WRITING CULTURE 2012: Film, Food & Beyond

I voted today for the first time ever.

I was so  excited to finally get a chance to vote, to be able to voice my opinions, and vote on where I wanted to see this country move. I acknowledge everything millions of Americans went through to allow me the right to vote. I am a woman and a minority and in 2012 I voted for POTUS in 30 minutes.

If that isn’t magical, I don’t know what is.

I am a political buff, so today was a close second to Christmas for me. I’ve been following CNN’s coverage online and on TV since I got home at 6pm. They did a beyond AMAZING job! I loved that they had their constant reports on the new states that were called, I also loved that I could follow online.

CNN Website once Obama Win Called

For the wit and fun that a presidential election brings I followed Twitter. Most journalists that were watching along with CNN or MSNBC were also tweeting, which gave an insightful look to the election. I also absolutely loved that ABC incorporated Jorge Ramos to their election coverage. Jorge Ramos is a Univision reporter, he is usually connected solely with Spanish speaking newsrooms, but he actually brings so much insight to the table. I saw him a few weeks back on This Week and seeing him tonight speaking of the Hispanic vote made me glad that I am a Hispanic who voted and  made my voice heard.

I think the most important tweet of the night was projected second term President, Barack Obama. Personally, I loved that he took to social media to thank all those that contributed to his campaign.

President Obama Twitter

When most people think of hurricane Sandy, they may picture destroyed homes, flooded streets and a pitch black downtown Manhattan.
These are the same things I pictured in my head as I sat on Long Island, trapped by a sense of danger and glee that I was free from school. Of course there were thoughts of those that were suffering in my head, but such things were overcome by the delicacies of sleeping in, reading for hours on end, and eating massive amounts of junk food and candy.
While I may not have been overly affected by the immediate effects of the storm, it was the aftermath that sent my social life into a downward spiral of trendiness.
Once the sun was back and the leaves in the yard were raked up, I decided that it was time to go back to Manhattan to get back to some kind of work. It was a noble gesture, but ultimately one that cost me my freedom from ridicule and jest.
As I was packing up my car to make the trek, my mom alluded to a strange notion that there was going to be a shortage of gas.

This was just the beginning of the line. This monstrosity extended about 13 blocks and took about four hours to complete my tour of duty.

Having faith in our war effort to procure gas, and being a huge supporter of blowing up mother nature for more oil, I scoffed at my mother, and proceeded to haul ass at 90 miles per hour towards my doom.
I arrived in Brooklyn only to find that just about all of the gas stations had lines extending several blocks long, as if it was a wait for a new ride at Disney that took your wallet for a spin.
At first i was OK, I conserved my gas by skating a bit, but ultimately, trips to far out lands such as Bay Ridge and Staten Island left my gas gauge begging for a precious refill.
By the time I actually came around to compromising with myself to get some amber gold it was like half the world’s supply of oil had been used up.
I ended up having to wait on line for several hours in the wee hours of a Saturday morning, only to get myself just below half a tank of gas due to limitations on fuel.

Despite my sub-standard amounts of fuel, I trekked back to Long Island to get some free food and other supplies from my folks. Their situation was no better than mine, with folks waiting eight hours plus for gas deliveries that sometimes never came.
After a day and a half of hanging with the folks, I decided that I must return to the concrete jungle to again resume my work, but now my gas tank was a breath about a third full and my car burns gas like a wildfire.
But I did not come back to this city unprepared.
I knew that the trains, in particular the L and G trains, were going to be a shitshow.
To combat this terror, I was forced to hang up my skateboard and trade in my four wheels for two. My dad walked me to the shed, unlocked the doors, and showed me to my new bike.

This bike will kick your ass.

The beast is called a RoadMaster. It is an 18-speed death dealing, mountain eating and hipster crushing machine.
The tires are covered with treads that should belong on a Humvee, and the shocks on the front remind me of a dirt bike.
I am now three days deep into my biking excursion and I personally find it to be an enthralling and cathartic experience, but those who call themselves my compatriots have different opinions upon the matter.
My newly found love causes them to retch and belch up names terms such as “bike douche” and apparently I have been inducted into some bike nerd army.
Apparently all I needed was a means to get into the city during inclement times to be enlisted into this lifestyle.
I think back to a few weeks ago when all I had to do to leave my apartment and go to school was just plug in my headphones, crack the newspaper, and tunnel underground to the giant silver worms.
Now I must mount upon my mechanical steed, exert energy, and know that a Nor’Easter is right around the damned corner.
Look forward to my next piece about how I have to take the fucking bus due to 50 mile per hours gusts that would blow me off the Williamsburg bridge.

I have been a blank slate when it comes to food. Before I moved to this fast-moving city, I kept myself going on diets of hamburgers, Arizona iced teas and canned chili.
Obviously not the best diet.
After moving to this bustling city, I began to experiment with different types of food, starting with the very cultural choice of having a side of pork-fried rice instead of white rice with my orange chicken.
After a few crash test tastings of food, I eventually found myself eating dishes like Tokyo Spicy Curry at the ramen spot near Baruch, Pad Thai with extra peanut sauce and spice at Little Basil, and now finally, I have overcome one of the greater obstacles in my journey: food from Afghanistan.

The restaurant itself was like entering into an adventure of it’s own. The front door is adorned with a tree that seems to branch out and then fall into the patterns constructed from glass tiles.
As I stepped in, a smell of tea and some sort of stew filled my nose. Being that it was only three in the afternoon, we had the place to ourselves. After we sat down, we all ordered our own drinks and dishes.
To start of my foray into the unknown tastes of Afghanistan, I started with a kettle of Shir-Chay.
It is a simple tea, but one that is traditionally drank by most Afghans. The drink is construed from a mix of milk, sugar, cardamom and rose petals.

When I was expecting the drink, the idea of rose petals floating around in my drink did not sound like a possiblity that would be too far off.
I was given a pot and a glass and the server then poured my first glass. I must disclose that I was surprised to find that a liquid that looked like coffee with cream in it came out, sans the rose petals.
The moment that the concoction touched my lips, I was instantly in love. It had a sweet taste that tickled the sense as it went down.

I was surprised by how much that I liked the tea. I finished my first glass and was overtaken by a melancholic feeling, thinking that  I was out of tea. This sadness was wiped from my being once I reach over and lifted the kettle, which shook due to the fluid that took up its interior.
Then came the time to order. i was having quite a lot of trouble deciding, but one must afford me a touch of sympathy due to my lack of cultural know-how.
I may have ventured into new foods schnozz first, but this time I had no previous coaching or encounters with the food.
After some serious soul-searching, I decided to order an Afghani pasta dish called Asheh Gooshi.
The name itself was enough to intimidate the daring food tester in me, but the ingredients cast an allure over me that was impossible to overcome.
The noodles themselves were homemade in the house, and they were topped with a lamb meat sauce combined with a large dose of yogurt sauce.
I continued to sip on my tea until I saw the waitress coming around the bend. Her hands were revealed from behind the walls and I set eyes upon my dish.

The noodles were wide, but thin, and covered with a red and and white sea of sauce with small islands of meat poking out from the top.

To consume such a meal is unheard of in my small tribe of Long Island dwelling compatriots.
The most cultural dish one can find out in the sticks of Farmingville is a small sushi joint that would surely have garnered a “Pending” grade from the department of health.
I dove into the meal, not knowing what exactly to expect from the multi-colored meal, but the moment the first forkful of noodles, meat, and red and white sauces hit my palate, I was hooked.
The dominant taste of the dish was was tangy, due to the yogurt, but once one moved past the initial sour demeanor of the sauce, the flavor of the spiced meat kicks in. All of this was brought together by broad noodles, which had a slightly salty flavor that completed the dish.
Overall, my experience at Bamiyan was one that I left me stunned. The food and drinks were top notch and the prices, although a bit high, were not as bad as they could have been. My impression were that this is some real authentic cuisine, and it is food that is prepared with a strong sense of culture and spice behind behind each meal.

CowGummy / Foter / CC BY-NC-ND

Along with just about everyone having sort of a psychological breakdown due to super-storm Sandy there are residual problems, like voting accessibility, coming to light. Polling sites are being moved around and administrators are learning about the new changes imposed on procedure just the night before Election Day. As the sites are being maneuvered, despite extreme gas shortages, the new locations have incurred damage (especially damaged sockets) and are, nearly to completely, unusable. Delays in opening have exceeded several hours and supply shortages are causing more aggravation to fickle sanity in such a fragile time.
Many of the affected areas are poor neighborhoods with lack of resources to begin with. The election is tight and the inability to vote will widen the victory gap as it is likely that neighborhoods hold united position. The direction is unclear so far.
Email voting has been extended to some resident and workers in the area. It doesn’t make much sense as there is no power in many areas let alone internet, phone and fax. It seems that it is a process which will require more trouble than an actual poll, if there even is a functioning one around. The waits are very long causing the suffering people to just quit and focus on the recovery.