I as going to post a new thread today ... but I'm just not feeling it. Or, really, anything. To quote Pink Floyd Abraham Lincoln ...
There is no pain you are receding
A distant ship smoke on the horizon
You are only coming through in waves
Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying
...
The dream is gone
I have become comfortably numb
So instead, I am going to start what may be a semi-regular recurring bit. On Wednesdays, every now and then, I will present One From the Archives, an essay that I loved writing that is more than two years old, that I will re-visit and update and slightly edit. This is probably one of my all-time favorites... it's about the Italian so-called dessert, the cannoli, but also not about that at all; it's really about how people can just like what they like. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the updated and revised essay, and it takes your mind off of, oh, whatever is bedeviling it right now.
1. The Great Wave of Ricotta.
I often think about cannoli. They occupy my thoughts, bedevil my dreams. Not because I love them, or obsess about them. Nor because the eating of a cannoli opens my mind to a Proust-like reverie that requires me to write so many words. Instead, it's because the cannoli is a constant source of bewilderment and bafflement. There are so many amazing desserts, so many worthy pastries, yet the cannoli has spread like the cicada across our land; and, like the cicada, people constantly talk about eating them, and how they are crunchy, and where you can get this amazing cannoli, and yet ... I find the cicada and cannoli equally crunchy and suitable for dessert.
Wait, did I put the cart before the horse? What is cannoli? Canonically (cannolionically?), the true cannoli is a fried pastry dough. Within this fried dough in the form of a tube, a sweet filling based on cheese (usually ricotta) is put in. On occasion, you will see the cannoli dolled up with other accoutrements to hide the banality of its existence- chocolate chips here, pistachios there. Sometimes, you will see variations of it- "Look, ma, I stuff my tube with chocolate!" But for my purposes, I am discussing the platonic ideal of the cannoli.
2. Fine Pastry, Clear Morning.
Some of you might say, "Something wrapped around something else that you eat? IS IT A SANDWICH?" Take your hot dogs and your sandwiches and your tacos and shove 'em into an LLM, until your AI overlords are feeding you pineapple pizza that they insist that you call a sandwich. This is about the cannoli, not your aged memes.
3. Thunderstorm Beneath Pellegrino.
The cannoli conundrum first reared its head when I was in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts for some time. Previously, I had partaken of the cannoli, and had observed them to be, at best, unexceptional, and at worst, terrible. Much like most pastries made in America. Yet now I was hearing this continual refrain- "You have to try the cannoli in the North End. It will change your life. It is the best cannoli. The North End cannoli is wicked awesome."
So on I went based on these sage words, trying these various cannoli over the course of several weeks from all of the places in the North End. Each time, I expected that moment. That eureka. That lightbulb. That understanding. I wanted to love the cannoli. I wanted it to be a "wicked piss-ah" (assuming I understood what that phrase meant). But the epiphany never happened. I recognized that the cannoli I had here was better than that of other places. I timed my visits to try and get the freshest cannoli. But the fundamental nature of the cannoli continued to make it ... fine. Even the best, freshest, North End cannoli was ... fine. I could appreciate the shell, I could appreciate the filling, and I would just think, "This just isn't a great concept for a pastry. This isn't as good as a mediocre profiterole. I've had Twinkies I've enjoyed more."
4. Under Mannen Bridge Eating Dessert.
Of course, maybe the problem wasn't the cannoli, maybe the problem was the North End cannoli. I quested, looking high and low to find a cannoli that measured up to some mythical, platonic ideal of what cannoli should be; importantly, perhaps the cannoli would be something I enjoyed if I could just find the right cannoli! If so many people love cannoli, then I must be the one who does not understand the alluring appeal, so I need to locate that perfect cannoli.
After the North End cannoli, I was told that there was another place in Boston that had even better cannoli. It didn't. Then I was told that, by the people in the know, that the only good place to go was Federal Hill in Providence, because the mob doesn't suffer bad cannoli. Apparently, the mafia didn't get that memo- the cannoli wasn't good. I tried cannoli throughout the United States, and was disappointed. I even tried cannoli when I was in Italy, going so far as to sample the cannoli in Sicily. Those were, by far, the best cannoli I had. And the best cannoli, the ones that were muy authentico? They were pretty, pretty, pretty ... okay. The best cannoli was ... fine.
5. The Cushion Pine with Tiramisu.
For a long time, I did not know how to process this cannoli issue. What was the deep problem in my soul that led to my inability to enjoy a cannoli? I still remember those times in the Commonwealth, when people would come to visit me from elsewhere, and they would ask me... "What should we do?" And I would reply, "Why, we should go to the North End, because they have the best cannoli!" And the entire time I said that, a part of me was screaming inside. I didn't like, or want, the cannoli. They aren't good. What is this weird group-think that makes everyone go and get it? Yet I couldn't stop myself from repeating what everyone knew. I lacked that confidence in my own taste.
One day, I talked about it with friends. I finally voiced that nagging fear that had been with me the entire time. "Hey, um, so, you know what? I think .... I think cannoli are overrated. The ones in the North End? They kinda suck. I don't like them, and I don't like cannoli."
And I got the immediate reply, "No way! That's impossible! That's .... that's .... that's like saying Tom Brady sucks eggs. What else, Snarf? Do you want to tear down the Green Monster? Do you think the Celtics should be pronounced with a hard C? Are you gonna tell us that a frappe and a milkshake are the same thing?" But in addition to the pushback, there was a knowing look in many eyes, and agreement. Turns out that quite a few people also didn't like cannoli. As one of my friends said, "Thank god you said it. I'd rather have Dunkies any day than another fakkin' North End cannoli."
6. A sketch of the Sprinkles shop in Suruga in Edo.
Some people are all into cupcakes. Screw 'em.
7. Tea House at Koishikawa. The morning after a Netflix Binge.
So it goes. I know, deep down, that even the best cannoli will never be something I enjoy. That the cult of cannoli is something that, to me, is overhyped and overrated- the crunchy fried shell and soft filling is simply a bad pastry. Best of all, I know that when I express this opinion, there will be those that finally can recognize that same feeling that has gone unvoiced for so long deep within themselves. You don't have to go with the flow. You don't have to unthinkingly accept the dire hegemony of the cannoli. If may feel like you have no voice, and you must scream ... but I can tell you, you can insist that cannoli ... they aren't all that.
Of course, when I voice my opinion about the dread cannoli, there will always be that guy. That guy has heard what I said, but he knows my preferences better than I do. So, inevitably, I will hear about some supposed best cannoli. Some place has it- a mom & pop restaurant, a modern patisserie started by a celebrity chef, a hole-in-the-wall bodega that specializes in tacos, pho, and cannoli, a gas station that only serves red snapper hot dogs and cannoli ... some place. And he knows, he just knows, that if I have this particular cannoli, it will change my opinion. And do you know what? I smile, and nod, and then I go and give it a try, because I'm Charlie Brown, and cannoli is Lucy with the football, and disappointment is part of my life cycle. Besides, I have to honor the chutzpah* of someone who hears my cannoli tale and thinks to themselves, "Hey, he just needs a better cannoli!"
*Chutzpah is defined as that quality enshrined in a man who, having killed his mother and father, throws himself on the mercy of the court because he is an orphan.
8. Dawn at Isawa, hungover from drinking in the North End.
All of this, of course, goes back to the strong concepts I have long harbored regarding the subjective appreciation a person can have for art. On this forum, it is most apparent when discussing geek media ... and, for that matter, D&D and other RPGs. There are objective things ... facts .... that can be discussed; the names of Star Trek Captains. The director of Empire Strikes Back. But art will affect each of us differently. In fact, sometimes art will hit us differently depending on when we view it.
There are things that I loved as a kid, or as a teen, or as a young adult, that I no longer have the same affection for. There are things that I love now that I would not have loved then. There are preferences that I have regarding my media that are important to me, that may not be important to other people.
That said, there is a genuine joy in discussing these topics with other people who share that passion. I like to share the aspects of the things I like, and that I don't; not in the hope that people will always agree with my personal preferences, but rather in the desire that the conversation that ensues is interesting. Is Season 6 of Buffy the best season, or at least on par with season 3? Is the Leftovers the best Science Fiction show of the 2000s? If I said the OA might be "in the conversation" as one of the best science fiction shows, would I be too crazy, or not crazy enough? If I said that Legion was the best small-screen superhero show made, is it wrong because there are better shows of that genre, or because people don't really consider it a superhero show? I don't know. It's all about preferences.
And this is true for our discussions about RPGs as well. People don't have monolithic preferences- they are different between people, and, for that matter, people change their preferences over time. But far too often, we get caught up in arguing preferences as if they were objective facts. Further, it's always important that you are more likely to convince someone to try something by sharing your joy and love of it than by telling them that their own love is wrong.
Like the cannoli. It's a terribly overrated pastry. And yet, assuming they aren't lying to me to keep me consuming something I am not enjoying, some people like 'em ... even love them. Good taste is the excuse I have used for leading a bad life, but I always have to keep myself open to the possibility that Sully, in his Bruins Jersey, still crying over the loss of Tom Brady, clutching his Sam Adams in one hand and his Bova's cannoli in the other ... knows more about the joy of eating a good pastry than I ever will.
There is no pain you are receding
A distant ship smoke on the horizon
You are only coming through in waves
Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying
...
The dream is gone
I have become comfortably numb
So instead, I am going to start what may be a semi-regular recurring bit. On Wednesdays, every now and then, I will present One From the Archives, an essay that I loved writing that is more than two years old, that I will re-visit and update and slightly edit. This is probably one of my all-time favorites... it's about the Italian so-called dessert, the cannoli, but also not about that at all; it's really about how people can just like what they like. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the updated and revised essay, and it takes your mind off of, oh, whatever is bedeviling it right now.
1. The Great Wave of Ricotta.
I often think about cannoli. They occupy my thoughts, bedevil my dreams. Not because I love them, or obsess about them. Nor because the eating of a cannoli opens my mind to a Proust-like reverie that requires me to write so many words. Instead, it's because the cannoli is a constant source of bewilderment and bafflement. There are so many amazing desserts, so many worthy pastries, yet the cannoli has spread like the cicada across our land; and, like the cicada, people constantly talk about eating them, and how they are crunchy, and where you can get this amazing cannoli, and yet ... I find the cicada and cannoli equally crunchy and suitable for dessert.
Wait, did I put the cart before the horse? What is cannoli? Canonically (cannolionically?), the true cannoli is a fried pastry dough. Within this fried dough in the form of a tube, a sweet filling based on cheese (usually ricotta) is put in. On occasion, you will see the cannoli dolled up with other accoutrements to hide the banality of its existence- chocolate chips here, pistachios there. Sometimes, you will see variations of it- "Look, ma, I stuff my tube with chocolate!" But for my purposes, I am discussing the platonic ideal of the cannoli.
2. Fine Pastry, Clear Morning.
Some of you might say, "Something wrapped around something else that you eat? IS IT A SANDWICH?" Take your hot dogs and your sandwiches and your tacos and shove 'em into an LLM, until your AI overlords are feeding you pineapple pizza that they insist that you call a sandwich. This is about the cannoli, not your aged memes.
3. Thunderstorm Beneath Pellegrino.
The cannoli conundrum first reared its head when I was in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts for some time. Previously, I had partaken of the cannoli, and had observed them to be, at best, unexceptional, and at worst, terrible. Much like most pastries made in America. Yet now I was hearing this continual refrain- "You have to try the cannoli in the North End. It will change your life. It is the best cannoli. The North End cannoli is wicked awesome."
So on I went based on these sage words, trying these various cannoli over the course of several weeks from all of the places in the North End. Each time, I expected that moment. That eureka. That lightbulb. That understanding. I wanted to love the cannoli. I wanted it to be a "wicked piss-ah" (assuming I understood what that phrase meant). But the epiphany never happened. I recognized that the cannoli I had here was better than that of other places. I timed my visits to try and get the freshest cannoli. But the fundamental nature of the cannoli continued to make it ... fine. Even the best, freshest, North End cannoli was ... fine. I could appreciate the shell, I could appreciate the filling, and I would just think, "This just isn't a great concept for a pastry. This isn't as good as a mediocre profiterole. I've had Twinkies I've enjoyed more."
4. Under Mannen Bridge Eating Dessert.
Of course, maybe the problem wasn't the cannoli, maybe the problem was the North End cannoli. I quested, looking high and low to find a cannoli that measured up to some mythical, platonic ideal of what cannoli should be; importantly, perhaps the cannoli would be something I enjoyed if I could just find the right cannoli! If so many people love cannoli, then I must be the one who does not understand the alluring appeal, so I need to locate that perfect cannoli.
After the North End cannoli, I was told that there was another place in Boston that had even better cannoli. It didn't. Then I was told that, by the people in the know, that the only good place to go was Federal Hill in Providence, because the mob doesn't suffer bad cannoli. Apparently, the mafia didn't get that memo- the cannoli wasn't good. I tried cannoli throughout the United States, and was disappointed. I even tried cannoli when I was in Italy, going so far as to sample the cannoli in Sicily. Those were, by far, the best cannoli I had. And the best cannoli, the ones that were muy authentico? They were pretty, pretty, pretty ... okay. The best cannoli was ... fine.
5. The Cushion Pine with Tiramisu.
For a long time, I did not know how to process this cannoli issue. What was the deep problem in my soul that led to my inability to enjoy a cannoli? I still remember those times in the Commonwealth, when people would come to visit me from elsewhere, and they would ask me... "What should we do?" And I would reply, "Why, we should go to the North End, because they have the best cannoli!" And the entire time I said that, a part of me was screaming inside. I didn't like, or want, the cannoli. They aren't good. What is this weird group-think that makes everyone go and get it? Yet I couldn't stop myself from repeating what everyone knew. I lacked that confidence in my own taste.
One day, I talked about it with friends. I finally voiced that nagging fear that had been with me the entire time. "Hey, um, so, you know what? I think .... I think cannoli are overrated. The ones in the North End? They kinda suck. I don't like them, and I don't like cannoli."
And I got the immediate reply, "No way! That's impossible! That's .... that's .... that's like saying Tom Brady sucks eggs. What else, Snarf? Do you want to tear down the Green Monster? Do you think the Celtics should be pronounced with a hard C? Are you gonna tell us that a frappe and a milkshake are the same thing?" But in addition to the pushback, there was a knowing look in many eyes, and agreement. Turns out that quite a few people also didn't like cannoli. As one of my friends said, "Thank god you said it. I'd rather have Dunkies any day than another fakkin' North End cannoli."
6. A sketch of the Sprinkles shop in Suruga in Edo.
Some people are all into cupcakes. Screw 'em.
7. Tea House at Koishikawa. The morning after a Netflix Binge.
So it goes. I know, deep down, that even the best cannoli will never be something I enjoy. That the cult of cannoli is something that, to me, is overhyped and overrated- the crunchy fried shell and soft filling is simply a bad pastry. Best of all, I know that when I express this opinion, there will be those that finally can recognize that same feeling that has gone unvoiced for so long deep within themselves. You don't have to go with the flow. You don't have to unthinkingly accept the dire hegemony of the cannoli. If may feel like you have no voice, and you must scream ... but I can tell you, you can insist that cannoli ... they aren't all that.
Of course, when I voice my opinion about the dread cannoli, there will always be that guy. That guy has heard what I said, but he knows my preferences better than I do. So, inevitably, I will hear about some supposed best cannoli. Some place has it- a mom & pop restaurant, a modern patisserie started by a celebrity chef, a hole-in-the-wall bodega that specializes in tacos, pho, and cannoli, a gas station that only serves red snapper hot dogs and cannoli ... some place. And he knows, he just knows, that if I have this particular cannoli, it will change my opinion. And do you know what? I smile, and nod, and then I go and give it a try, because I'm Charlie Brown, and cannoli is Lucy with the football, and disappointment is part of my life cycle. Besides, I have to honor the chutzpah* of someone who hears my cannoli tale and thinks to themselves, "Hey, he just needs a better cannoli!"
*Chutzpah is defined as that quality enshrined in a man who, having killed his mother and father, throws himself on the mercy of the court because he is an orphan.
8. Dawn at Isawa, hungover from drinking in the North End.
All of this, of course, goes back to the strong concepts I have long harbored regarding the subjective appreciation a person can have for art. On this forum, it is most apparent when discussing geek media ... and, for that matter, D&D and other RPGs. There are objective things ... facts .... that can be discussed; the names of Star Trek Captains. The director of Empire Strikes Back. But art will affect each of us differently. In fact, sometimes art will hit us differently depending on when we view it.
There are things that I loved as a kid, or as a teen, or as a young adult, that I no longer have the same affection for. There are things that I love now that I would not have loved then. There are preferences that I have regarding my media that are important to me, that may not be important to other people.
That said, there is a genuine joy in discussing these topics with other people who share that passion. I like to share the aspects of the things I like, and that I don't; not in the hope that people will always agree with my personal preferences, but rather in the desire that the conversation that ensues is interesting. Is Season 6 of Buffy the best season, or at least on par with season 3? Is the Leftovers the best Science Fiction show of the 2000s? If I said the OA might be "in the conversation" as one of the best science fiction shows, would I be too crazy, or not crazy enough? If I said that Legion was the best small-screen superhero show made, is it wrong because there are better shows of that genre, or because people don't really consider it a superhero show? I don't know. It's all about preferences.
And this is true for our discussions about RPGs as well. People don't have monolithic preferences- they are different between people, and, for that matter, people change their preferences over time. But far too often, we get caught up in arguing preferences as if they were objective facts. Further, it's always important that you are more likely to convince someone to try something by sharing your joy and love of it than by telling them that their own love is wrong.
Like the cannoli. It's a terribly overrated pastry. And yet, assuming they aren't lying to me to keep me consuming something I am not enjoying, some people like 'em ... even love them. Good taste is the excuse I have used for leading a bad life, but I always have to keep myself open to the possibility that Sully, in his Bruins Jersey, still crying over the loss of Tom Brady, clutching his Sam Adams in one hand and his Bova's cannoli in the other ... knows more about the joy of eating a good pastry than I ever will.
