Baked, stewed, and tattooed an autobiography
The onions hit the hot oil, dancing and sizzling in protest, defiant to the end. Releasing their pungent aroma in a final act of defiance, as if the tears caused by dicing them wasn’t punishment enough. The oil shimmers in the cast iron pot, the faint smell of onions continue to permeate the air as I dice the other vegetables, carefully washing and trimming each one.

The “Holy Trinity” of Southern and Cajun cooking, onions, peppers, and celery, must be carefully sliced and diced. I inspect each one as I work my way through them. The onions have to be firm, pungent, and sweet. The peppers should be crisp and vibrant. The celery trimmed just right, the tops set aside for drink garnishes and the extra strings removed. The vegetables are placed into individual bowls waiting to kiss the hot oil. I turn my attention to the meat; center cut Bacon, Andouille sausage, Chorizo sausage, and fresh Gulf Shrimp. I set the Dutch oven onto the stove and set the temp to low, as it heats I begin to prepare the meats. My knife glides quickly through the bacon, reducing the strips to small cubes quickly. I pull the skin off the sausages and dice them into small cubes. Bacon is first into the Dutch oven; I cook the bacon down to render the fat and help create the base for my roux. Both types of sausage are added and quickly browned. I don’t want them to cook all the way; they need to absorb some of the flavors from the veggies and add flavor to the base. I pull the meats out of the Dutch oven, reduce the heat and add a stick of butter. I need to add the flour slowly to create the roux. The French use just butter and flour and call it “roux.” I use the bacon grease and fats from the sausage and add my flour slowly, stirring and letting my roux develop a dark reddish brown color. The roux is the base and soul of my jambalaya. Every batch starts the same way; the knives sharpened, vegetables washed and prepped, the meats carefully selected, and the cast iron warmed and ready to go.

I do not recall when my love affair with cooking began. The cooking process has always enthralled me; the rituals, the smells, and heat. When guests are over invariably where do they all end up? In the kitchen. Why? The kitchen is the heart and soul of a home. A majority of my memories from my childhood are centered around the sights and smells of the kitchens where I grew up. My fondest memories of visiting my grandmother's house are the way it smelled on Sunday afternoons;  roasted vegetables, pot roast, coffee, and cookies. If I were sick, my mother would make me tomato soup and grilled cheese. The smell of the soup cooking always made me feel a little better.

I had the flu once right after getting married and was home on the couch watching tv. A show called “Yan Can Cook” was on, and I was captivated. Maybe it was the fever, But I felt connected with this older Asian gentleman because of the passion he exhibited for cooking. I had already mastered the 5 “mother sauces” of classic French cuisine and was half-heartedly teaching myself different techniques. Something in the way Martin Yan presented his show fired me up and drove me to experiment even more in the kitchen. My wife, for the most part, benefited from my experiments. Not every meal was a success, but I learned something from every dish I prepared. Did you know that when you drop hot peppers like Habaneros into a hot pan, the fumes will make your throat close up and your eyes water? I do now.

Despite the occasional lesson learned the hard way, I enjoy being in the kitchen. The kitchen is the center of my home, not just a gathering place for family and friends but my sanctuary. I’ve experienced a lot of firsts in the kitchen; my first kiss, my first glass of wine, I even sketched my first tattoo while sitting in a kitchen. The kitchen is where I told my parents I wasn’t going to college and that I had joined the Navy. It was in the kitchen that my wife and I informed our parents that we were expecting our first child. For me, the kitchen is my refuge, a blank canvas, and my escape room.
If I’m upset about something, I cook. Rough day at work, I’ll bake something; feeling stressed, I’ll make soup; brain on overdrive (I call this monkeychatter), I’ll prepare a lasagna. Having a great day and want to share it with my family, I get in there and cook something.  Have a big special event coming up? Perhaps a holiday or birthday party? I break out the big guns and fire up my custom-built 60-gallon smoker I call “Stoker.” The bigger the gathering, the more fun I have cooking.
My kitchen is a gathering place for family and friends. My daughters have friends that come over so that I can cook for them. It isn't uncommon to have 3 or 4 extra kids in my house on any given weekend. They come over to hang out and chat while I cook. Sometimes they show up with random food items and try to stump me. It has become their version of the tv show “Chopped” where the contestants have a basket containing random food items to cook. These kids are all convinced that I can make a meal out of anything.

Some of these kids come from broken homes. I’m glad they feel safe in my kitchen and want to hang out and sample my cooking. What none of them realize is that by being in my kitchen I’m able to keep tabs on them. I want them to feel that they have a safe place to go whenever they need it. I’m happy to cook for them; even it’s just a grilled cheese sandwich.  My kitchen isn't just for cooking; it’s a gathering place, a confessional, and so much more. I love listening to the kids while I cook; preparing a meal while they fill me in on whats going on in their lives. I stay connected with them and provide advice where appropriate and cheer them up as needed.

I’m happiest in my kitchen, surrounded by family and friends, the smell of something baking in the oven. On evenings when the kids aren’t home I’ll make a batch of Sangria and prepare a few small appetizers to enjoy while playing a game of cards with the wife. A beautiful romantic evening cooked up right there in the kitchen. How can you go wrong with sharing a great meal and enjoying excellent company in the heart of your home?

The waves slap angrily against the hull of the boat. The water is filled with the bodies of living and dead refugees; crewmembers throw out ropes to the people struggling in the water. Inadequately trained and poorly provisioned the Greek Coastguard crew makes a valiant effort to pull everyone to safety.

“4.1 Miles” by Daphne Matziaraki is a haunting look at the refugee crisis that Greece is currently facing. Refugees are leaving the Turkish coast and heading to Greece in large numbers by boat. At the peak of this immigration crisis, 5000 refugees a day enter Greece. Still recovering from a financial crisis, Greece is now trying to absorb a staggering number of refugees. The Greek Coast Guard is called out daily to help refugees involved in shipwrecks, capsizes, and other accidents with the refugee boats. Inadequately prepared to handle the volume of rescue calls, the Coast Guard crew members struggle with the rescues; most not trained in CPR. 

The 4.1 miles between the Turkish coast and the Greek island of Lesbos becomes a new hell the refugees have to endure after escaping their war-ravaged homes in Syria. The citizens of Lesbos are faced daily with the decision of turning away or going “beyond themselves to save a stranger.” Though “4.1 Miles” was written and filmed in 2015, Greece continues to see an influx of refugees today because of the conflict in Syria. The article itself serves as a summary of the documentary film of the same name by Daphne Matziaraki, a Greek documentary filmmaker who lives and works in the San Francisco Bay area. The film and article underscore the conflicting emotions the Greek Coastguard members face on a daily basis. With inadequate training and poorly provisioned boats, the crew members head out daily to face the rawness of humanity. The central question the film raises is whether or not the Greek’s should be providing humanitarian aid while still recovering from their financial crisis.There are several issues Matziaraki ignores, primarily the smuggling operations and the individuals responsible for attempting to ferry the refugees across such a dangerous channel of water. Knowing that this problem exists and willfully ignoring it is tantamount to condoning the practice. There is a group of people openly exploiting the refugees for their financial gain and placing these men, women, and children deliberately in harm's way. 

Shedding light on one side of the story, though evocative as it is, does not help to bring focus to the larger picture at hand. Matziaraki does an excellent job highlighting the impact the refugee crisis is having on her native Greece. The focus is tight on the moral and ethical questions surrounding helping those in need. While the film indirectly shows that a closer look into the smuggling operations needs to occur, “4.1 Miles” also shows that additional support can enable Turkey to support the refugees from Syria.

The men and women of the Greek Coastguard do not hesitate when called to action despite their lack of training and supplies. With an infrastructure update and better training, they would be adequately prepared to provide relief and aid to these displaced families. The citizens of Lesbos, despite their financial hardships, step up and provide the help the refugees so desperately need.

Overconnected - the de-socialization of our youth

I recently met an old Navy buddy for coffee at a Starbuck's. As we sat catching up over our Venti "Doublecaf-whatchamacallits" my attention kept getting drawn to a table of teenagers sitting near us. Here were six teenagers sitting in a coffee shop and not saying a word to each other. They were too busy staring down at their phones with their thumbs moving so fast I think they might risk injuring themselves.

I was shocked that a group of teenagers could be so quiet. As the father of teenage daughters I know how much noise they can make; Like a pack of coyotes during a full moon. But, here was this table full of teenagers as silent as retirees at a church service.

I took a moment to look around and realized that it is not just the teenagers lost online. Every table had someone staring at a screen on a smartphone, tablet, or laptop. I am just as guilty. I carry a smartphone and a tablet or laptop with me all the time. I receive text alerts with score updates, weather alerts, and email alerts for work. My friends and family know the best way to reach me is by text because they know my smart phone is always close.

As a whole society has become reliant on the internet for connectivity, news, information, and social acceptance. Current generations, used to having information right at their fingertips, do not know what it is like to have to go to a library to look up information in an encyclopedia and use the Dewey Decimal system for finding books. Instead of meeting face to face and having conversations, communication has become reduced to text messages, tweets, and posts on social media sites.

Why should it matter how many retweets something I posted gets or how many likes? Why is it acceptable to post something you would never say to someone face to face? When did virtual validation become more important than producing quality work? Human interaction and conversation have almost become obsolete.

I attend a modest sized university in central Massachusetts. As an older student (49) I am an outsider. My attempts at conversation with most of the students in my classes are painful encounters at best.  Most students are wary of engaging in conversation with someone so much older. When I can engage them in conversation, there is little eye contact and visible discomfort. Most of the time they resort to looking down at their phones; eager to find a distraction so that they don’t have to participate in the conversation.

Try this as an experiment, spend an afternoon disconnected and go to a local cafe. Sit and watch how people interact. People are so "connected" all the time now they have forgotten how to interact socially. Text jargon has leached its way into speech patterns; people are now speaking in text and internet shorthand. I actually heard this phrase while sitting in that same Starbucks “OMG she is so ratchet!”

                I cannot imagine the person uttering that phrase could walk up to the individual they were talking about and utter that same phrase without an all-out brawl ensuing. The constant use of the internet and social media has stripped people of common sense, propriety, and social grace. In real life, I enjoy sitting across from someone and holding an actual conversation; making eye contact and exchanging thoughts and enjoying the moment. Conversation seems to have become a lost art form.

Recently while dining out with one of my daughters, I held a conversation with a waitress at a popular sports bar. My daughter, convinced I was flirting with the waitress, told me “stop trying to make new friends.” The truth of the situation was, I was just having a conversation. It wasn’t a conversation about anything more than the university I attend and the fact that the waitress recognized me from campus because she is also a student there. It didn’t stop my daughter from thinking my conversation was something more than that. Why else would you talk to somebody? 

Has real conversation become a utilitarian process? Being present in the moment and sharing an experience, like sitting in a cafe to enjoy a tiramisu and a latte while engaging in conversation, seem to be lost on modern society. Shut your phone off, sit down, and let’s chat.

My review of "Unbroken" as written for an English Comp course:

Growth, perseverance, and forgiveness; these are all points that Angelina Jolie misses with her film adaptation of Laura Hillenbrand's biography of Louis Zamperini, Unbroken. The story of a depression-era Italian American who overcomes his delinquent tendencies to become an Olympic runner straight out of high school should be pure Hollywood gold.

That portion of the Louis Zamperini story alone could be this generations Chariots of Fire. Louis overcomes his troubled youth to run in the 1936 Olympics. He does not medal but puts up such a solid performance that Adolph Hitler seeks him out to congratulate him on such an amazing performance. To quote one those late night infomercials “but wait there's more..." Straight out of college Louis enlists in the Army Air Force and becomes a bombardier on a B-24 Liberator bomber.

Angelina Jolie opens the movie with Louis Zamperini, played by Jack O'Connell, scampering around the interior of a B24 like a track star. Jack O'Connell does an excellent job portraying Louis Zamperini, despite Angelina Jolie’s best efforts. The first flashback scene to Louis as a troubled youth running from the police does little to tie the ensuing scenes together.

The flashback scenes come off as an overly artistic representation of "life passing before my eyes." Though the scenes do serve to provide a glimpse into Louis' back story, there is little to no correlation between the flashback scenes and their jump off points in the film. The first flashback scene occurs while Louis and his crewmates are under heavy anti-aircraft fire and cuts back to Louis as a child in church and subsequently running from the police. Though it was a nice artistic touch to cut from Louis entering the cockpit of the B24 as the sunbeams are slicing through the clouds to a Catholic priest sermonizing about the salvation and light and a young Louis fidgets in a pew.

The flashback scenes should provide a strong tie between the development of the current scene and the backbone of the movie. This screenplay, as written by the Coen brothers (Ethan and Richard) along with Richard LaGravenese and William Nicholson, serves more like a rambling highlight reel of Louis Zamperini's life.

Having read Laura Hillenbrand's book, before seeing the movie, I feel that there were so many missed opportunities in this film. The cinematography is inconsistent; there are great detailed action sequences that followed by overused high crane shots. The scenes of the prisoners in the POW camps standing in block formations is almost cliché. These high crane shots fail to help the viewer connect with the characters anguish and the daily ordeals they face in a prison camp.

The movie spends roughly 1/4 of its time focused on the 47 days Zamperini and his two fellow crew mates, played remarkably well by Domhnall Gleeson and Finn Wittrock, spend lost at sea. There is a sense of desperation and loneliness that permeates these section of the movie. Though, as with much of the movie, the focus seems to be on artistic touch instead of connecting with the viewer. The capture of Louis and Phil shows them being picked up while adrift at sea, and the scene depicts them overshadowed by a Japanese warship. The huge shadow of a Japanese ship superimposed on top of the image of the two of them floating in a raft setups the doom and gloom that is to follow.

The most powerful and moving scenes in the movie occur in the POW camps. The interactions between Watanabe, played by the Japanese musician Miyavi, and Zamperini convincingly convey the resilience and determination Zamperini displayed during this very dark chapter of his life. Miyavi's portrayal of Watanabe is captivating and almost outshines O’Connell’s performance as Zamperini. Miyavi delivers each scene with a believable presence that helps draw the viewer back in. The intensity and passion that Miyavi display throughout the movie makes him the perfect antagonist.

The viewer is drawn in by the performance of Miyavi as Watanabe. I was left wondering why Watanabe would single out Zamperini and treat him abusively. The energy and believability of Miyavi's performance save the film from drowning in artistic cliché. Despite his treatment at the hands of the Japanese during World War II, Zamperini returns to Japan later in life and seeks out those who imprisoned him with the purpose of forgiving his previous captors. The only captor that refused to meet with him was Watanabe.

The movie ends with Zamperini returning to the Olympics as a torch bearer. Instead of building on the performances by Miyavi and O'Connell, the movie concludes with a series of text blocks to help round out the story. Unlike Zamperini's performance in the 1936 Olympics, this screenplay does not finish fast and strong.

Unbroken (2014)

Director Angelina Jolie

Writers Joel Coen, Ethan Coen, Richard LaGravenese, William Nicholson, Laura Hillenbrand (Book)

Starring Jack O'Connell, Miyavi, Domhnall Gleeson, Garrett Hedlund, Finn Wittrock

WOW! I realized it has been a very long time since I last posted. The quick and dirty update is - I'm back in school. The long version: I am now 50 years old and back in college. Actually I'm starting my 4th semester, including a summer session I did, back in school. My mind has been blown by how accepting most students have been with me in class. The experience has been surreal at best.

I have decided to post up some of my writing and art assignments as I go along for those of you following along. Enjoy and provide some feedback!

>M<