This month has just felt all wrong. I blame the weather.
We didn't have much of a summer here in Baja Canada. Oh, it got hot a couple of times here and there, but a startling percentage of our photographs since June 1 show people in jackets. Maybe that's fine in places where they're used to it not being summer, like Stockholm or Seattle, but around here that was a bit odd. Wisconsin gets the worst weather in the world. The temperature swing my first year in this state was 142 degrees Fahrenheit from top to bottom, and while we certainly had a fair amount of bottom last winter, there just wasn't a whole lot of top to be had of late.
Now, normally I would like that. I have no real use for hot weather. You can always add clothing, but in these United States there is only so much they let you take off, and even then you are still too hot. So a cool summer is something I look forward to. Something to which I look forward? Whatever.
[Just as an aside, the Microsoft Grammarian What Lives In My Computer is cool with the dangling preposition, but festoons the theoretically correct translation with The Green Wiggly Line Of Disapproval. I'm not a great fan of the MGWLIMC - its default level is set for "Stupid" - but somehow this just tickles me.]
But if the summer is going to be cooler than usual, I think it shows markedly poor taste to have September be hot.
No, no, no.
September is fall. They play football in September. School starts up again. The leaves are supposed to start turning. Teapots are supposed to come out of their long summer storage and once again begin dispensing the nectar of the rather quiet and bookish sorts of gods.
I think the lack of tea has made me grouchy.
It couldn't possibly be anything else. No, just don't go there. Nothing to see there. Move along, that's right. Oh, look! An eagle!
So I'm waiting for the weather to go back to its proper channel so I can have my tea in peace. And I'm sure everyone around me is doing likewise.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Glamour At Home
Lauren has decided that she wants curly hair.
I am not sure why she has made this decision - her hair seems perfectly lovely to me as it is - but apparently she has thought long and hard about it and has made her decision and That, My Friends, Is That.
Bear in mind that she is six. This house is going to be a very interesting place to be in eight or nine years, let me tell you.
You have to hand it to her, though - when she makes a decision like that, she is willing to deal with the consequences of it. And really, what more could a parent ask? It's her hair. As long as she's responsible enough to do what she wants and accept what comes with it, well, there you go.
So she persuaded Kim to get her a set of curlers.
These are not the mil-spec hard plastic combat curlers of yore. No, yer modern curlers, they're made of foam, see, and they come in a pleasing assortment of pastel colors, each color denoting a different size curl. They even have their own clear plastic carrying case, roughly the size of a lunchbox. And that's progress.
The only down side to them is that Mithra eats foam, so Lauren has had to be fairly careful to keep her curlers locked away in their case lest the cat's litterbox become much more visually interesting.
Most of last week Lauren would dutifully pull out her curlers and get Kim to set them up - get her hair wet, curl the hair around them, lock them into place, and so on. And then she would go to sleep with them, which I thought was quite a commitment to the whole thing. I know that would drive me nuts, anyway.
Even Mithra left her alone, which is more than most nights. You know you're onto something when even the cat respects your space.
But in the mornings Lauren would take out her curlers and there it was - the hair of her dreams.
I am not sure why she has made this decision - her hair seems perfectly lovely to me as it is - but apparently she has thought long and hard about it and has made her decision and That, My Friends, Is That.
Bear in mind that she is six. This house is going to be a very interesting place to be in eight or nine years, let me tell you.
You have to hand it to her, though - when she makes a decision like that, she is willing to deal with the consequences of it. And really, what more could a parent ask? It's her hair. As long as she's responsible enough to do what she wants and accept what comes with it, well, there you go.
So she persuaded Kim to get her a set of curlers.
These are not the mil-spec hard plastic combat curlers of yore. No, yer modern curlers, they're made of foam, see, and they come in a pleasing assortment of pastel colors, each color denoting a different size curl. They even have their own clear plastic carrying case, roughly the size of a lunchbox. And that's progress.
The only down side to them is that Mithra eats foam, so Lauren has had to be fairly careful to keep her curlers locked away in their case lest the cat's litterbox become much more visually interesting.
Most of last week Lauren would dutifully pull out her curlers and get Kim to set them up - get her hair wet, curl the hair around them, lock them into place, and so on. And then she would go to sleep with them, which I thought was quite a commitment to the whole thing. I know that would drive me nuts, anyway.
Even Mithra left her alone, which is more than most nights. You know you're onto something when even the cat respects your space.
But in the mornings Lauren would take out her curlers and there it was - the hair of her dreams.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
A Stray Thought
Today at the grocery store I found myself walking behind a man who stood at least seven feet tall and was dressed entirely in camouflage, and I thought to myself, "Dude - it's not working."
Thursday, September 17, 2009
The Call Goes Out Once More
And so it starts again.
Last year I was prevailed upon by forces beyond my control (i.e. Kim) to take part in the local YWCA's annual "Walk a Mile In Her Shoes" event, which - for those of you who missed last year's report and photographs - is a fundraiser designed to help out programs that seek to cut down on or respond to domestic violence.
Why, yes, my PhD is in 18th-century politics and, yes, I had to read a lot of the literature from the day - literature where the sentence-to-page ratio was roughly even. Why do you ask?
This year's event is next Friday, and once again I will be donning a pair of military-spec combat high heels (in stylish black) and careening helplessly through town at a 30-degree angle for a good cause. There will be a crowd of other men similarly attired, though some will no doubt take it further than my poor tired eyes should have to see. I will not be in drag, as there is not enough whiskey in the barrel for that, but some folks just have to go all out and more power to 'em. There will be pictures, yes there will, and I'll post them here.
But you know, folks. This IS a fundraiser. Funds would therefore be appreciated! You - yes, YOU! - should donate to this good cause. Because it will increase your karma. Because it is the right thing to do. Because there is a special place in hell for people who commit acts of domestic violence and their victims need to be kept safe.
And because you know you just want to see me all stylin' and that.
If you are willing to donate, please let me know in the comments section and I will get you the information on how to do that.
Last year I was prevailed upon by forces beyond my control (i.e. Kim) to take part in the local YWCA's annual "Walk a Mile In Her Shoes" event, which - for those of you who missed last year's report and photographs - is a fundraiser designed to help out programs that seek to cut down on or respond to domestic violence.
Why, yes, my PhD is in 18th-century politics and, yes, I had to read a lot of the literature from the day - literature where the sentence-to-page ratio was roughly even. Why do you ask?
This year's event is next Friday, and once again I will be donning a pair of military-spec combat high heels (in stylish black) and careening helplessly through town at a 30-degree angle for a good cause. There will be a crowd of other men similarly attired, though some will no doubt take it further than my poor tired eyes should have to see. I will not be in drag, as there is not enough whiskey in the barrel for that, but some folks just have to go all out and more power to 'em. There will be pictures, yes there will, and I'll post them here.
But you know, folks. This IS a fundraiser. Funds would therefore be appreciated! You - yes, YOU! - should donate to this good cause. Because it will increase your karma. Because it is the right thing to do. Because there is a special place in hell for people who commit acts of domestic violence and their victims need to be kept safe.
And because you know you just want to see me all stylin' and that.
If you are willing to donate, please let me know in the comments section and I will get you the information on how to do that.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Proud and Prejudiced
I finished Pride and Prejudice today, and not a moment too soon. I tried to keep an open mind about it all, and I suppose I can see why other people would like this book. But for me, well, I think I will leave it to them.
I think the main problem I had in reading it was that it was so artificial, in both the modern and 19th-century senses of that term.
Today when people use the word "artificial" they usually mean "fake," often with connotations of being inferior to the real thing, whatever that might be, though I'm not sure why this needs to be so. There is artificial flavoring, which is theoretically not as good as natural flavor, though I have always felt that if you just took it on its own merits instead of comparing the artificial to the natural you'd enjoy both. I like powdered iced tea, for example, even though its resemblance to actual iced tea is purely notional. There is also artificial outrage, which we see a lot these days on Fox News. I'm not sure why this is inferior to real outrage, other than the sheer fact of its being cynically manufactured and produced by people who are just seeking a political edge and don't really care about the specifics at hand. A little cynicism beats genuine revolution in the streets most days. It's amusing in an odd sort of way, especially if you know where to watch the strings being pulled. And on and on.
There is a lot of fakery in Pride and Prejudice.
It is fakery drawn to an art form, a phoniness that speaks volumes about what is not being said or thought or done. Nobody in this book really ever comes out and is who they are in any meaningful way, which is probably one of the main points of the book - that this is what such people are reduced to being, and that under such constraints do these people operate. I understand that and I can respect it - and as a historian I can put it into its larger context - but slogging through 367 pages of it is like chewing on plywood. Great fiber. Not so much taste.
There is nothing intrinsically wrong with keeping to conventions or moving along with society. Certainly there are few things so tiresome as someone who insists on being "frank" with you all the time. Truth and honesty are often overrated that way, and there are just some things I really don't need to know about people.
But one of the things I most respect and admire in others is the ability to be who they are. I like people who accept their nature and work with it and expect you to do so as well, people who are not constantly trying to be something they are not. It was one of the qualities that most attracted me to Kim when we first started dating, and it is something I look for in friends.
I can even respect this quality in people who, objectively, really ought to be doing something to change. Call it a personal quirk, I guess. One of my favorite characters in literature is the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, who is a Machiavellian tyrant and is perfectly comfortable with that description. He is who he is.
Like everything else, it can be taken too far - the Romantic notion of being true to oneself and damn the consequences being one of the more ridiculous notions foisted off on the general psyche in the last few centuries. Other people have the right to be who they are as well, for one thing, and the general angst and whining about oppressive society that comes out of this starting position gets old fast. But I do like people who recognize who they are and go about their lives that way.
I think that is why I liked Mr. Bennett, of all the characters. He seems to grasp who he is better than the other characters do, and he is not inclined to allow the world to take that away from him. Plus, as the only male in a house full of women, I did have a certain sympathy for his position.
More importantly, though, the book is artificial in the old-fashioned, more literal sense of being "full of artifice." It's clever - achingly so. On every page and with every paragraph, you can hear the author's voice working through dizzying feats of language, gently turning words and phrases into a coherent world. This is a skill, particularly in a novel where nothing much happens. People are introduced. Misunderstandings occur. Couples fall in love, break up and get back together without really moving in any physical way other than to change drawing rooms. It's all dialogue, most of it telling rather than showing. And all the pieces fall into place by the last page, though whether this is a happy ending I am still not sure.
I can respect this book. But I can't really say I liked it. Oh well. I tried, I really did.
Bring on the zombies.
I think the main problem I had in reading it was that it was so artificial, in both the modern and 19th-century senses of that term.
Today when people use the word "artificial" they usually mean "fake," often with connotations of being inferior to the real thing, whatever that might be, though I'm not sure why this needs to be so. There is artificial flavoring, which is theoretically not as good as natural flavor, though I have always felt that if you just took it on its own merits instead of comparing the artificial to the natural you'd enjoy both. I like powdered iced tea, for example, even though its resemblance to actual iced tea is purely notional. There is also artificial outrage, which we see a lot these days on Fox News. I'm not sure why this is inferior to real outrage, other than the sheer fact of its being cynically manufactured and produced by people who are just seeking a political edge and don't really care about the specifics at hand. A little cynicism beats genuine revolution in the streets most days. It's amusing in an odd sort of way, especially if you know where to watch the strings being pulled. And on and on.
There is a lot of fakery in Pride and Prejudice.
It is fakery drawn to an art form, a phoniness that speaks volumes about what is not being said or thought or done. Nobody in this book really ever comes out and is who they are in any meaningful way, which is probably one of the main points of the book - that this is what such people are reduced to being, and that under such constraints do these people operate. I understand that and I can respect it - and as a historian I can put it into its larger context - but slogging through 367 pages of it is like chewing on plywood. Great fiber. Not so much taste.
There is nothing intrinsically wrong with keeping to conventions or moving along with society. Certainly there are few things so tiresome as someone who insists on being "frank" with you all the time. Truth and honesty are often overrated that way, and there are just some things I really don't need to know about people.
But one of the things I most respect and admire in others is the ability to be who they are. I like people who accept their nature and work with it and expect you to do so as well, people who are not constantly trying to be something they are not. It was one of the qualities that most attracted me to Kim when we first started dating, and it is something I look for in friends.
I can even respect this quality in people who, objectively, really ought to be doing something to change. Call it a personal quirk, I guess. One of my favorite characters in literature is the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, who is a Machiavellian tyrant and is perfectly comfortable with that description. He is who he is.
Like everything else, it can be taken too far - the Romantic notion of being true to oneself and damn the consequences being one of the more ridiculous notions foisted off on the general psyche in the last few centuries. Other people have the right to be who they are as well, for one thing, and the general angst and whining about oppressive society that comes out of this starting position gets old fast. But I do like people who recognize who they are and go about their lives that way.
I think that is why I liked Mr. Bennett, of all the characters. He seems to grasp who he is better than the other characters do, and he is not inclined to allow the world to take that away from him. Plus, as the only male in a house full of women, I did have a certain sympathy for his position.
More importantly, though, the book is artificial in the old-fashioned, more literal sense of being "full of artifice." It's clever - achingly so. On every page and with every paragraph, you can hear the author's voice working through dizzying feats of language, gently turning words and phrases into a coherent world. This is a skill, particularly in a novel where nothing much happens. People are introduced. Misunderstandings occur. Couples fall in love, break up and get back together without really moving in any physical way other than to change drawing rooms. It's all dialogue, most of it telling rather than showing. And all the pieces fall into place by the last page, though whether this is a happy ending I am still not sure.
I can respect this book. But I can't really say I liked it. Oh well. I tried, I really did.
Bring on the zombies.
Monday, September 14, 2009
News and Updates
1. I took four Australians to a Mexican restaurant last Tuesday night. It went surprisingly well.
2. After nearly fourteen years, we have finally finished the canister of Creole seasoning that we bought on our honeymoon in New Orleans. Apparently we’re not as culinarily adventurous as we thought we were.
3. I spent a good portion of Thursday night in my hotel room collating conference swag while listening to a repeat of Obama’s health care address, because that is just the kind of wild man I am when left on my own in a new city. Two thoughts – first, it sounded eminently reasonable and I continue to find it incomprehensible that people are opposed to reforming one of the most sclerotic health care systems on earth. We’re number 37! Rah, team! And second, it’s nice to see that the Republican Party is continuing its plunge off the Crazy Cliff with flags flying and mouths agape. Go get ‘em, Rep. Joe Wilson! Thank you for getting that kind of cockroachery out into the open, where it can be seen for what it is.
4. Now that it is mid-September, the weather gods have finally decided to allow us to have a summer. It’s been in the 80s for the last few days, and it looks to stay there for a while. Where was this in June? Or July? Or even August?
5. Hammy and Vee have left our house to spend some time at Gracie’s, as part of the “rotating hamster” program that Kim has instigated. This way the girls don’t grow too tired of them. Eventually they will return and be Fresh And New all over again.
That is all.
2. After nearly fourteen years, we have finally finished the canister of Creole seasoning that we bought on our honeymoon in New Orleans. Apparently we’re not as culinarily adventurous as we thought we were.
3. I spent a good portion of Thursday night in my hotel room collating conference swag while listening to a repeat of Obama’s health care address, because that is just the kind of wild man I am when left on my own in a new city. Two thoughts – first, it sounded eminently reasonable and I continue to find it incomprehensible that people are opposed to reforming one of the most sclerotic health care systems on earth. We’re number 37! Rah, team! And second, it’s nice to see that the Republican Party is continuing its plunge off the Crazy Cliff with flags flying and mouths agape. Go get ‘em, Rep. Joe Wilson! Thank you for getting that kind of cockroachery out into the open, where it can be seen for what it is.
4. Now that it is mid-September, the weather gods have finally decided to allow us to have a summer. It’s been in the 80s for the last few days, and it looks to stay there for a while. Where was this in June? Or July? Or even August?
5. Hammy and Vee have left our house to spend some time at Gracie’s, as part of the “rotating hamster” program that Kim has instigated. This way the girls don’t grow too tired of them. Eventually they will return and be Fresh And New all over again.
That is all.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
A-Conferencing I Will Go
St. Paul is a tough place to find ibuprofen at 4am.
I spent most of last week at the Midwest Arts Conference, which is held every year for the express purpose of weighing people down with swag. Hundreds of performing artists of more varieties than you ever thought possible gather in one place and try to persuade even more hundreds of people representing venues that they should hire them. It's fun, if overwhelming.
I drove up on Wednesday after class, found my hotel, and spent the evening plotting out my course of events for the upcoming conference. Because I am an expert plotter. Ask anyone. I can plot with the best of them. Sometimes, just to show off, I do it one-handed.
Actually, I spent most of the next two days on the floor of the convention, methodically working my way through nearly three hundred booths full of fliers, CDs, DVDs, and occasionally even live performers. I spoke with quite a number of people, most of whom I would very much like to hire except for the fact that we have a fairly small budget for this sort of thing at Home Campus, an even smaller (though nice) venue for such performers, and, unfortunately, often even smaller crowds who show up.
But I can dream.
And when I'm not dreaming, at least I can talk to them and find out what they do. There were a couple of performers who spent a lot of time with me knowing full well they were too expensive for me to hire but who wanted to tell me about their acts anyway just because they wanted me to know. It's always refreshing to meet people who really love what they do, mostly because it is so uncommon.
All of the booths are willing, even eager, to pile things into your hands. Every evening I would stagger back to my hotel room, unload my bag and spend the better part of several hours trying to organize it all into binders - otherwise it all gets completely windblown and I end up staring at the forms trying to remember what went with what. I now have two 3" binders completely overstuffed with information and electronic media, and at least that much material still to collate. I don't know if anyone other than me will ever look at it - the committee I report to has yet to form, let alone meet, this semester - but I now know more about the performing arts scene in the upper midwest than I ever thought I would.
And let me tell you, there are a lot of people on this planet with just mind-boggling levels of talent.
The really fun part of this convention are the showcases, where individual acts put on 12-minute selections from their shows so you can be wowed and want to hire them. I was wowed.
Friday night's early showcases were at the Fitzgerald Theater in downtown St. Paul, and it took all my mental strength not to translate everything into Garrison Keillor's voice. I can see why he likes that place. I went to see the first act (at 3:50) and the last one (scheduled for 6:45), but I ended up staying through it all anyway. Both of my acts were great - the science/comedy guy was especially good, and I will exert all my influence over my committee to get them to agree to him - and the ones in the middle? Made of pure awesome, some of them.
I was especially wowed by a pianist who did George Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue." That is something that should be on everyone's Life List - to hear that song done live by someone who really knows what they're doing. Check that one off, I guess.
The jazz of the 1920s and 1930s seems to be especially popular these days, actually. There were quite a number of performers pushing that kind of music, which was just fine by me. It was good music then, and it has held up remarkably well.
I went to any number of other showcases all over downtown St. Paul that night - a couple of music groups represented by someone I ended up sitting next to at lunch that day and striking up a pleasant conversation with, an acapella group that was clearly out of my price range but came so highly recommended I had to see them (yes, they lived up to billing), a one-man show about Einstein that was played to a one-man audience of me, a duo of folk musicians who had to fight to be heard above the high-powered gypsy band just across the thin room divider on the other side of the hotel conference room - it was quite a night.
Which may be why I woke up at 3am to discover that garden gnomes were pounding railroad spikes into my temples and all my drugs were back home. The hotel clerk sadly informed me that there were no anti-gnome pills to be had at the hotel, and pointed me toward the all-night supermarket a highway away. Eventually I dragged my carcass over there and bought enough drugs to wipe out the entire gnome species and all of their closest relatives. There is no point being subtle with spike-wielding gnomes.
I came home on Saturday, and spent most of this weekend in a catatonic haze. The girls had two different sleep-overs (three if you count the one Tabitha had to beg out of) and were gone most of the weekend as well. The cats looked at me with blank incomprehension, which was comfortingly familiar. I understand that the football season has begun, which cannot be right as they are still playing baseball and there is as yet no hockey and somebody must look into this. And tomorrow life starts up all over again, bright and early.
Show time.
I spent most of last week at the Midwest Arts Conference, which is held every year for the express purpose of weighing people down with swag. Hundreds of performing artists of more varieties than you ever thought possible gather in one place and try to persuade even more hundreds of people representing venues that they should hire them. It's fun, if overwhelming.
I drove up on Wednesday after class, found my hotel, and spent the evening plotting out my course of events for the upcoming conference. Because I am an expert plotter. Ask anyone. I can plot with the best of them. Sometimes, just to show off, I do it one-handed.
Actually, I spent most of the next two days on the floor of the convention, methodically working my way through nearly three hundred booths full of fliers, CDs, DVDs, and occasionally even live performers. I spoke with quite a number of people, most of whom I would very much like to hire except for the fact that we have a fairly small budget for this sort of thing at Home Campus, an even smaller (though nice) venue for such performers, and, unfortunately, often even smaller crowds who show up.
But I can dream.
And when I'm not dreaming, at least I can talk to them and find out what they do. There were a couple of performers who spent a lot of time with me knowing full well they were too expensive for me to hire but who wanted to tell me about their acts anyway just because they wanted me to know. It's always refreshing to meet people who really love what they do, mostly because it is so uncommon.
All of the booths are willing, even eager, to pile things into your hands. Every evening I would stagger back to my hotel room, unload my bag and spend the better part of several hours trying to organize it all into binders - otherwise it all gets completely windblown and I end up staring at the forms trying to remember what went with what. I now have two 3" binders completely overstuffed with information and electronic media, and at least that much material still to collate. I don't know if anyone other than me will ever look at it - the committee I report to has yet to form, let alone meet, this semester - but I now know more about the performing arts scene in the upper midwest than I ever thought I would.
And let me tell you, there are a lot of people on this planet with just mind-boggling levels of talent.
The really fun part of this convention are the showcases, where individual acts put on 12-minute selections from their shows so you can be wowed and want to hire them. I was wowed.
Friday night's early showcases were at the Fitzgerald Theater in downtown St. Paul, and it took all my mental strength not to translate everything into Garrison Keillor's voice. I can see why he likes that place. I went to see the first act (at 3:50) and the last one (scheduled for 6:45), but I ended up staying through it all anyway. Both of my acts were great - the science/comedy guy was especially good, and I will exert all my influence over my committee to get them to agree to him - and the ones in the middle? Made of pure awesome, some of them.
I was especially wowed by a pianist who did George Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue." That is something that should be on everyone's Life List - to hear that song done live by someone who really knows what they're doing. Check that one off, I guess.
The jazz of the 1920s and 1930s seems to be especially popular these days, actually. There were quite a number of performers pushing that kind of music, which was just fine by me. It was good music then, and it has held up remarkably well.
I went to any number of other showcases all over downtown St. Paul that night - a couple of music groups represented by someone I ended up sitting next to at lunch that day and striking up a pleasant conversation with, an acapella group that was clearly out of my price range but came so highly recommended I had to see them (yes, they lived up to billing), a one-man show about Einstein that was played to a one-man audience of me, a duo of folk musicians who had to fight to be heard above the high-powered gypsy band just across the thin room divider on the other side of the hotel conference room - it was quite a night.
Which may be why I woke up at 3am to discover that garden gnomes were pounding railroad spikes into my temples and all my drugs were back home. The hotel clerk sadly informed me that there were no anti-gnome pills to be had at the hotel, and pointed me toward the all-night supermarket a highway away. Eventually I dragged my carcass over there and bought enough drugs to wipe out the entire gnome species and all of their closest relatives. There is no point being subtle with spike-wielding gnomes.
I came home on Saturday, and spent most of this weekend in a catatonic haze. The girls had two different sleep-overs (three if you count the one Tabitha had to beg out of) and were gone most of the weekend as well. The cats looked at me with blank incomprehension, which was comfortingly familiar. I understand that the football season has begun, which cannot be right as they are still playing baseball and there is as yet no hockey and somebody must look into this. And tomorrow life starts up all over again, bright and early.
Show time.
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