Arthur has spent two mornings at the hospital with difficulties urinating and using the litterbox. The vet decided today that he's got a urinary tract infection, has given him antibiotics, and he's probably on the road to recovery. So 48 hours of great stress was relieved.
The long weeks of overwork, worry about the kitties, difficulty with instructing Arthur on the finer points of eating, drinking water, using the box, and so forth, have finally come to an end. The end of the semester just 6 weeks away, there's time for a breath.
Except this:
Dear Tenant(s) in Possession:
NOTICE IS HEREBY GIVEN that you must remove yourself from and deliver up possession, occupancy and use of the premises described above... on or before May 19, 2008.
In fact, we received 2 notices today, one regarding the garage, the other regarding the driveway and common areas of the complex. I have no doubt the third will be in the mail on Monday, for the unit itself.
By the way, California's department of consumer affairs web site refers to 30-day notices for termination of month-to-month tenancy, not year-long leases. Termination notice does not have to specify a cause, and no violation of the lease by us is necessarily implied. But we're going to have to say why we're moving on our next lease applications.
And here's a charming fact: if you challenge an eviction and lose, in California, your social security number is entered in a database, called the blacklist, and any prospective landlord will consult this database in deciding whether to rent to you.
Also: We haven't violated the lease. We haven't paid rent late. We haven't violated complex rules.
And also: Most folks across the States assume the California is a liberal and enlightened state on all manner of issues - drug law, provision of social services, educational spending, consumer protection, etc. IT'S A LIE. California has one of the least helpful tenant laws on the books.
More later, without doubt. This fucking sucks.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
notes for a contribution to a campus dialogue
I'm about to head out for a 90-minute campus dialogue event, sponsored by the associated students and some other groups. I was invited to be a faculty panelist. The title is (I swear I am not making this up) "Generation Myspace: Does it give a damn?" My instructions were to come up with presentations of my opinions on the following questions, and to make them brief, memorable, and vivid. I took a look at the questions after the academic senate meeting, which was probably a mistake, since those meetings (especially yesterday's; more on this probably later) tend to bring out my earnest side. There's far too little facetiousness in these responses, so I'll have to gum things up some other way. Students are also on the panel, which is why the questions seem targeted at student life rather than faculty life.
How do social networking sites (Facebook, MySpace) keep you connected to the world? Are they just games or is there some serious social value to them?
My early involvement in the web was decidedly for the sake of direct communication with particular people – students in my class. Then I used it for self-publishing silly stuff.
Now I’ve got a weblog that I use not as a weblog at all, but as a publicly kept personal journal, because, likely, of some combination of mental illnesses and neuroses.
In your opinion, are student well-informed about the world around them today? Why or why not? What issues push your buttons? How do you find out about them?
Is it a good thing to be well-informed? If well-informed means being a consumer of news, then I would be rather worried if a the majority of my students were. Thankfully, it seems that most of my students are not consumers of news in any large capacity. However, they do eat too much sugar.
I was unsurprised to find that a minority of my students had heard about the proposed CA budget and $386 million cut to the CSU budget, along with 10% student fee increase, for 08-09. I was unsurprised to find that a tiny minority of my students report hearing about the situation from other faculty.
What does the up-coming election and all the primary election activity mean to you? Does your vote really make a difference or mean anything?
If voting were the only or the most significant part of political participation, we would all be doomed. We might be anyway, but voting is quite literally the absolute least any of us can do. The winner of the presidential election will be the candidate with the better hair.
What life skills are the most important for you to cultivate? Why those skills? Are those skills you need to go to college to learn?
Know how to grow vegetables. Also, it is profoundly life-altering to learn how to make soup stock out of kitchen scraps, chicken or fish carcasses, beef bones, etc. I mean this in all seriousness: the life-skills that are most important to cultivate are those that allow you to act independently, autonomously, creatively, self-determinedly, and outside the realm of bureaucratic, commercial, governmental, or other hegemonic control. Growing and cooking your own food can be as much an act of political and social resistance to oppression as making public speeches or demonstrating at protests.
The reason for any of this kind of activity is, ultimately, to preserve what freedom you’ve still got, to extend that freedom as much as you can, and to create ways to promote social justice and the common good.
If you could have your degree right now and NOT learn anything, would you take it? Why or why not? What’s the worth of a degree from the CSU?
I’m not a fan of degrees. If we’re in the degree business, then we’re competing in a market that rewards cost efficiency by both the institution and the students: the ideal is to obtain the best-reputed degree at least cost and least outlay of resources (including labor). On the institutional side, this encourages some of the worst practices in academia: faculty contingency, increasing class sizes, eliminating or limiting direct student-faculty contact by way of exploitation of electronic “course delivery,” unbundling of faculty labor (dividing up teaching from research and service). On the student side, it encourages a kind of bargaining or negotiating mentality, a gamesmanship, where the goal is to work out the simplest possible path to the degree. It discourages those things faculty do best and (IMHO) students could most benefit from: the time-consuming, interactively intensive, often exhausting effort to learn, that is, to articulate experience, the world, the social and historical situation, and to draw reasoned conclusions about all of this, relying on one’s own and one another’s imagination, memory, intellect, intuition, and passion. You know: education.
How do social networking sites (Facebook, MySpace) keep you connected to the world? Are they just games or is there some serious social value to them?
My early involvement in the web was decidedly for the sake of direct communication with particular people – students in my class. Then I used it for self-publishing silly stuff.
Now I’ve got a weblog that I use not as a weblog at all, but as a publicly kept personal journal, because, likely, of some combination of mental illnesses and neuroses.
In your opinion, are student well-informed about the world around them today? Why or why not? What issues push your buttons? How do you find out about them?
Is it a good thing to be well-informed? If well-informed means being a consumer of news, then I would be rather worried if a the majority of my students were. Thankfully, it seems that most of my students are not consumers of news in any large capacity. However, they do eat too much sugar.
I was unsurprised to find that a minority of my students had heard about the proposed CA budget and $386 million cut to the CSU budget, along with 10% student fee increase, for 08-09. I was unsurprised to find that a tiny minority of my students report hearing about the situation from other faculty.
What does the up-coming election and all the primary election activity mean to you? Does your vote really make a difference or mean anything?
If voting were the only or the most significant part of political participation, we would all be doomed. We might be anyway, but voting is quite literally the absolute least any of us can do. The winner of the presidential election will be the candidate with the better hair.
What life skills are the most important for you to cultivate? Why those skills? Are those skills you need to go to college to learn?
Know how to grow vegetables. Also, it is profoundly life-altering to learn how to make soup stock out of kitchen scraps, chicken or fish carcasses, beef bones, etc. I mean this in all seriousness: the life-skills that are most important to cultivate are those that allow you to act independently, autonomously, creatively, self-determinedly, and outside the realm of bureaucratic, commercial, governmental, or other hegemonic control. Growing and cooking your own food can be as much an act of political and social resistance to oppression as making public speeches or demonstrating at protests.
The reason for any of this kind of activity is, ultimately, to preserve what freedom you’ve still got, to extend that freedom as much as you can, and to create ways to promote social justice and the common good.
If you could have your degree right now and NOT learn anything, would you take it? Why or why not? What’s the worth of a degree from the CSU?
I’m not a fan of degrees. If we’re in the degree business, then we’re competing in a market that rewards cost efficiency by both the institution and the students: the ideal is to obtain the best-reputed degree at least cost and least outlay of resources (including labor). On the institutional side, this encourages some of the worst practices in academia: faculty contingency, increasing class sizes, eliminating or limiting direct student-faculty contact by way of exploitation of electronic “course delivery,” unbundling of faculty labor (dividing up teaching from research and service). On the student side, it encourages a kind of bargaining or negotiating mentality, a gamesmanship, where the goal is to work out the simplest possible path to the degree. It discourages those things faculty do best and (IMHO) students could most benefit from: the time-consuming, interactively intensive, often exhausting effort to learn, that is, to articulate experience, the world, the social and historical situation, and to draw reasoned conclusions about all of this, relying on one’s own and one another’s imagination, memory, intellect, intuition, and passion. You know: education.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
caution: this could be very bad for your eyes
Colorless green ideas may sleep furiously (we may never know), but littermate tabby kittens sleep adorably. What you don't even see here are the variations on these poses, some of which are even cuter than these dangerously cute pictures (as always, I'm concerned about liability): Arthur sleeping lying across Alexander's middle, so that Alex's side looks like Arthur has grown a strange, bushy, gray and black striped beard; Alexander and Arthur sleeping tail-to-head like a ying-yang symbol; the two of them in the wicker basket in the kitchen where we keep extra placemats and napkins.
We keep nearly missing videorecording them playing in probably illegally cute ways, like playing swats through the open toe and heel parts of a sandal; or the sudden random leaps up to the second stair, followed by limboing under the stair railing and walking up the flat incline on the side of the steps, while playing swats through the railing bars.
In other news, I'm busy as hell, and the economy is going foom. Bon appetit!
We keep nearly missing videorecording them playing in probably illegally cute ways, like playing swats through the open toe and heel parts of a sandal; or the sudden random leaps up to the second stair, followed by limboing under the stair railing and walking up the flat incline on the side of the steps, while playing swats through the railing bars.
In other news, I'm busy as hell, and the economy is going foom. Bon appetit!
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
starting tonight
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
29. NHL playoffs. I just love 'em.
Our beloved Pittsburgh Penguins begin the playoffs tonight in a re-match against the Ottawa Senators, who eliminated the Pens last year in 5 games. But that was last year. Both teams look and act a little different this year.
Actually, I both love and hate the playoffs. Hockey is a beautiful and brutal sport, and individual games, individual players, and individual plays can reflect either or both of those qualities. During the regular season, referees call penalties more carefully, but in the playoffs the mentality is to "let them play" (which has always struck me as idiotic, but that's another story). In any case, the effect of all this is that regular season games have more room for beautiful play, and the playoffs almost always immediately devolve into a cruel war of attrition. Nothing pretty happens. On the other hand, they reach a level of intensity that's just incredible. You can actually see the difference even on TV.
I realize this is the fourth-ish hockey-related Thing in a row. That's because other than kittens, kittens, classes, kittens, budget cuts, kittens, committee meetings, kittens, kittens, campus events, and kittens, life lately has had one main pre-occupation:kittens hockey kittens.
29. NHL playoffs. I just love 'em.
Our beloved Pittsburgh Penguins begin the playoffs tonight in a re-match against the Ottawa Senators, who eliminated the Pens last year in 5 games. But that was last year. Both teams look and act a little different this year.
Actually, I both love and hate the playoffs. Hockey is a beautiful and brutal sport, and individual games, individual players, and individual plays can reflect either or both of those qualities. During the regular season, referees call penalties more carefully, but in the playoffs the mentality is to "let them play" (which has always struck me as idiotic, but that's another story). In any case, the effect of all this is that regular season games have more room for beautiful play, and the playoffs almost always immediately devolve into a cruel war of attrition. Nothing pretty happens. On the other hand, they reach a level of intensity that's just incredible. You can actually see the difference even on TV.
I realize this is the fourth-ish hockey-related Thing in a row. That's because other than kittens, kittens, classes, kittens, budget cuts, kittens, committee meetings, kittens, kittens, campus events, and kittens, life lately has had one main pre-occupation:
Thursday, April 03, 2008
update
The kittens now have names. They've also had their first vet visit.
The silver tabby is now officially Alexander (for Alexander the Great). The orange tabby is now Arthur (for King Arthur, Arthur Dent, and Arthur Pewtie). Alexander weighs 1.07 pounds, Arthur 1.01 pounds.
A quick peak into some of the action:
Arthur in deep thought, contemplating his next move.
Arthur and Alexander investigating the sliding door, with special attention to the track.
Establishing dominance over the fuzzy streamer toy. (Alexander made the revolutionary discovery that it's the stick that really runs the thing. If you dominate the stick, you dominate the streamer. Unless it's wrapped around your head. That's just confusing.)
Alexander exhausted from all the activity.
The silver tabby is now officially Alexander (for Alexander the Great). The orange tabby is now Arthur (for King Arthur, Arthur Dent, and Arthur Pewtie). Alexander weighs 1.07 pounds, Arthur 1.01 pounds.
A quick peak into some of the action:
Arthur and Alexander investigating the sliding door, with special attention to the track.
Establishing dominance over the fuzzy streamer toy. (Alexander made the revolutionary discovery that it's the stick that really runs the thing. If you dominate the stick, you dominate the streamer. Unless it's wrapped around your head. That's just confusing.)
Alexander exhausted from all the activity.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Saturday, March 29, 2008
where are our kittens?
We've spent hours and hours since Wednesday afternoon trying to find kittens to adopt, exhausting almost all options. It's frustrating, but more than that it's becoming very upsetting to me.
I feel like adopting kittens is the last thing we can and should do for getting through Lancelot's terrible death. The adoption is inextricably connected in my mind with Lancelot's end. We're adopting kittens because Lancelot isn't with us any more. If he were, we wouldn't be thinking of it. For two months now, there's been a very obvious and definite hole in our lives and in our place, and it has never stopped hurting. I will always be hurt by the loss of that incredibly excellent cat, but it is time for there to be cats again.
It would be easier if we weren't in the kitten market. There are adult cats to be adopted probably everyplace in the US. We want kittens because we want to raise them to be used to things like having their claws trimmed and being brushed. And, well, you've seen kittens. What's better than a kitten?
I feel like adopting kittens is the last thing we can and should do for getting through Lancelot's terrible death. The adoption is inextricably connected in my mind with Lancelot's end. We're adopting kittens because Lancelot isn't with us any more. If he were, we wouldn't be thinking of it. For two months now, there's been a very obvious and definite hole in our lives and in our place, and it has never stopped hurting. I will always be hurt by the loss of that incredibly excellent cat, but it is time for there to be cats again.
It would be easier if we weren't in the kitten market. There are adult cats to be adopted probably everyplace in the US. We want kittens because we want to raise them to be used to things like having their claws trimmed and being brushed. And, well, you've seen kittens. What's better than a kitten?
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
spring breaking
The plan was, we'd drive down to LA on Friday, spend Easter weekend and a couple days down there, and bring back up with us Pico de Gato, the cat that showed up at our place late last summer, when Lancelot was still alive and kicking and his heart was still beating with hate for other cats. It wasn't tenable to keep Pico then, so we had him, in the euphemism, fixed, and brought him down to LA to Lauren's mom's place to live with (at current count) 5 cats and 5 dogs.
Last night, the plan changed.
I had misgivings all along, because I thought that Pico would have learned habits that I'd want him to unlearn, and that would be difficult: hanging around on countertops, tabletops, high shelves, and so forth; going in and out at will; pouncing on random four-legged passersby. I didn't realize until last night that Lauren's misgivings were as serious as they were: she wasn't sure she could have Pico around and not feel some reserved guilt about Lancelot.
So we remain, for the moment, catless. The plan now is to adopt two kittens, raise them from kittenhood, give them their human names, teach them the ways of the world, love the tar out of them, etc. After driving up from LA today, we tried to find kittens at the Stanislaus County animal shelter (a fairly miserable place, but they're better than they were a couple years ago) and a pet store in Turlock that used to have kittens for adoption. No dice, or in any case, no kittens. Just a lot of sad cat faces in cages in a smelly room in Modesto.
(For the record, I hate animal shelters. I can't stand being near them, let alone in them. To me they represent the worst of human behavior - our fantastic capacities to regard life as cheap; to disregard other beings, and especially their suffering; to hide, discard, deny, and ultimately dispose of the evidence of our worst failings; and to treat the world and everything in it as here for our momentary pleasure and consumption with no thought of the consequences.)
Last night, the plan changed.
I had misgivings all along, because I thought that Pico would have learned habits that I'd want him to unlearn, and that would be difficult: hanging around on countertops, tabletops, high shelves, and so forth; going in and out at will; pouncing on random four-legged passersby. I didn't realize until last night that Lauren's misgivings were as serious as they were: she wasn't sure she could have Pico around and not feel some reserved guilt about Lancelot.
So we remain, for the moment, catless. The plan now is to adopt two kittens, raise them from kittenhood, give them their human names, teach them the ways of the world, love the tar out of them, etc. After driving up from LA today, we tried to find kittens at the Stanislaus County animal shelter (a fairly miserable place, but they're better than they were a couple years ago) and a pet store in Turlock that used to have kittens for adoption. No dice, or in any case, no kittens. Just a lot of sad cat faces in cages in a smelly room in Modesto.
(For the record, I hate animal shelters. I can't stand being near them, let alone in them. To me they represent the worst of human behavior - our fantastic capacities to regard life as cheap; to disregard other beings, and especially their suffering; to hide, discard, deny, and ultimately dispose of the evidence of our worst failings; and to treat the world and everything in it as here for our momentary pleasure and consumption with no thought of the consequences.)
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
finally, some good news
Not about the economy, which is still, according to some reports, 78.3% likely to go foom.
No, the good news is that, what with the subprime mortgage market scandal being breathtakingly revealed, we may finally be free from the scourge of web ads featuring badly animated dancing cowboys, lizards, silhouetted chicks in skirts, and so on, trying to sell subprime loans. Thank Moose for that, because I always came close to smashing my laptop against the nearest wall when those appeared.
Besides that, my loveliest found a wonderful item on the Internets, through an online friend of hers. I am proud to bring you garfield minus garfield.
No, the good news is that, what with the subprime mortgage market scandal being breathtakingly revealed, we may finally be free from the scourge of web ads featuring badly animated dancing cowboys, lizards, silhouetted chicks in skirts, and so on, trying to sell subprime loans. Thank Moose for that, because I always came close to smashing my laptop against the nearest wall when those appeared.
Besides that, my loveliest found a wonderful item on the Internets, through an online friend of hers. I am proud to bring you garfield minus garfield.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
next!
New York Times article on Bear Stearns.
Two points: They deliberately inflated their market value to increase their stock price by way of simply bluffing. People on Wall Street bought it.
Okay, three points: The Fed, (i.e., US taxpayers) are bailing them all out.
Okay, okay, four points: As much as this "moral hazard" of bailing out the screwheads bugs the hell out of me, if the Feds didn't, the entire house of cards which is the US economy and the stock market would collapse, and that would hurt the innocent far more than the guilty.
Two points: They deliberately inflated their market value to increase their stock price by way of simply bluffing. People on Wall Street bought it.
Okay, three points: The Fed, (i.e., US taxpayers) are bailing them all out.
Okay, okay, four points: As much as this "moral hazard" of bailing out the screwheads bugs the hell out of me, if the Feds didn't, the entire house of cards which is the US economy and the stock market would collapse, and that would hurt the innocent far more than the guilty.
hockey related things
It's been a while since I updated either this blog or my list of
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
32. Thrilling, close hockey games. I just love 'em.
A week ago Friday, we took in the Stockton Thunder game with our pals Christina and Guerin. The Thunder looked a little dazed in the first period, as Idaho ran up a 2-0 lead, outshooting the Thunder something like 12-6. It didn't look much better until midway through the second, when the Thunder got a short-handed goal, and in the third, absolutely took over the game. Superb pulling-together performance. Lots of hits, a couple fights, good passing (eventually) and brilliant puck-possession in the third by the Thunder. Good stuff.
31. Lopsided wins for my favorite hockey team. I just love 'em.
This morning I woke to the Pittsburgh Penguins beating the tar out of the brain-dead thugs who beat people up while wearing Philadelphia Flyers jerseys. My hatred for the Flyers, as has been documented here, is unspeakable, deep, abiding, and the cause of a great deal of cursing. Today I recognized the fatal flaw in the Flyers strategy was that, when a team like the Penguins forces them to try to play hockey, they really can't. Penguins, 7-1. Evgeni Malkin and Petr Sykora had 2 goals and 2 assists, each. Zappo.
30. Long winning streaks for one of my favorite hockey teams. I just love 'em.
San Jose Sharks, 11 in a row. Zowie.
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
32. Thrilling, close hockey games. I just love 'em.
A week ago Friday, we took in the Stockton Thunder game with our pals Christina and Guerin. The Thunder looked a little dazed in the first period, as Idaho ran up a 2-0 lead, outshooting the Thunder something like 12-6. It didn't look much better until midway through the second, when the Thunder got a short-handed goal, and in the third, absolutely took over the game. Superb pulling-together performance. Lots of hits, a couple fights, good passing (eventually) and brilliant puck-possession in the third by the Thunder. Good stuff.
31. Lopsided wins for my favorite hockey team. I just love 'em.
This morning I woke to the Pittsburgh Penguins beating the tar out of the brain-dead thugs who beat people up while wearing Philadelphia Flyers jerseys. My hatred for the Flyers, as has been documented here, is unspeakable, deep, abiding, and the cause of a great deal of cursing. Today I recognized the fatal flaw in the Flyers strategy was that, when a team like the Penguins forces them to try to play hockey, they really can't. Penguins, 7-1. Evgeni Malkin and Petr Sykora had 2 goals and 2 assists, each. Zappo.
30. Long winning streaks for one of my favorite hockey teams. I just love 'em.
San Jose Sharks, 11 in a row. Zowie.
Monday, March 10, 2008
another new song
'Tis the season, I suppose. Actually, the recording is a long time coming.
This one is called Try This At Home.
My righteous dude Jim "The Most Optimistic Man In America With a Soundclick Page" Williams has told me he thinks it's 1/3 too long. Dunno. On one hand, I see where he's coming from. On another hand, I like the way it gradually unfolds.
This one is called Try This At Home.
My righteous dude Jim "The Most Optimistic Man In America With a Soundclick Page" Williams has told me he thinks it's 1/3 too long. Dunno. On one hand, I see where he's coming from. On another hand, I like the way it gradually unfolds.
Friday, March 07, 2008
Thursday, March 06, 2008
a whole new meaning to being stoned
A new study by an Israeli psychologist suggests that the ancient Israelites were high as kites, which would explain the burning bush and blaring trumpets all right, but wouldn't it also explain a lot of what went on in Leviticus, too? Just a bit?
In any case, it's good to read that, like most other reputable world religions, Judaism apparently based some of its theological insights on hallucinations. Really, what better source of moral law could there possibly be?
In any case, it's good to read that, like most other reputable world religions, Judaism apparently based some of its theological insights on hallucinations. Really, what better source of moral law could there possibly be?
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
just noticing
Since some time during the final phases of the Clinton administration, news media are less and less presenting unemployment and jobless statistics and federal budget data. During the Clinton administration, this may have been because of the economic good times: unemployment across the US was something under 4% for a while there (though, of course, in the San Joaquin valley it was still close to 10%), and the federal budget was in surplus.
But now, those data would seem to be important again as evidence for claims about the health or illness of the economy and the federal coffers. No? But what's the current jobless rate in the US? And how high is the budget deficit now?
I don't watch TV news, for a variety of reasons, so I don't have a complete picture of mainstream news media these days. I do, however, read newspapers (online, that is), and listen to NPR with some frequency. So on balance, I believe this is an accurate observation.
But now, those data would seem to be important again as evidence for claims about the health or illness of the economy and the federal coffers. No? But what's the current jobless rate in the US? And how high is the budget deficit now?
I don't watch TV news, for a variety of reasons, so I don't have a complete picture of mainstream news media these days. I do, however, read newspapers (online, that is), and listen to NPR with some frequency. So on balance, I believe this is an accurate observation.
Sunday, March 02, 2008
things for the spring
It's spring here. Neener-neener-neener.
In any case, it's also the time of year when we celebrate a pair of
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
34. Lucrative tax returns. I just love 'em.
I deliberately have more than my share of income tax withdrawn from my pay, in part because I'm anxious about the specter of having to pay big bucks to the government at tax time, but mainly because I have no head whatsoever for any of this money stuff, and the tax return windfall feels like I've managed to do something fiscally prudent. (It's not, of course. The best way to swing this would be to calculate close to the precise amount you'll ultimately owe the government, and pocket/save/collect interest on the rest. I'm no good at that.)
We got about 4 grand back this year. We've filed, but haven't got our scratch yet. Last year we got about the same, and spent a grand or so on our delightful loveseat.
33. Storage solutions. I just love 'em.
This year we spent $300 on storage for visual media, of which we have a ton. We've got oodles of media, truth be told, and it's all over the place. Lauren built us some super-keen boho pine-board-n-cinder-block shelves to store the DVDs and VHS tapes, which we eventually covered with the rainbow peace-sign flag I got Lauren as a surprise a year ago or so.
[rainbow flag video shelves. keen.]
But the new solution is, if you'll pardon the expression, heap better. These are Ikea "Billy" bookcases, with doors and extra shelves. Images courtesy of the new camera, by the way.
[Ikea bookcase media storage. a little keener.]
... and, just because you've been good ...
almond blossoms!
In any case, it's also the time of year when we celebrate a pair of
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
34. Lucrative tax returns. I just love 'em.
I deliberately have more than my share of income tax withdrawn from my pay, in part because I'm anxious about the specter of having to pay big bucks to the government at tax time, but mainly because I have no head whatsoever for any of this money stuff, and the tax return windfall feels like I've managed to do something fiscally prudent. (It's not, of course. The best way to swing this would be to calculate close to the precise amount you'll ultimately owe the government, and pocket/save/collect interest on the rest. I'm no good at that.)
We got about 4 grand back this year. We've filed, but haven't got our scratch yet. Last year we got about the same, and spent a grand or so on our delightful loveseat.
33. Storage solutions. I just love 'em.
This year we spent $300 on storage for visual media, of which we have a ton. We've got oodles of media, truth be told, and it's all over the place. Lauren built us some super-keen boho pine-board-n-cinder-block shelves to store the DVDs and VHS tapes, which we eventually covered with the rainbow peace-sign flag I got Lauren as a surprise a year ago or so.
But the new solution is, if you'll pardon the expression, heap better. These are Ikea "Billy" bookcases, with doors and extra shelves. Images courtesy of the new camera, by the way.
... and, just because you've been good ...
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
it's 10:04 - do you know where your things are?
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
36. High-tech toys. I just love 'em.
One of my great moral failings is my unseemly delight in electronic gadgets. We bought a Kodak digital camera today to replace the stupid old PukePix Shootslikecrap that we bought at Target several years ago. The Kodak is a mighty machine, and we armed it with a 4-gig memory card, which holds nearly 1600 images (at 8 megapixels per), or a ridiculous amount of video with audio (yep, does that). It has 6 different image capture modes. Gonna be a lot of fun.
While at the toy store, we saw the new Mac laptop that's 10 mils thick, the Air MacJordan or whatever the heck it's called. The Apple people, if I hadn't mentioned, are not allowed in the house. Evil, evil people. Of course we want one!
37. Block-buster NHL trade deadline deals. I just love 'em.
Our beloved Pittsburgh Penguins made a good trade for 6'7" defenseman Hal Gill, whose job description includes "beatdowns," as well as "getting all them buggers out of the front of the net." They need that.
But they also made the biggest trade of the season, with minutes to spare, for big-time goal-scorer Marian Hossa. Nobody expected this. In fact, their general manager, Ray Shero, swore up and down that he wasn't going to make a big deal.
They also got a useful player, Pascal Dupuis, who in addition to being French-Canadian, is also a decent checker. They had to trade away a promising winger, Erik Christensen, a potentially dynamite prospect, Angelo Esposito, and a huge fan favorite and teammate favorite, Colby Armstrong. Apparently, the Fox Sports Pittsburgh broadcast of tonight's Penguins-Islanders game included fan reaction: weeping over Colby leaving. Lauren is also very upset, because Colby and Crusher (Erik's nickname: everybody who plays hockey goes by a nickname, by international law) were two of her favorite Penguins.
Ray Shero isn't allowed in the house, either.
36. High-tech toys. I just love 'em.
One of my great moral failings is my unseemly delight in electronic gadgets. We bought a Kodak digital camera today to replace the stupid old PukePix Shootslikecrap that we bought at Target several years ago. The Kodak is a mighty machine, and we armed it with a 4-gig memory card, which holds nearly 1600 images (at 8 megapixels per), or a ridiculous amount of video with audio (yep, does that). It has 6 different image capture modes. Gonna be a lot of fun.
While at the toy store, we saw the new Mac laptop that's 10 mils thick, the Air MacJordan or whatever the heck it's called. The Apple people, if I hadn't mentioned, are not allowed in the house. Evil, evil people. Of course we want one!
37. Block-buster NHL trade deadline deals. I just love 'em.
Our beloved Pittsburgh Penguins made a good trade for 6'7" defenseman Hal Gill, whose job description includes "beatdowns," as well as "getting all them buggers out of the front of the net." They need that.
But they also made the biggest trade of the season, with minutes to spare, for big-time goal-scorer Marian Hossa. Nobody expected this. In fact, their general manager, Ray Shero, swore up and down that he wasn't going to make a big deal.
They also got a useful player, Pascal Dupuis, who in addition to being French-Canadian, is also a decent checker. They had to trade away a promising winger, Erik Christensen, a potentially dynamite prospect, Angelo Esposito, and a huge fan favorite and teammate favorite, Colby Armstrong. Apparently, the Fox Sports Pittsburgh broadcast of tonight's Penguins-Islanders game included fan reaction: weeping over Colby leaving. Lauren is also very upset, because Colby and Crusher (Erik's nickname: everybody who plays hockey goes by a nickname, by international law) were two of her favorite Penguins.
Ray Shero isn't allowed in the house, either.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Lulu's back in town (me too)
Puebla is gorgeous.
My doneness, on a scale from 1 to 10, is about 17. I think I taught classes today. I think they went well, too.
I'm watching a DVD of a 1993 Penguins-Rangers game, which is only important because it's the game in which the Pens set the NHL record for consecutive wins.
In any case, it's time for
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
37. Comidas tipicas de Puebla. I just love 'em.
One good way to visit a place is to eat the food. Especially if that someplace is Puebla. Oh, Moose alive, is the food in Puebla incredible.
Of course, there's mole poblano, the chocolate-based sauce that is best-known and most closely associated with Puebla. This is astounding. It's got something like 800 ingredients, and tastes like centuries, pepper, garlic, turkey stock, unspeakable herbs, blood, magic, with a hint of stardust.
But as incredible, as obviously the most vastly superior sauce any human has ever made as mole poblano is, I can't decide if I'm not fonder of pipian verde or pipian rojo . It's ridiculous.
36. Good conferences. I just love 'em.
We went to Puebla for the 10th annual meeting of the Society for Phenomenology and Media. I'm the only person who's been to every conference, which is a point of irrational pride.
In recent years, SPaM (affectionately) has had some rough times. Conference papers have sometimes been weaker than they should have been, there's been strife of various sorts. But this year was stronger and gave me hope that the future is bright for us.
The hidden fact here is that the Society for Phenomenology and Media once gave me a reason to hope when I didn't have one. This year, again, it fit together well, it made sense, and the papers were very very good.
My doneness, on a scale from 1 to 10, is about 17. I think I taught classes today. I think they went well, too.
I'm watching a DVD of a 1993 Penguins-Rangers game, which is only important because it's the game in which the Pens set the NHL record for consecutive wins.
In any case, it's time for
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
37. Comidas tipicas de Puebla. I just love 'em.
One good way to visit a place is to eat the food. Especially if that someplace is Puebla. Oh, Moose alive, is the food in Puebla incredible.
Of course, there's mole poblano, the chocolate-based sauce that is best-known and most closely associated with Puebla. This is astounding. It's got something like 800 ingredients, and tastes like centuries, pepper, garlic, turkey stock, unspeakable herbs, blood, magic, with a hint of stardust.
But as incredible, as obviously the most vastly superior sauce any human has ever made as mole poblano is, I can't decide if I'm not fonder of pipian verde or pipian rojo . It's ridiculous.
36. Good conferences. I just love 'em.
We went to Puebla for the 10th annual meeting of the Society for Phenomenology and Media. I'm the only person who's been to every conference, which is a point of irrational pride.
In recent years, SPaM (affectionately) has had some rough times. Conference papers have sometimes been weaker than they should have been, there's been strife of various sorts. But this year was stronger and gave me hope that the future is bright for us.
The hidden fact here is that the Society for Phenomenology and Media once gave me a reason to hope when I didn't have one. This year, again, it fit together well, it made sense, and the papers were very very good.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
two things for a bright springlike afternoon
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
38. Multi-purpose gag lines. I just love 'em.
Down in LA to get out of our place and our headspace for a couple days, we watched two excellent Penguins wins over the weekend (on Saturday against the very sad LA Kings, on Sunday against the vile and hated Philadelphia Flyers). During the Flyers game, which featured typical Flyers thuggery, it occurred to me just how little actual defense their defensemen play, especially Darien Hatcher. Hatcher can't skate, doesn't hit anybody, is often out of position, and I think he realizes this, so he makes up for it by simply cross-checking anyone he can reach. He's disgusting.
I thought to myself, if I played against the Flyers, I would feel stupider and less talented, because nature abhors a vacuum.
Thus was born our latest multi-purpose gag line. You can use it in all sorts of situations:
Political debates: Candidate A must hate debating Candidate Z. Every time they debate, Candidate A gets stupider and loses leadership ability, because nature abhors a vacuum.
Teaching critical thinking: You know, after reading this paper, I suddenly can't tell whether this is a valid argument or not. I've lost most of my logical ability, because nature abhors a vacuum.
Divorce proceedings: It's so upsetting to have to face my ex in court. Whenever I'm there, I feel like I've lost my capacity for empathy and human decency, because nature abhors a vacuum.
Committee meetings: It's no wonder bureaucrats talk like they do. They used to be able to communicate in plain English, but not after all those committee meetings. After all, nature abhors a vacuum.
39. Hockey sticks. I just love 'em.
We also bought hockey sticks. I haven't owned one in I don't know how long. Lauren's brother Zach had bought one, and that prompted me. It's not a big deal, I didn't get one of the $100 composite things that always snap, I just got laminated wood. We shot pucks around for an hour or two, and we bought a puck suitable for street use, so we're about to make tons of friends in the neighborhood with our rowdy hockeying activities.
38. Multi-purpose gag lines. I just love 'em.
Down in LA to get out of our place and our headspace for a couple days, we watched two excellent Penguins wins over the weekend (on Saturday against the very sad LA Kings, on Sunday against the vile and hated Philadelphia Flyers). During the Flyers game, which featured typical Flyers thuggery, it occurred to me just how little actual defense their defensemen play, especially Darien Hatcher. Hatcher can't skate, doesn't hit anybody, is often out of position, and I think he realizes this, so he makes up for it by simply cross-checking anyone he can reach. He's disgusting.
I thought to myself, if I played against the Flyers, I would feel stupider and less talented, because nature abhors a vacuum.
Thus was born our latest multi-purpose gag line. You can use it in all sorts of situations:
Political debates: Candidate A must hate debating Candidate Z. Every time they debate, Candidate A gets stupider and loses leadership ability, because nature abhors a vacuum.
Teaching critical thinking: You know, after reading this paper, I suddenly can't tell whether this is a valid argument or not. I've lost most of my logical ability, because nature abhors a vacuum.
Divorce proceedings: It's so upsetting to have to face my ex in court. Whenever I'm there, I feel like I've lost my capacity for empathy and human decency, because nature abhors a vacuum.
Committee meetings: It's no wonder bureaucrats talk like they do. They used to be able to communicate in plain English, but not after all those committee meetings. After all, nature abhors a vacuum.
39. Hockey sticks. I just love 'em.
We also bought hockey sticks. I haven't owned one in I don't know how long. Lauren's brother Zach had bought one, and that prompted me. It's not a big deal, I didn't get one of the $100 composite things that always snap, I just got laminated wood. We shot pucks around for an hour or two, and we bought a puck suitable for street use, so we're about to make tons of friends in the neighborhood with our rowdy hockeying activities.
Friday, February 08, 2008
in questionable taste
First off:
Of course, I was thinking: FEMA.
I'm modifying the list of people not allowed in the house. I'm prepared at this point to remove Regina Spektor from the list, inasmuch as we'd love to have her for dinner.
It may be helpful to clarify that being included on the official Not Allowed In The House list is not, in almost all cases, meant as a sign of disrespect, nor a criticism of the work of the people on the list. We love Bjørk, for instance, we just think it's prudent not to allow her in the house. That said:
In a controversial decision, Steely Dan is allowed in the house, as long as they don't bring their cousins.
In other news, imagine you're the Republican Party. You're holding a presidential nominating election across numerous states. John McCain keeps winning delegates, and suddenly you're down to McCain and Mike Huckabee. Wow.
Are we ever ripe for a third candidate election. Yeesh to follow.
In the aftermath of stunningly deadly and destructive tornadoes, this hard-hit community now has other worries — looters, power shortages and a large number of residents still unaccounted for.
Of course, I was thinking: FEMA.
I'm modifying the list of people not allowed in the house. I'm prepared at this point to remove Regina Spektor from the list, inasmuch as we'd love to have her for dinner.
It may be helpful to clarify that being included on the official Not Allowed In The House list is not, in almost all cases, meant as a sign of disrespect, nor a criticism of the work of the people on the list. We love Bjørk, for instance, we just think it's prudent not to allow her in the house. That said:
In a controversial decision, Steely Dan is allowed in the house, as long as they don't bring their cousins.
In other news, imagine you're the Republican Party. You're holding a presidential nominating election across numerous states. John McCain keeps winning delegates, and suddenly you're down to McCain and Mike Huckabee. Wow.
Are we ever ripe for a third candidate election. Yeesh to follow.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
morbidly obese Tuesday
Happy voting!
Today could turn out to be Superphat Tuesday for your favorite candidate!
We're walking to the polls after breakfast (coffee cake; coffee; a pear). More later.
Today could turn out to be Superphat Tuesday for your favorite candidate!
We're walking to the polls after breakfast (coffee cake; coffee; a pear). More later.
Monday, February 04, 2008
pulling together
I collected Lancelot's remains from the vet's office this afternoon. That prompted a mental conversation, in which I tried to explain to him that we tried our best and did what we thought was best.
One reason this was so difficult is my firm belief that Lancelot never wanted to give up. He had given up on recovering, but he never seemed to ask us for an end. I was thinking about the last couple days with him, how he spent most of his time looking out windows, isolating himself (which, if you knew Lance, you know is very strange behavior for him). Lauren was sure he was trying to get outside and find somewhere to hide. When he wasn't doing that he was trying to get some comfort from us, but he never really could.
I'm going to try writing about something else henceforth. We're in a state of mind now where we can think about life, the world, and the future again. Things that had disappeared or seemed utterly trivial are starting to have weight again.
Thanks to everyone for supporting us and helping us.
One reason this was so difficult is my firm belief that Lancelot never wanted to give up. He had given up on recovering, but he never seemed to ask us for an end. I was thinking about the last couple days with him, how he spent most of his time looking out windows, isolating himself (which, if you knew Lance, you know is very strange behavior for him). Lauren was sure he was trying to get outside and find somewhere to hide. When he wasn't doing that he was trying to get some comfort from us, but he never really could.
I'm going to try writing about something else henceforth. We're in a state of mind now where we can think about life, the world, and the future again. Things that had disappeared or seemed utterly trivial are starting to have weight again.
Thanks to everyone for supporting us and helping us.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
normalizing
I finished teaching my winter term course today. We planned to go pay rent and run some other errands this afternoon. As we were getting ready to go, I felt very strange. I realized something, too.
When terrible shit happens (for instance, your beloved cat becomes sick, and wastes away for weeks, and then you have to have him put to sleep), it's really hard to sit there and take it, but there's nothing you can do about it that makes it less terrible shit. Whatever you do, it's still terrible.
I haven't felt good this whole time. I've had delicious food, I've had interesting class discussions, I've been entertained, but have not felt good for any sustained period through it all. I don't think that's extraordinary in the circumstances, but it's remarkable at least.
And all my projects collapsed. I had been writing lyrics, trying to record guitar tracks, working up songs we want to record. That collapsed. I had a hard time getting myself to pick up a guitar.
I felt like I was sleep-walking through my class. I read everything, graded everything, but I couldn't keep connected, or keep anything straight in my head.
I had been working on the paper I'm presenting in Puebla in February, on Marshall McLuhan and media. Now I can't imagine what I was contemplating writing about. I didn't want to write anything here, either. It feels as if I have to start myself over again.
I don't know how. Maybe I'll start by making potato gnocchi.
When terrible shit happens (for instance, your beloved cat becomes sick, and wastes away for weeks, and then you have to have him put to sleep), it's really hard to sit there and take it, but there's nothing you can do about it that makes it less terrible shit. Whatever you do, it's still terrible.
I haven't felt good this whole time. I've had delicious food, I've had interesting class discussions, I've been entertained, but have not felt good for any sustained period through it all. I don't think that's extraordinary in the circumstances, but it's remarkable at least.
And all my projects collapsed. I had been writing lyrics, trying to record guitar tracks, working up songs we want to record. That collapsed. I had a hard time getting myself to pick up a guitar.
I felt like I was sleep-walking through my class. I read everything, graded everything, but I couldn't keep connected, or keep anything straight in my head.
I had been working on the paper I'm presenting in Puebla in February, on Marshall McLuhan and media. Now I can't imagine what I was contemplating writing about. I didn't want to write anything here, either. It feels as if I have to start myself over again.
I don't know how. Maybe I'll start by making potato gnocchi.
Monday, January 28, 2008
hard times
I haven't had anything to say for a week now. Sunday we had our first nearly normal day for a very long time. There simply isn't much to say about the past week. We were traumatized, then we felt intense pain, guilt, despair, numbness, void, disorientation, aching. We were good to each other.
We decided we needed to remember Lancelot as the joyful cat he was. Lauren drew a picture of him from a picture I took of him, lying on the bed, sunning himself. He loved the sun, and the wind, more than any other cat I've known.
I don't know how much sense this makes, but I think we've grieved well. It's hard work. I'd forgotten, or didn't know. I never grieved like this before.
When I was 9, my grandpa died, rather suddenly, and I didn't know what to do. I had this horrible, inarticulate guilt about his death for years, and never really got over it until I was in my 20s. My grandma died when I was in college, not at all suddenly, and her death was more a relief than anything. She had spent the better part of a decade slowly passing. The only other deaths I've experienced very directly have been of two other cats. It's very weird to say so, but I was closer to Lancelot than to anyone else in my life who has died, except for my grandpa. And it's very odd to realize as I'm writing this that I spent more time with Lancelot than with my grandpa. In fact, I believe I spent more time actually interacting with Lance than with any human being I've known. I was his in a profound way. His death has been a lot to grieve.
We're exhausted. We're doing well, though. Lauren has been wonderful to me. Our friend - indeed, Lancelot's friend -, Christina, has been wonderful to us.
So now, as I'm just starting to be able to respond to the world again, I look around, and it seems as though the world economy is collapsing due to the failure of the mass hallucination which is the global financial market. Listen, gang: pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. I know, they call it a Ponzi scheme, but that's almost entirely a bad rep.
We decided we needed to remember Lancelot as the joyful cat he was. Lauren drew a picture of him from a picture I took of him, lying on the bed, sunning himself. He loved the sun, and the wind, more than any other cat I've known.
I don't know how much sense this makes, but I think we've grieved well. It's hard work. I'd forgotten, or didn't know. I never grieved like this before.
When I was 9, my grandpa died, rather suddenly, and I didn't know what to do. I had this horrible, inarticulate guilt about his death for years, and never really got over it until I was in my 20s. My grandma died when I was in college, not at all suddenly, and her death was more a relief than anything. She had spent the better part of a decade slowly passing. The only other deaths I've experienced very directly have been of two other cats. It's very weird to say so, but I was closer to Lancelot than to anyone else in my life who has died, except for my grandpa. And it's very odd to realize as I'm writing this that I spent more time with Lancelot than with my grandpa. In fact, I believe I spent more time actually interacting with Lance than with any human being I've known. I was his in a profound way. His death has been a lot to grieve.
We're exhausted. We're doing well, though. Lauren has been wonderful to me. Our friend - indeed, Lancelot's friend -, Christina, has been wonderful to us.
So now, as I'm just starting to be able to respond to the world again, I look around, and it seems as though the world economy is collapsing due to the failure of the mass hallucination which is the global financial market. Listen, gang: pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. I know, they call it a Ponzi scheme, but that's almost entirely a bad rep.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
goodbye, lovely Lancelot
We brought Lancelot to the vet to be put down this afternoon. The pain is almost too much to bear. My heart is broken. The world is broken. I don't have anything else to say.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
out of order
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
2. Lancelot. I just love him.
As I write this, he's dying.
He's my 15+-year-old domestic longhaired orange cat. I would like to tell his story.
My ex and I had a lovely tortie shorthaired cat named Morgan, who we thought would like a companion, since she had a cat friend when she was a kitten. We visited the county animal shelter in Pittsburgh a few times to try to find a healthy kitten to be her new friend. Those visits were heartbreaking for me. I adore cats, and the sight of all those doomed cats (not to mention the doomed dogs in the other room) was unbearable - a testament to unspeakable human indifference and stupidity, inflicting needless suffering and death, for no reason but contempt or flat lack of concern. The kittens all seemed terribly unhealthy, as well. We had agreed that the only criteria for our new kitten were that it should be healthy, short-haired, and not orange.
Finally, on a third visit, we saw a demon kitten hanging upside down from the rails of his cage, trying alternately to eat the bars or squeeze through them, wailing, drooling, frothing at the mouth. He had mounds of fluffy orange fur and whiskers a mile long. We pulled him out of the cage, and he was immediately quiet and peaceful, purring in our arms. He was clearly the healthiest kitten we would ever find at the pound, and he was also on death row. It was his second day there, late in the afternoon. They would euthanize him in the morning. So we took him home.
We paid the adoption fee, they told us he was probably around 10-14 weeks old, put the kitten in a cardboard carrier, and we started for home. Home at the time was Regent Square, a nice neighborhood in the east side of Pittsburgh. The shelter was on the North Shore, meaning that we had a car trip of about 7 miles, roughly 20 minutes, to get there. By the time we hit the Parkway East (the freeway from downtown), the kitten had chewed through the box.
We brought him home and, having read about how to introduce new animals into a household, let him out of the box in a neutral place - the large anteroom in the old Victorian house we rented the ground floor of. Then we brought Morgan into the room. He immediately approached her, and sniffed at her face. She hissed, swatted at him, and ran away, thus establishing what was effectively their lifelong relationship. We gave him a jingle-ball to play with, and she eventually stole it (she passed years ago, age 12, never having treated him better). We gave him some kitten food, and he vomited some of it, thus establishing his lifelong digestive dysfunction.
Days passed. He got stronger and stood up to Morgan a bit. I named him Lancelot because she was Morgan, and it just made sense. Back then, we let the cats out to play in the yard, because the neighborhood was quiet enough and they didn't roam. Our upstairs neighbor had two cats, and a couple times they escaped from her kitchen window, climbed down the fire escape, and would become belligerent. Once I heard a fight outside, came out to intervene, and saw Lancelot cornering our neighbor's cat, standing with his back arched, hissing and spitting, between her cat and Morgan. Morgan had a scratch on her nose; Lancelot had come to protect her. I grabbed the neighbor's cat, took it inside, then grabbed Morgan, then Lancelot, to get them inside. Lance started to calm down a bit. Morgan sauntered over and swatted him.
Back then he was a terrific and somewhat famous hunter. His specialty was birding. As a kitten he caught a blue jay that was practically the same size he was. He caught numerous sparrows and bluebirds, titmice galore, I think a couple of chickadees. He'd leave them for us on the porch, or roll on them, as cats do. One day he had caught a bird and was playing with it when a woman walked by with her little girl. The girl saw the bird and burst into tears. I came outside, hearing her mom explain that this is something cats do, and removed the bird. A few minutes later, I heard them walking past again, the little girl finally calmed down, and as I looked out the window I saw Lance leap into the air and nab a sparrow, right in front of the girl. She exploded in tears again.
The young boys in the neighborhood loved him. I once heard a boy regaling his comrades with tales of Lancelot's hunting prowess. I went to the window to look. They were standing on the sidewalk, petting him (as he always did with passers-by, Lance had trotted up to them to say hello), when he saw a bird somewhere in the front yard. He growled, dashed off, and snapped at it. The boy pointed and said "see? He's so vicious but he's so nice!"
I was completing my PhD program at Duquesne while living in that house. One of the steps is writing a comprehensive exam - at the time, three essays on historical subjects in philosophy and one thematic essay on a particular topic, randomly chosen from a list of 5 questions on each subject, one per day for 4 days. I wrote my comps along with two other guys, both of whom wrote every essay before the week of comps. I didn't, so that week I wrote 80 pages of essays, basically writing all day, sitting at an old Mac, with Lancelot in my lap. He was my working pal, and I was his heating pad. It worked for us. He was so affectionate and seemed to be really concerned, really listening, when I would read the essays aloud. Later, when I was writing my dissertation, and having late-night anxiety attacks, he was always there with me, purring, rubbing against me, getting me to sit down so he could lie in my lap and sleep.
It was then that he developed the habit of clawing my face. I was growing a beard, and I thought at the time that Lance thought I was a cat, since I was furry like him. He has never stopped doing it.
We moved to California, flat broke, when I took my teaching position at Stan State, almost ten years ago. I drove the rental truck, my ex drove our car. She had Morgan, I had Lance. We took five days to cross the country, stopping in the cheapest motels we could find along the way. We'd get out of the vehicles, get into the room, and Morgan would dive under the bed and hide for most of the night, and Lance would move from under the bed, to us, back under the bed, back to us, trying to give and get comfort to and from everyone. He hates being in moving vehicles, but he seemed to adjust to this weird lifestyle.
For several years we lived in a rented house near Ceres, which made Lance very tense. The cats stayed indoors by then. Lancelot never seemed to sleep. He kept guard hours at a time, staring out the front or back windows. We saved a beat-up cat there who eventually ended up living with us, despite my and Lance's protests (this cat was one against whom Lance had been guarding us all that time). Then another. We bought a house in Modesto, and brought in another cat, who lived separately from the now 4 in the house. Then strays started showing up. Lance had had it. He started getting aggressive with the others, and with my ex. He peed on her dirty clothes (indeed also her clean clothes) on the floor.
Eventually I left my ex, and brought Lance with me, and he was never happier. He had a second kittenhood in the first apartment I shared with Lauren (which we called The Apartment of Earthly Delights). When we moved into the House About Town, he freaked out for an afternoon, but then took to bounding at top speed up and down the stairs, leaping up and off of windowsills, having a wonderful time. He was the youngest 13 year old cat you could ever meet. He was still clawing my face early in the morning, too, which led him to being kicked out of the bedroom most days.
I wrote him a song, which we recorded. He doesn't like it. Lauren started singing in various Stanislaus State choirs, and later in the Modesto Symphony Orchestra Chorus, as a second soprano. He hates this. Apparently, not only is he not a music lover (which Morgan, incidentally, was), but his ears are hurt by soprano singing. He attacks her when she sings, except when she holds him up to her throat and face, and sings "Old Deuteronomy."
About a year ago, his 14 year habit of vomiting about every other day became more constant. We took him to the vet, who talked about the various possible causes, prescribed a liquid antibiotic, and sent us home to try that. Giving Lance drugs is incredibly dangerous, even when he's weak. We stuck to it, through his lacerations, and he got better. He put weight back on. A couple months went by, and he started vomiting again. We went back to the vet, started another round of antibiotics, reopened our wounds, and he got better again. Months went by, and it started again, this time with diarrhea, and for the past month he hasn't gotten better no matter what we've tried.
He spent the night on my chest last night, sleeping a little too quietly for my comfort. This morning he clawed my face, but I didn't kick him out. He sat up on my chest, shaking a little, while I petted him. He followed me downstairs as he always does, and I gave him some canned cat food and some cat treats while I made coffee. He ate a little of that, and he followed me back upstairs. He's lying in the windowsill, resting in the weak sun.
I simply cannot express how much this cat means to me, or how terribly I will miss him, or how awful it is to know it will be soon.
2. Lancelot. I just love him.
As I write this, he's dying.
He's my 15+-year-old domestic longhaired orange cat. I would like to tell his story.
My ex and I had a lovely tortie shorthaired cat named Morgan, who we thought would like a companion, since she had a cat friend when she was a kitten. We visited the county animal shelter in Pittsburgh a few times to try to find a healthy kitten to be her new friend. Those visits were heartbreaking for me. I adore cats, and the sight of all those doomed cats (not to mention the doomed dogs in the other room) was unbearable - a testament to unspeakable human indifference and stupidity, inflicting needless suffering and death, for no reason but contempt or flat lack of concern. The kittens all seemed terribly unhealthy, as well. We had agreed that the only criteria for our new kitten were that it should be healthy, short-haired, and not orange.
Finally, on a third visit, we saw a demon kitten hanging upside down from the rails of his cage, trying alternately to eat the bars or squeeze through them, wailing, drooling, frothing at the mouth. He had mounds of fluffy orange fur and whiskers a mile long. We pulled him out of the cage, and he was immediately quiet and peaceful, purring in our arms. He was clearly the healthiest kitten we would ever find at the pound, and he was also on death row. It was his second day there, late in the afternoon. They would euthanize him in the morning. So we took him home.
We paid the adoption fee, they told us he was probably around 10-14 weeks old, put the kitten in a cardboard carrier, and we started for home. Home at the time was Regent Square, a nice neighborhood in the east side of Pittsburgh. The shelter was on the North Shore, meaning that we had a car trip of about 7 miles, roughly 20 minutes, to get there. By the time we hit the Parkway East (the freeway from downtown), the kitten had chewed through the box.
We brought him home and, having read about how to introduce new animals into a household, let him out of the box in a neutral place - the large anteroom in the old Victorian house we rented the ground floor of. Then we brought Morgan into the room. He immediately approached her, and sniffed at her face. She hissed, swatted at him, and ran away, thus establishing what was effectively their lifelong relationship. We gave him a jingle-ball to play with, and she eventually stole it (she passed years ago, age 12, never having treated him better). We gave him some kitten food, and he vomited some of it, thus establishing his lifelong digestive dysfunction.
Days passed. He got stronger and stood up to Morgan a bit. I named him Lancelot because she was Morgan, and it just made sense. Back then, we let the cats out to play in the yard, because the neighborhood was quiet enough and they didn't roam. Our upstairs neighbor had two cats, and a couple times they escaped from her kitchen window, climbed down the fire escape, and would become belligerent. Once I heard a fight outside, came out to intervene, and saw Lancelot cornering our neighbor's cat, standing with his back arched, hissing and spitting, between her cat and Morgan. Morgan had a scratch on her nose; Lancelot had come to protect her. I grabbed the neighbor's cat, took it inside, then grabbed Morgan, then Lancelot, to get them inside. Lance started to calm down a bit. Morgan sauntered over and swatted him.
Back then he was a terrific and somewhat famous hunter. His specialty was birding. As a kitten he caught a blue jay that was practically the same size he was. He caught numerous sparrows and bluebirds, titmice galore, I think a couple of chickadees. He'd leave them for us on the porch, or roll on them, as cats do. One day he had caught a bird and was playing with it when a woman walked by with her little girl. The girl saw the bird and burst into tears. I came outside, hearing her mom explain that this is something cats do, and removed the bird. A few minutes later, I heard them walking past again, the little girl finally calmed down, and as I looked out the window I saw Lance leap into the air and nab a sparrow, right in front of the girl. She exploded in tears again.
The young boys in the neighborhood loved him. I once heard a boy regaling his comrades with tales of Lancelot's hunting prowess. I went to the window to look. They were standing on the sidewalk, petting him (as he always did with passers-by, Lance had trotted up to them to say hello), when he saw a bird somewhere in the front yard. He growled, dashed off, and snapped at it. The boy pointed and said "see? He's so vicious but he's so nice!"
I was completing my PhD program at Duquesne while living in that house. One of the steps is writing a comprehensive exam - at the time, three essays on historical subjects in philosophy and one thematic essay on a particular topic, randomly chosen from a list of 5 questions on each subject, one per day for 4 days. I wrote my comps along with two other guys, both of whom wrote every essay before the week of comps. I didn't, so that week I wrote 80 pages of essays, basically writing all day, sitting at an old Mac, with Lancelot in my lap. He was my working pal, and I was his heating pad. It worked for us. He was so affectionate and seemed to be really concerned, really listening, when I would read the essays aloud. Later, when I was writing my dissertation, and having late-night anxiety attacks, he was always there with me, purring, rubbing against me, getting me to sit down so he could lie in my lap and sleep.
It was then that he developed the habit of clawing my face. I was growing a beard, and I thought at the time that Lance thought I was a cat, since I was furry like him. He has never stopped doing it.
We moved to California, flat broke, when I took my teaching position at Stan State, almost ten years ago. I drove the rental truck, my ex drove our car. She had Morgan, I had Lance. We took five days to cross the country, stopping in the cheapest motels we could find along the way. We'd get out of the vehicles, get into the room, and Morgan would dive under the bed and hide for most of the night, and Lance would move from under the bed, to us, back under the bed, back to us, trying to give and get comfort to and from everyone. He hates being in moving vehicles, but he seemed to adjust to this weird lifestyle.
For several years we lived in a rented house near Ceres, which made Lance very tense. The cats stayed indoors by then. Lancelot never seemed to sleep. He kept guard hours at a time, staring out the front or back windows. We saved a beat-up cat there who eventually ended up living with us, despite my and Lance's protests (this cat was one against whom Lance had been guarding us all that time). Then another. We bought a house in Modesto, and brought in another cat, who lived separately from the now 4 in the house. Then strays started showing up. Lance had had it. He started getting aggressive with the others, and with my ex. He peed on her dirty clothes (indeed also her clean clothes) on the floor.
Eventually I left my ex, and brought Lance with me, and he was never happier. He had a second kittenhood in the first apartment I shared with Lauren (which we called The Apartment of Earthly Delights). When we moved into the House About Town, he freaked out for an afternoon, but then took to bounding at top speed up and down the stairs, leaping up and off of windowsills, having a wonderful time. He was the youngest 13 year old cat you could ever meet. He was still clawing my face early in the morning, too, which led him to being kicked out of the bedroom most days.
I wrote him a song, which we recorded. He doesn't like it. Lauren started singing in various Stanislaus State choirs, and later in the Modesto Symphony Orchestra Chorus, as a second soprano. He hates this. Apparently, not only is he not a music lover (which Morgan, incidentally, was), but his ears are hurt by soprano singing. He attacks her when she sings, except when she holds him up to her throat and face, and sings "Old Deuteronomy."
About a year ago, his 14 year habit of vomiting about every other day became more constant. We took him to the vet, who talked about the various possible causes, prescribed a liquid antibiotic, and sent us home to try that. Giving Lance drugs is incredibly dangerous, even when he's weak. We stuck to it, through his lacerations, and he got better. He put weight back on. A couple months went by, and he started vomiting again. We went back to the vet, started another round of antibiotics, reopened our wounds, and he got better again. Months went by, and it started again, this time with diarrhea, and for the past month he hasn't gotten better no matter what we've tried.
He spent the night on my chest last night, sleeping a little too quietly for my comfort. This morning he clawed my face, but I didn't kick him out. He sat up on my chest, shaking a little, while I petted him. He followed me downstairs as he always does, and I gave him some canned cat food and some cat treats while I made coffee. He ate a little of that, and he followed me back upstairs. He's lying in the windowsill, resting in the weak sun.
I simply cannot express how much this cat means to me, or how terribly I will miss him, or how awful it is to know it will be soon.
Friday, January 18, 2008
in brief
The cat's still sick. I'm in Sacramento, without my love, for a CFA meeting whose primary purpose is to discuss the doomed state budget and its impact on the doomed CSU and our doomed lecturer colleagues/constituents in this doomed state which is doomed. The Penguins are losing to the freaking Tampa Bay Lightning, and Sidney Crosby left the game with an injury in the first period.
I shall now crawl to the working dinner in a condition of utter abjection. Thank you for listening.
I shall now crawl to the working dinner in a condition of utter abjection. Thank you for listening.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
yet more? yet more
Another of
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
39. Old episodes of The Larry Sanders Show. I just love 'em.
Before The Office, there was the Larry Sanders show (and before that, there was It's Garry Shandling's Show), a show-within-a-show sitcom about an absurdly egomaniacal, vaguely depraved, slightly perverted, utterly unself-aware yet tremendously narcissistic and self-doubting late-night talk show host. I've just given myself the present of the DVD box-set Not Just The Best Of The Larry Sanders Show, reminded as I was of the program by an errant copy of Entertainment Weekly, of all things.
It's delicious. The show's narrative perspective isn't all that inventive: we look behind-the-scenes at the internal comedy of errors that leads to the program's production, with special emphasis on the fatally flawed star. But they got fantastic performances from guest stars playing themselves, and the core group - Garry Shandling, Rip Torn, Jeffrey Tambor, Penny Johnson, and Janeane Garofalo - play their parts to the absolute frigging hilt. You could make this comedy broadly, play it like a Sid Caesar sketch or a Mel Brooks movie, but you'd never crack open the heads of the characters, never get the deep, revolting, hilarious revelation of their psychologies and motivations. What makes the thing tick is the contradiction between the arch-realism of the show's narrative perspective, and the absurd degree to which each character is firmly committed to his or her own particular pursuit, foible, or transgression.
I confess that the reason I first got into the show was a youthful and misguided obsession with Janeane Garofalo (though I'm not the only one), which has so far made no embarrassing reprise. I was a fan of It's Garry Shandling's Show (yeah, I was the one), which was decidedly more radical in approach, but the performances and writing in Larry Sanders were far, far better. Rip Torn is a god.
He's also, incidentally, not allowed in the house. I have my reasons.
Janeane is. Dammit!
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
39. Old episodes of The Larry Sanders Show. I just love 'em.
Before The Office, there was the Larry Sanders show (and before that, there was It's Garry Shandling's Show), a show-within-a-show sitcom about an absurdly egomaniacal, vaguely depraved, slightly perverted, utterly unself-aware yet tremendously narcissistic and self-doubting late-night talk show host. I've just given myself the present of the DVD box-set Not Just The Best Of The Larry Sanders Show, reminded as I was of the program by an errant copy of Entertainment Weekly, of all things.
It's delicious. The show's narrative perspective isn't all that inventive: we look behind-the-scenes at the internal comedy of errors that leads to the program's production, with special emphasis on the fatally flawed star. But they got fantastic performances from guest stars playing themselves, and the core group - Garry Shandling, Rip Torn, Jeffrey Tambor, Penny Johnson, and Janeane Garofalo - play their parts to the absolute frigging hilt. You could make this comedy broadly, play it like a Sid Caesar sketch or a Mel Brooks movie, but you'd never crack open the heads of the characters, never get the deep, revolting, hilarious revelation of their psychologies and motivations. What makes the thing tick is the contradiction between the arch-realism of the show's narrative perspective, and the absurd degree to which each character is firmly committed to his or her own particular pursuit, foible, or transgression.
I confess that the reason I first got into the show was a youthful and misguided obsession with Janeane Garofalo (though I'm not the only one), which has so far made no embarrassing reprise. I was a fan of It's Garry Shandling's Show (yeah, I was the one), which was decidedly more radical in approach, but the performances and writing in Larry Sanders were far, far better. Rip Torn is a god.
He's also, incidentally, not allowed in the house. I have my reasons.
how to get a job in higher ed
There are, I suppose, lurkers reading this blog, and I suppose some of them have certain ideas about the nature of faculty work. Here's some interesting interviews conducted by Marc Bousquet, author of How the University Works.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
it's Tuesday, and I have things
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
41. Union meetings. I just love 'em. Some of my fellow union activists don't love the meetings, and some claim they come just for the food (hotel kitchen food). I come for the meeting.
They're not all great, I admit. I also can't do very much with union rah-rah-ism. But I am a sucker for solidarity, and the meetings almost always build a great sense of solidarity. We're going this weekend to the CFA Lecturers' Council spring planning meeting, and despite the rather gloomy political/budget news of late, I'm optimistic.
40. Excuses to make buerre blanc. I just love 'em. The excuse today was our unscheduled trip to Motown to buy cat digestive enzymes in a further effort to resolve Lancelot's GI problems.
The need to go up there fairly quickly hatched a plan to go to Johnathan's, which is, to be frank, a meat market. But they also are the best source of fresh seafood in the area, and I've been thinking about shrimp lately with a fairly passionate Mediterranean feeling - lots of garlic, saffron, things like that. (Domestic shrimp, which is far better for the planet than imported, is extremely hard to get here, so we eat very little shrimp, sadly.) We ended up getting Louisiana rock shrimp and wild Alaskan coho salmon, and as I started thinking about it, buerre blanc would be perfectly suitable for salmon as well. What the heck.
So, shallots in white wine vinegar and dry white wine, boiled down to a couple tablespoons, with mounds of butter whisked in. This is just about unspeakably good on shrimp.
41. Union meetings. I just love 'em. Some of my fellow union activists don't love the meetings, and some claim they come just for the food (hotel kitchen food). I come for the meeting.
They're not all great, I admit. I also can't do very much with union rah-rah-ism. But I am a sucker for solidarity, and the meetings almost always build a great sense of solidarity. We're going this weekend to the CFA Lecturers' Council spring planning meeting, and despite the rather gloomy political/budget news of late, I'm optimistic.
40. Excuses to make buerre blanc. I just love 'em. The excuse today was our unscheduled trip to Motown to buy cat digestive enzymes in a further effort to resolve Lancelot's GI problems.
The need to go up there fairly quickly hatched a plan to go to Johnathan's, which is, to be frank, a meat market. But they also are the best source of fresh seafood in the area, and I've been thinking about shrimp lately with a fairly passionate Mediterranean feeling - lots of garlic, saffron, things like that. (Domestic shrimp, which is far better for the planet than imported, is extremely hard to get here, so we eat very little shrimp, sadly.) We ended up getting Louisiana rock shrimp and wild Alaskan coho salmon, and as I started thinking about it, buerre blanc would be perfectly suitable for salmon as well. What the heck.
So, shallots in white wine vinegar and dry white wine, boiled down to a couple tablespoons, with mounds of butter whisked in. This is just about unspeakably good on shrimp.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
not a new song!
We've been working on new music . . . that is to say, frankly, I've been working on new music, because my loveliest of all is writing fanfic nearly constantly lately (but Lauren is throwing in her two cents on the stuff I'm doing, plus as of this evening she is officially on notice, because my lyrics need help) . . . [ALERT! SYNTAX APPROACHING CORE BREECH! SHIFT ALL GRAMMATICAL RESERVES TO LIFE SUPPORT!] . . . for a while now [THAT'S GOT IT! AHH, SHIT! INTERJECTION ERROR! CONDITION RED! CONDITION RED!]
Ahem.
The point is, I'm working on about 10 new songs right now, trying to get them into sufficient shape to record them. I've gotten a lot pickier about what I think I want a song to be, which I hope means I'm getting a little better at writing. I have a couple new tunes I adore utterly, a handful I think are serviceable, and one I'm frankly embarrassed about, but which seems to work, so I'll let it be.
Anywhence, I posted a recording we made last summer on our Soundclick page, and now that they have an HTML code embedding script, I thought I'd link that here. (Soundclick, by the way, works waaaaaaaay better than the music stuff on MySpace. MySpace is owned by News Corp., i.e. Fox, i.e. Rupert Murdoch, so I'm not surprised it's a piece of crap.)
Without further ado, Lauren's song, "One Wing Wheeling"!
Ahem.
The point is, I'm working on about 10 new songs right now, trying to get them into sufficient shape to record them. I've gotten a lot pickier about what I think I want a song to be, which I hope means I'm getting a little better at writing. I have a couple new tunes I adore utterly, a handful I think are serviceable, and one I'm frankly embarrassed about, but which seems to work, so I'll let it be.
Anywhence, I posted a recording we made last summer on our Soundclick page, and now that they have an HTML code embedding script, I thought I'd link that here. (Soundclick, by the way, works waaaaaaaay better than the music stuff on MySpace. MySpace is owned by News Corp., i.e. Fox, i.e. Rupert Murdoch, so I'm not surprised it's a piece of crap.)
Without further ado, Lauren's song, "One Wing Wheeling"!
Friday, January 11, 2008
and for those who don't like bad economic news, there's sport
The state government's fiscal crisis continues. 6 years ago the budget analyst at the non-partisan Legislative Analyst office said that California's budget problems are systemic and can only be permanently fixed by either slashing state services to a point that would harm a lot of residents, or else raising taxes. Well, obviously, we can't raise taxes, because that would be ridiculous, of course, because that would mean people would be paying more money for state services.
So, instead, governor Schwarzenegger plans to cut 10 percent from nearly every state agency. The last major cut to the CSU's budget caused enrollment declines, staff layoffs and non-rehirings of hundreds of non-tenure-track faculty. The increases in our budgets since then have barely kept pace with inflation, and the CSU Board of Trustees and the state have begun to depend on increasing student fees in order to fill the gap.
This bugs the hell out of me in every conceivable way. An ideologically driven political agenda beginning in the 70s has made it impossible for the state to adequately fund any of its agencies, by getting the electorate to vote for slashing property taxes and to require a 2/3 majority to pass a budget. Who benefits from that? Who is hurt by it?
So, instead, governor Schwarzenegger plans to cut 10 percent from nearly every state agency. The last major cut to the CSU's budget caused enrollment declines, staff layoffs and non-rehirings of hundreds of non-tenure-track faculty. The increases in our budgets since then have barely kept pace with inflation, and the CSU Board of Trustees and the state have begun to depend on increasing student fees in order to fill the gap.
This bugs the hell out of me in every conceivable way. An ideologically driven political agenda beginning in the 70s has made it impossible for the state to adequately fund any of its agencies, by getting the electorate to vote for slashing property taxes and to require a 2/3 majority to pass a budget. Who benefits from that? Who is hurt by it?
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
nothing to do with the New Hampshire primary
I'll preface this by reporting briefly that I'd rather be playing my guitars right now, but I'm not, because I'm missing my right thumbnail and ring fingernail, both to accidents involving metal things. My thumbnail was gouged when I foolishly tried to open a door on campus with my right hand (I can only reliably open doors left-handed) and my thumbnail struck the metal plate around the door handle. I didn't trim it, and the tear weakened the nail's structural integrity enough that handling the Christmas turkey gravy preparation did it in. [No fingernail fragments were consumed during the dinner, I swear.] I forget what took my fingernail, but in any case, I'm left with long index, second, and pinky nails, and I can't functionally fingerpick my guitars this way.
This is especially distressing because of
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
42. D'Addario 12-string silk and steel guitar strings. I just love 'em.
For a year I've been experimenting with guitar strings. I was gaga for John Pearse phosphor bronze strings, but after putting D'Addario EXPs on my Takamine jumbo 12, and absolutely loving the sound, I decided more experimentation was in order.
I've always been tempted by silk/silver wound so-called "folk/fingerpicking" strings, and I have fallen head over heels and ass over teakettle in love with the sound of these things on my Breedlove. Songs I had tired of, or never felt happy with the sound of, now sound perfect to me. We've been working on a couple covers that I was constantly disappointed with, and now they're spot on, exactly the sound I wanted.
It makes sense. I had a Takamine classical forever, and the silk strings produce a sound somewhere between the classicals (especially the bases) and phosphor bronze. The stuff we do, and especially the stuff I write, is built for that kind of warm tone. The fingerpicked 12-string numbers sound incredible.
I'm gushing. I know. I gush.
Oh, yeah, and John Fahey is not allowed in the house. Lauren asked, as she has to on these occasions, whether he's not dead, and indeed he is, rest his twisted, tortured soul, but that's no reason to let him in. Sorry John. I adore your music, but you'll have to play outside.
This is especially distressing because of
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
42. D'Addario 12-string silk and steel guitar strings. I just love 'em.
For a year I've been experimenting with guitar strings. I was gaga for John Pearse phosphor bronze strings, but after putting D'Addario EXPs on my Takamine jumbo 12, and absolutely loving the sound, I decided more experimentation was in order.
I've always been tempted by silk/silver wound so-called "folk/fingerpicking" strings, and I have fallen head over heels and ass over teakettle in love with the sound of these things on my Breedlove. Songs I had tired of, or never felt happy with the sound of, now sound perfect to me. We've been working on a couple covers that I was constantly disappointed with, and now they're spot on, exactly the sound I wanted.
It makes sense. I had a Takamine classical forever, and the silk strings produce a sound somewhere between the classicals (especially the bases) and phosphor bronze. The stuff we do, and especially the stuff I write, is built for that kind of warm tone. The fingerpicked 12-string numbers sound incredible.
I'm gushing. I know. I gush.
Oh, yeah, and John Fahey is not allowed in the house. Lauren asked, as she has to on these occasions, whether he's not dead, and indeed he is, rest his twisted, tortured soul, but that's no reason to let him in. Sorry John. I adore your music, but you'll have to play outside.
Sunday, January 06, 2008
"torrential downpour"
It rained Thursday night, all Friday afternoon and evening, and overnight Friday. It rained a bit more yesterday. Apparently we got a record rainfall of over an inch on Friday. I just heard Lakshmi Singh call the rain a "torrential downpour." The Governator declared a state of emergency, and thousands of people have no electricity up near Sacramento, where the storm hit hardest.
'Round here, it's just another wet winter day. The storm sewer in the middle of the complex driveway clogged, as they do. My loveliest unclogged it sufficiently (it was blocked by a piece of roofing material) and no harm seems to have been done. A stream formed in the back yard, under the gates between the yards along that side of the complex. Nothing serious.
In fact, it's all good news, because of the correlative heavy snowfall in the Sierras. Which brings to mind one of
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
43. Winter days. I just love 'em. I miss real winter days with snow and cold and all that, of course, but we generally get satisfyingly rainy winter days in December and January. The last couple years have been dry, but we've had a good start this year. Here's hoping for a good wet winter.
'Round here, it's just another wet winter day. The storm sewer in the middle of the complex driveway clogged, as they do. My loveliest unclogged it sufficiently (it was blocked by a piece of roofing material) and no harm seems to have been done. A stream formed in the back yard, under the gates between the yards along that side of the complex. Nothing serious.
In fact, it's all good news, because of the correlative heavy snowfall in the Sierras. Which brings to mind one of
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
43. Winter days. I just love 'em. I miss real winter days with snow and cold and all that, of course, but we generally get satisfyingly rainy winter days in December and January. The last couple years have been dry, but we've had a good start this year. Here's hoping for a good wet winter.
Friday, January 04, 2008
bad weather, bad health, and badness
California makes a person soft. The weather is, for here, terrible: it's been raining all day, with gusty winds up to 40+ miles an hour. Accidents are piling up on the freeway; streets are flooding; chaos and lawlessness are descending upon us. (It's true! We've had to defend ourselves from three bands of roving, devolved troglodytes just this afternoon!) And there's more rain on the way.
In Pittsburgh, you'd call this kind of weather "Wednesday," and it wouldn't strike you as abnormal, except in January or February, when you'd say it was unseasonably warm. And in Fairbanks today the high temperature is -9.
I feel cold and wet. I've lived here almost 9½ years.
We had to risk drowning to take the cat to the vet today, because his GI tract is once again three miles of bad road. Poor old thing. They're running blood tests and have us feeding him antibiotics (which helped the last time), so we'll see. Of course, I'm worried sick, so I didn't sleep last night, which helps tremendously.
By the way, I wasn't kidding about risking drowning. The onramp to get onto the Crankster Freeway was almost unnavigable. The driveway through the complex soon will be. We were planning to go out to a hobby shop in search of model train gear tomorrow, but I've called that off.
In other news, it sure warmed the cockles of my heart to read of Hillary Clinton's response to her coming in third to Barack Obama in yesterday's Iowa Caucus. "Don't have false hopes, don't get your hopes up too high" is such optimistic, forward-thinking speech. It really shows what she stands for.
We also saw Sweeney Todd yesterday, as ruined utterly by Tim Burton. It's a terrible story, of course, but it's a musical, you know, with music, and it's supposed to be entertaining, you know, like entertainment. Burton drained it of almost all humor, made the entire production as grim as possible (with the exception of Helena Bonham Carter's cleavage), and soaked it in blood. Could someone please explain to Tim Burton the difference between a movie musical and a snuff film? Please? Thank you.
Tim Burton is now not allowed in the house.
I don't think Alan Rickman should be, either, but that's still in negotiation.
In Pittsburgh, you'd call this kind of weather "Wednesday," and it wouldn't strike you as abnormal, except in January or February, when you'd say it was unseasonably warm. And in Fairbanks today the high temperature is -9.
I feel cold and wet. I've lived here almost 9½ years.
We had to risk drowning to take the cat to the vet today, because his GI tract is once again three miles of bad road. Poor old thing. They're running blood tests and have us feeding him antibiotics (which helped the last time), so we'll see. Of course, I'm worried sick, so I didn't sleep last night, which helps tremendously.
By the way, I wasn't kidding about risking drowning. The onramp to get onto the Crankster Freeway was almost unnavigable. The driveway through the complex soon will be. We were planning to go out to a hobby shop in search of model train gear tomorrow, but I've called that off.
In other news, it sure warmed the cockles of my heart to read of Hillary Clinton's response to her coming in third to Barack Obama in yesterday's Iowa Caucus. "Don't have false hopes, don't get your hopes up too high" is such optimistic, forward-thinking speech. It really shows what she stands for.
We also saw Sweeney Todd yesterday, as ruined utterly by Tim Burton. It's a terrible story, of course, but it's a musical, you know, with music, and it's supposed to be entertaining, you know, like entertainment. Burton drained it of almost all humor, made the entire production as grim as possible (with the exception of Helena Bonham Carter's cleavage), and soaked it in blood. Could someone please explain to Tim Burton the difference between a movie musical and a snuff film? Please? Thank you.
Tim Burton is now not allowed in the house.
I don't think Alan Rickman should be, either, but that's still in negotiation.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Iowa
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
44. Primary seasons. I just love 'em.
Granted, today was the Iowa caucuses, which are not primary elections, but they do begin the Presidential primary campaigns in earnest (or frank, or randy). Tonight after the Sharks game we switched on CNN, which we almost never do, to see the results, and were surprised to learn (a) that Hillary Clinton finished 3rd, and (b) that David Gergen is permitted to leave his cell without wearing a strait-jacket.
In any case, it brought back to mind the 1988 election, when I got my roommate and friend Doug hopelessly addicted to politics. We routinely stayed up until 2 or 3 AM watching the endless debates, primary returns, and political chat shows. Back then, C-SPAN ran a call-in show after every sane, rational person on the East Coast would long have called it a day, and we were absolutely hooked on this thing.
The irony is, I don't even remember who my favorite was in that race, though I do remember Doug's silly faux-Southern accent when he would shout out, Ã propos of nothing, "I'm Al Gore!!!"
44. Primary seasons. I just love 'em.
Granted, today was the Iowa caucuses, which are not primary elections, but they do begin the Presidential primary campaigns in earnest (or frank, or randy). Tonight after the Sharks game we switched on CNN, which we almost never do, to see the results, and were surprised to learn (a) that Hillary Clinton finished 3rd, and (b) that David Gergen is permitted to leave his cell without wearing a strait-jacket.
In any case, it brought back to mind the 1988 election, when I got my roommate and friend Doug hopelessly addicted to politics. We routinely stayed up until 2 or 3 AM watching the endless debates, primary returns, and political chat shows. Back then, C-SPAN ran a call-in show after every sane, rational person on the East Coast would long have called it a day, and we were absolutely hooked on this thing.
The irony is, I don't even remember who my favorite was in that race, though I do remember Doug's silly faux-Southern accent when he would shout out, Ã propos of nothing, "I'm Al Gore!!!"
Thursday, December 27, 2007
two new entries in the list of non-entries
It's been quite a while since I added to the list of people not allowed in the house.
Regina Spektor could be really sweet, I suppose. I dunno. Her performance at the Bridge School concert was cute and friendly, but her lyrics suggest something deep inside that works in a strange and terrible way. Not exactly deranged, but decidedly, um, unkempt.
Bill Hicks. It's never a good idea to judge a stand-up comic on his stage persona, and I think in Hicks' case that's especially so, because there's no way any human being could truly be that rude. However, there's no way any sane human being could have written his stuff about "goat boy." It has been pointed out to me that Bill Hicks is dead, and that therefore his banishment, like Jeff Buckley's, may not be necessary. Again I reply that their being dead is no reason to allow them into the house.
Regina Spektor could be really sweet, I suppose. I dunno. Her performance at the Bridge School concert was cute and friendly, but her lyrics suggest something deep inside that works in a strange and terrible way. Not exactly deranged, but decidedly, um, unkempt.
Bill Hicks. It's never a good idea to judge a stand-up comic on his stage persona, and I think in Hicks' case that's especially so, because there's no way any human being could truly be that rude. However, there's no way any sane human being could have written his stuff about "goat boy." It has been pointed out to me that Bill Hicks is dead, and that therefore his banishment, like Jeff Buckley's, may not be necessary. Again I reply that their being dead is no reason to allow them into the house.
Monday, December 24, 2007
xmas
These are a few of
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
46. Christmas Eves. I just love 'em. The last three anyway, which I've spent in observance of the Byerly family tradition of having a turkey dinner with accoutrements and a cast that only slightly varies from year to year. I'm on turkey and potato duty again this year, which I adore, because I make a humdinger of a roast turkey and fabtastic mashed potatoes. So there.
45. Christmas gifts. I just love 'em. This year my loveliest gave me a pair of hot-pink high top sneakers from No Sweat Apparel, a sweat-shop-free, all-union-made clothing manufacturer and marketer. They are not only stylish and pink as the day is long, but I can be proud of how they were made as well as what they look like. Maybe there's something a little weird about a consumer choice representing anti-establishment values, since after all it's still consuming, but you gotta consume stuff anyway, and for me, one thing I now hafta consume is high-tops, so what the hell. Did I mention they're pink? They're pink.
I gave my loveliest a how-to-knit book, since she's been talking for a while about wanting to learn. She's made me a long rainbow-colored scarf, and she's even at this moment putting extremely long tassels onto a scarf she made for herself.
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
46. Christmas Eves. I just love 'em. The last three anyway, which I've spent in observance of the Byerly family tradition of having a turkey dinner with accoutrements and a cast that only slightly varies from year to year. I'm on turkey and potato duty again this year, which I adore, because I make a humdinger of a roast turkey and fabtastic mashed potatoes. So there.
45. Christmas gifts. I just love 'em. This year my loveliest gave me a pair of hot-pink high top sneakers from No Sweat Apparel, a sweat-shop-free, all-union-made clothing manufacturer and marketer. They are not only stylish and pink as the day is long, but I can be proud of how they were made as well as what they look like. Maybe there's something a little weird about a consumer choice representing anti-establishment values, since after all it's still consuming, but you gotta consume stuff anyway, and for me, one thing I now hafta consume is high-tops, so what the hell. Did I mention they're pink? They're pink.
I gave my loveliest a how-to-knit book, since she's been talking for a while about wanting to learn. She's made me a long rainbow-colored scarf, and she's even at this moment putting extremely long tassels onto a scarf she made for herself.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
fcc changes rules on media ownership, again
A corporation can now own a newspaper and TV station in the same media market, thanks to a change in FCC ownership regulations. Democrats did a fair job of staging opposition and outrage, but really, it's a token gesture by both the Dems and the FCC. The real regulatory changes came in the 80s, when, under the guidance of such luminaries as Mark Fowler (who called TV "a toaster with pictures"), the FCC opened media ownership across markets and eliminated the requirement that broadcast media provide public affairs information on a regular basis. Corporate media are, at this stage, fundamentally incapable of legitimate news reporting of anything beyond fires and sports scores - and I'm not really willing to stand behind that.
The Democrats' outrage was focused on the alleged clandestine nature of the Commission's vote on the regulation. Whether or not the vote happened late at night, the fact is that the proposed regulation has been floating around for around 6 months.
Debbie Tate is right!
But you can still do rotten things transparently. It's ironic as hell: media have, per the FCC, no responsibility to the public whatsoever. The transparency of any FCC regulation shift depends, in our society, on its being made public through the media the FCC increasingly avoid regulating.
Eh. That's why we only watch ice hockey, the occasional flick, and Comedy Central.
The Democrats' outrage was focused on the alleged clandestine nature of the Commission's vote on the regulation. Whether or not the vote happened late at night, the fact is that the proposed regulation has been floating around for around 6 months.
Republican Commissioner Deborah Taylor Tate described the process as "transparent and thorough." She said the changes proposed are narrow, and hinted she was in favor of a greater liberalization of the media ownership rules.
Debbie Tate is right!
But you can still do rotten things transparently. It's ironic as hell: media have, per the FCC, no responsibility to the public whatsoever. The transparency of any FCC regulation shift depends, in our society, on its being made public through the media the FCC increasingly avoid regulating.
Eh. That's why we only watch ice hockey, the occasional flick, and Comedy Central.
Monday, December 17, 2007
holidaze
Busy. Nutty busy. Two classes' grades down, two to go. Yip.
But it's not just the grade-a-thon-a-rama. It's...
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
47. Christmas cookies. I just love 'em.
My family always made Christmas cookies in tremendous variety and quantity. One year I believe we made something like 15 dozen cookies: sugar cookies, molasses cookies, press cookies, cherry-coconut bars, lemon bars, waffle cookies, macaroons. It was nuts. We had Christmas cookies until Easter.
We've made the sugar and molasses cookies each year we've been together. The molasses are my favorites, because they're unique and because it's the kind of cookie dough that leads to storytelling, chiefly because it's hard to make the dough without breaking a spoon. I've literally broken spoons stirring in the flour, because the dough needs to be that stiff.
This year I broke all tradition by mixing buckwheat flour into the dough. The taste is different in that nutty, woody buckwheat way, and it makes the molasses taste just a bit darker. We've been icing and decorating them, but no pictures are available, because these things must be kept secreted in undisclosed locations for the sake of national security.
No one knows why.
But it's not just the grade-a-thon-a-rama. It's...
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
47. Christmas cookies. I just love 'em.
My family always made Christmas cookies in tremendous variety and quantity. One year I believe we made something like 15 dozen cookies: sugar cookies, molasses cookies, press cookies, cherry-coconut bars, lemon bars, waffle cookies, macaroons. It was nuts. We had Christmas cookies until Easter.
We've made the sugar and molasses cookies each year we've been together. The molasses are my favorites, because they're unique and because it's the kind of cookie dough that leads to storytelling, chiefly because it's hard to make the dough without breaking a spoon. I've literally broken spoons stirring in the flour, because the dough needs to be that stiff.
This year I broke all tradition by mixing buckwheat flour into the dough. The taste is different in that nutty, woody buckwheat way, and it makes the molasses taste just a bit darker. We've been icing and decorating them, but no pictures are available, because these things must be kept secreted in undisclosed locations for the sake of national security.
No one knows why.
Monday, December 10, 2007
something
Another in the blockbuster series that TIME magazine has called nothing at all.
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
48. Last days of semesters. I just love 'em.
Today is, in fact, the last teaching day of the semester. I've taken over the last couple years to trying to make the last day an optional-attendance working-on-final-papers session. It's nice to relax, and additionally, by then, there's not much more anyone can reasonably do that will make a world of pedagogical difference. The informal, sometimes very informal tone is nice too. Some of the barriers between students and faculty break down a bit, so students feel comfortable discussing what they got out of the course, what made it work for them, how they managed the work, and so on. And they ask the questions that are really on their minds, like, "Are you going to grade the final paper as strictly as you did the midterm?"
Good times.
In other news, it may be about time to get back in the recording studio.
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
48. Last days of semesters. I just love 'em.
Today is, in fact, the last teaching day of the semester. I've taken over the last couple years to trying to make the last day an optional-attendance working-on-final-papers session. It's nice to relax, and additionally, by then, there's not much more anyone can reasonably do that will make a world of pedagogical difference. The informal, sometimes very informal tone is nice too. Some of the barriers between students and faculty break down a bit, so students feel comfortable discussing what they got out of the course, what made it work for them, how they managed the work, and so on. And they ask the questions that are really on their minds, like, "Are you going to grade the final paper as strictly as you did the midterm?"
Good times.
In other news, it may be about time to get back in the recording studio.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
year in review on the cheap
My loveliest caught a meme. She's okay; she's not even coughing much. In any case, I caught it from her. It's...
Doc Nagel's Ye Olde Yeare in Reviewe, uh, "e"
The rules of the game are pointlessly simple: You post a post in which you collect the first lines of all your posts from every month of your posts in your blog, which you posted. Those posts you post as a post posting your year in review post. And then you win!
January: home at last. Lauren and I left Turlock on Friday the 22nd for L.A.
February: back in the saddle. Despite tear gas, stomped vegetables, and general discombobulation, we're settling back into home.
March: been busy; strike vote next week. A couple weeks go by, and it's like a couple weeks go by!
April: tentative agreement. CFA announced today that it reached a tentative agreement with CSU on a new contract.
May: happy landings. I'm less neurotic than other people I know.
June: since finishing grading. "Vacation" is one of the sample labels Blogger offers bloggers for their blogs.
July: hot. It was 106 yesterday.
August: thingy. You don't think we should tax . . . ?
September: lesson learned. One night, if you can't sleep, and you get out of bed to shuffle off to the next room to read a bit and try to get sleepy again, don't pick up Theodor Adorno.
October: ach! zings! (think: bad german accent) Ach!
November: election day?? Today is the day that Americans solemnify the basic democratic right to vote.
December: and another thing, and another thing. Recent additions to Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
As you can see, I spent the year planning to strike, voting to strike, not striking, being hot, voting, and writing about things.
Doc Nagel's Ye Olde Yeare in Reviewe, uh, "e"
The rules of the game are pointlessly simple: You post a post in which you collect the first lines of all your posts from every month of your posts in your blog, which you posted. Those posts you post as a post posting your year in review post. And then you win!
January: home at last. Lauren and I left Turlock on Friday the 22nd for L.A.
February: back in the saddle. Despite tear gas, stomped vegetables, and general discombobulation, we're settling back into home.
March: been busy; strike vote next week. A couple weeks go by, and it's like a couple weeks go by!
April: tentative agreement. CFA announced today that it reached a tentative agreement with CSU on a new contract.
May: happy landings. I'm less neurotic than other people I know.
June: since finishing grading. "Vacation" is one of the sample labels Blogger offers bloggers for their blogs.
July: hot. It was 106 yesterday.
August: thingy. You don't think we should tax . . . ?
September: lesson learned. One night, if you can't sleep, and you get out of bed to shuffle off to the next room to read a bit and try to get sleepy again, don't pick up Theodor Adorno.
October: ach! zings! (think: bad german accent) Ach!
November: election day?? Today is the day that Americans solemnify the basic democratic right to vote.
December: and another thing, and another thing. Recent additions to Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
As you can see, I spent the year planning to strike, voting to strike, not striking, being hot, voting, and writing about things.
how to go to concerts, apparently
I've been to two holiday music concerts this weekend: the Modesto Symphony Orchestra and Chorus Holiday Pops concert, guest-conducted by Steven Reineke, and the CSU Stanislaus Carolfest. The Carolfest was, as always, excellent. Reineke's pops stuff was sorta fruitcakey. But in both concerts I sat near people who sang along. I know this is sometimes the thing to do in pop/rock/etc. music, but the etiquette with orchestral music, so far as I know, is that you don't sing along with the trained singers, you sit in quiet enjoyment, or at least quietly so others can enjoy. Today we heard two people singing along, off-key with Handel's Hallelujah Chorus. It doesn't go like that, dummies!
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
and another thing, and another thing
Recent additions to
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
50. Model trains. I just love 'em. I had a Lionel O-27 gauge train as a kid. My grampa gave the starter set to me for Christmas one year, and I eventually ended up with a lot of track, switches, great cars, and so on. I never developed it into a set layout, partly because it's big enough that there wasn't a place to keep it permanently set up, and also because I was never handy with models. The train was a toy, mainly, and a big part of the fun was setting up different layouts whenever I brought it out.
We went to the Turlock toy train show at the fairgrounds last Sunday, and before we knew what we were doing, we bought a transformer, a locomotive, some curved track, and a couple cars, and now we're in the railroad business.
Iconic toy train picture: circular track around a Christmastree rosemary bush. Close enough.
49. Pork roasts and Robert sauces. I think it's now beyond question that my favorite French sauce is sauce Robert, that diabolical brew. You make it by sautéeing shallots in butter, adding dry white wine to that, reducing that stuff until you've got a couple tablespoons, then adding a teaspoon of mustard (whole prepared), some confectioners' sugar, and a couple tablespoons of demi-glace. Holy mother of moose, but that's a sauce. It's tart, sweet, spicy, complex, and is absolutely spot-on perfect with roast pork.
And boy howdy can I roast pork loin. I mean, like nobody's damn business. I did this one rubbed with mustard, nutmeg, garlic, pepper, salt, a leeetle bit of olive oil to hold it together, all roasted high temperature about 45 minutes, absolutely perfect.
As I've mentioned, I am the philosopher-chef. This apparently means that I roast knowledge, as well as that I am saucier than thou. No pictures of that. We ate the whole thing.
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
50. Model trains. I just love 'em. I had a Lionel O-27 gauge train as a kid. My grampa gave the starter set to me for Christmas one year, and I eventually ended up with a lot of track, switches, great cars, and so on. I never developed it into a set layout, partly because it's big enough that there wasn't a place to keep it permanently set up, and also because I was never handy with models. The train was a toy, mainly, and a big part of the fun was setting up different layouts whenever I brought it out.
We went to the Turlock toy train show at the fairgrounds last Sunday, and before we knew what we were doing, we bought a transformer, a locomotive, some curved track, and a couple cars, and now we're in the railroad business.
Iconic toy train picture: circular track around a Christmas
49. Pork roasts and Robert sauces. I think it's now beyond question that my favorite French sauce is sauce Robert, that diabolical brew. You make it by sautéeing shallots in butter, adding dry white wine to that, reducing that stuff until you've got a couple tablespoons, then adding a teaspoon of mustard (whole prepared), some confectioners' sugar, and a couple tablespoons of demi-glace. Holy mother of moose, but that's a sauce. It's tart, sweet, spicy, complex, and is absolutely spot-on perfect with roast pork.
And boy howdy can I roast pork loin. I mean, like nobody's damn business. I did this one rubbed with mustard, nutmeg, garlic, pepper, salt, a leeetle bit of olive oil to hold it together, all roasted high temperature about 45 minutes, absolutely perfect.
As I've mentioned, I am the philosopher-chef. This apparently means that I roast knowledge, as well as that I am saucier than thou. No pictures of that. We ate the whole thing.
Friday, November 30, 2007
weakened weekend
Saturday we plan to stare at a patch on the wall.
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
52. Weekends (more or less) off. I just love 'em. This is the first in a while. I don't plan to drive anywhere, write something, do a ton of grading, or anything else like that. Of course, I do have to prep for Monday, but I'm trying to regard that as somehow just a fun weekend activity.
Teaching in college is not a cushy job, but it has the enormous perk of summers off. I think we pay for that with the tough hours we put in during the academic year. I rarely get a weekend like this coming one, and man, do I need it.
51. Quasi-scientific explanations. I just love 'em. Faux-science charms me, as satire and as silliness. One of the best fake science purveyors is Duck's Breath Mystery Theater's Ask Dr. Science, which airs on NPR. They tend not to rely on one of my favorite fake-science tropes, the inflated "sciency" terminology. If you can slap "quotient," "factor," or "-itis" in there somewhere, you've got instant comedy.
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
52. Weekends (more or less) off. I just love 'em. This is the first in a while. I don't plan to drive anywhere, write something, do a ton of grading, or anything else like that. Of course, I do have to prep for Monday, but I'm trying to regard that as somehow just a fun weekend activity.
Teaching in college is not a cushy job, but it has the enormous perk of summers off. I think we pay for that with the tough hours we put in during the academic year. I rarely get a weekend like this coming one, and man, do I need it.
51. Quasi-scientific explanations. I just love 'em. Faux-science charms me, as satire and as silliness. One of the best fake science purveyors is Duck's Breath Mystery Theater's Ask Dr. Science, which airs on NPR. They tend not to rely on one of my favorite fake-science tropes, the inflated "sciency" terminology. If you can slap "quotient," "factor," or "-itis" in there somewhere, you've got instant comedy.
end of the month
Goodbye, November.
Good riddance. Egad, what a month. I now have 5 more days of class sessions, then final papers, and this semester is over. More on that another time. What's critical here is that tomorrow begins December, and will be spent doing very little. We might go to the toy train show at the fairgrounds. Might.
Last night I came downstairs after working on stuff (after the jazz combo concert on campus) to discover that my loveliest had assembled a model locomotive, entirely out of used aluminum products - a soda can serving as the body, two cat food cans as large wheels, four tealight tins as small wheels and another as the smokestack, and some used foil shaped into the engine room. I love toy trains, so it was a very sweet surprise.
Good riddance. Egad, what a month. I now have 5 more days of class sessions, then final papers, and this semester is over. More on that another time. What's critical here is that tomorrow begins December, and will be spent doing very little. We might go to the toy train show at the fairgrounds. Might.
Last night I came downstairs after working on stuff (after the jazz combo concert on campus) to discover that my loveliest had assembled a model locomotive, entirely out of used aluminum products - a soda can serving as the body, two cat food cans as large wheels, four tealight tins as small wheels and another as the smokestack, and some used foil shaped into the engine room. I love toy trains, so it was a very sweet surprise.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
relations, jury duty
It takes only a short holiday trip to reconfirm what we have all known for generations upon generations: Everyone's relatives are crazy. We know this is true because they drive us crazy, too.
Exactly how it is that we have been able to remain sane, when all of our relatives are out of their minds, is unclear. It is also unknown precisely how it is that their insanity produces our own, or how it spreads to us. Studies have identified correlative factors, but have never reduced these down to a core cause. Of these, the greatest controversy surrounds whether Outrageous Prejudice and Political Views or Dysfunction and Dysfunction-Blindness is the most significant factor. Others argue that Substance Abuse is the key, since it lowers inhibitions about expressing or acting upon the other two. Finally, a small but committed minority of researchers say the entire process is driven by a poorly-understood but apparently very powerful element that they call the Day-amn, These People Are Crazy Quotient.
Recovery times vary, apparently depending on three key variables: Visit-Duration, Relative-Density, and Vegetation-Opportunity. These factors do not mitigate the insanity-producing or -spreading effect of holidays with the folks, but they do predict rates of regaining good senses, within 3%.
We got back from LA early Saturday evening. This is my first post. Lauren's folk don't, for me, have a very high DTPAC Quotient (closeness of relation is probably another factor), but I'm still in the awkward adolescence of newfound sanity, if that makes any sense, and I doubt it. The Visit-Duration was short, Relative-Density less than usual, but what really screwed me this trip was the lack of Vegetation-Opportunity.
I had jury duty Monday. Man oh man oh man oh man do I loathe jury duty. It's not my civic duty that I detest. It's being in the courthouse, in courtrooms, being around bailiffs and judges, and hearing dozens of my fellow citizens plod through oral voir-dire answering 11 frigging questions that should take 30 seconds to respond to. Obviously I can't divulge. But I will say it's amazing to me that none of these people use illegal drugs. Truly, truly amazing. In fact, unbelievable, especially about that one guy.
Exactly how it is that we have been able to remain sane, when all of our relatives are out of their minds, is unclear. It is also unknown precisely how it is that their insanity produces our own, or how it spreads to us. Studies have identified correlative factors, but have never reduced these down to a core cause. Of these, the greatest controversy surrounds whether Outrageous Prejudice and Political Views or Dysfunction and Dysfunction-Blindness is the most significant factor. Others argue that Substance Abuse is the key, since it lowers inhibitions about expressing or acting upon the other two. Finally, a small but committed minority of researchers say the entire process is driven by a poorly-understood but apparently very powerful element that they call the Day-amn, These People Are Crazy Quotient.
Recovery times vary, apparently depending on three key variables: Visit-Duration, Relative-Density, and Vegetation-Opportunity. These factors do not mitigate the insanity-producing or -spreading effect of holidays with the folks, but they do predict rates of regaining good senses, within 3%.
We got back from LA early Saturday evening. This is my first post. Lauren's folk don't, for me, have a very high DTPAC Quotient (closeness of relation is probably another factor), but I'm still in the awkward adolescence of newfound sanity, if that makes any sense, and I doubt it. The Visit-Duration was short, Relative-Density less than usual, but what really screwed me this trip was the lack of Vegetation-Opportunity.
I had jury duty Monday. Man oh man oh man oh man do I loathe jury duty. It's not my civic duty that I detest. It's being in the courthouse, in courtrooms, being around bailiffs and judges, and hearing dozens of my fellow citizens plod through oral voir-dire answering 11 frigging questions that should take 30 seconds to respond to. Obviously I can't divulge. But I will say it's amazing to me that none of these people use illegal drugs. Truly, truly amazing. In fact, unbelievable, especially about that one guy.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
the problem of self-worth
The last therapist I had was really good. I found her through the employee assistance program I have access to, and I was lucky to get her. My problems were depression and anxiety, and although I had some serious depression and anxiety, I must have been strawberry shortcake compared to her main focus of specialization: most of her clients were sex offenders.
In any case, when I got the referral, I called to interview her. I asked about her orientation and methodology. She was amused. I'm pretty sure she thought I was the biggest smart-ass in the world. But I know a little about psychology, have seen a handful of mainly very bad therapists, and I wanted to know. She didn't say.
One of the tasks she kept presenting me was to understand my troubles in terms of how I interpreted and told myself what my experiences meant. (So, if you're keeping score at home, she was probably operating out of some version of rational-emotive or cognitive therapy.) She would ask me why I was focused on the negative judgments of me made by people I didn't respect - which I was, honestly. To me, doofus that I am, this was a revelation.
She also asked me very difficult questions about self-worth that I still struggle with. I'm not sure, even now, what self-worth means, or how it would function in my life. In her view, it meant something like valuing myself, simply and solely because I am me. This is very hard for me to do, to the point that when she would ask me about my self-worth, I would start to rattle off the things I had done or the qualities I had that seemed to be worthy. "I'm intelligent," I'd say, pointing out what seemed obviously to be a worthy characteristic. But she'd say that intelligence isn't something I'd really earned, and isn't something intrinsically worthy, anyway.
It was a trick, of course. Any particular characteristic one has isn't the real source of self-worth. Under this model of therapy, self-worth arises from a rational and emotional notion of one's centrality to one's own life. Let me rephrase that: under this model, self-worth is you telling yourself that you're worth consideration. There is no magic, no psychohistory or psychodrama at the root of the problem of having a poor self-concept.
That it still comes up, while my life in general is demonstrably, objectively, in every way better than it was when I was dealing with depression, is stunning and puzzling to me. But it's true: a bad class session, poor reception of a paper I've written, listening to superior guitarists, an offhand comment, can all shake my self-confidence and undermine my feeling of self-worth.
But this remains an open question for me. As much as I would like to feel good about myself, and not have that sense of my own worthiness threatened on a daily basis, I remain suspicious of the idea of intrinsic self-worth. Do we not need to deserve it? Do we not need to deserve ourselves, or deserve the good, the happiness, the pleasure, that we continuously demand for ourselves?
In any case, when I got the referral, I called to interview her. I asked about her orientation and methodology. She was amused. I'm pretty sure she thought I was the biggest smart-ass in the world. But I know a little about psychology, have seen a handful of mainly very bad therapists, and I wanted to know. She didn't say.
One of the tasks she kept presenting me was to understand my troubles in terms of how I interpreted and told myself what my experiences meant. (So, if you're keeping score at home, she was probably operating out of some version of rational-emotive or cognitive therapy.) She would ask me why I was focused on the negative judgments of me made by people I didn't respect - which I was, honestly. To me, doofus that I am, this was a revelation.
She also asked me very difficult questions about self-worth that I still struggle with. I'm not sure, even now, what self-worth means, or how it would function in my life. In her view, it meant something like valuing myself, simply and solely because I am me. This is very hard for me to do, to the point that when she would ask me about my self-worth, I would start to rattle off the things I had done or the qualities I had that seemed to be worthy. "I'm intelligent," I'd say, pointing out what seemed obviously to be a worthy characteristic. But she'd say that intelligence isn't something I'd really earned, and isn't something intrinsically worthy, anyway.
It was a trick, of course. Any particular characteristic one has isn't the real source of self-worth. Under this model of therapy, self-worth arises from a rational and emotional notion of one's centrality to one's own life. Let me rephrase that: under this model, self-worth is you telling yourself that you're worth consideration. There is no magic, no psychohistory or psychodrama at the root of the problem of having a poor self-concept.
That it still comes up, while my life in general is demonstrably, objectively, in every way better than it was when I was dealing with depression, is stunning and puzzling to me. But it's true: a bad class session, poor reception of a paper I've written, listening to superior guitarists, an offhand comment, can all shake my self-confidence and undermine my feeling of self-worth.
But this remains an open question for me. As much as I would like to feel good about myself, and not have that sense of my own worthiness threatened on a daily basis, I remain suspicious of the idea of intrinsic self-worth. Do we not need to deserve it? Do we not need to deserve ourselves, or deserve the good, the happiness, the pleasure, that we continuously demand for ourselves?
pies
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
53. Pies. I just love 'em. My mom always baked the most wonderful pies. They have set the standard for pies in my life. No store-bought or restaurant pie has ever come close to my mom's apple, peach, or pumpkin - especially pumpkin.
Unfortunately, true to family form, my mom isn't good at transmitting recipes. I called her the other day to get the recipe for apple and to check on the pumpkin recipe, and as she read me them, she kept saying cryptic things like "I add more" or "I add less." That means the recipe isn't what actually goes on, which is to say that it isn't a recipe.
I don't mind that. The good Moose knows, I don't have recipes for most things I cook. But this business of having and disseminating recipes which are not in fact the recipe one usespromulgates an oppressive ideology is very confusing.
I call upon all bakers and cooks to be honest with those with whom they share their knowledge, and to be honest with themselves, and admit when their so-called recipes are mere guidelines, hints, or admonitions. Not all moral prescriptions are absolute and inviolate, and likewise not all culinary prescriptions can be legislated for all times and for all persons.
So there. The philosopher-chef has spoken.
53. Pies. I just love 'em. My mom always baked the most wonderful pies. They have set the standard for pies in my life. No store-bought or restaurant pie has ever come close to my mom's apple, peach, or pumpkin - especially pumpkin.
Unfortunately, true to family form, my mom isn't good at transmitting recipes. I called her the other day to get the recipe for apple and to check on the pumpkin recipe, and as she read me them, she kept saying cryptic things like "I add more" or "I add less." That means the recipe isn't what actually goes on, which is to say that it isn't a recipe.
I don't mind that. The good Moose knows, I don't have recipes for most things I cook. But this business of having and disseminating recipes which are not in fact the recipe one uses
I call upon all bakers and cooks to be honest with those with whom they share their knowledge, and to be honest with themselves, and admit when their so-called recipes are mere guidelines, hints, or admonitions. Not all moral prescriptions are absolute and inviolate, and likewise not all culinary prescriptions can be legislated for all times and for all persons.
So there. The philosopher-chef has spoken.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
dinner
Tonight, I'm making one of my favorites:
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
54. Meatloafs. Meatloaves? Whatever. I just love 'em.
We've all had meatloaf. Most of us, anyway. And most of the meatloaf we've had isn't terribly exciting stuff. Soda crackers, an egg, some milk, ketchup, plopped together. I never thought anything of it, despite my sister's love of the stuff (especially in the rather bizarre form of a meatloaf and peanut butter sandwich). My mom made this meatloaf. Your mom probably did too. Our moms love us, but their meatloaves don't prove it.
I first discovered meatloaf in the full sense from a joint in Mo-town called DeVa. They make a Mediterranean style meatloaf sandwich with tomato sauce and melted cheese. The meatloaf is a revelation: savory, spicy, even juicy. I've devoted myself to finding a way to create gourmet meatloaf ever since.
My current recipe involves ground beef, lamb, and pork, gobs of mustard, either salsa or tomato sauce, and the key ingredients: generous supplies of cumin and garlic. It's in the oven now, baking away.
And for crying out loud, use beef with some damn fat in it, people! You'll get baked cardboard if'n you don't. And add more garlic! More! MORE!
I've made tomato sauce today as well, so I can make us meatloaf sandwiches the DeVa way later this week.
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
54. Meatloafs. Meatloaves? Whatever. I just love 'em.
We've all had meatloaf. Most of us, anyway. And most of the meatloaf we've had isn't terribly exciting stuff. Soda crackers, an egg, some milk, ketchup, plopped together. I never thought anything of it, despite my sister's love of the stuff (especially in the rather bizarre form of a meatloaf and peanut butter sandwich). My mom made this meatloaf. Your mom probably did too. Our moms love us, but their meatloaves don't prove it.
I first discovered meatloaf in the full sense from a joint in Mo-town called DeVa. They make a Mediterranean style meatloaf sandwich with tomato sauce and melted cheese. The meatloaf is a revelation: savory, spicy, even juicy. I've devoted myself to finding a way to create gourmet meatloaf ever since.
My current recipe involves ground beef, lamb, and pork, gobs of mustard, either salsa or tomato sauce, and the key ingredients: generous supplies of cumin and garlic. It's in the oven now, baking away.
And for crying out loud, use beef with some damn fat in it, people! You'll get baked cardboard if'n you don't. And add more garlic! More! MORE!
I've made tomato sauce today as well, so I can make us meatloaf sandwiches the DeVa way later this week.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Chi
Chicago is one example.
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
55. Big cities. I just love 'em. I've been to San Francisco and Washington DC more than other big cities (and some would say these aren't, and in the case of DC they'd be more right than wrong, but anyway), but I've also been to New York a couple times and Chicago a small handful. I love Chicago.
Red-eyed out to Chi for SPEP, Wednesday night to Thursday morning. After getting some breakfast and waiting out our hotel reservation we got in, rested up a bit, then hit the town. We hiked 4 miles from the River North Westin, around the Magnificent Mile and over to the Navy Pier, then back, that afternoon. Friday we did the conference morning sessions and then headed back out, this time south, around Grant Park, all the way over to Shedd Aquarium so I could show Lauren the view of Lake Michigan from there. Along the way you get views like this:
Once you're right at the aquarium, turning toward the lake, the skyline is to your left, and nothing but lake in front of you. The wind at that point is wonderful.
One of the coolest things about Chicago is of course architecture. The skyscraper was born there, and there are fine examples all over the freaking place. Better yet, there are skyscrapers of every era, from the teens to now. This gives you incredible juxtapositions: a 19th century Louis Sullivan monumental hunk of rock next to a postmodern glass frolic, behind a high-modern steel tower and a concrete obelisk.
We didn't close Berghoff's, like I did with a gaggle of Duquesne philosophy grad students years ago (after untold pitchers of German beer and untold platters of German food). We didn't get a hotdog from a street vendor, because there weren't any in evidence. We did get a Chicago pizza, which I love, but Lauren wasn't thrilled by. Best of all, was the walking. Chicago is a fantastic place to walk. Hazardous, but delightful.
Doc Nagel's Top 100 Things
55. Big cities. I just love 'em. I've been to San Francisco and Washington DC more than other big cities (and some would say these aren't, and in the case of DC they'd be more right than wrong, but anyway), but I've also been to New York a couple times and Chicago a small handful. I love Chicago.
Red-eyed out to Chi for SPEP, Wednesday night to Thursday morning. After getting some breakfast and waiting out our hotel reservation we got in, rested up a bit, then hit the town. We hiked 4 miles from the River North Westin, around the Magnificent Mile and over to the Navy Pier, then back, that afternoon. Friday we did the conference morning sessions and then headed back out, this time south, around Grant Park, all the way over to Shedd Aquarium so I could show Lauren the view of Lake Michigan from there. Along the way you get views like this:
Once you're right at the aquarium, turning toward the lake, the skyline is to your left, and nothing but lake in front of you. The wind at that point is wonderful.
One of the coolest things about Chicago is of course architecture. The skyscraper was born there, and there are fine examples all over the freaking place. Better yet, there are skyscrapers of every era, from the teens to now. This gives you incredible juxtapositions: a 19th century Louis Sullivan monumental hunk of rock next to a postmodern glass frolic, behind a high-modern steel tower and a concrete obelisk.
We didn't close Berghoff's, like I did with a gaggle of Duquesne philosophy grad students years ago (after untold pitchers of German beer and untold platters of German food). We didn't get a hotdog from a street vendor, because there weren't any in evidence. We did get a Chicago pizza, which I love, but Lauren wasn't thrilled by. Best of all, was the walking. Chicago is a fantastic place to walk. Hazardous, but delightful.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
election day??
Today is the day that Americans solemnify the basic democratic right to vote. Er, well, today is the day that many a few Americans solemnify desecrate go vote.
We're going.
It's very exciting this year. No, it's not. I'm sorry. I lied.
Turlock school board. Nnyeh. I will never have a child in a Turlock school, or any other school, for that matter. But of course I care. I want to do anything I can to elect godless communists to the school board.
Irrigation district. Bleh. I don't irrigate, personally. Our tiny little rental yard is irrigated. They're also the people from whom we get electricity, which would make sense if they generated electricity from hydroelectric dams, but of course they don't in any great capacity. Voting for one or another of these guys will make no real difference in the policy of generating power with the cheapest investment for the greatest profit. (I looked into running for the irrigation board, because of my disgust that we only get 1% of our power from solar and less from wind. It was basically impossible for me to run.)
I think there's a proposition or two. These are rarely good ideas.
Frankly, I think I just like to fill in the little balloty thingies.
We're going.
It's very exciting this year. No, it's not. I'm sorry. I lied.
Turlock school board. Nnyeh. I will never have a child in a Turlock school, or any other school, for that matter. But of course I care. I want to do anything I can to elect godless communists to the school board.
Irrigation district. Bleh. I don't irrigate, personally. Our tiny little rental yard is irrigated. They're also the people from whom we get electricity, which would make sense if they generated electricity from hydroelectric dams, but of course they don't in any great capacity. Voting for one or another of these guys will make no real difference in the policy of generating power with the cheapest investment for the greatest profit. (I looked into running for the irrigation board, because of my disgust that we only get 1% of our power from solar and less from wind. It was basically impossible for me to run.)
I think there's a proposition or two. These are rarely good ideas.
Frankly, I think I just like to fill in the little balloty thingies.
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