Bloody Well Write

Today is Dec. 22, 2011, which means that it’s officially the winter solstice at 12:30 a.m. EST in the Northern Hemisphere. Time to celebrate the rising sun!

What exactly is the winter solstice?

In a nutshell, it’s the day with the least amount of daylight and, thus, the longest night of the year. From then on, the daylight will gradually get longer as the sun climbs higher in the sky. In six months, the summer solstice will take place, and the reverse will happen — days will shorten again, and nights will lengthen.

As someone who favors warmth and sunlight over cold and darkness, I’m all for the winter solstice. It gives me the upcoming summer to look forward to, although I still have to get through the bitter Midwestern months of January through March. But that’s OK, because I can still look forward — in more light, no less.

An image of the 2010 winter solstice eclipse (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/13422316@N00/5280906836/)

People the world over have celebrated the winter solstice for a long time — centuries, in fact:

• Ancient Egypt and Syria — They celebrated the Nativity of the Sun, with a ritual of the nativity — a play of sorts — taking place at midnight.
• Ancient Greece — Called Lenaea, or the Festival of Wild Women, the winter solstice in Greece included one very unfortunate man being chosen to represent Dionysus, the god of the Harvest. Said man was then ripped apart and eaten by a group of mad women. Later, a baby would be presented as the rebirth of Dionysus. Centuries later, the man-eating premise was replaced with a less hazardous celebration, at least for Greek men; instead, a goat was sacrificed. Definitely not so good for the goat.
  
• Ancient Rome — The god of the harvest and agriculture in Rome was Saturn, and his wife was the goddess of fertility, Ops (aka Opis). The ancient Romans honored them both with a celebration called Saturnalia. Sometime around 270 A.D., Emperor Aurelian combined many then-affluent pagan solstice celebrations into one, big event called the Birthday of the Unconquered Sun.
• Ancient Brazil — Archaeologists uncovered an astronomical observatory consisting of granite blocks, with one block representing the sun’s position at the time of the winter solstice.
• Zoroastrianism — Iran’s first state religion, Zoroastrianism, was founded by Persia’s Zarathustra (aka Zoroaster). The religion that preceded Islam may have been the first monotheistic religion. Celebrants would sit around a table or bonfire and enjoy fruits while listening to stories.
• Islam — Modern-day Muslims observe the Fast of Ramadan, paying tribute to the lunar month in which the Qura’n was revealed by God revealed the Qura’n to mankind. They fast during the day and share small meals with family and friends once the sun has set. Because the Fast of Ramadan follows the moon, Ramadan falls in December every 30 years or so. Thus, although it fell in December in the late 1990s, it is not considered a winter solstice celebration. In 2011, for example, Ramadan began in the evening of Sunday, July 31, and ended in the evening of Wednesday, Aug. 31.
• Buddhism — While the Buddhist December celebration has nothing (I think) to do with the winter solstice, it does celebrate the day when Buddha achieved enlightenment, escaping the endless reincarnation cycle of birth, death and rebirth.

Mmmm — latkes are served with applesauce or sour cream (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/ohmeaghan/3805809896/)

• Judaism — Hannukah (aka Hanukah, Chanukah or Chanukkah — oy!) is the eight-day Feast of Lights (aka Festival of Lights or Feast of Dedication) that remembers the war fought by the Maccabees in the cause of religious freedom. Jews light a menorah, eat potato latkes, play dreidel games and open a present each of the eight nights of the festival. 
• Christianity — Since the official record of the birth of Jesus of Nazareth had either been destroyed or not been found, early leaders of the Western church chose December 25 — already a popular pagan celebration day throughout the Roman Empire — as the day to honor Christ’s birth. Over the following centuries, Christianity’s popularity spread:
  • 301 AD — Armenia created the first national church, becoming the first country to adopt Christianity as its national religion.
  • 375 AD — Eastern churches began to celebrate Christmas.
  • 5th century — Ireland’s monastic settlements emerged.
  • 8th century — parts of Europe adopted Christianity.
• Native American rituals — Across North America, Indian tribes celebrated the winter solstice (as well as the summer solstice). Much like in ancient Brazil, early Native Americans created structures, similar to calendars, made of stone which could mark the sun’s movements. Rituals across tribes included making prayer sticks, purifying the body and feasting.
• Kwanzaa — Celebrated in the United States between Dec. 26 and Jan. 1, Kwanzaa was created in the late 1960s by Maulana Karenga, a professor, scholar, author and philosopher. Kwanzaa, a Swahili word meaning “first fruits of the harvest,” honors the pan-African and American-African heritage and culture. Seven candles in a single holder representing the seven principles of African heritage are lit, and a feast and gift-giving are enjoyed.
• Nonreligious — Estimated between 13 and 20 percent of the population are nonbelievers, skeptics, humanists, rationalists, freethinkers, scientists and the like, who also celebrate the winter solstice as a time of renewal and rejuvenation. Many in this growing group gather with family and friends over a meal or at a party and exchange gifts in celebration of more daylight hours to spend with the ones they love.

Many think that the winter solstice is a time for people of all faiths to come together and celebrate the concept of rejuvenation. Others feel that their faith is the one and only reason to celebrate. What camp are you in?

My opinion (yes, I give my opinion on my blog, believe it or not) is that we should live and let live. Unless it hurts someone else, and as long as no one’s being forced to do something they don’t want to do, we should all be able to celebrate as we wish.

Happy winter solstice, everyone!

Happy trails!

SAK

You say to-MAY-to, I say to-MAH-to.

OK, I say to-MAY-to, too. But that’s the apparent difference between pronouncing the long form of P.J.’s (or jammies, if you ask my husband). The subject came up about the correct pronunciation of pajamas, so I  followed my M.O.: I looked it up online. Merriam-Webster’s Online Dictionary has two (count ‘em, two)  sound buttons that play the preferred and secondary pronunciations of the word. But when I looked it up, the sound wouldn’t work.

That was last night.

So I checked out a few other sites that also have sound buttons. Webster’s New World College Dictionary, which the AP Stylebook prefers, has one button. And to my horror and my husband’s delight, it pronounced it pa-JAA-mas (the middle syllable sounds like the a in jam).

Ugh. My loving but woohoo-I’m-right husband thought the case was closed.

Today during a break at work, I polled co-workers about their pronunciation preference. Most agreed with my husband; one agreed with me. So I vowed to check out Merriam-Webster’s one more time, and it worked — on several levels.

P.J.'s, jammies, pajamas — Oh, my! (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/erix/4161088394/)

The first, most prominent sound button confirmed my suspicion: pa-JAH-ma (singular construction, mind you — the middle syllable sounds like the a in saw). The second, less-preferred sound button put forth pa-JAA-ma (again, sounds like jam).

One other tidbit I learned while researching the pajama dilemma: It can be a regional thing. My way (and the correct way, according to Merriam-Webster’s) is the Southeastern United States way to pronounce it. On the flip side, my husband’s pajama preference is popular in the Northeast U.S. and Great Lakes area, as well as the West Coast.

And that’s news to me, for sure. I wouldn’t have guessed that my preference is a Southern thing. Heck, lots of folks have mistaken me for an East Coaster, and I lived in sunny Cali for a spell. But after thinking about it, pa-JAA-mas does have a Southern ring to it. Interesting stuff.

Happy trails!

SAK

For those who don’t know me well, I will share this morsel with you:

I’m all about food.

Granted, I’m a pescetarian — someone who doesn’t eat land animals (e.g., chicken, cow, pig, sheep, etc.) — but I do eat seafood and fish, in addition to fruits, dairy products, grains and the occasional vegetable. And tomatoes? They’re OK, I suppose. I’ve eaten them my entire life but haven’t really been in awe of them.

Not, that is, until the past decade, when a friend introduced me to Insalata Caprese. Now, I’m hooked.

Insalata Caprese translates from Italian into English thus: salad from Capri. OK, so what does that mean? It’s a super-simple salad that consists of slices of fresh tomato (I like Roma tomatoes but any tomato that can be cut into relatively thick slices can work), slices of buffalo mozzarella and leaves of fresh basil, all layered and topped with ground pepper, salt and a drizzle of olive oil.

The simplicity of such a salad is deceiving, for the flavors unassumingly complement each other exquisitely. Popular variations include swapping olive oil for an Italian dressing or — my favorite — a balsamic vinaigrette or reduction.

Yummy.

Insalata Caprese (http://www.flickr.com/photos/79928508@N00/4487629379/)

I’m not sure if it’s just coincidence or if it’s the Italian way of imbedding national pride in the local cuisine, but the layered salad shares the same colors as the Italian flag. Sort of reminds me of a very American dessert made to look like the American flag, with white whipped topping, blueberries and raspberries.

Anyhoo, the point of this entry is to clear up the pronunciation issue surrounding this phenomenally simple first course. How the heck do you say Caprese?

From what I’ve gathered through personal accounts, Internet research and an unofficial survey of friends with decent vocabularies (!), it should be pronounced like this:

Ka-PREY-zay.

Now, dear Bloody Well Write readers: If you think that I’m blowing smoke and have it on authority from your great-grandmama (who’s from Capri or Naples (not Florida, BTW) or such) that it should be pronounced XYZ, then by all means, send me a message and I’ll revise this post. But as far as I know — and how I’ll be embarrassing myself in the future to all friends, family and complete strangers who will listen to me babble about the fantastic foods that I love — I’m saying Ka-Prey-zay Salad.

Happy trails!

SAK

It’s 11:10 p.m. A little while ago, I decided to write a quick blog post and so looked up a few things, trying to decide what to write about. Then I remembered something I had learned in school a long time ago: The difference between the term Asian and Oriental. Yep, that’d make a quick post.

But then I thought, hey, that class was awhile ago and I better double-check what I think I know in case I am remembering it wrong. And wammo! No more quick-and-easy post.

What I learned years ago was this:

• Oriental refers to things (e.g., rugs, food, furniture).
• Asian refers to people.

Sounds straightforward enough to me. I’ve explained it as such to lots of folks over the years, including parents and friends. But when I looked it up, I found a great blog with lots of comments. Reading those comments provided so many perspectives. Here are a few examples, paraphrased unless otherwise noted:

Oriental is a derogatory term, referring to things from the East. People, if it’s not already clear, are not things. Things can be bought; people, not so much (or at least they shouldn’t be, on several levels).

Oriental and Asian basically mean the same thing: They are broad, “lazy” terms for a wide variety of people. A better choice may be, if the need to classify exists, to refer to what country a person is from (e.g., Japanese, Korean, Filipino) because it is more specific.

Terms can be generation-specific. One person’s grandmother may call herself Oriental and think all the fuss is silly, while a younger person may take offense to being called Oriental.

Asians, Orientals, Asian-Americans — no matter the term used, those who are lumped into such a broad category don’t have a lot in common except that they are subjected to racism and ignorance and (I quote) “ching-chongery.”

Oriental rug (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/psyberartist/3949077735/)

The discourse went on, and I highly recommend reading those posts. My takeaway from reading them is that someone is going to get upset about something, no matter what you do or say (or don’t say), but that’s not at all limited to the Asian-Oriental discussion; that’s just how life is about every single subject out there.

It seems to me that the majority of those who posted on this topic seem to agree that they don’t want to be called Oriental (except for a few grandmothers who balk at all the nonsense) and a lot would prefer not to be called Asian.

My guess is that they would prefer to be called by their names. Just a wild guess on my part — mainly because that’s what I would want if I were them. I’m 1/4 Armenian, but I don’t want to be pigeon-holed as Armenian. Sometimes, I don’t even want to be pigeon-holed as me. But that’s for another day.

Generalizations have their place, I suppose, but not at the risk of hurting someone’s feelings. We all bleed red. Live and let live. To each his — or her — own.

Happy trails!

SAK

New Orleans has had its share of excitement lately. What with Hurricane Katrina making a complete mess of things, Brad Pitt (with Angelina Jolie et al. in tow) bringing the Make It Right project to the Lower 9th Ward, the Saints winning the Super Bowl XLIV and the annual Mardi Gras celebration topping off the football frenzy, the Big Easy is proving to be the home of a bunch of hearty souls.

New Orleans is famous for so many reasons: fantastic Cajun and Creole dishes, festive jazz, smooth hurricanes (the drinkable kind) and flowing, fanciful — and now green — architecture. The Crescent City has a language all its own. There are no medians in the streets; that strip of land that separates the paved street is called neutral ground. They have not a single canoe; a pirogue (sounds like PEE-row) is the flat-bottomed version that navigates the bayou. And don’t even think about walking on a sidewalk; it’s called a banquette.

Pat O'Brien's famous Hurricane (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/bigberto/2826375336)

So how should the name of NOLA be pronounced? It makes the most sense (to me, anyway) to say it as the residents do. And the residents call it N’Awlins. They can spot a tourist out of sight but within earshot when they hear their fair city’s name pronounced New Or-le-uns or New Or-LEENS. That last one sort of sounds like a line from a bad ’80s movie, doesn’t it?

So it’s N’Awlins — pronounced with two syllables but as close as you can get to one.

Now go put a pot o’ water on the stove; them’s a mound o’ crawfish ta boil and we’re all fixin’ ta suck da heads and squeeze da tips.

Happy trails!

One of the most popular demographic maps on the Net these days is one that shows how people across the United States refer to the carbonated drinks that help round out the ubiquitous value meals.

Soda.
Pop.
Soda pop.
Coke.
Cola.
Soft drink.
Fizzy drink.
Sugar water.
Tonic.
Dope.
Sludge.

Good grief. Those add up to a lot of descriptors. So what’s the lowdown?

Lucky for me, someone else did the research, polled the peeps and plotted the map; I get to just relay the info. So here are the results of who says what where (click on the map for a detailed view):

Pop vs. Soda Map (image: http://tastyresearch.files.wordpress.com/2006/10/popvssodamap.png)

Soda — derived from soda water (sodium bicarbonate with acid, which is where all the fizz comes from) — is the word of choice for those in the Northeast, Southwest and, oddly enough, the St. Louis area.

Pop — introduced in 1812 by English poet Robert Southey describing “a new manufactory of a nectar, between soda-water and ginger-beer, and called pop, because ‘pop goes the cork’ when it is drawn, and pop you would go off too, if you drank too much of it” — is predominant throughout the Midwest and Northwest, as well as Canada and Britain.

Coke — probably a popular moniker because of the Georgia-based Coca-Cola plant — rules the South.

Other terms are much less popular in the U.S., although some seem to have staying power, such as soft drink, which tends to be used on menus. Australians and New Zealanders prefer soft drink, as well, although lolly water sometimes wins over in Australia. Brits tend to order a pop or fizzy drink, while thirsty Scots order a ginger. Tonic gets the nod in the Northeast, especially in Massachusetts. Sludge wins out for those who think that all of the sodas and colas are a waste of money and terribly unhealthy, no matter where they live.

A cola, by the way, refers to the caramel color of the drink, so clear or other-colored drinks (e.g., Sprite, 7Up, Crush, Mt. Dew) aren’t technically colas.

The AP Stylebook (at least my 2007 copy, anyway) doesn’t mention the soda-vs.-pop controversy specifically, but it does describe several trademarked drinks as soft drinks, so that would be my suggestion if you’re writing or speaking publicly about such carbonated delights.

Me? I was born and raised in the Midwest, lived on the West Coast and in Colorado and adore New York and New England — and I tend to call the carbonated stuff coke.

But I prefer Diet Pepsi.

Happy trails!

SAK