Interlude #3 and A Look at Jake's Thanksgiving

THOUGHTS ON ALCOHOL
Plato, the renowned Greek philosopher, once said, "The man who invented beer was a genius." Indeed, many people (college students in particular), would whole-heartedly agree with Plato and would extend this statement to the unknown men who invented the many other forms of alcohol. Without alcohol, we would not have a beverage that we drink on every occasion--from the simple meal to momentous celebrations. What would life be without it? People drink to be happy, to drown sorrow, to celebrate. Once this liquid touches the lips and trickles down the throat, a person feels better. The person feels giddy, more relaxed, more sociable. So they take another drink and another drink and another drink. After many drinks, alcohol transfroms from such an innocent drink to a potion that turns men into raging, self-destructive monsters. But that initial moment of calm and relaxation, the moment of forgetting everything in this world, how tempting that moment. One wants to relive it over and over again. But they never remember the bad parts of the experience.
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Alcohol...what is it? Is it the magical elixer that makes the world more tolerable? Is it the drink that the gods made for the benefit of mankind? Or is the potent destroyer of lives? Is it an innocent liquid that hides the dangerous demon? Maybe neither. Maybe both? What ever alcohol is, it is a substance that will live forever with us.
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THOUGHTS ON DRINKS
One of the best ways of finding out the measure of a city's character is to drink what the natives drink. In the Napa Valley, it might be an inky red wine that tastes of the earth and sun. In Russia, it might be a shot of ice-cold, crystal-clear vodka. In Mexico, it might be a tangy margarita with a salted rim. The best example of how the native drink fits the character of a city or area, look at New Orleans.
In New Orleans, the native drinks are sweet and strong or sweet and sour. They're higly potent drinks, full of head-spinning power. They're festive and carefree, a bit tawdry, but it's expected from a city that celebrates excess during Mardi Gras. Look at the reputation of New Orleans. It's a place that parties until dawn. Liquor laws are lax if seemingly non-existant. Spectacles are expected, if not a part of life, due to the rowdy reputation of its colonial French and Spanish past. Drinking and entertainment are necessities for residents and the flocks of tourists that visit the city every year for Mardi Gras and for other reasons, mainly to have lots of fun. What better way to represent New Orleans but in such drinks? You have the Sazerac, a drink for those with strong stomachs--powerful with whiskey and absinthe, plus bitters, sugar and lemon peel. What visit to New Orleans would be complete without downing a Hurricane at Pat O' Brien's? It packs a hurricane-sized punch in it's size and power. These are drinks that will have you up until dawn. Excess in everything.
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To mangle Shakespeare's Hamlet to the theme of drinking, "To stir, or not to stir." This is a battle that rages on within the ranks of bartenders and those who enjoy a good cocktail. The ultra-traditionalists say that cocktails made purely from alcohol should be stirred, and those that contain mixes should be shaken. Of course, those containing soda or carbonated liquids should be stirred. There really isn't much difference between a drink that is stirred and a drink that is shaken, except that a shaken drink will be a bit cloudy. This, however, is due to air bubbles. It will clear up later. When chilling drinks, traditionalists say that the ice should never be in whole cubes, but crushed or cracked into smaller pieces. This is personal preference. Whatever type of ice you use, make sure it is clean ice, free from any impurities, as "dirty" ice will make a drink taste bad. Shake or stir the drink with ice until it is chilled and no longer or the ice will dilute the drink.
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I hate the multiple variations on the martini. All those made with flavored vodka, rum, and other alcohol. Some of the offenders include the Cosmopolitan, the chocolate martini, the apple martini, the sake-tini, etc. A martini is gin and dry (white) vermouth or gin and dry (white) vermouth. Any bartending manual that allows for anything other than gin and dry vermouth or vodka and dry vermouth is heretical and not worth reading. Sweet vermouth, or red vermouth should not allowed in a martini. The ideal martini should be crystal clear and ice-cold.
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Another thing that bothers me. Fruit-flavored margaritas, those awful drinks they serve at unauthentic Mexican restaurants. The authentic margarita consists of tequila, triple sec or Cointreau, lime juice and a splash of sour mix. Just a splash and not more than that. There is NO Sprite or any other citrus-flavored soda in a margarita. If you want a slushy margarita, then put it in a blender with lots of ice. Yes, this is a strict definition of "margarita," but it is the original. If you like fruity drinks, fine, but it really isn't a margarita in my book.
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Finally, another thing that irks me. Flavored daquiris. Yes, I don't like flavored drinks. A daquiri is rum mixed with lime juice and simple syrup. If you don't have lime juice and simple syrup, use sour mix. That's it. Three ingredients at most. As stated earlier, if you want a slushy, fruity drink, then go ahead. You're not getting that from me.
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Chapter Eight: Thanksgiving Misgivings
"You know, nobody eats in England. Three or four pints of English beer a night fills you. I can't say I'm very impressed with the food in America. it's all sort of bland. Like turkey sandwiches."
-Anne Dudley
"Mothers. Sometimes they're more trouble than they're worth, ya know?"
-Jack Dalton, "Ma Dalton," MacGyver

Jake spent an uneventful weekend at his parents' house for Thanksgiving. Uneventful for Jake, however, is not what a normal person would call uneventful. Of course, "normal person," like many abstract things in life, was a legal fiction: it just doesn't exist. You can ask a million people what "normal" means and you will get a million different answers. In mathematics, you can define "normal," but this involves statistics, lots of formulas, and calculating the mean, the standard deviation, and other math-related concepts. Normal depends on concepts that a statistically meaningful number of people, those within two standard deviations, share in common.
For example, when a "normal" person describes a "normal" Thanksgiving, this person will talk about meeting with family members they haven't seen in a while. The "normal" person will talk about eating conspicuously and gluttonously high amounts of food like turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie. This behavior, a taboo for most meals, is socially acceptable on Thanksgiving, as it is a special holiday. Some people don't eat such things like turkey on Thanksgiving, but we are talking about most people. The "normal" person will watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade and the traditional football games. The "normal" person will have a nap after eating all this food and watching all this TV. This, for most people, is an uneventful, average Thanksgiving.
Jake's Thanksgiving had such normal events. Like most people, he ate large amounts of food. He watched the football games after eating the meal. He helped prepare some of the food. With his somewhat dysfunctional and unusual family, these activities are too staid. It wouldn't be Thanksgiving without his mother badgering him on his love life, his time at law school, and other matters that really wasn't her business. Once you add in the kitchen fire and the antics of the legion of crazy neighbors, well, Jake's Thanksgiving day experience is complete. That, for Jake, is an uneventful Thanksgiving.

Jake's Thanksgiving began early on Thursday morning. He arrived on Wednesday night, carrying two bags. One containing his clothes for his weekend at his parents' house and one bag containing some of this casebooks. Finals began two weeks after Thanksgiving vacation. Jake had lots of catching up to do. Lots of catching up to do. According to his estimates, he was at least two weeks behind in his classes. Some classes like Constitutional Law, he was three weeks behind. He really didn't like the class that much. For Jake, it was amazing how a professor could turn what should have been an interesting class into a never-ending journey into the many levels of Dante's version of Hell. Professor Tracy was an classroom anti-alchemist. Alchemists tried to turn base and common materials like lead into noble and valuable materials like gold. He did the opposite. Professor Tracy transformed diamonds and platinum into charcoal and scum found floating at the top of sewage treatment tanks right before the waste water is purified for drinking purposes.
Bright and early on Thrusday morning, Jake started preparing the bread and vegetables for a traditional cornbread stuffing. Jake was a very good cook and he didn't trust anyone else in the kitchen. One could call him dictatorial, but the results that came out of the kitchen were delicious. He peeled carrots and onions, washed celery, and chopped the vegetables with a long, heavy chef's knife. The knife had a sharp blade made of high-quality stainless steel. The blade was exquisitely sharp, able to cleanly cut paper into tiny shreds. Wielded improperly, it could easily cut fingers so quickly, a person would not feel pain.
While he was chopping the celery into a fine dice, his mother walked into the kitchen. This required a certain amount of concentration. She said good morning and asked him how he was doing. Jake replied that he was fine. He knew what was going to come next. She was going to pry into his personal life with pointed questions about his love life, his time at law school, and everything else that really wasn't her business.
"Jake, why don't you answer the phone when I call?"
His mother called him six or seven times every day. Most of the times, Jake was at the law school. When he did answer, she would go into "psycho Asian mother" mode. This means that the mother will not greet the person with "Hello," but with questions like "Why aren't you dating anyone," "Why aren't you married," or "Are you gay?" This depends on the relationship status of the person at the other end. If it is a single person, it will be "Why aren't you dating anyone." If the person is dating someone, it will be "Why aren't you married." The third option, "Are you gay" is used for the recalcitrant son who constantly is single or who can't keep a serious relationship going for a suitable amount of time. She was of the opinion if you weren't married by the time you were 25, there was somehting wrong with you, like being gay. It was her basic mindset. Despite being American in many ways, she still retained some elements of the Asian mindset. Jake got the last option every so often, like six times a day for the past year. It drove him crazy.
"I'm at the law school until four PM most days. Sometimes, I have to stay there longer." Jake would have liked to reply, "Because you drive me crazy with your damn questions about my love life," but he decided to curb his sarcasm. It wouldn't have been nice to talk to his mother that way.
"Oh. What are you doing at the law school?"
Jake stopped cutting the celery. Talking to his mother would require paying a lot more attention. The last time she had a conversation with her, he didn't pay attention to what he was doing and he burned his dinner. He also cut his fingers and bled onto the cutting board.
"I'm busy. I'm involved with the law school newsletter and some clubs. I'm taking sixteen hours this semester, you know. My schedule is packed."
"I see. Since you're at the law school so much, you must see women there. Are you dating someone? I hope so. If you aren't, I won't be alive when you finally get married."
Jake noticed she didn't impugn something about his sexual preference for once. At least she was somewhat convinced that he was heterosexual. That was a slight improvement. Not a major one, but much better than being asked if was gay or not.
He said, "Yes, I am seeing someone and it's a girl." Jake thought this would mollify her. He hoped she didn't go into her talk about dating and getting into a relationship with a nice girl and being careful in marriage. Jake remembered one occasion when he lied and told her that he was seeing someone. He thought it would shut her up for a while. Jake was wrong. She asked him, "When are you getting married?"
"That's good. Have I talked to you about the importance of finding a nice girl?" In addition to being a psycho Asian mother, she had a bad memory, a very bad memory. Her memory was like a car being stolen in a high-crime area: gone in sixty seconds. Maybe even less.
Jake sighed. "Yes, you've told me this God knows how many times."
"I did, didn't I? How is law school going?"
Jake sighed again. She asked him last night. And the day before that. And the day before that. She asked him that question every day, ever since he started law school. She asked him that question six times a day, every single day, without fail, for nearly two years.
"You asked me that question last night."
"Oh, I did. Did I? I guess I did. That's all I wanted to ask. Go ahead with what you were doing."

Jake tried to read his Constitutional Law casebook, a task that was near impossible to do. Ordinarily, wading through the material was hard enough. Yes, it was straight forward, once you got past the bad typesetting, the bad case selection, and the other bad parts of the book (the only good part was that the book ended, but it ended about a thousand pages too late). The bad parts of the book made a simple task so hard to do. The reading experience just got worse. Making the experience worse was the constant blaring of the police sirens.
Police sirens? On Thanksgiving? For most people, this isn't a regular sight. For Jake, however, this was a regular feature. It wouldn't be Thanksgiving without the police sirens in Jake's old neighborhood. If it wasn't the old drunk man next doors or the Spanish Speakers living two houses down the street, it was the drug dealer who constantly got caught by the police on a regular basis. Jake thought the drug dealer should have chosen a different and legal profession. He heard that people who could accurately measure things just by touch had a future in baking. Jake looked out the window and saw that the police were swarming by the drug dealer's house. He wondered what the drug dealer was in for now.
As if that wasn't enough, he heard a loud thumping sound. It was gigantic stereo speakers and a massive subwoofer booming out a thundering bass line. Jake recognized some words: "California, knows how to party. In the city--city of Compton. In the city--city of LA." It appeared as if the Spanish Speakers got replaced by a group of rap/hip hop-loving people. This was just an assumption. Jake guessed it wasn't the Spanish Speakers as they were relatively quiet. Supposedly, they didn't know English and only spoke Spanish, but they understood the phrase "I'm going to call the police" perfectly. They had no problems understanding that phrase. Jake believed this phrase was universally understood by everyone, English speaking or not. Besides, if the Spanish Speakers were playing loud music, it was classic Mexican folk music like "La Bamba" and Tejano music, the music popularized by Selena and other similar Tex-Mexican singers. It was the catchy music heavy on horns, accordian, and guitar. Unless they had a change in musical tastes to Doctor Dre and Jay-Z, it was unlikely that it was the Spanish Speakers playing this music.
"Are you having trouble studying?"
Jake looked up. It was his mother again....