Spectator Life

Venezuela is a prideful nation. Prideful about what? Is it the inflation or the fact that close to 25 percent of the oil-rich country’s population has fled the place? I know, the pride sounds misplaced. The average American likely thinks about their own southern border, dog-eating and communism when Venezuela is mentioned. Yet Venezuela also has the world’s tallest waterfall (Angel Falls), the most wins in the big four international beauty pageants, stunning white-sand beaches, lots of oil and award-winning rum and cocoa. Still, if there’s anything that makes me want to sing the Venezuelan national anthem, as someone who spent part of his childhood in Caracas, it’s the taste of a chicken, avocado and Gouda-filled arepa.

Over the past two weeks, one of the biggest culture war conversations in America has had absolutely nothing to do with Donald Trump, Joe Biden or the 2024 elections. Instead, it’s centered on, of all things, the WNBA.  The discourse around Caitlin Clark, the Iowa phenom who won rookie of the month in May, has run the gamut of everything wrong with how we argue today — injecting racism, sexism, talk of “pretty privilege” and allegations of “assault” for hard fouls. Most non-sports commentators writing and discussing Clark’s controversial entry into the pros have never had an opinion about basketball until five minutes ago, but no matter — let a thousand takes bloom about a hotshot rookie on a bottom-feeding team.

Strong, old pine tree branches cutting through a cloudless cerulean sky — a sight I find hard to beat. Throwing open the curtains at Pine Cliffs Resort in the Algarve, I wondered why I’d been away from Portugal so long.  Bleary-eyed, I reflexively photographed my first glimpse of the Atlantic from my Junior Ocean Suite’s balcony, seagulls cinematically swooping into the frame. Another vain attempt to capture the colors that always keep me coming back; the pictures somehow never as good as the real thing. I’d posted up from Tokyo gone dinnertime the previous night, just outfoxed by Japan’s famed pink sakura (2024’s late bloom meant I missed them by twenty-four hours). Waking up deathly early, I soaked away grizzly jet lag in my spacious room’s egg-shaped tub.

Setting an early alarm while on vacation never comes easily to me, but making time to wander Babylonstoren’s fruit and vegetable garden before the day’s searing heat took hold was no problem. One of the oldest Cape Dutch farms, set at the foot of Simonsberg in Cape Town’s Franschhoek wine valley, it’s a sprawling, fantastical, technicolor utopia — positively Eden-like, with a lot more than apples to tempt you. Scarecrows made from terracotta plant pots wave from fields teeming with 300 edible crops, fat pomegranates growing alongside tangy tamarillos, willow trees swaying in the breeze.

Earlier this week, the New York Times asked an intriguing and surprisingly overlooked question: why aren’t black students on historically black college campuses protesting against Israel and marching for Palestine? It’s an important query — made all the more urgent by President Biden’s commencement address this coming weekend at Morehouse College in Atlanta, one of the nation’s preeminent historically black colleges and universities.   Considering the seemingly endless ways African Americans have pledged their allegiances to the suffering in Gaza — and Palestinians in general — America’s 107 HBCUs should be exploding with anti-Israel rancor.

World-class golf, more than 300 days of sunshine a year, flavorsome local seafood, excellent wines and more than 1,000 miles of Atlantic Ocean coastline. There are countless reasons to add Portugal to your bucket list, not least that United Airlines has announced direct flights from New York to Faro, starting in 2025. Me, I might have been living in Lisbon on and off for four years, but I’m continually surprised by new discoveries, from quirky bookstore openings in central Lisbon (Salted books, I love you) to secluded coves or gnarly rock formations in the Algarve’s emblematic places such as Praia do Marinha.

Often asked about my favorite places to go, and moreover, favorite places to eat, I find myself talking about Helsinki. Younger and more innovative than trend-driven neighbors Copenhagen and Stockholm, Helsinki’s established and rising culinary stars are making a special kind of magic. It’s something to do with marrying influences from both East and West, and certainly reflective of its natural proximity to both sea and forest. There’s a fresh and hyper-local feel to modern menus in the capital, evocative of the country’s ancient foraging culture and reverence for nature; but there’s far more to it than picking mushrooms and berries. So many natural wine dens, bistros and bakeries are saved in my Instagram, it’s overwhelming.

“Welcome to your thirties,” my friend Rich roared, throwing open the balcony door leading onto our hotel room’s private loggia. The sound of gushing water filled the room as I flopped, exhausted, onto the bed. The Ziller River rushed through the valley below, fast. Verdant hills stretched upwards to create a preposterously bucolic scene, practically begging for your best Julie Andrews impression, arms outstretched. I laid there, and took it in through the window. I pretended I didn’t mind that I was missing the party, Snowbombing Festival raging on in Mayrhofen town. The “Snolympics?” Didn’t sound like much fun. Pond skimming on skis, surely soggy and impractical.

On Monday night, celebrities, designers and the highest edges of New York’s upper crust attended the biggest party of the fashion calendar, the Met Gala. Given its supposed importance, you’d think the looks would always be fantastic; that it would be a night for designers to compete for the best, most creative, most glamorous couture. The reality is a lot more disappointing. There are only ever a few truly standout looks, with most being bland at best — and when designers bother to follow the theme, it’s usually in a painfully uncreative manner. The message of the Met Gala should be that the fashion industry is filled with incredible creative talent. But it usually just tells you that money doesn’t buy taste; nor does being employed by Chanel.

A friend wrote me to ask, “Why is this mess happening on campus?" Here is my response.  Let me offer some thoughts, as a long-time professor, in hopes they spur your own.  Let's begin with something apolitical: young people love expressions of group solidarity. Some protests are like football games, held conveniently in the spring when spirits soar. Let's all join in, especially if it is costless virtue-signaling. And in the absence of any serious punishment, that's what it is.  These demonstrations happen a lot more often when the weather is nice. It's a lot easier to pitch tents on the quadrangle in April or October than in January and February. It’s a lot easier to sit on the Golden Gate Bridge, too.  But why the hatred of Israel and so often of Jews?

A big part of the social contract for a modern society is an agreement that citizens will grant the state a monopoly on the use of legitimate violence in exchange for that state protecting its subjects, including from mobs within the state and other illegal behavior. The expectation is that the rules will be enforced fairly and equally, or the contract loses legitimacy.  The United States has a First Amendment that protects speech to a level that doesn’t exist in other countries, including speech that is openly supportive of terrorism and mass murder. In this regard, the groups organizing campus protests are putting on a fine civics lesson for everyday Americans exhibited by the main groups behind many of the current college protests we are witnessing.

Cockburn wasn’t sure how he would occupy his time after the season finale of The Bachelor aired last month. As it turns out, following daily updates from the pro-Palestinian encampment on the University of California, Los Angeles campus is better than anything on TV. The latest scene — banana warfare —is particularly absurd. The encampment, which began on April 25 with 100 students, has swelled to over 400 protesters. Organized by UC Divest, the activists are demanding that the university system divest from companies associated with the Israeli military, cut ties with Los Angeles Police Department and academically boycott Israeli universities.

During his 2022 Senate campaign, former NFL running back Herschel Walker said he graduated from the University of Georgia with a degree in criminal justice. Like many things said during the campaign, however, this turned out not to be true: Walker had dropped out his junior year to pursue professional football. But now the NFL star is back in class.  Walker first registered for summer classes at UGA last year after losing his Senate race, and according to a recent post on #redcupgeorgia, he’s still hitting the books. A picture from the account shows the sixty-two-year old Senate hopeful turned student sitting in a classroom surrounded by his much younger peers.  https://twitter.com/bluestein/status/1782512683742310550?

New York I’m on Columbia’s campus today. Sorry, I mean, “The People’s University for Palestine.” I graduated from the university in May 2020. My alumni ID allows me access. A couple of days ago, student protesters started occupying the South Lawn, in front of Butler Library. The police force was called in. Some arrests were made. The police were able to clear the eastern half of the lawn, but the western half remains occupied. Students have pitched tents. Hand-painted signs hang from clotheslines that stretch around the lawn. “Welcome to the People’s University for Palestine.” “Free All Palestinian Prisoners. Ceasefire Now.” “While You Read Gaza Bleeds.” “Admitted Students Enroll in Revolution.” Palestine flags and keffiyehs are everywhere.

I live outside Pittsburgh, home to fans who bleed the black and gold of the Steelers, Penguins and Pirates (OK, well maybe not the Pirates, who have been mired in mediocrity for most of the twenty-first century). Surprisingly, though, I’ve discovered the most joy as a sports fan bringing my six-year-old son, Bates, to watch the minor league Wheeling Nailers hockey team play in the barebones, nearly fifty-year-old Wesbanco Arena.  I came late to hockey, having played baseball through two years of college. It wasn’t until my early-thirties that — living in Washington, DC and fueled by the hockey mania that gripped the nation’s capital in the early days of the Alex Ovechkin era — I learned to skate and eventually graduated to beer leagues.

Undoubtedly the best moment in the testimony of Minouche Shafik, the President Columbia University, before the House Committee on Education and the Workforce last week was elicited by Representative Jim Banks. Why, he wanted to know, was the word “folks” spelled “folx” throughout an official guidebook for the School of Social Work? Shafik coyly suggested that perhaps the authors did not know how to spell, which might well be the case. But you cannot watch her squirming response without feeling the hot, sticky, and slightly nauseating air of disingenuousness wash over the proceeding.  “Folx,” as Shafik must be aware, is just the latest instance of weaponized orthography disseminated by the academic left. Think “Latinx” and you are on the right track.

President Joe Biden’s latest reelection campaign ad, Willow’s Box, highlights the story of Amanda Zurawski, a Texas woman whose traumatic pregnancy loss made national news after her hospital neglected to give her the emergency care she needed, resulting in her needing two stays in the intensive care unit. Certainly, Ms. Zurawski’s ordeal presents a harsh reminder of our healthcare system’s serious faults. However, Biden’s ad twists this story to promote a pro-abortion agenda at the expense of important medical and legal facts. In this ad, written commentary appears between video shots of Ms. Zurawski and her husband tearfully displaying the contents of a box of items they bought for their pre-born daughter, Willow. In 2022, Willow tragically passed away when Ms.

“I am enormously sad that we have students who are so rude as to come into my home, in my backyard, and use this social occasion for their political agenda,” said hapless University of California Berkeley Law dean Erwin Chemerinsky. Last week, Chemerinsky and his wife, Berkeley law professor Catherine Fisk, were humiliated at a home dinner they hosted for third-year law students when Malak Afaneh, a Palestinian-American student who is co-president of the Berkeley chapter of Law Students for Justice in Palestine, produced a microphone she had brought with her and launched into a speech protesting the dinner and, apparently, her host.