Month: February 2024

On the last two Sundays (and this upcoming Sunday too), I’ve been taking an intensive cooking class. And by intensive, I mean that each class is four plus hours long. The classes were a Christmas present to myself. Since I cook most of my meals, better cooking means a better quality of life. It will take some time to bed in the changes and begin experimenting with new techniques and options, but I’ve begun to implement a few things.

I have a very nice apartment with space to host guests. That is part of why I chose the apartment in the first place. I’ve now been here almost six months, though, and have only had a handful of guests. To help rectify that, I invited a couple from my church small group to dinner on Monday.

The menu was simple but eclectic. I topped the pork chops with berries from Scandinavia, added cherries to the rice like might be done in Iran, and covered the squash in cinnamon and thyme. None of the dishes were new for me; I didn’t want to experiment too much. Where the cooking class came in was in the way I seared the pork chops at a much higher temperature than I have previously done, which was an effective change that added to the flavor.

The conversation was lively and enjoyable. The husband is approaching graduation and the life changes that that will bring for both of their lives. Talking to them about that reminded me of that period in my own life in the final months of law school. If someone had told me what would transpire over the next eight years, I doubt I would’ve believed them. I hope that at the very least hearing about all of the twists and turns I’ve navigated since I finished school will help steel them against the inevitable deviations that will occur—as the proverb goes, the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.

I patronized a movie theater on Saturday, an older, well-kept theater downtown that is about a six minute walk from my apartment. It was the first time I’d set foot inside a movie theater since before the pandemic shutdowns almost four years ago when I watched Parasite after it won Best Picture and got a broader theatrical release. There were a few years before that during which I watched the live action short nominees and such showings would be the only films I’d watch in a theater for the year. It’s a limited release sort of thing that never existed in the small town where I grew up, but each three of the short-form categories (animated, live action, and documentary) get released as a single category “movie” every year.

One of the benefits of watching a collection of short films is that there is a built-in hedge in the experience. If one of them isn’t good, you only have to sit through a few more minutes before another one comes on. Or you can go to the bathroom without fear of missing anything important. I appreciate that part of the experience as a buttress against the sunk cost fallacy and the prospect of sitting in a theater for two hours watching the same bad film play out just because you spent the money to buy the ticket. I haven’t watched any of the animated ones so I don’t know if they’re appropriate for children, but if they are then it could be a great option if they get restless watching full-length movies.

This year I’ll go at least twice to the movies. I’ve purchased a ticket to see the live action shorts next week, but this was a Saturday matinee showing of the documentary nominees. I won’t review the films here individually, but I will say that I wasn’t that impressed with any of them. I trust that the live action shorts will be better. I’ve already seen one on Netflix (before it was nominated) and it easily trumped the quality of the documentaries. I’m hopeful that the rest will match it.

Like the majority of Americans, I watched the Super Bowl on Sunday. I watched with a large group of people, some of whom were small children, some of whom were only interested in the commercials and the halftime show, some of whom had a rooting interest in the game, some like me who were content to watch the sporting spectacle and make snide remarks about the commentators, and one person who had bet a multi-prop parlay. It was the first time I’d watched a sporting event with someone who had that sort of wager on a game, and I have a few thoughts.

I’ve written in this column before how I don’t gamble at casinos even though I like card games. It’s easier for me to abstain than to play a few hands of blackjack and then walk away. Sports betting is another place where I have bright line rules, horse racing when I’m at the racetrack being the only area where I don’t abstain entirely. I don’t like how betting on games changes my viewing experience. For the guy with the exotic parlay, all he cared about was how many times a certain player was targeted, how long the field goals were, and a few other things like that. Sure, he didn’t care who won, but he also couldn’t just sit back and enjoy the spectacle. He even hit the parlay after the game went into overtime, but that didn’t leave me pining for the coming full legalization of sports betting in North Carolina.

I don’t even play fantasy football anymore. I was in a league for a few years and it was a loose tie that kept me in touch with some of my friends from college, but I spent too much time tinkering with lineups and checking to see how many rushing yards so-and-so had. That meant that when I missed a draft due to lack of internet, I was okay that they kicked me out of the league and I never petitioned to be reinstated. I prefer to just follow my team and let that be that. Call me a curmudgeon if you must. I know the economics and how sports betting is becoming ever more pervasive in America. I am even conversant in the language of sports gambling. I just don’t like how it affects my own sports viewing experience.

The Broadway season is in full swing in Durham, and I took in another musical this week. This time I was seated to the right and in the middle tier of the theater. The audience for this one skewed even older than last time, but I expected that since the show was about a group of singers who reached the height of their fame in the 60s and 70s. The show was Ain’t Too Proud, the story and music of the Temptations.

I only knew a few of the songs and even less of the story. This was a true story, but it was hardly less melancholic and morose than the fictionalized one set to Bob Dylan music that I watched in January. It was actually a little jarring to have this story so interwoven with tragedy set to the music of the power ballads and love songs that made the group so famous.

The most impressive thing about the production itself was the number of costume changes that the main actors made during the show. Never mind the dance moves or the singing skills that I don’t have; I don’t think I’d be able to change clothes fast enough to make it in a show like that one. Watching is sufficient for me.

As for more substantive reflections, a line stuck with me and I felt the need to write about it specifically. “Don’t nothin’ rewind but a song.” The line was a motif of the production as the narrator expressed a few of his own regrets. Given my focus on adding activities to my life right now (something almost every night though I’m not sure how long that trend will last), it may be odd that that’s the lasting impression I took from the performance. Nonetheless I’ve been turning that line over and over in my own mind and have decided to interpret it as a warning. It’s well-timed in the midst of this season. Dwelling too long on the places where I didn’t make a home before isn’t going to help me make a home here. Only making a home here is going to help that.