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Bored with our usual choices, Nicole and I decided to take a drive in the direction of Borders on Ponce, with the aim of stopping somewhere to eat. About a mile before the bookstore, we spotted a small purple building with the words Java Jive painted in yellow on the side and a large sandwhich board on the sidewalk that said, “Breakfast served here.”
First off, beware of the parking lot. It is directly after the building and an alley-sized driveway takes you up behind the building. It is the first time I actually felt I needed my 4 wheel drive in Atlanta- the pavement is broken and uneven, giving you the off-roading experience so many SUV drivers are looking for.
The resturant itself is very kitchy but low on corny. There are 1950s and 60s esque furniture, including a large amount of floor space dedicated to oldstyle appliances; stoves, ovens, fridges etc. Why that space isn’t used for more eating tables, I will never know, but it definetly sets the tone for the entire experience. The lamp on our dining table was probably the height of fashion in 1957, but is now hideously ugly, but in a good way.
There was a significant wait, but the staff has no problem serving you up a cup of coffee while you wait- just head to the counter. The coffee itself is dark, robust and very flavorful, just what a cup of coffee should be. It is served in a 1950s style cup and saucer and the refills don’t stop. I don’t think my cup got below half way until after we had paid the check.
When handed a menu, I noticed immedietly that there were great options for vegetarians, meat lovers and everyone in between. I ordered the Mexican Omlette, which was lovely. Chock full of fresh ingredients like black beans, sauted onions and cilantro, the eggs fluffy, perfectly cooked and well seasoned. I wish the cilantro had been cut in smaller pieces, but that was my only complaint. The biscuit served with it, however, was the tastiest thing I have eaten in a long time. Billows of steam emerged when I split open the golden brown crusty outside to reveal a tender and flaky inside. It was buttery without being greasy and when I bit into it, I could actually see the cells reexpanding. Best of all, the actual biscuit was flavorful and tasty even before strawberry jam was applied.
Nicole got the chorizso sausage scramble which we both enjoyed. The eggs and sausage had lots of spice without being too spicy; I find there is a fine line between being able to taste spices without being overpowered by a burn, but Java Jive walked that line to perfection. The dish was hearty, with lots of meat but surprisingly, was not too heavy. It was a filling breakfast when paired with a biscuit, but it did not appear to induce a food coma.
The other great thing about this breakfast spot was the speed with which we were served. We did have to wait almost 45 minutes for a table, but within ten minutes of placing our order, we had hot, delicious food in front of us that smelled so good it was sinful. The staff was friendly and sunny in addition to being prompt on every request. The price was right and I was more than happy to leave a generous tip on the table.
Moral of the story is, on a lazy Saturday or Sunday, when in that part of town, I would make sure to stop in and have a fantastic brunch.
My students and parents have, on a few occasions, bugged me to create a blog for them. I guess it would discuss what we’re doing in class…
I find this to generally be a bad idea. First off, my sanity couldn’t handle it. I don’t have time for everything I do as it is. (Perhaps they realize my lack of a social life, and figure what’s one more little thing?). But more importantly, I feel this would provide the parents with perhaps TOO much opportunity to weigh in on the curriculum. We are a school that strongly encourages parental involvement (this is a difficult school, and many, especially the younger children, won’t succeed if they have disinterested parents). Nevertheless, I do not want 20 e-mails a day with ideas for lessons and field trips and projects, OH MY! It seems teachers at the school have done this in the past, but it’s still a relatively new place, and it’s been growing with leaps and bounds. The teachers who’ve done it before generally taught four-ish students, and not such a variety of grade levels.
Now, I don’t mind the idea of getting those 20 e-mails. What seems painful to me is the idea of sending 20 e-mails in response, even if it’s just a placating: “Thanks, I’ll see if I can find some time to fit that in, but the schedule is rather full.” Joy. On the plus side, I did have a parent tell me they’d miss me if I left Oklahoma to go back to grad school (apparently word is spreading, and I haven’t even been accepted!).
In the post-9/11 Hollywood era, gloomy apocalyptic films with overt political messages have become the expectation for the average filmgoer. Movies such as V for Vendetta, Babel, and Syriana have all been noted for their mirror image of current day or soon-to-be current day tribulations. Most come laden with heavy moral warnings; some have novel insights about what our near future might be like. But relatively few have the emotional depth and cinematic skill to drive the message of the film beyond moral pontifications and towards a more fragile, intricately complex, examination of the modern-day human condition. Thanks to the brilliant workings of its director, Alfonso Cuaron, Children of Men creates a world of astonishing terror which opens a window into our own everyday lives. I say it is terrifying not because of the possibility that Cuaron’s world may soon come into existence, but because the film’s familiarity reminds us that this world already exists within us, deep within the heart of humanity.
Part of the film’s ability to grapple with such emotional issues is the script itself. There is nothing more natural and human than the process of reproduction, as it is essential to the continuance of our species. Set in London 2027, Children of Men opens with the bizarre news that the world’s youngest person, aged 18, has just been assasinated. Soon, we come to find out that no women in the world are able to give birth, due to a worldwide pandemic of infertility that began in 2007. A world without children means a world without hope, and despair has brought on worldwide destruction. A tv ad on a subway reads “New York, Toyko, Beijing: destroyed. The world has collapsed, but Britain soldiers on…” A drug called “Quietus: You decide when” quickly unveils itself as the #1 lethal suicide drug of choice for the middle-class. In this world, where Britain remains the only country with some societal infrastructure, illegal immigrants have become the villians to despise. Signs warning about consequences for those who harbor refugees (“fugees” for short) abound, and news clips reveal refugee camps which more closely resemble concentration camps. This is the world that Theo Faron (Clive Owen), a common worker for the ministry of energy, has come to cynically deal with, until a rapid turn of events involving his former wife’s (Julianne Moore) involvement in an underground resistance group leads him to discover that not all hope is lost. The resistance group is harboring an illegal immigrant, Kee: poor, young, and pregnant. As the group seeks Theo’s help in getting her to an organization dubbed “The Human Project,” Kee and Theo’s journey leads us through the horrific depths of the refugee camps, the greedy games of those who seek only their own best interest, and finally to an uncertain yet strangely hopeful end, in which the best and the worst of human behaviors collide to produce one of the most initimately vulnerable scenes ever filmed. The film ends with both the hope and uncertainty that faces us all, as we desperately seek salvation from the cruelties of the world.
Cuaron’s filmwork stages some of the most realistic battle scenes I’ve ever seen. I would credit this accomplishment due to his use of a very 3-D view, in which you see things going on peripherally while simultaneously fearing what may be creeping behind you (or the character). Despite the undenabily bleak, gray, look of the film, Curaon inserts rich textures into the shot which warm the otherwise dismal outlooks. An old, orange cat playfully rubs against a war-torn Theo clothed from head to toe in black. A car chase which ends with a betrayal and multiple deaths is paired against a beautiful English countryside and streaming sunlight. These glimmers of familiar comforts weaved in with the absolute evil acts committed lend a disturbing credibility to the film, and create lasting images which resonate with you long after you leave the theater.
Ultimately, Children of Men succeeds as both a dark apocalyptic film reminiscent of modern times and as a universal psychological portrait of human nature. While Alfonso Cuaron has been hailed as a children’s film director (A Little Princess, Prisoner of Azkaban), it is filmic depiction of a world that contains no children which, ironically, I feel is his absolute best work. I encourage everyone to see it, while cautioning against becoming heavy-laden with the emotionally taxing burden the film asks you to carry.
I’ve been working hard the past couple of weeks. I mean, really, really hard. Up at 6:30 to be at work between 7 and 7:15. Work through lunch, til 6:30 or 7:00 at night. An event every day last week, plus one on Sunday, then one every day/night this week.
And then, while preparing for the event we hosted last night at the Carlos Museum in honor of the Domains of Wonder, Indian painting exhibit, we are told that one Mr. Rushdie will be attending the event, for his first night on campus. True to his word, Salman came walking through the door right on schedule and spent the entire evening with us. Luckily for us, the event (which was supposed to be for 100 people) ended up totalling 25 people. So, to all those people who RSVPed yes and then stood us up, boy oh boy did you miss out.
I can’t quite explain how cool I think that man is. I think it comes close to the feeling my mother describes experiencing when she went to the Beatles concert at Shea Stadium. This guy is, in my literature-saturated world, a ROCK STAR. Yes, that makes me a nerd, yes, it makes my colleagues laugh a little, but I have never, ever been that close to literary greatness and it was thrilling. It took me about ten minutes to settle down and stop blushing and hyperventilating, but after that, I like to think I played it pretty cool.
And when I mean close, I mean close. I shook the man’s hand twice, stood next to him while drinking glasses of wine and once, while looking at the tiny details in an Indian painting, I felt the slightest tickle of his beard against my cheek as he leaned in close and pointed to something, explaining that each line was painted by a brush with a single hair on it. We chatted about his wife’s gig on Bravo’s Top Chef, and he and I agree that the judges were wrong to eliminate Sam, who was clearly the best chef of the final four. (Apparently, his wife Padma, agreed with us but was out voted in the finale.)
Today, I attended the official press conference where President Wagner welcomed him and he was mobbed by cameras and reporters. He said some lovely, very quoteable things, but none of them got to hear about his Valentine’s Day plans with his wife. None of them got an exclusive tour with him and the director of the museum exhibition, based on his research for his next book and her art history background.
For all of these reasons and more, I love my job this week.
There are some days that you just don’t want to get up and out of bed. Especially when a large amount of work is piled up on your desk, your in box is full and all of it just seems useles.
Then there are days at work when something really cool gets accomplished, something you can brag about and count in the win column.
Today is one of those days for me.
http://www.emory.edu/EMORY_REPORT/erarchive/2007/February/February%205/dalai_lama.htm
http://www.dalailama.emory.edu/
This has been months in the making, but it was formally announced today. My boss is the woman pictured with His Holiness.
I think this will probably get me through the week.
Forget the ground hog and its shadow. Never mind the first robin. Overlook the first daffodils and crocus, peeking their head up out of the earth. The first real sign of spring has arrived.
Girl Scout cookie orders!
Mmmm, cookies!
My boss’s daughter Myriam came into the office today, decked out in her green Girl Scout vest and took our orders. Even more thrilling; my boss is paying for them!!! Work hard and you shall be rewarded I tell you!
The actual cookies don’t arrive until March 4, so I will have to work on accepting delayed gratification as a good thing.
Just the other day, Leslie was lamenting the irony that Brownies sell cookies and not brownies. Well, low and behold, introduced this year to the cookie sales- brownies! Granted, sugar-free brownies, but brownies all the same. I was also intrigued to note that every single picture of the cookies said, “0 grams, trans fat.” As if by saying that, the Girl Scouts of America were trying to claim that Tagalongs and Thin Mints are good for you.
I understand for you northerners, spring is still a distant dream, but here in Atlanta, it is right around the corner. Any day now.
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