn't. All were moving with impressive torpidity.

By now, the Jetta and I were crawling at a mortified pace, but feeling vulgar and out of place, the clumsy fat kid who missed a dance lesson and now can't keep up with the new choreography that the teacher introduced in her absence. I kept checking depserately over my shoulder for the cars in the right lane to split, permitting my offensive particularity to dissolve in their ranks. Peering ahead I failed to see signs of construction, an accident, or some major apocalyptic event that would incite such a whole-hog dismissal of all normal traffic procedures.

Zombies. Maybe it was zombies.

Or...blast.

A niggling memory suddenly burst into my increasingly agitated consciousness: a fellow Covenant student saying something about people in the south showing respect by pulling off to the side of the road when a funeral procession passes...

The police car cut in front of me, the officer thrusting a hand up in the air in exasperation. The right-lane nobility, observing me thus chastened, condescendingly pulled aside their silken skirts and I sqeezed in hastily, cheeks burning, sure that I had just managed to singlehandedly offend every vehicle on a three mile stretch of road.

An existential crisis endured and a milestone cultural lesson learned: my island training in the ways and rules of locomotion are not adequate for handling the complex social road rituals of the south.

Posted by elissa at 02:29 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

July 25, 2005

Gospels Opposed

No matter how many times you may have discussed and even prayed about the plague of the "prosperity gospel," there is something deeply unsettling about hearing a secular news report on the phenomenon right before you walk into your own church on Sunday morning.

NPR's story focuses on the Neno Evangelism Center in Nairobi, where Pastor James Ng'ang'a plays the electric guitar, performs healings, and tosses money into the crowd as part of the regular Sunday service. Pastor Ng'ang'a points to his personal testimony -- growing up as a street child, serving time in prison, being saved, beginning his preaching career on a bicycle, and now rising to be one of the richest pastors in Africa -- as a model of the change that Christianity can effect. Evidence of his faith and God's blessing can be seen in the $300,000 price tag of his new car.

In a poor city on the poorest continent, there is "little desire to hear about the righteousness of the poor," says the reporter, matter-of-factly. Pastor Ng'ang'a offers a solution to their destitution: believe in the Lord Jesus Christ... and you will be rich and healthy. Perhaps in a country this poor, the reporter concludes, such inspiration and rejuvenation is what is needed most.

Is the gospel of Jesus just a sweepstakes ticket or a bribe?

I entered the church building with a queasy stomach and aching heart, only to be joyfully startled by a different gospel, a gospel of tenderness and tenacity exploding in the life of Marilyn. Our summer Sunday School has simply been different church members recounting the faithfulness of God in their lives. Yesterday was Marilyn's turn.

Jesus came through a neighbor who loved Marilyn's battered soul. The neighbor did not promise solutions to Marilyn's crumbling marriage, material discontentment, or pervading desperation; she simply lived and spoke the love of Jesus. Marilyn's life before and after her conversion was peppered with personal losses, marital struggles, and intense trials. The difference, simply, was that she had Jesus. She never got the material possessions that she had so desired earlier in life. Her daughter's brush with death revealed Marilyn's inability to ensure security for her family. Her husband eventually became a Christian, but even that, she said laughingly, just showed us how sinful we both were! Her tears were almost fierce as she told her story; they were packed with the core-shaking conviction that Jesus had changed her not her situation.

Hers is simply the prosperity of a soul forgiven. Her Savior is one whose blessings have eternal significance, not earthly expiration dates.

So today I'm praying with renewed energy for those friends I have who are working in Africa with honest love, confident that God will propser their ministry in a way unknown to Pastor Ng'ang'a. The complex reality of Jesus' gospel and Satan's cancerous twists of those promises can hardly be boiled down to these two opposing stories. But preaching such a loveless gospel to the poor will only perpetuate an economically-defined self and never plumb the depths of their need.

"Whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst. But the water that I shall give him will become in him a fountain of water springing up into everlasting life." -- John 4:14

Posted by elissa at 03:31 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

July 22, 2005

Conversations with the Cable Guy

I like decontextualizing conversational snippets. I think they're more fun that way.

Cable Guy: (nervously, looking up at the ceiling) "Um, there's a wasp or a hornet or something in your house."

Me: (dismissively) "It's okay, the cat will take care of it."

. . .

Cable Guy: (conversationally) "Yeah, I lived in Arizona for a while and I could handle that heat 'cause it's dry. Of course, they say that this kind of weather here is better for your skin. If you live in a dry heat place it just (sucking noise) makes you old before your time."

. . .

Cable Guy: "My wife's sister -- cute little perky blonde -- married some guy in California whose dad is the king or something of some island in Hawaii."

Posted by elissa at 04:34 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

Friday Food: Kim Chee Meatballs

Kim Chee Meatballs
An Asian twist to an Italian dish.

1 1/4 lbs ground beef
1/3 c shoyu (soy sauce)
2 1/2 tsp sesame oil
1/2 c green onion
3/4 c chopped kim chee (Korean pickled, spicy cabbage)
1 Tbs garlic
4 1/2 Tbs flour
2 1/2 Tbs sugar
1 egg

Mix together and shape into meatballs. Bake 350 degrees about 20-30 minutes. Turn and bake another 15 minutes or until done. (You can line a 9 x 13 inch pan or cookie sheet and place a cookie rack on the pan. Place meatballs on the rack to bake.)

Serve with white sticky rice and a lettuce, cilantro, and crispy won ton strip salad.

Posted by elissa at 02:12 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

July 20, 2005

Outside the Kitchen Window, a Thunderstorm Begins

A fat raindrop falls.
The precariously perched
Hummingbird tumbles.

Continue reading "Outside the Kitchen Window, a Thunderstorm Begins"

Posted by elissa at 05:04 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

July 19, 2005

Photo Trivia (or) Help Elissa Integrate Culturally

As previously mentioned, our recent trip to Bartlesville, Oklahoma, opened up this whole new world of "The Midwest" to me. But now, now I have questions. Consider...

So, is there a method to the distribution of hay bales across fields? Did someone make them from that field's grass and them just leave them there? Or are they transported there and scattered haphazardly for later use? Why are they not in neat grids like other nice midwestern things?

Hay Bales

And what is this strange tank-like military vehicle that we saw at a gas station? What does it do? Why does its nose vaguely resemble a plane's tail?

Mystery Tank

And, finally, funny town name aside, what's up with lone letters in white boxes on Missouri road signs? Is there a road named "F"? Is there a logic behind which letter or letter combination is bestowed?

Sleeper F

As we continue to follow my progress in integrating into mainland life, look forward to the next installment: "How Elissa Singlehandedly Managed to Insult Every Car on the Road for Three Miles Simply Because She Was Not Raised in the South."

Posted by elissa at 03:31 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

July 18, 2005

Noel and Elissa in the Looking Glass

When Noel and I set out for a twilight jaunt last night, our plan was simply to walk over to Tennessee Avenue, swing around the loop that we assumed Seneca Avenue and Fidesah Way formed, and then head home. We didn't realize that the moment we began walking up Seneca Avenue, we had pushed through a Lewis Carroll-esque looking-glass.

Old homes -- some in need of repair, most well-maintained -- either peeked out from behind tangled gardens or loomed above us, perched on the hillside with steep narrow steps leading to the front doors. As we crested the first hill we noticed another green street sign, crammed tight with white letters. There's an "Edelweis Lane" in St. Elmo? We hooked around and marched up the steepening incline, past a double-wide that had been converted to a house-with-an-amazing-view, past another perched home with a chimney two times too tall...and then the road stopped. An overgrown, trash-strewn path cut out to the left, but since the sky was darkening, we postponed any off-roading and scuttled back down to Seneca.

The homes began to remind us more and more of the houses you'd see in Lookout Mountain's Fairyland neighborhood. We passed through the newly named "Fidesah Way" intersection and kept climbing, Seneca rearing up into a long, slow hill.

(Keep reading to learn about the Volvo heaven, the Lookout Mountain clone, and absurdities on the walk home)

Continue reading "Noel and Elissa in the Looking Glass"

Posted by elissa at 04:43 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

July 15, 2005

Honesty Through Imitation

(Referenced artists or artworks open in another window. Click away, seeing is crucial.)

Roberta Smith of the New York Times has an excellent review of the Richard Pettibone retrospective currently at the Institute of Contemporary Art in Philadelphia. The 215 pieces shown are a kind of postmodern ode to modernism and all fit somewhere in the realm of derivative art.

Mr. Pettibone makes perfectly detailed and accurate copies of great modernist paintings and sculptures...scaled down to pocket size. Little Warhol soup cans, Marilyns, and flowers. Tiny Duchamps. Wee Mondrians. Some miniscule versions stand alone as completed pieces, while others are layered and combined together like mini modernist fruit tarts: Stellas on top of Lichtensteins.

Mr. Pettibone knows his modern art and references to other artists and artworks are layered thickly. The stacked triplicate copy of Warhol's soup cans is also a reference to Jasper John's "Three Flags." Armed with a familiarity with American modernism, the pieces rocket from being small, cute replicas of vaguely familiar icons to being a witty and personal interaction with a beloved subject matter.

Ms. Smith offers the reader a helpful -- and I think accurate -- apologetic for appreciating Mr. Pettibone's derivative art as original and valuable:


Mr. Pettibone is a connoisseur and careful explorer of the chief wellspring of art-making: the simple love of art. His work makes transparent the complex mixture of discernment, admiration, and competition that spurs artists to make something they can call their own.

She concludes:


[Pettibone's art's] emotional wisdom for the artistically inclined is bracingly clear: love art, love yourself, do what you have to do and what only you can do. Utter honesty is the only path to originality.

And, in case you were wondering, the answer is "no." What the Chinese are churning out is not derivative art. But we can discuss that later...

Posted by elissa at 04:17 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

Friday Food: Dragon Noodles

This spicy noodle recipe is especially dedicated to Becky.

Dragon Noodles
Serves 2-3 as a main course, 4-6 as a side dish

1/4 cup sesame oil (you can use vegetable oil if you must, but sesame tastes better)
1 tsp red pepper flakes
1 tsp chili powder
1/4 tsp powdered ginger
1 1/2 Tbsp lemon juice
2 1/2 Tbsp Japanese rice vinegar (or white vinegar in a pinch)
2 1/2 Tbsp soy sauce
2 1/2 Tbsp sugar
1 tsp grated lemon rind (optional)
2 Tbsp toasted sesame seeds
1/2 cup thinly sliced green onion

1/2 lb somen noodles or angel hair pasta, cooked al dente and drained

Directions:


  1. In a small bowl, whisk together the oil, red pepper, chili, ginger, lemon juice, vinegar, soy sauce, and sugar.
  2. Place the cooked, drained noodles into a large bowl and pour some of the sauce on them. Toss the noodles with your fingers to separate them and coat them in the sauce. Let the noodles sit for ten minutes.
  3. Taste the noodles. If they seem too dry, add more sauce and toss again.
  4. Add the lemon rind, sesame seeds, and green onions. Toss well.
  5. The noodles can be refrigerated, tightly sealed, for up to a day.

* To make this meal more substantial, grill some chicken with lemon pepper, chop it up, and serve on top of the noodles.

Posted by elissa at 09:49 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

July 14, 2005

Indecisive? Commit your ways to Google.

I guess I missed this on its first time around, but Google Battle might just be too much fun.

Can you imagine the possibilities? If you're in an online debate and you need to whip out cold, hard statistics...

Presbyterian or Baptist?
North or South?
Apples or oranges?

If you're trying to make tough decisions...

Spaghetti or lasagna for dinner?
Red dress or black dress for your date?
Law or medicine as a career path?

Or if you want to see how your alma mater stacks up against old rivals.

Covenant College or Bryan College?
Covenant College or Milligan College?
Covenant College or Wheaton College?

Sweet are the wonders of the decontextualized popularity statistic.

Posted by elissa at 04:03 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

July 13, 2005

Midwestard Ho!

This past weekend I discovered the midwest. Although I do not originally hail from either mainland coast, I admit that the midwest has long been a mythical place to me, one of corn fields, cows, and casseroles, and a destination that never figured prominently in childhood dream vacations. Still, I went. And it was good. This trip was a "socialization tour" of sorts (in the interpersonal rather than economic sense), the presentation of the bride to Noel's sometimes-hometown of Bartlesville, Oklahoma.

The Journey

The Midwest

Upon Returning Home

In the eternal child-development question of nature vs. nurture I tend to pull more strongly to the side of "nurture;" your atmosphere and companions are an incredibly shaping force. Visiting Noel's high school haunts, meeting people that mentored and played with him, and worshipping at his old church all tie me a little more closely to Noel as he is now. The binding twist of marriage seems to be extending backwards, too, like strings wrapping around themselves. The sovereign God who ordered our entire lives now graciously lets us joy in His faithfulness by allowing us to know and love people in each other's pasts.

Posted by elissa at 05:34 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

July 07, 2005

The Old Fashioned Way


sherbert shirts
Originally uploaded by mrs. weichbrodt.

Dryers had no place in my childhood. In our little Kapahulu apartment none of the renters had dryers. Everyone hung their clothes down the lines that stretched from end to end like electric wires. When my family moved to our home out in Hawaii Kai, we were fascinated by the cream-colored companion to the washer. But Dad quickly installed clotheslines in the carport running parallel to our two cars, and we ducked t-shirts and towels as we crawled into the family van.

In fact, we only used the dryer once: to dry a sopping wet bedspread. The resulting electric bill easily convinced us that the dryer was little more than an extra countertop which, if humored, would liberally squander energy.

In college, the dryer confronted me again. Everyone else was doing it; they tossed in dryer sheets, cleaned filters, and turned knobs with knowledgeable grace. But when I tried it, my jeans and shirts -- which had hitherto never tumbled in such heat -- neatly shortened themselves when I already had no length to spare. Thus embittered, I quickly bought a wooden drying rack, saving quarters and clothes by hanging my laundry in my dorm room.

This past winter, my first wifely winter on the mainland, the dryer unexpectedly became my bosom friend by providing extra heat in a drafty house. I knew that hanging clothes outside was a ridiculous impossibility, but I still felt twinges of guilt over my traitorous indulgence.

Back in Hawaii, the dryer still sits there, vacant, less of a budget concern and more a matter of preference. Hanging laundry is my mother's favorite chore. She says there's relaxation to be found in the rhythm of sorting and pinning in long, swaying rows.

I'm learning that domestic joy again, this summer, and feeling closer to home because of it.

(Plus, I'm getting bonus wife points for keeping the electric bill down.)

Posted by elissa at 06:42 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

July 06, 2005

Roadtrip Diversions: Call For Entries

Noel doesn't actually know this yet, but we're currently reviewing candidates for "ways to divert our attention from increasingly numb bottoms while driving for a really, really long time." If your advice makes the cut, we'll send you a keepsake photo of Noel and me performing your suggested activity.

So far, we have:

  1. Listen to Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix on cd. (This could take up a good 17 hours)
  2. Compose a few haikus where either the first or last line consists of a single, five-syllable word. Bonus points if you can think of a single word second line!
  3. Create a gallery of emotional self-portraits. Driver announces an emotion, passenger complies and records the resulting face.
  4. See who knows more GRE vocabulary words.
  5. Learn all the words to one or more Decemberists' ballads. Jazz hands and air organ accompaniment are optional.

We have 30 hours to fill. Productivity -- meaningful conversations, eating, sleeping, trying to read the map, etc. -- already has its place; it's the dissipation bit that you can help us with. Thanks, sparse but treasured readership.

Posted by elissa at 03:26 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

July 05, 2005

Cut & Paste: Christianity Meets The Mash-up?

The Husband's latest issue of Wired has The Gorillaz on the cover and a chunk o' fun inside devoted to "remix culture." At this point, "remix culture" might be a rather tame title for the footloose frenzy of sampling, fan-edits, and unpretentious appropriations that are appearing on blogs as bootlegs and in museums as masterpieces. Today is not a good day to worry about recurring bouts of deja vu.

Though announcing, "mash-up, discuss!" could spawn countless conversations in innumerable directions, I just want to wonder about one thing: what could a theological framework for derivative art look like?

Continue reading "Cut & Paste: Christianity Meets The Mash-up?"

Posted by elissa at 03:29 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

July 01, 2005

Friday Food: Firecracker Chicken

This is a sweet-and-hot Korean-inspired dish: lightly fried chicken in a soy and sugar sauce loaded with garlic, chili pepper, green onions, and crunchy sesame seeds.

Firecracker Chicken

4 chicken breasts, cut into strips
Flour
Pepper
Salt
Vegetable oil for frying

Sauce:
1/2 cup shoyu (soy sauce)
6 Tbsp sugar
2 cloves garlic, grated
1 chili pepper, diced OR 1 tsp red pepper flakes
2 green onions, chopped
Plenty sesame seeds!

  1. Mix sauce in a small bowl and set aside.
  2. Salt, pepper, and flour the chicken breast strips.
  3. Heat oil in the pan and fry the floured chicken. (You're not deep frying, so use less oil and flip the chicken once)
  4. Immediately dip into the sauce and then place in serving dish.
  5. Pour extra sauce over chicken before serving with hot sticky rice.

Amazingly, this recipe also tastes fantastic as straight-out-of-the-fridge leftovers.

Posted by elissa at 11:55 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

Whittier the Bug Slayer

When we first got the cat, I knew that she would come with some extra cleaning responsibilities: litter box, cat hair, spilled food, etc. But I never expected to add "find and clean up bugs that Whittier has slain overnight" to my list of daily chores.

Last night was particularly productive:

victim #1
...Victim #1

victim #2
...Victim #2

victim #3
...Victim #3

I hope this doesn't reflect poorly on my homemaking skills.

Posted by elissa at 12:05 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack