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For now, I’ll say this – Congratulations to “Million Dollar Baby.” Kudos to Eastwood, Freeman, and Swanks.

More comments may be pending. Stay tuned.

So, it’s the Oscars tonight. Chris Rock as host – so something amusing is bound to be said.

My siblings and I saw “Million Dollar Baby” last night. Well-made, but sad movie. Clint Eastwood, Hilary Swank, and Morgan Freeman were all good. Would like to see Freeman win an Oscar already (although, I think he has done more powerful work in the past). Don’t think that Eastwood should necessarily win the Oscar (as an actor or director, not sure) – but it’ll be interesting to see if the movie will be Best Movie.

I am now fully caught up on “Alias” episodes, and I shall have to say that Secret Agent Sydney’s got to be crazy to trust Evil Man Sloane (whose agenda is still unclear). But, she has serious issues about her father and her boyfriend – i.e., the episode where she’s under the influence of a powerful hallucinogenic drug has her acting out her worst fears. She attempts to kill her dad, the tragic Jack, believing that he would kill her and that he never really loved her. Then, she tries to aim the gun at Vaughn, because she (while still under the drugs) believes he would “betray” her “again,” especially since Sydney is still mad at him for having gotten married to someone else – while she, Sydney, was presumed dead. (gee, Sydney, would you rather he remained in a paralyzing mournful state, much like your father? And, I could have sworn you got over that last year). Hmm. Whatever happened to the CIA psychiatrist would had to treat Sydney, Jack, and Vaughn, to help them deal with their personal stuff? (I forget – she might have been arrested/killed/taken to jail or whatnot).

Still, the most recent episode was crazy stuff (Sydney, Dixon, Vaughn cutting off a bad guy’s finger and then pretending to have killed him, so that Sydney could save her sister’s life). We might actually be back in the ballpark of Crazy Serial Alias, rather than the lately one-plot standalone episode stuff. I prefer the serial stuff, since each episode carried over themes and character development and left one so breathless that it was fun, even if it made no sense. The standalone stuff felt like they repeated plots from other shows (like “X-Files”) – even though I do understand that “Alias” doesn’t want to rely on its serial form so much such that it milks its internal mythology to the point of destroying itself (like “X-Files” did to itself).

Enjoy the Oscars.

One of my law school friends took me on a mysterious meeting to check out “e-business” marketing opportunities. It turned out to be one of those multi-level marketing schemes, although it seems to be technically legal. However, it is an accounting mess. The independent business person has to buy $250 of stuff from themselves each month to gain points toward bonuses. The bonus is in the $40 range at that level. So, you’re paying $250 plus the startup fees to make $40. They don’t encourage marketing the product that they nominally sell, they encourage franchising the business to others. In addition, the high grossing products are not really the stuff that is sold at retail, but the franchise training stuff to continue in the business. Don’t know about this one.

Today’s NY Times , in “Appeal to Young on Pension Plan Gets the Attention of Their Elders” , Robin Toner writes on Sen. Rick Santorum’s attempt to promote Pres. Bush’s Social Security reform plan in Pennsylvania, Santorum’s home state. It’s a funny article, as Toner writes how Santorum appears exasperated in trying to get the young people to be as motivated about this as the older people:

Almost no one is a more outspoken advocate of President Bush’s Social Security plan than Senator Rick Santorum, the third-ranking Republican in the Senate leadership, who is campaigning across his state this week, trying to get young people to focus on their retirement.

Mr. Santorum argued, again and again, that the debate over Mr. Bush’s plan for private accounts was really about young people’s futures, because their benefits were at risk and because Mr. Bush had repeatedly promised that he would make no changes affecting Americans over 55.

This is a key element of the Republican strategy, creating an energized and mobilized younger generation fighting for its piece of an ownership society.

But there is a problem with that approach: retirees and those near retirement, a legendary political force, refuse to be shut out of the debate. At Widener University in Chester on Tuesday afternoon, people over 50 occupied perhaps half the seats at a forum held by Mr. Santorum and asked many of the questions – most of them negative.

At one point, Mr. Santorum looked out at the raised hands and said somewhat plaintively: “I’m seeing a lot of older hands. I’m not seeing any younger hands.”

But, later in the article Toner puts in what must have been the strangest quote of the day:

Mr. Santorum did get some support from his audiences on Tuesday. At Widener, Katherine Dombrowski, a 21-year-old junior, said she already had an individual retirement account and was “completely in support” of the idea of privatizing Social Security. “I don’t understand what everybody has against the idea of taking care of yourselves,” Ms. Dombrowski said to a smattering of applause.

Hmm. Gee, Ms. Dombrowski, did you actually think your words through before letting them out of your mouth? Isn’t it sort of against most religions to not look out for one’s fellow man? To be charitable, civil, and other stuff. I’m hardly a saint myself, but I’d hate to actually say out loud that we ought to look out for number 1 (the old me/myself/and I). And, the idea of Social Security is “Social” – that we look out for each other, particularly in the Depression era when we were in need of help. While Social Security may need reform, I’m not convinced that privatizing it is the answer. (In which case, come up with some program with a new name, because “Private Social Security” sounds oxymoronic).

Plus, a food article, by Daniel Young: French pizza, with French cheeses. Mmm. Sounds yummy:

FRANCIS CRESCI’S decision to ban mozzarella at the pizzeria he opened here in 1956 was less a matter of taste than conviction. It echoed the insistence of his grandfather, an immigrant from Umbria in Italy, that nary a word of Italian be heard in the family’s new home in Nice. The young Mr. Cresci thought his pizzas should speak either French or, like his grandfather, Nissart, a dialect with Italian and old Provençal influences.

“In every region of Europe the locals were eating foods produced on their land,” recalled Mr. Cresci, now 78. “I reckoned there was enough cheese to choose from in France.”

The nutty, buttery flavor of semihard cheeses like French Emmenthal and Cantal distinguishes much French pizza from Neapolitan-style pies made only with milky mozzarella. When the cheese is spread over a thin round of dough coated with tomato and herbs and then subjected to the relentless whoosh of heat in a brick oven, the result is a bubbling, molten masterpiece.

“C’est une pizza qui vive,” said Mr. Cresci’s son, Ludovic, who now oversees La Pizza, his father’s business. Sure enough, that pizza is alive.

Last night’s “House, M.D.” on FOX was curiously interesting. We get more inkling of why Dr. House is such a misogynist – something didn’t work out with a woman in the past (isn’t it always?). House isn’t happy when his only friend in the hospital, Dr. Wilson, ditches House’s plan to go the see a Monster Truck event (a NJ thing, I daresay, for a show that takes place in NJ). Indeed, to House’s concern, Wilson is going to see a woman (who may or may not have been The Woman in House’s life; dare we detect jealousy? Well, House forgives Wilson, saying, “Well, she’s your friend, so I can’t stop you.”). House then turns to young Dr. Cameron to be his guest to the Monster Truck event (which they maintain is NOT a date for the two lonely singletons. Right – well, she is House’s student, so to speak, so perhaps they ought to avoid “dating” in that sense).

By coincidence, my sister and I also went to Central Park yesterday morning to see The Gates (didn’t see FC and P, but it felt like everybody was there). We didn’t walk as far (from Columbus Circle to probably up to 72nd Street, west to east, and then back down again). Cold, but walking had to get the blood going.

I’m not sure exactly what would be the artistic meaning behind it (is it “have art for art’s sake”? is it mere aesthetics? if it’s mere aesthetics, because we all like to look at something pretty and reflective of light and texture, is it still art? are art and aesthetics one and the same?). Maybe the artists Christo and Jeanne-Claude just do it to let us think of what we will – we become the “artists” so to speak – we make or derive our own value of what we look at; the photographers out make photos – make their own art; and so on.

I’ll give Christo and Jeanne-Claude this much credit – I was impressed about seeing an alternative universe NYC – everybody who came out to Central Park looked happy. So many smiling faces, from people of probably every race, national origin and religion, etc. Orange (“saffron”) in winter just makes a nice warm feeling inside.

Oh, and I was telling my sister that seeing the actual Westminster Dog Show was unnecessary – Central Park with The Gates was where all the dogs worthy of being seen were. Plus, the some dogs wore sweaters and booties – a literal dog fashion show.

Then, Sunday afternoon, I went to a co-worker’s engagement party in the Lower East Side, and the bunch of us hanged out for a bit afterward. Much cake eaten.

Watched some of my videotapes today: notable viewing – “Broadcast News” (or most of it anyway, because my VCR missed the first minute or two). Quite a movie – Holly Hunter, William Hurt, and Albert Brooks, with sharp dialogue and insight, plus a romantic triangle that wasn’t too romantic. Hurt is the talented anchorman who’s lacking actual journalistic sense (more self-promotion than substance – and he knows it, which makes it feel worse – because that means he’s not as vacant as he looks); Brooks is his rival, a longtime reporter who has his eye on the anchor seat; and Hunter is the news producer in between. Brooks and Hunter are convinced that they are smarter than everyone else (and they are), but they’re so sharp, they’re rather socially inept. Hurt is smooth, but stupid and senses that he’s being put down; at the same time, he’s exploiting them and their talents as better journalists (or exploiting Hunter’s talent, anyway). Hunter (emotionally speaking) loves both guys, they love her, and all three are nuts. Oh, and network news – yeah, it’s an annoying thing, because the tv news department executives are panderers and twirps.

Hmm. And, this was a movie made in the 1980’s? Some of satire on the anchorman stuff are too right on the money. I don’t think I can look at NBC’s Brian Williams the same way again (especially when he has a passing resemblance to William Hurt’s good, serious looks and is on that journey of Big Shot Network News Anchorman).

But, at some points, the passage of time is pretty evident – when Hunter’s character catches Hurt’s character in pretending to cry in his interviewing of a date rape victim (in an attempt to pander to viewers and milk the pathos of the story), she accuses him of crossing the journalist’s ethical line – to which he responds with a blunt “well, the line is constantly being pushed and re-drawn anyway.” Boy, is that mild compared to what real life anchormen get themselves into (i.e., CBS’ Dan Rather’s fiasco with the story on George W. Bush’s National Air Guard Service).

So it goes. It’ll be back to work tomorrow. Sigh.

Sunday began with an ultra early ultra late Chinese New Year’s dim sum with P-‘s dad. Chinatown was swamped with an array of dragon dancing parading. Then we went up to Time Warner Center with P-‘s brother as he hadn’t seen it yet. Williams-Sonoma had noodle soup and a olive oil bar on offer for snacking. Upstairs we checked out Borders, which had a not so good selection of Japan books. Then it was down to Whole Foods and Jamba Juice. By the time we got out it was about 4 PM, where we entered The Gates at W 65th Street. If the whole point was to get everyone out into the park in freezing weather the middle of February, it definately worked. For every serious comment about its artistic merit – the sun gives it a great hue, it looks like a orange highlight through the park – there were some knocks, such as it looked like bath curtains and it made the entire park look like a construction site. Microsoft missed a co-branding opportunity: it could have been called The Bill Gates. We made it all the way up to Belvedere Castle, where we could see the largest swarth of orange as the sun set. Ultimately, I thought it was good for New York to rediscover the park.

Ruby’s, the bookstore on Chambers St. in downtown Manhattan, closing shop on March 7. Very sad to see it go – even if I don’t go enough, it’s one of those places that has been around so long but has to go because of crazy rents and the changing neighborhood (apparently, the lack of yuppies working in the area meant less customers – because not as many around during the lunch hour – and people who just live in the area don’t go buy books). Go buy while you can; 50% off on the already discounted prices (which I did today, because I couldn’t stop myself; but at least I didn’t splurge).

Meanwhile, I am reading Dante’s “Divine Comedy” – having read “Inferno” back in college, the idea was to one day read all three volumes (in a beautifully translated version; it’s not like I can read Italian). So far as I can say right now, “Purgatory” didn’t have the graphic lunacy of “Inferno,” but had lovely poetry and more philosophy. I’m up to “Paradise” – loaded with philosophical and religious and political elements that fly over my head, but I’ll get through this.

On with the weekend…

Friday’s “Star Trek: Enterprise” requires a second viewing to appreciate, because in the meantime, it’s so plot-heavy, it really makes no sense. All kinds of stuff are happening:

– we may be getting an actual explanation for why the Klingons of the Original Trek era were human-looking (i.e., without the forehead ridges), tied in with the previous “Enterprise” arc about the Super Human Augments/Dr. Soong. But, I preferred it when the folks behind Trek left the mystery a mystery. It left more to the imagination (and, besides, as Star Trek’s favorite Klingon, Worf, has said: “We do not discuss it.” – yeah, Worf).

– Dr. Phlox, in the tried and true tradition of Trek’s principled medical doctors, is refusing to give in to poor medical practices of the Klingons, even if they kidnapped him to exploit his medical prowess (them Klingons used genetic engineering for imperial reasons; which let loose a mutated flu virus that was killing people – and so are forcing Phlox find a cure in two days. Good grief, and they didn’t think Phlox wouldn’t be mad about this? Like he said, it’d at least take him weeks to find a cure – all by his lonesome self – all because the Klingon pride won’t kindly, officially ask for help).

– Chief Engineer Trip transfers to Enterprise’s sister ship, relying on the excuse that he wants to contribute to the continued development of warp-worthy spaceships – but he’s really trying to find a way to avoid dealing with his romantic entanglement with the Enterprise First Officer, T’Pol. The angst between them is getting tragic, if not tedious and I almost want to tell the writers to just resolve it already. I suppose it’s an improvement over the poor romantic relationship building in Trek (like how in “Star Trek: Deep Space 9,” Worf grew attached to Ezri without seriously reflecting that it isn’t a good idea to jump into things with a woman whose past life was as his late wife; or how in “Star Trek: Voyager,” Chakotay suddenly fell for Seven (and we’re really supposed to believe that it was for her mind and personality, and not for her body – sure, Chakotay)).

– We get actual character development in watching security chief Malcolm Reed – he’s turning into a guilt-ridden James Bondish sort (I guess all British actors/characters have the potential to be Bondish, if I do recall what happened to Dr. Bashir on “Star Trek: DS9”). Reed’s compromised himself as a Starfleet officer – or so it appears, because he’s covering about what happened to Dr. Phlox. He sadly tells Capt. Archer that he has other obligations than Archer, the crew, or even Starfleet. Hmm. It looks like Reed is involved in some kind of black ops group. Are we watching the roots of the notorious Section 31, the Federation’s notorious spy group that drove Dr. Bashir and Capt. Sisjo nuts on “Star Trek: DS9”? Except we can’t be sure, since Reed is (respectfully) refusing to tell Capt. Archer anything. (got to hand it to the British stiff-upper-lip, I guess). Glad to see that Reed’s more than just The British Guy Who Likes to Shoot and Blow Things Up, but it feels weird that this whole Secret Agent Reed comes out of nowhere.

And more confusing stuff, such that the episode felt more like way too much set up and total confusion. I wanted to like the episode, but I kept wondering “what is going on?” I guess that’s what these first episodes of the arcs do.

The beauty of “Star Trek: DS9″‘s arcs was that DS9 allowed arcs to develop and let the viewer breathe to appreciate the characters’ messy problems. It got crazy, of course – there was that season where every character was rejected/alienated from their friends/family/homeworld. “Enterprise” tends to feel like a rush job (an improvement over “Voyager,” but this whole rushing thing this season feels like I have to hold onto my seat belt). As the UPN says, these are the final voyages of the starship Enterprise…

And, the news on the big change of Bugs Bunny and Friends. There’s just something so wrong about that. Warner Brothers has done some great modern animation (that is, of the past 10-15 years) with stuff like its Batman franchise, Superman, Justice league, (although the current Batman and Teen Titans are very much targeted to the young set, while the others had some themes that made me wonder whether kids really got it) – and I miss the funny stuff of Animaniacs and Tiny Toons. But, to make a Futuristic Superhero version of Bugs Bunny? Umm… well, we’ll see. (disclosure: I’m the one with the Classic Bugs Bunny (the version of him of the past 50 years) as a key chain. I might very well not buy Bugs in a new form; heck, I barely accept that anyone other than the late Mel Blanc as the voice of Bugs).

Three day weekend – salute to Presidents’ Day (the holiday which conflates Washington’s birthday and Lincoln’s, never mind that Lincoln’s birthday was last week).

“American Idol” – is it me, or is it getting more annoying with each season? (and they’re now in the phase where they’re not focusing on the lousy singers)…

Thanks to the handy dandy VCR, I watched UPN’s “Veronica Mars” and it is a watchable fun show. The detective work is clever – it’s the mind of Nancy Drew meeting the sexy shiny style of Magnum, P.I. (I think it’s a strange combo for me to come up with, but that’s what I’ll come up with), and the cast is attractive. (although, for a cast in high school, they sure look too old).

But, I sure do still dig “House, M.D.” on Fox: crazy Dr. House finally admits that he is addicted to Vicodin, but he still says it’s not a problem. Nope, Dr. House says the pain in his stroke-afflicted leg is the problem and the painkiller would let him do his job. Oh, and he swears the only thing in his life is his job (that of being the gifted diagnostician with the seriously sucky bedside manner). Well, clearly Dr. House is an addict who won’t take the first step of rehab (’cause you really ought to admit that you have a problem). Gripping tv, even if the plots get over the top.

A NY Times profile of an Asian-American Orthodox Jewish performing artist, Rachel Factor in “True to Her Orthodox Beliefs, if Not to Her Roots” by Sarah Bronson:

In many ways, Rachel Factor’s show is typical of one-woman performances: there’s the microphone, the bar stool, the empty stage; several original songs; autobiographical monologues full of humor, pathos, bittersweet memories.

And if the title, “J.A.P.,” might be offensive to Asians or to Jews, who may recognize the shorthand for “Jewish American Princess,” then that is not so unusual either. Performers often lampoon their own heritage, and that is precisely what Ms. Factor, a Japanese-American and unreligious Christian who converted to Orthodox Judaism, is doing.

“If you break down the words of the title, it represents where I’ve come in my life, in terms of my self-image,” she explained in a telephone interview recently. “The meaning of the words are very beautiful. I’m Japanese. And Jewish. And American, just as American as anyone else who was born here. I don’t consider myself a princess, but I consider myself worthy for the first time in my life.”

In the show, Ms. Factor, who was born Christine Horii in Hawaii, relates her journey from a high-kicking Rockette at Radio City Music Hall to Israel, where she now lives with her husband and two children. She is currently on a 41-city American tour, performing to sold-out auditoriums at synagogues, community centers and Jewish high schools, all the audiences filled exclusively with women, as her strict faith demands. [….]

Growing up in Honolulu, Ms. Factor had all the advantages of a prestigious prep-school education, she says in the production, but felt ashamed of her Asian looks. She opens her show by re-enacting her childhood efforts to create creases in her eyelids with tape and eyelash glue.

At 18, she left for Los Angeles to pursue a dance career and quickly found professional gigs, including work as a backup dancer for Jody Watley and Belinda Carlisle, a stint as a Rockette, and jobs in the choruses of the Broadway productions of “Shogun” and “Miss Saigon.” Highlights of her show are the moments she demonstrates, in a long skirt, the moves from her music videos and concert tours.

Despite the ignorant comments she often encountered, like “What country are you from? No, where are you really from?,” she embraced her culture and set out to date Asian men. But she met and fell in love with Todd Factor, a television commercial producer, who told her it was important that his wife be Jewish. Her reaction, as she recalls in her show: “Well, it makes a lot of sense then that you would be dating me!” [….]

“It was a difficult choice,” she said about abandoning public performances in favor of Orthodoxy. “Not only was it my career and my livelihood, it was my artistic outlet and my identity. I thought I couldn’t reconcile Orthodox Judaism with my desire to express myself in the manner I had been doing.” Soon after her conversion, the family moved to Israel, where Mr. Factor could study at a yeshiva for the newly Orthodox.

In Jerusalem, Ms. Factor performed the show, which she had initially written before her second conversion, for a friend, who urged her to repeat it for neighbors. She added a monologue about her Orthodox conversion, and soon women and girls were coming in groups of 40 to hear her speak and sing. Living rooms gave way to local theaters, and tickets sold quickly, particularly to American expatriate Orthodox women who felt validated by the story of a glamorous dancer who had chosen to join their community.

Hmm. So, she felt weird about being Asian in the white man’s world. And, she finds spirituality vitality in Orthodox Judaism and now lives in Israel. Hmm. I wonder what it must be like to be Asian in Israel. Do people there still ask the stupid question of “Where are you really from?”

R.W. Apple, Jr., of the NY Times discusses the savoriness of Puerto Rican cuisine in the early 21st Century, in “Puerto Rico, Flavored with Contradictions.” Just reading the article made me feel full:

Far from the cobbled streets of Old San Juan, in the shimmering new Museum of Art of Puerto Rico, Wilo Benet has developed a menu at once sophisticated, innovative and (with few exceptions) grounded in indigenous traditions and ingredients. After stints in the vaunted kitchens of the Water Club and Le Bernardin in New York, Mr. Benet came home to Puerto Rico and continued to soak up influences from chefs as diverse as Paul Prudhomme in New Orleans and Jean Vigato of Apicius in Paris.

Now he presides over Pikayo, off the museum’s lobby, a restaurant filled with modern Puerto Rican art, divided by frosted glass partitions and gauzy screens, furnished with ample chairs (with a pillow at the base of the diner’s back) and washed by changing, soft-hued lights. This is a big-time room, frequented by the city’s elite.

Betsey [ak.a. Mrs. Apple] and I and our chum Susana Torruella Leval, San Juan-born but long resident in Manhattan, were impressed by the kitchen’s artistry: not only the way the food was cooked but the way it looked on the plates. All of us loved a buttery dish of tender Japanese squid, flavored with roasted garlic and cilantro, and tuna tartare with spicy peanut sauce, a ribbon of balsamic vinegar and pine nuts. I was completely hooked by fat, flavorful grilled shrimp topped with smoky, finely shredded chorizo, nestled on a beurre blanc infused with soursop, a lushly sweet-and-tart tropical fruit. Orange shrimp, deep-red chorizo and off-white sauce: it made an edible color study.

Ah…