santorini_grapes

Sampling Santorini: Wine from hot, dry Greek islands

Not too long ago, wine from Greece was shunned and degraded. “Greek wine tastes like mouthwash,” a fellow diner in a restaurant once told me. Indeed, there was a time when most Greek wines were harsh and unpolished offerings. But in recent decades, the quality has improved dramatically.

The tiny Greek islands may seem like an odd place to grow wine grapes compared to the wide open spaces of France and Tuscany. The islands are small and cramped, with little area to plant new vines. The Mediterranean climate is almost tropically humid, with relentless, baking sunlight, little rainfall, and high winds. Most resources are devoted to the tourism industry, leaving little behind for agriculture.

But the islands have multiple advantages. First, despite the humidity, the growing season is long and warm. The poor soil quality, composed mostly of rock and volcanic ash, is actually an asset; grapevines produce the best fruit for wine when they struggle. With readily available water and nutrients in the soil, vines grow like weeds, producing lots of green leafy growth, and poor quality, watery grapes. But when they must struggle to survive, the energy of the vine is focused on reproduction — which means a focus on the seed-containing grape.

Secondly, this rocky, volcanic soil on most Greek islands is immune to a number of pests and diseases that wreak havoc almost everywhere else. The tiny, aphid-like phylloxera insects are nowhere to be found due to the total absence of clay in the soil. This is a substantial advantage, considering phylloxera destroyed almost every acre of vineyards in Europe in the 19th century (an unfortunate transplant from the New World). Afterwards, Vitis vinifera (wine) grapevines were forced to be grafted onto phylloxera-resistant roots. But in the Greek islands, some roots have been growing for centuries. Even if the vine itself grows too old to produce quality fruit, a new young vine is grafted onto the roots. The roots are incredibly valuable here, since they have grown down so deep in the loose rocky soil in search of moisture.

But what about the lack of rainfall? The high winds? And the relentless sun? The industrious Greek growers have found a workaround for all three in the way they grow the vines. In most places on the planet, vines are trained upward, off the ground. Many different training styles exist, such as head training, where the vines are grown in the shape of a goblet, or trellis systems, where vine trunks are grown straight up and arms are grown outward along wires. Both systems have a primary goal: get the vines off the ground, where moisture, pests, and diseases lurk.

On the Greek islands, however, there are very few of any of these issues, so the vines are trained on the ground. The vines are directed in small circles on the ground, forming a rough basket shape. This low, sturdy structure avoids problems with the wind; the basket shape traps a small amount of moisture that the vines can absorb, and the grapes are pushed toward the inside of the basket, allowing the vine and leaves on the outside to shield the fruit from the sun.

I had the great opportunity to visit Greece and the best Greek island for winemaking, Santorini, in 2010. Touring several different wineries, it was somewhat puzzling to see the grapevines growing. The vines, growing in disorderly, almost random locations, are a far cry from the neat and tidy vineyards of France and California, where long, perfectly parallel rows of trellises prevail. There is no grass or ground cover, no weeds, nothing around the vines, just rocky earth. It’s a rustic style, doing only what is necessary to make very good quality wine. No energy (or water) is wasted on appearances.

Santorini, a crescent-shaped island, is a shell of its former self. Originally a normal, round shape, the island was actually a massive volcano which erupted catastrophically over 3,500 years ago. The center of the island dropped down beneath the surface of the water after the volcano erupted, leaving only the high steep cliffs that remain. Some say this volcanic eruption is the source of the Lost City of Atlantis myth, while others claim the eruption wiped out the Minoan civilization on Crete, the result of a massive tsunami.

Whites are the better known wines from Santorini and see greater production than reds. Assyrtiko is produced the most, along with Aidini and Athiri. While most white wine grapes lose acidity as they ripen, Assyrtiko does not. As a result, the wine can be both full-bodied and acidic and typically has a very refreshing flavor profile of citrus fruit and — surprise! — rocky minerality.

White wines on Santorini are usually called “Santorini” or “Nykteri.” Santorini wines must be at least 75 percent Assyrtiko and are typically unoaked. Nykteri, Greek for “working the night away,” is traditionally harvested at night, and also must be at least 75 percent Assyrtiko. The main difference between the two is the aging process; for Nykteri, that includes a minimum of three months in oak barrels. Both are very dry and acidic.

Red wine was, at one point, almost extinct on Santorini. With vineyard land being sold off to build apartments and hotels for tourism and the overwhelming preference for growing the more demanded Assyrtiko, red grapes like Mavrotragano were all but abandoned. What red grapes were grown were typically used for making cheap, sweet wines.

This downward spiral was reversed in the late 1990s and early 2000s when Mavrotragano was produced as a dry fine wine, with critical and popular success. With its thick skins to protect it from the sun, Mavrotragano wine is typically very dark colored, intense, and full bodied, with good aging potential. The flavors are reminiscent of Middle Eastern cuisine, with strong spices, stewed fruits, as well as earth, ash, and leather. Another red varietal, Mandilaria, is also grown.

Finally, Santorini produces a signature dessert wine called Vinsanto. The wine must be 51 percent Assyrtiko and is truly a nectar of the gods. Grapes are left on the vine longer than for any other wine, allowing sugar content to rise, and are then dried in the sun for around two weeks before they are crushed, creating very concentrated, sweet juice. The wine is aged in oak for at least two years before it can be bottled. While most dessert wines have very low or almost no acidity at all, the acidity of the Assyrtiko, even when fully ripe, gives this a unique flavor. It is no doubt sweet, but the acidity provides a beautiful balance. As you can imagine, after being in the sun for two weeks, flavors of dried fruits, like raisins, prunes, and apricots, shine through.

Estate Argyros and Domaine Sigalas are both fantastic wineries on Santorini, and their wines are available in the United States. The “Atlantis” series from Argyros would be a good place to start, considering the modest price tag. The series includes a white (90 percent Assyrtiko), a dry rose (80 percent Assyrtiko), and a red (blend of Mandilaria and Mavrotragano). If you can find the 100-percent Assyrtiko or Aidani bottles, definitely try them.

After that, search for the Assyrtiko or the Assyrtiko-Athiri blend from Domaine Sigalas, which are even better than the Argyros wines. They are both well worth the price and will not disappoint, especially with fresh whole fish, on the grill, with olive oil and simple seasonings.

Finally, for a special occasion, treat your closest friends to a sip of Vinsanto from either winery. You won’t be sorry.

Swirl, sniff, sip.

mm-s7

Mad Men midseason review, part 1: Questions

Things have really changed at SC&P since we rejoined Don and the others at the start of 1969. It’s been an incredible half season, full of all the Mad Men trademarks, and a lot of attentive fans looking for clues as to how it’s all going to end.

Perhaps the show is a tragedy about the excesses of capitalism. Maybe it’s only supposed to be a historical drama, telling the tale of America’s changes in the 1960s. Or it might just be what we have been talking about all season: a story of redemption.

Western culture is flush with redemption stories, to the point where it almost becomes nauseating. Yet we expect it. We want our protagonists to make it out of the story alive and to become better people for taking the journey. We like it so much that when a television show decides to end on a more somber or ambiguous note, we end up pretty frustrated.

As fans, many of us have taken hold of the idea that season 7 of Mad Men is supposed to be the story of Don Draper’s redemption. Could it be?

All of the signs are there. Don has finally made peace with his children, sharing a touching moment with his daughter Sally. He’s also finally shown some respect to Peggy Olson, which he eventually earned back in another touching moment when the two creative geniuses shared a dance to Frank Sinatra. Don has been drinking less, with a few exceptions, since he returned to SC&P, and he’s even been working hard at his job to try and earn back the esteem of his partners.

Even the bad moments Don has had seem to be pushing him toward a better life. He and Megan are getting a divorce, but in a civilized and friendly way, unlike his split with Betty. The end of the relationship is a necessary next step for Don’s growth, as their marriage seemed doomed from the beginning. It was rushed, contrived, and had a lot more fighting early on than fans had probably expected. Sure, Don refrained from cheating for a while, but eventually, the girl from Freaks and Geeks changed that. (I still haven’t forgiven her for breaking up Cory and Topanga.)

Don and Megan’s marriage isn’t even ending because of his infidelity but simply because they are growing apart as the world around them changes. Their ability to get a divorce for such reasons is also an incredible indication of how times have changed since the early days of Mad Men.

For so long, Don’s character has been defined by the women in his life — his marriages to Betty and Megan, his strained relationships with Peggy and Sally, and his flings with all of his countless paramours over the years. Don’s ties to each of these women were always representative of the times. He was the face of corporate America and the ideal 1960s man, and his attitudes toward these ladies were defined by his era.

He treated Betty as a trophy wife for most of their time together. He shouted at Peggy so often that it was hard to keep track of why he was angry at her. And Sally was such a distant person to him that it was hard to believe he was her father. But as the show has evolved, so has Don. He has now regained favor with the women in his life, even as he faces a second divorce. Even he and Betty haven’t been in any arguments in a long time.

However, is Don making peace with his extended family part of a larger road to redemption, or is it all leading to a much more heartbreaking demise?

Don’s continued flaw is his addiction to his career. He can’t function without the ad agency. The potential buyout of SC&P by McCann Erickson requires a five-year contract from Don Draper, which he appears to be happy to sign. Ironically, Don started the show terrified of contracts and the prospect of being held down; he was only willing to change his tune when practically blackmailed by Bert Cooper. Could his old fear of contracts prove to be a valid one, with his new contract bringing Don back to his lowest levels? Is signing the contract going to be akin to Don signing away his soul and his creative freedom to a company he has been fighting for years?

And will the millions of dollars he stands to make drive a wedge between him and Megan, with her deciding to take Don up on his offer of financial security? Perhaps Don’s conversation about divorce with Harry Crane was another bit of genius foreshadowing.

With Lane Pryce’s name being brought up all the time, it seems the show runners are hinting at something equally big happening. Is it truly inevitable that Don live out the scene from the series opening, or is that only a red herring?

Maybe the contract with McCann won’t be his undoing, but rather, his salvation. Perhaps Roger Sterling is about to prove that he truly is a leader by playing a chess game against McCann Erickson at the most Machiavellian level. Without dad watching over the agency anymore, it’s time for someone to step up, and Roger is not about to let Jim Cutler, McCann, or anyone else take away his birthright. If Roger gets his way, we may see Sterling and Draper take over McCann from within and become the leaders of the top agency in the country. If they succeed, will Roger and Don finally be happy?

Perhaps we’ve been looking at it all wrong, and the answer is for Don to move away from New York. He clearly loves Stephanie and the actual Draper family in a very real way. He always seems happiest when he’s in L.A., and the west coast has clearly done a lot for Pete. Don Draper’s creativity knows no bounds, and Hollywood is about to enter a golden age in the 1970s. Dick Whitman is a good man, and he needs to be in a better environment.

So many questions have yet to be answered. Matthew Weiner, Jon Hamm, and the rest of the cast and crew at Mad Men continue to spin an incredible tale of America in the 1960s, packed with intrigue, twists, and tragedies. It’s going to be a long year before season 7 resumes, but I look forward to the conclusion of Matthew Weiner’s masterpiece.

lizzie-bennet

Austen goes digital: Two Web series worth watching

When YouTube first launched in 2005, it was a place for people to upload videos of their cats and other incidents you would typically find on America’s Funniest Home Videos. It quickly evolved into an outlet where fangirls could splice together heartbreaking clips of Sam and Dean from Supernatural set to Rascal Flatts‘ “What Hurts the Most.”

Most recently, YouTube has become an outlet for creative and original content, and much of it is quite good. Through YouTube, I was introduced to media and talent I otherwise never would have experienced. For example, a group of friends from the University of Michigan founded their own theatre troupe known as Starkid. The group is known for its musical parodies, most famously A Very Potter Musical, a Harry Potter parody. Glee‘s Darren Criss was one of the founding members of the group. (If you like musicals, comedy, and superheroes then you really need to check out Holy Musical B@Man!)

However, two of my favorite Web series are based on works by one of my favorite authors, Jane Austen. In April 2012, the world was introduced to The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, a Web series that modernized Pride and Prejudice for a new generation of fans. In the Web series Lizzie Bennet — played brilliantly by Ashley Clements — is a grad student who starts a video blog about her life. The format for The Lizzie Bennet Diaries is simple: Lizzie sits in front of the camera on her computer, telling stories about her life to the viewing audience. She is occasionally interrupted by other characters who share in moving the story forward.

An interesting aspect of this format is the use of “costume theater.” Instead of introducing a large cast of characters all at once, Lizzie frequently reenacts certain events, such as her first meeting with Darcy, for the viewers. Within the world of The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, Lizzie’s vlogs are posted in real time — according to the storyline, they are filmed the day before Lizzie uploads them to her YouTube channel. This also allows Lizzie to “interact” with her viewers by answering questions in special Q&A videos.

The Lizzie Bennet Diaries wrapped up its run a year ago, and the production company, named Pemberley Digital for Darcy’s home in Pride and Prejudice, announced a new series based on another Austen novel, Emma. In Emma Approved, Emma Woodhouse is a professional lifestyle consultant and matchmaker. Mr. Knightley is her business partner, handling the finances, and Harriet Smith is her assistant.

Emma Approved is formatted slightly differently from its predecessor. Instead of taking place in real time, the premise of Emma Approved is that the footage is being filmed to be included in a future documentary. Also unlike The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, where the audience could feel like they were participating in the action as it was happening and the characters inside the world were also able to view the videos, the Emma Approved videos are completely outside the world in which the series takes place.

Emma Approved is currently on episode 48 and nearing the end of a month-long hiatus — a hiatus which was also written in as part of the storyline, with the explanation that Emma’s company was undergoing a restructuring of goals and focus. The series will return with new episodes next week. If you haven’t started already, it’s not hard to catch up. Each episode averages only about four to six minutes, and the show becomes rather addicting. The cast is charming and clever, bringing Emma to life in a new and colorful way.

Each of these series does a great job of adapting and modernizing the beloved classic novels. The writing is smart and witty; they stay true to the spirit of the original work while adding their own touch and updating the characters to appeal to a broader modern audience. However, one of the greatest aspects of these series is how fans are able to participate. The Lizzie Bennet Diaries and Emma Approved aren’t just shows you watch, they are experiences.

Each character from these series has a Twitter account that complements the events of the series and interacts with other characters and fans online. There are also accompanying Tumblr pages, blogs, and various other forms of social media to help flesh out the world in which the series take place. When events occur off-screen or between video postings, these social media accounts post pictures of the events to further the storyline even outside what you see in the videos.

The Lizzie Bennet Diaries also had several shorter, accompanying video blogs built around the characters of Lydia Bennet and Georgiana (GiGi) Darcy, plus Ricky Collins still has videos posted occasionally. Last week, LBD fans were also surprised with the first of several “bonus” episodes.

In the months between the end of The Lizzie Bennet Diaries and the start of Emma Approved, Pemberley Digital produced 27 episodes of Welcome to Sanditon, a series based on Austen’s unfinished final novel. The series focused on GiGi Darcy from The Lizzie Bennet Diaries running a beta test of a communications programs in the small town of Sanditon. This series relied more heavily on fan interplay, as fans were invited to create their own characters within the series and participate in the story by interacting with each other and cast members online as well as uploading videos of themselves speaking in character. Some of these videos were then incorporated into actual episodes of the series. The concept was interesting and the cast was fun, but I had trouble getting into this series as much as the other two.

If you’re an Austen fan but haven’t had the opportunity to view these series, I highly recommend taking the time to watch. Obviously, they update the stories and don’t strictly follow the original books. (For example, Kitty Bennet is a cat, and Mary is a cousin instead of another sister.) But I think they stay faithful to the spirit and heart of Austen’s writing. Plus, the cast is wonderful and does a great job of bringing these characters to life in a modern setting.

And if you’re a fan of these works, keep an eye out for Pemberley Digital’s next project, Frankenstein, M.D. — an adaptation of Frankenstein featuring a female Dr. Frankenstein.

ucsb

‘Rights of man’ and other false excuses for misogyny

For readers who may not regularly follow Curiata.com or The Modern Urban Gentleman: The following post is an entry in a weekly men’s lifestyle column. As such, it is written from a male perspective with a male audience in mind. For a female point of view on issues of gender, sexuality, and culture at large, check out the work of my talented and loving wife in her weekly column, A Feminist Sensibility.

Last week’s killings in Isla Vista, California, have become a watershed moment for me. I have had my own preconceptions and past behaviors projected through a new, uncomfortable lens. I hope readers will accept the challenge of gentlemanly self-analysis to reflect honestly on their own attitudes and conduct, and then refine them where they must.

If you are still unfamiliar with the crime, a sexually frustrated 22-year-old man, enacting “vengeance” against all women for his virginity, stabbed three roommates and opened fire outside a sorority house at the University of California, Santa Barbara. In the course of the attacks, six were murdered, 13 more injured, and the killer dead by his own hand.

The impact of the killings has, for me, been as much a response to the multitude of reactions to the attacks as to the motives of the man behind them. I have come to have a new appreciation for how hard-wired men are for casual misogyny, and how critically precarious that wiring is — how easily a spark can grow to a fire that devours innocent lives.

When I first heard of this latest in a long string of mass murders here in the United States late Friday, I callously and regrettably filed the headline in that portion of the brain reserved for routine, disposable pieces of information. Unfortunately, this has become the only practical reaction given the frequency of these large-scale tragedies. The Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting in 2012 proved the futility of getting worked up over enacting sensible weapons laws, so I swallowed the instinct for outrage and went about my weekend.

As I checked in on social media over the course of the holiday, another low-level signal registered in my consciousness: Something called the #YesAllWomen movement was trending on Twitter, and it was eliciting the predictable trolling, including a #NotAllMen backlash. I had no idea what the fuss was about, never connected #YesAllWomen to Isla Vista, and I didn’t sit down to fill in the details until the discussion had reached an unavoidable critical mass — and, embarrassingly, until it fit my schedule.

Wading into #YesAllWomen is littered with landmines for a white, cisgender, straight male. But Phil Plait, one of my favorite writers, who brings logic and order to astronomy, science, and critical thinking at large, has done that heavy-lifting for me. In his article, Plait expertly summarizes the importance of women voicing the worrisome, creepy, unfair, threatening experiences they routinely endure while he dismantles the #NotAllMen trope that only serves to embolden those like the Isla Vista murderer.

It didn’t take long to find that murderer’s video in which he lays out, as in some sort of poorly produced WWE heel promo, his plans for mass murder because of his own pitiful shortcomings. The most troubling part about the Isla Vista murderer is how recognizable he is. I have heard and read his perspectives before. I have known men like him. I have even, at times, been him.

Let me say that I know this man had been receiving therapy and he may have been dealing with autism spectrum disorder. I am sympathetic to those factors, emphatic that mental health must be more properly dealt with to mitigate the possibility of this type of behavior — yet utterly disdainful of the pathetic egomaniac that felt he had the right to play god because the world did not mold to his expectations.

This murderer found solace and support in a community of self-appointed martyrs, bearing the cross in the fight against the destruction of some false conception of manhood, calling themselves the “men’s rights movement.” In this twisted worldview of victim-hood, the feminist agenda has emasculated society and every woman is a soldier in the war to destroy male-kind.

The MRM spins into action anytime a woman publishes, tweets, or speaks any perspective that may be out of line with millennia-old gender roles. The vitriol spewed by these keyboard warriors is disgusting and, frankly, criminal, including their threats of rape and dismemberment of a woman who dares to speak her mind. This phenomenon has become so predictable, so par-for-the-course, that it has had the ironic effect of strengthening the case for the feminism it rails against. (Lewis’ law has been coined to describe “that the comments on any article about feminism justify feminism.”)

This dangerous mode of thinking propagates among self-absorbed, isolationist circles: online forums, Twitter, gaming platforms, tea parties, Ayn Rand book clubs, and the gutters of Reddit. (Look, I know extreme, fabricated victim-hood exists within enclaves of the left, as well. But the utter disconnect with reality exhibited by the MRM and the dangerous lengths to which these folks have gone puts them in an entirely different category of alarming.)

It is, of course, true that #NotAllMen are intentionally anti-female, abusive, or predatory. But there exists a deep-seated masculine entitlement that the MRM actively denies and the more well-adjusted man unintentionally ignores. We are so integrated into our patriarchal system that we can’t see the forest for the trees — and I count myself among this group even now, though this conversation has at least made me aware of my ignorance.

I found an iota of my own complacency, as well as the clarity I didn’t know I was seeking, in a somewhat unlikely place. Recent Jeopardy! champion Arthur Chu, who had been one of the voices on Twitter pinging my brain with the murderer’s motives and #YesAllWomen catharsis throughout the weekend, penned a deconstruction of the male mind for The Daily Beast that struck a nerve in me. The editorial, “Your Princess Is in Another Castle: Misogyny, Entitlement, and Nerds,” laid bare the myth I had lived for my entire life as a single man without ever realizing the fiction of it all.

As Chu illustrates, the male entitlement culture pervades even in what would seem to be the safest zone: the expressly anti-masculine strongholds of nerddom. This is the haven of “nice guys” who only want to win the affections of the women they admire through their kind words and reassuring shoulders. Raise your hand if that’s a strategy you’re familiar with.

I, for one, spent all of middle and high school employing these tactics, finally “earning” a long-term girlfriend after years of rejection. Needless to say, that relationship didn’t work out. But I and many other of my “nice guy” ilk have had no other frame of reference for male-female relationships than the guy-wins-girl narrative so ingrained in our culture.

The danger lies in that when only one outcome is imaginable, it becomes an entitlement. And when an entitlement is repeatedly denied, a resentment builds. And when a resentment grows to a point where it can no longer be borne, tragedy strikes.

Chu’s perspective struck a nerve in more people than just me. I posted his article to Facebook and it has been re-shared an incredible 102 times in 24 hours (far exceeding any of my countless efforts to push our Curiata.com posts to that level of virality).

Chu also linked to another crucial illustration of male misconception. An unattributed reader of Andrew Sullivan’s blog The Dish shared a story that Sullivan reprinted in 2012 in which a high school freshman, “disgusted” by homosexuality because a man once made an unwanted pass at him, was stopped in his tracks when his teacher pointed out that it was the first and only time in the student’s life he had endured something that women deal with nonstop from the onset of puberty.

All of these attitudes, whether willful or ignorant, serve to enable a casual misogyny that every man who has ever taken a breath has perpetuated.

Gentlemen, we all share in the responsibility to eliminate this poison. Respect for women is never a negotiable item. Nonetheless, the everyday implications of living to a new standard will undoubtedly prove difficult for gentlemen like us. The wandering eye will ever ogle, and the cat-and-mouse of flirtation will endure.

But always keep in mind the perspectives of Katherine Cooper, Veronika Weiss, and other sisters and daughters, mothers and cousins, who have been gunned down or harassed when a woman’s will didn’t bend to a man’s.

More than any other topic we’ve addressed in this space, that will make you a true gentleman.

birth

First-time parents go through 8-stage life cycle

Stage I: Childless Parenting Expert

You don’t have kids of your own, but you are an expert on how other people should raise theirs.

You give advice to your friends on how to get their kids to sleep through the night or cure their colic. You sit in smug judgment of moms whose kids are screaming bloody murder in aisle 6.

You determine with conviction that you will only breast-feed. Or you know that you will exclusively bottle-feed. You will never use television as a babysitter.

You will never co-sleep. Or you will co-sleep until your kids are teenagers, if that’s what they want.

You will spank your kids, dammit, because that’s what our parents did and look how good we turned out! Or, you vow never to spank because that’s what our parents did, and despite it, we turned out OK.

You know whether you will use cloth diapers or Pampers®.

You will get an epidural, because — hell’s bells — why wouldn’t you?!?!

You will deliver naturally and peacefully, in a tub at home, with calming music, a capable doula and/or midwife, and a well-prepared and helpful husband.

Your child will be brilliant, of course, because you will read to her every day and spend hours doing enriching activities.

Your child will be well-mannered, polite, capable, and will never interrupt when adults are talking.

 

Stage II: Expecting Parent

After you freak out when you see the blue line, you purchase approximately 493 pregnancy, birth, breast-feeding, and child-rearing books — all of which scare the ever-loving hell out of you.

You are terrified that anything you do, or don’t do, will cause a glitch, mutation, or miscarriage.

You refuse any kind of genetic testing and amniocentesis. (Or maybe you don’t.)

You vow not to Google anything.

You Google, anyway.

Your spouse spends hours talking you off the ledge.

You fill your baby registry with items you will never actually use, but you don’t know that yet, because the books you bought said you need at least 12 of these and so you register for and get them.

When you get to the baby section of the store in which you register, you stare at the wall of bottle-feeding, breast-pumping, and nipple care products and weep.

You buy special laundry detergent, hypoallergenic bed sheets, safety equipment for appliances you’ve never even heard of, and clothes made only of organic cotton.

You research diaper services.

You register for childbirth classes at the hospital.

You close your eyes during the forceps, vacuum, and cesarean section of the movie.

You stop Googling.

No, you don’t.

You get so used to being probed, prodded, and assessed, you don’t even mind it when your doctor has three residents also feel how your cervix is starting to efface.

You kind of like it when people fall all over themselves to make you comfortable.

You hate it when people think they can just touch your protruding belly. Yes, it is wonderful; take your stinking paws off of me, you damned, dirty ape!

Oh, wait — did I just say that out loud? It must be all these hormones.

Seriously, though. Don’t. Effing. Touch. Me.

 

Stage III: Shit’s Gettin’ Real

Your water breaks!

You are in bed watching South Park and, suddenly, a tiny gush and a puddle. You tell your spouse, who immediately starts packing his bag. You say, no, I was just at the doctor today, and it must just be all that gel leaking out. You ask your husband to get you some more pineapple.

He starts yelling at you because you are in labor and must get to the hospital immediately! You get up to pee, tell him you see nothing and are not in pain. He keeps yelling and throwing things that he will never need at the hospital — a can opener, some dryer sheets, a rubber band — into his bag. You keep watching South Park.

Your husband wants to know why aren’t you in the car?!?! You start asking him where in the world is that pineapple?!

You feel another bit of a gush, but you want that pineapple so bad, you ignore it. Finally, you agree to at least call the doctor, and you happily munch pineapple while finishing the South Park episode that you now missed half of.

Twenty-three minutes later, the doctor calls and tells you to go to the hospital. Your husband is smug, but has enough sense not to say I told you so. Fine, you say, but I’m driving.

As you walk into the hospital to check-in, there is no denying that amniotic fluid is actually running down your leg, and you are glad when they make you sit in a wheelchair. You basically “sleep” all night on a hospital bed approximately the size of a park bench, while nurses and doctors — and possibly janitors, for all you know — constantly come and go and peer into your vagina.

The next morning, you don’t even have a cramp, so they put you on a Pitocin® drip, otherwise known by its street name: “torture juice.” Within one hour, you are in severe pain; within five hours, you really do want to kill everyone; within eight hours, you begin puking into a basin while sitting on a birthing ball with your doula holding your hair and rubbing your back.

You look up and say to your husband, “Go get someone now.” He looks relieved to have an excuse to leave the room because he can’t wait to get the hell out of there. Fifty-three hours later (or maybe it’s 32 minutes), the anesthesiologist comes in and actually asks you to stay perfectly still while he injects a three-inch needle directly into your spinal cord. Two minutes later, you relax into a blissful heap, and that’s when you notice all of the blood.

I mean, real blood. Lots and lots of real blood. And it’s yours.

But everyone seems cool about it, so you proceed to the pushing stage, and three hours go by and no kid. The doctor says into your ear that you can go 30 minutes more, but if you can’t get that baby out, they’ll have to do a cesarean.

Oh, my god! you think; you closed your eyes during that part of the movie and look where that got you! How could you have been so stupid?!

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

 

Stage IV: The Delivery

They ask you if you want to watch. You say no.

They don’t even bother asking your husband, because they can tell by the look on his face that he’s already seen more than one human being ever should.

Ba-da-bing, there’s the baby. There might be tears. Everyone’s fine, and you’re off to recovery.

 

Stage V: Recovery

You are shaking so hard from the aftereffects of the epidural that it’s a few minutes before the nurse lets you hold your own child. Then you look into her perfect little face and can’t believe you ever thought you knew what love was.

 

Stage VI: Hospital Stay

You try to get comfortable on your hospital-issued park bench. You can’t.

It’s too hot in your room. The IV site on your hand is starting to swell. You are wearing a huge ice pack/diaper thing, and you are lying in a pool of your own blood. There are pressure boots on your legs that inflate and deflate every 15 minutes so you don’t throw an embolism and die.

Someone comes in every 10 minutes to monitor your vitals, check your blood puddle, and ask if you need pain meds. You do.

After a few days, you are sent home with your new little bundle.

 

Stage VII: Going Home

Wait, what? What did you say? Going home? Alone? No, I know I take the baby, but who will come with me?

No, I don’t mean my husband, I mean someone who knows what’s going on!

This baby is so small!! What if [insert every horrible scenario that can be thought of] happens?!?!

They send you home anyway.

On the ride home, you hover protectively over your offspring while berating every crazy f*@#ing driver on the road. You also tell your husband to quit making the ride so bumpy — this seat belt is killing my incision and, seriously, are you trying to hit every pothole in the road?!

 

Stage VIII: At Home

Fates be praised, you made it home alive! It certainly wasn’t because of your husband’s “expert” driving.

You hobble up the stairs to your glider rocker (where you will spend most of the next six months) and finally look into the face of your very own child in your very own home.

You begin to sob. This is a stranger! You don’t know this person! How will you know what to do? How will you know what she wants? How will you get to know her — she can’t even talk for god’s sake!

You cry harder. You look at your husband and tell him to call Child Protective Services.

What on earth were you thinking? You can’t possibly do this!

Your baby is staring peacefully at you. She doesn’t seem a bit worried. You stop weeping long enough to gaze into her precious face.

Then, suddenly, the mothers of millennia are behind you. Their wisdom is inside you.

You tell your husband to cancel that call to CPS. You can do this. You can parent this perfect, little stranger.

Or, maybe that’s just me.

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Season 7, Episode 7: ‘Waterloo,’ part 3

Kevin and Mike have hit upon many of themes on display in Mad Men‘s mid-season finale. The episode was set in July 1969, inching us closer to the end of the turbulent decade in which Don Draper and his colleagues ruled the advertising world. Not unlike the John F. Kennedy assassination, the Apollo 11 moon landing presented Mad Men with a monumental moment in history in which to base a great episode of television.

Writers Carly Wray and Matthew Weiner did not miss their chance. “Waterloo” was, by far, the best episode we’ve seen in season 7, and it serves as a great midseason resting place before we pick the story back up next year.

We’ll surely miss Bert Cooper, won’t we? Just a few weeks ago, I was incensed at the man’s ugly implication that women of color shouldn’t be the public face of a company. Now, as Bert’s fate is forever sealed and connected to space exploration, I cannot help but think that Bert’s sentiments throughout the season — and over the course of the previous six — were nothing more than a sign of the times in which he lived, for better or worse.

While the Napoleon analogy was fitting, it was Bert’s simple utterance of “Bravo” that struck a chord in me. Here he was, a man who had devoted his entire working life to the world of advertisement, sitting on the couch listening to Neil Armstrong deliver the single greatest “catchphrase” of the 20th century. What else was there for Bert to say? Bravo, indeed.

Where other episodes this season have felt overly focused on one or two main characters, the midseason finale was the first one in which every main character was given something meaningful to say or do, and it was a delight to watch. The multiple-episode buildup to the Burger Chef pitch was executed perfectly. Realizing that he may still be a dead man walking, Don handed over the reigns to Peggy, his protege and, dare I say, his friend?

And Peggy delivered with a pitch unlike anything we’ve seen on the show since Don’s season 1 finale pitch to Kodak (still one of the best scenes of Mad Men ever produced). It seemed to me that there was a lot of closure in that Burger Chef scene. When Peggy gave Don that look, mid-pitch, and he nodded his head as if to say, “You got this,” it felt to me as if a torch had been passed.

Another torch that may have been passed is that of “leader” — from Bert to Roger. Just before he gave the Napoleon speech, Bert lobbed a truth bomb at Roger: he may be successful and charming, but unlike Bert, Roger is not a leader. In some sense, I think Roger agreed with that sentiment. But it still hurt to hear his mentor tell him that so bluntly. And it may very well have been that stinging rebuke that led Roger to once again seek out Jim Hobart from McCann Erickson and put in place yet another buyout of SC&P. Like many of the themes and character arcs in Mad Men, the “buyout/take over” is a storyline we’ve flirted with before — most notably when the company was almost sold to McCann at the end of season 3.

There seemed to be some urgency, though, to the move this time. Without Bert’s vote, Roger could not guarantee Don’s safety in the agency. Orchestrating the buyout from McCann allowed Roger to undercut Jim Cutler and his plan to oust Don. It also allowed Roger and the others to make a massive amount of money.

For an episode that culminated with an imaginary Bert Cooper singing about the best things in life being free, much of “Waterloo” was focused on money. Nowhere was this more evident than in the partners’ meeting Roger called to announce the possible buyout. Roger explained money as a primary factor in the sale. Joan and Pete nearly high-five each other to death at the prospect of their shares. Even Cutler ultimately voted for the deal, saying, “It’s a lot of money.” Maybe it’s not Don who needed that life-lesson song-and-dance from Mr. Cooper.

But ultimately, it was Don — fresh from talking a dejected, hesitant Ted Chaough into accepting the buyout — who was startled to hear, “Don, my boy,” in Bert’s unmistakable voice. We were treated to a short musical number, where a shoeless Bert serenaded Don with “The Best Things in Life are Free” before sauntering off and closing the door of his old office. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one left with a dropped jaw. I can’t imagine a riskier move for a show to take before a 10-month hiatus. But in addition to giving the wonderful Robert Morse a moment to shine, the song and its lyrics seemed to be a straightforward warning to Don: this buyout, and all of the money that will come with it, won’t fill the void. Embrace the free stuff.

Don’s road to redemption (who’s getting sick of that word?) seems to be moving swiftly, for sure. Yes, he will soon be twice-divorced, but his career prospects are once again red-hot. So what’s left?

When Breaking Bad took its final midseason hiatus, the show seemed to be working toward an inevitable climax: Walter White’s death. I don’t think the same can be said for this show. I have no doubt that Weiner has an endgame in mind, but all I can do is guess where he’s headed. And if this midseason finale is any indication, Mad Men — in a fitting tribute to the way the show has been executed for the better part of six seasons — will end not with a bang, but with a subtle, calculated, and soul-stirring whimper.

I think I’d be just fine with that.

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Let’s stop treating feminism like another ‘F’ word

In an interview with Time earlier this month, Shailene Woodley, star of the upcoming movie The Fault in Our Stars, stated loud and clear that she is not a feminist. In the comments that followed, it became apparent that it is Woodley’s misunderstanding of feminism that led her to her conclusion, not any substantive disagreement with feminism itself.

Woodley explained her position by saying that she doesn’t think she is a feminist because she “loves men.” I’m not trying to be rude or snarky, but I think someone needs to have a conversation with this woman about the difference between feminism and lesbianism. As a feminist, I’m quite fond of men, especially my husband.

Woodley further tried to distance herself from feminism by offering that she doesn’t think we should be taking power away from men and giving it to women. Here again, Woodley is severely mistaken about the definition of feminism. I also don’t think we should be “taking power away from men,” because, as a feminist, I believe in equality for all.

Creating equality doesn’t mean taking rights and opportunities away from any individual, regardless of race, gender, sexual orientation, or gender identity or expression. A great, easy example is the pay gap argument: I don’t think men should be paid less to close the gap; I believe women should be paid the same as men with the same skills and job descriptions.

What really makes my head spin is that, later in the article, Woodley goes on to explain that she believes in “the sisterhood.” In doing so, she describes a concept that sounds a lot like feminism to this Sensible Feminist: “women coming together and supporting each other and creating a sisterhood of support for one another versus hating each other for something that somebody else created.”

I know Shakespeare was a fan of the idea that “a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” However, in 2014, there is something to be said for brand recognition. Using the word feminist to describe yourself gives a face to a movement, and that is crucial. Regular readers of this column are already familiar with my quest to reclaim the term feminist, but when I continue to see actresses in Hollywood getting queasy over the “F” word, I get a little bit annoyed.

One of the biggest female icons in history, Madonna, doesn’t consider herself a feminist either, waving instead her flag for “humanism.” I fail to see how these need to be mutually exclusive terms, or how Madonna’s strong, self-deterministic personality could be credibly distinguished from a feminist one.

I will concede that Madonna “came of age” between the second and third waves of feminism, so I can understand her initial hesitancy to declare herself out and proud as a feminist. However, the world has changed since the 1980s: Germany isn’t split into two parts by a giant wall, Like a Virgin isn’t really all that controversial anymore, and, thankfully, neon leg warmers and big hair have gone out of style (for now). Madonna should probably let go of her disdain for the second-wave feminist and get on today’s girl power train with the likes of Beyonce, Ellen Page (Kitty Pryde!), and Lena Dunham.

Woodley’s comments have lead to open letters and raised eyebrows in the feminist community, but is that enough? I know there are those out there who would excuse her naivete due to her youth, but she is 22. By the time I was 22, I was proudly sporting my “This is what a feminist looks like” T-shirt and was well on the path to fighting for gender equality. So my question is: at what point do we stop excusing these types of statements and start demanding that individuals are responsible for understanding the words they use?

I will say that I’m only focusing on Woodley’s comments because she is the the one in the news right now. As much as I like her, Taylor Swift has been guilty of making similar comments in the past, and if she had been the one speaking out, then I’d be ripping her arguments apart. Nevertheless, it is Woodley in the hot seat this time.

Perhaps because Woodley was born in the 1990s, she buys into the idea of a world where feminism is no longer necessary. It’s true that many post- and near-post-Millennials approach the world with more color-blindness, gender-blindness, and sexuality-blindness than their predecessors. In a vacuum, that is a great approach. But in the real world, assuming inequality has been eradicated when it certainly has not been only allows racism, misogyny, and homophobia to remain a part of the landscape.

It is time to have a real conversation about what the term feminist means. In light of last week’s Isla Vista killings, in which women were specifically targeted because of perceived slights by the entire gender against one disturbed young man, and the tone-deaf, ignorant, #NotAllMen response from some corners of the Internet, it is clear that there are very dangerous misconceptions to be corrected.

I hope this will be a learning experience for Woodley, as previous comments were for Katy Perry. Perhaps this fine young actress will join Perry and the rest of us, embrace the word “feminist,” and start using her fame to promote the equality she already believes in for all.

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Season 7, Episode 7: ‘Waterloo,’ part 2

As soon as the Mad Men midseason finale opened with a shot of Bert Cooper, my suspicions were aroused. That’s not to say I immediately knew him for a dead man, but as the first half-hour progressed and much of the plot revolved around the founding member of the Sterling Cooper advertising empire, it became clearer that some kind of reckoning was coming.

In six and a half seasons, Cooper had never been such the focus of an episode. His retelling of Napoleon’s fortunes after the Battle of Waterloo sealed Cooper’s own fate and, coupled with his from-beyond-the-grave performance, delivered a clear warning to Don Draper about the prospects of trying to return from his defeat. SC&P, under McCann Erickson, is doomed to failure.

And for Don, that failure may be just what he needs.

The best things in life seem to be inching closer to Don as we move toward next year’s curtain call. As Kevin has pointed out, Don’s daughter loves him and his son admires him. His protege, Peggy Olson, has come into her own and no longer needs to resent her mentor. Don’s friendship with Roger remains steadfast. Even the final, poignant, true-to-life end to his marriage with Megan is a release from the bonds that tied him to the Don of the 1950s and 60s.

Only two impediments remain to the happiness of Don Draper. The first is the perpetual frustration of his drive to control his own professional destiny. Don at his best is a free spirit, and no corporate overlord will ever be compatible with Don’s style of business. Striking out on his own, putting his name on the door of a new agency, didn’t give Don the space to breathe he had sought for so many years, and I don’t think another new agency will satisfy those needs either. I foresee Don finding that advertising is not the true outlet for his creative talents, and perhaps he will find bliss back in the hot sun of California pursuing some new, sun-kissed career.

The second shackle is Don’s very identity. The dual life of Dick Whitman/Don Draper has driven the character from that first shocking time we saw Don tiptoe into his house in the suburbs to kiss his kids goodnight and slip into bed with his wife. I’m surely treading no new ground by predicting that shedding the lie that is Don Draper will be Dick Whitman’s final act of liberation.

“Waterloo” may have been the last battle for Bert Cooper, but it will also be the moment that frees Don to throw off these remaining manacles and find the bliss he has been seeking all along.

I must express how purely delightful the song-and-dance sendoff to the wonderful Robert Morse was. I watched that scene with a smile plastered on my face. Just hours before, I had watched BuzzFeed’s supercut of “Before They Were on Mad Men” and lamented that Morse had never gotten to flex his vocal chords as an ad exec. Then, like an answered prayer, was J. Pierpont himself, bouncing in his stocking feet and rolling those still-youthful eyes in a moment so surreal, but so right.

Thank you, Mr. Weiner, for this treat, and thank you, Mr. Morse, for everything you’ve given us. Bravo.

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Memories of the fallen: Of Valkyries, burnt arrows

Today is Memorial Day in the United States, the day that marks the unofficial start of summer, and the day we honor and remember those who died in military service to the country.

We live in a relatively peaceful time here in the States. While I know a few soldiers or veterans from my generation, I haven’t personally known anyone who died in the Iraq or Afghanistan wars. Of course, over 6,700 have given their lives in these and other recent military engagements since the year 2000, but the days when U.S. soldiers would come back in body bags by the thousands seem to be mostly behind us, as our technology continues to outpace that of the third-world militias against which we tend to fight, and as machines take over much of the riskier jobs.

The good news, of course, is that we have fewer service men and women to mourn. The only trouble is that, because of our lack of practice, we’ve collectively grown worse at mourning and honoring those who have died for us in the past, and those who continue to die for us in the present. We do have a lot of great Memorial Day sales, though, right? So that’s something.

Memorial Day as we know it came out of the American Civil War. While the true origin is a point of some contention, ranging from observances held in Waterloo, New York, to Boalsburg, Pennsylvania, to Warrenton, Virginia, to Savannah, Georgia, there came about a common practice between 1861 and 1864 of decorating the graves of soldiers with flowers. Of course, graves have been decorated with flowers before that, but the establishment of a broad tradition of so adorning the graves of soldiers, specifically, began in response to the Civil War’s massive casualties, which reached somewhere around 600,000 to 700,000 by the end.

In fact, the holiday was called “Decoration Day” until 1967, shortly before the passage of the “Uniform Monday Holiday Act.” That law designated it, along with Columbus Day, Veterans Day, and Washington’s Birthday (now more commonly called Presidents Day) to always fall on Mondays in order to create convenient three-day weekends. Prior to that, Memorial Day occurred May 30 every year.

So, we have parades and grave decoration and flags flying at half-staff, but the day is no longer called Decoration Day, but Memorial Day. What’s the best way to go about remembering? The word “memory” is closely linked with the word “mind.” They share common roots, such as Greek merimna (“care, thought”), Latin memini (“remembrance”), and Old English murnan (“mourn, remember sorrowfully”).

The Norse giant Mímir (“rememberer, wise one”) had his head cut off in the Æsir-Vanir War, and the god Odin carried Mímir’s head around with him, apparently in order to hear the dead, beheaded giant speak secret knowledge to him. A similar word is “mnemonic,” which comes from Greek mnemonos (“mindful, remembering”). The goddess Mnemosyne birthed the nine Muses and presided over a pool in the underworld, granting memories back to those who had drunk from the river Lethe and forgotten their past lives.

So we remember our fallen soldiers by visiting their graves and decorating them with flowers. We symbolically give them life for a day out of the year. What have other cultures done to honor and remember their dead?

The Aztecs didn’t bury their dead at all, but burned them, as offering to the sun god. The dead (and the soon-to-be-dead via sacrificial knife wound) would be dressed in ceremonial garb and burned at the holy ziggurat. This also had the side effect of limiting the spread of disease. When warriors died afield, their bodies were burned en masse after the battle, and one of their arrows was returned home … to be dressed in ceremonial garb and burned in their stead.

In the time of Vikings, Scandinavians were often sent off in a small funeral boat with some of their treasured possessions. The boat would then be lit on fire, again to limit the spread of disease. A dead warrior’s soul was said to be escorted to Valhalla by the valkyrie (“chooser of the slain”), warlike maidens who may or may not be Odin’s daughters. The warriors then became einherjar (“fighters for a single time”), who eat of a beast that resurrects each night and train to fight in Ragnarök (“conjured fate”), the final battle that will destroy the world and create it anew.

Egyptians buried their dead rather than lighting them on fire. Rich Egyptians might afford mummification, including all the necessary preparations and spells (like pulling liquid brains out of the nose with a hook) that would make it most likely the person’s spirit would be welcomed into the afterlife by the gods. Common foot soldiers likely would have been put along with some of their best possessions into a pit, where the heat and dryness would preserve the body to some degree. That way, their ba and ka (sort of like their mind and their agency) might unite and become ahk, which is sort of a benevolent ghost energy, ideally watching over and protecting their living loved ones.

Maybe this Memorial Day, you don’t know any soldiers who’ve given their lives in service. If you do, though, you might try branching out in how you remember them. Decorate their graves with flowers, sure, but how about burning one of their arrows, cheering them on in their Ragnarök training, or saluting their ahk, which may be floating around you as you’re reading this?

Probably just stick with the flower thing.

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Season 7, Episode 7: ‘Waterloo,’ part 1

A panel of viewers here at Curiata.com will engage in a roundtable discussion following each episode of Mad Men’s seventh and final season. Check back throughout the week for new entries in the series.

Was Bert Cooper sending Don Draper a message from beyond? Is Cooper warning Don against selling his soul to McCann? Or was Don just seeing things? And even if he was, was Don seeing what he needed to see?

This season has been all about building a conflict among the partners of SC&P, and it finally came to a head in the mid-season finale. Jim Cutler made his move against Don and found himself facing opposition from half of the partners, including, surprisingly, Bert Cooper. Cooper was perhaps the most direct with Don about his intentions to force Don to leave the agency, but as Bert explained to Roger Sterling, Don was a member of his team, and he stands by his team. Interestingly, Bert stated that Jim was not part of his team.

Cooper also made it clear that he did not believe Roger was a leader. Bert’s off-the-cuff remarks all season made it pretty clear that he was willing to speak his mind, and his comments toward his longtime partner were likely reflective of his true feelings. As man touched down on the moon, Bert Cooper let go of his ties to the planet, passing away free of the weight of things left unsaid.

Sterling responded to his partner’s death by trying to prove Cooper wrong. Sterling is trying to save Don’s job and restore his own power with the agency by changing it from within. They’ve been bought out before, but Roger believes he can make a better deal this time around. But is making a deal with this rival agency really the way out for Roger and Don?

Perhaps the show-closing song and dance performed by the spirit of Bert Cooper was meant for Roger as well as Don: “The best things in life are free.” Roger will never lose that moment he shared with his grandson, watching humankind reach the moon. Maybe Roger, like Ted Chaough, needs to step away from advertising to reevaluate his life and save himself from the brink of self-destruction. Was Bert showing that he was able to live as long as he did because he maintained a zen-like attitude while his partners and competitors cut throats and lived heavy?

And maybe that’s the entire moral of Matthew Weiner’s masterpiece, boiled down, ironically, into a seven-word catchphrase.

The partners at SC&P are rich, or at least will be. Peggy has risen higher than most women in the 1960s could have dreamed, and she did it before even turning 30. Yet none of them are happy for more than a few moments at a time because there is always another material gain to be had. Roger was always happiest when he was with Joan. Peggy found her greatest relief last week when she and Don finally buried the hatchet and danced together as if father and daughter.

Don has been learning Cooper’s lesson for the past few seasons. If Jon Hamm’s acting is any indication, the happiest Don has been throughout the entirety of the show was when his kids made him feel vindicated: when Bobby made him cry from his selflessness on the night of the Martin Luther King assassination, and when Sally told Don that she loved him. In those moments, we were able to see Don Draper as the caring, good man that he is deep down.

Perhaps the best things in life are free. Whether it’s that one moment when the entire world is watching as man lands on the moon, or that kiss from a pretty girl that you could have never expected. Mad Men is telling us to go out and enjoy the world. Don’t let work consume you, or your life may lead to an abrupt stop at the end of a rope, in the wreckage of a crashed plane, or on the pavement of Madison Avenue.