It's February, which means it's the season for writing a paper for the Society for Phenomenology and Media, something I've done each of the last 9 years. I am the only person to have attended every conference of the group, which I call SPaM.
This year I'm writing about Alfred Schutz's essay "The Well-Informed Citizen," which my honors Human Interests and the Power of Information class is reading. Not usually one to engage in critique (as a result of his commitment to a descriptive phenomenological method), Schutz concludes the essay by saying there is a problem posed by public opinion, especially when it guides political decisions in democratic societies. It's not that original a problem to pose (Walter Lippmann published Public Opinion in 1922, though he had a very different attitude toward it), but Schutz's call for the well-informed citizen to "prevail" over public opinion is a peculiar way of dealing with it, especially since Schutz doesn't tell us what that would mean. It's practically tossed off at the end of the essay, and it's not obvious how the essay as a whole helps illuminate the problem, or even how the problem is motivated by the essay or vice-versa.
I've spent a ton of time on this essay over the years, but for some reason this year it seems as if I have been able to get deeper into it. That has its good points and its bad points. I'm finding it very difficult to keep my paper within narrow enough parameters. It wants to creep all over the place. So I'm thinking my presentation this coming Thursday will be a little odd. We'll see. Perhaps I'll be able to get some of the other stuff out of my system in class on Monday, so the focus on public opinion can come back.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Thursday, February 08, 2007
landmark post #200
A few utterly disconnected items.
1. One of the aspects of popular fame that would really disturb me if I were popularly famous is that news services routinely prepare anticipatory obituaries for such people. I understand, they don't want to be caught having to write something appropriate, pithy, ironic, or whatever in the 3 minutes they have to scoop other news services on the death watch. But still, there's something very slightly ghoulish about it, and the notion that someone has already summed up my life and achievements in 300-500 words while I'm still alive strikes as judgment before the trial. Case in point, the clearly canned obit the San Francisco Chronic Ill just posted about Anna Nicole Smith.
2. I'm trying very hard to make the most of the break between Winter and Spring, by being On A Break. So far, this is working well, except insofar as I'm working on a paper and tracking down a few issues for lecturers. I think I've got four songs in the works now, though.
3. A few candidates for my motto came to me lately:
* I eat pipsqueaks like you for breakfast!
* I'm the philosopher-chef. I saute wisdom.
* Speak softly, and carry a big schtick. (an oldie from college days)
1. One of the aspects of popular fame that would really disturb me if I were popularly famous is that news services routinely prepare anticipatory obituaries for such people. I understand, they don't want to be caught having to write something appropriate, pithy, ironic, or whatever in the 3 minutes they have to scoop other news services on the death watch. But still, there's something very slightly ghoulish about it, and the notion that someone has already summed up my life and achievements in 300-500 words while I'm still alive strikes as judgment before the trial. Case in point, the clearly canned obit the San Francisco Chronic Ill just posted about Anna Nicole Smith.
2. I'm trying very hard to make the most of the break between Winter and Spring, by being On A Break. So far, this is working well, except insofar as I'm working on a paper and tracking down a few issues for lecturers. I think I've got four songs in the works now, though.
3. A few candidates for my motto came to me lately:
* I eat pipsqueaks like you for breakfast!
* I'm the philosopher-chef. I saute wisdom.
* Speak softly, and carry a big schtick. (an oldie from college days)
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
debate
Ah, those wacky Senators. Mitch McConnell:
from the San Francisco Chronic-Ill
Let me explain, Senator. A debate is when different views on an issue are aired, argued, and defended with evidence (sometimes; we'll even make this optional for y'all because y'all have such a hard time determining what evidence means. You gotta crawl before you can walk). When you filibuster to prevent debate, you're not debating.
By the way, remember when filibusters were uncivil tactics used by the desperate to avoid admitting they had no other options? Guess what? They still are!
Remember when the Republican majority forced a Democratic filibuster to end by threatening to eliminate the rules permitting filibustering altogether - and ending over 200 years of parliamentary practice in the Senate? Looks different to the minority party, don't it, Senator McConnell? Senator? Mitch? Hello?
"The Republican side is ready for this debate," said Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell, R-Ky. "We're anxious to have it."
McConnell said Republicans were not resorting to any special tactics, calling it "ordinary" to require 60 votes before an item can move forward on the floor of the Senate and pointing to the Democratic use of the filibuster against Bush's judicial appointments when they were in the Senate minority.
from the San Francisco Chronic-Ill
Let me explain, Senator. A debate is when different views on an issue are aired, argued, and defended with evidence (sometimes; we'll even make this optional for y'all because y'all have such a hard time determining what evidence means. You gotta crawl before you can walk). When you filibuster to prevent debate, you're not debating.
By the way, remember when filibusters were uncivil tactics used by the desperate to avoid admitting they had no other options? Guess what? They still are!
Remember when the Republican majority forced a Democratic filibuster to end by threatening to eliminate the rules permitting filibustering altogether - and ending over 200 years of parliamentary practice in the Senate? Looks different to the minority party, don't it, Senator McConnell? Senator? Mitch? Hello?
Sunday, February 04, 2007
what I need: a motto
I came to the conclusion, as I recall, in the car, while running errands, just the other day. I'm pretty sure we were on Geer Road, heading south, dealing with typical Turlock traffic, to wit, gaggles of overlarge SUVs being driven very badly by soccer moms on cell phones, handfuls of little cars with loud mufflers and stereos that shake the whole car and the pavement surrounding driven very badly by 20-something underemployed guys, and Buicks being driven very badly by old people. (Not that I condone stereotyping. In fact, that could be a potential motto: "Officially, I don't condone stereotyping. Unofficially, guys with cars like that are idiots." Eh. Not so much.)
I'm pretty sure we saw a very inane bumper sticker, and decided that this was the (very bad) driver's motto. It might have been the truck with the little cartoon Calvin figure from the long-defunct Calvin & Hobbes strip, peeing onto the words "gun control."
Anyway, choosing a motto, I figure, would be a simple, effective way of advancing my life prospects. It has to be snappy, relevant, and encouraging of the kind of behavior that would advance my life prospects. So "I like cheese," though true, is not a strong contender.
I'll consider contributions from all sources, and meanwhile continue my deliberations here.
So far, I have only one candidate: "You gotta eat." More, I hope, later.
I'm pretty sure we saw a very inane bumper sticker, and decided that this was the (very bad) driver's motto. It might have been the truck with the little cartoon Calvin figure from the long-defunct Calvin & Hobbes strip, peeing onto the words "gun control."
Anyway, choosing a motto, I figure, would be a simple, effective way of advancing my life prospects. It has to be snappy, relevant, and encouraging of the kind of behavior that would advance my life prospects. So "I like cheese," though true, is not a strong contender.
I'll consider contributions from all sources, and meanwhile continue my deliberations here.
So far, I have only one candidate: "You gotta eat." More, I hope, later.
Friday, February 02, 2007
mythical guitar and demi-glace
Yesterday I made the beef stock preparatory to putting together demi-glace, the mother of all sauces. Today we zapped out yet again, to go on a series of errands, including a trip to Turlock's own Ingram Music.
I saw a guitar.
It was a Monroe-Moore (or Moore-Monroe; I'm not familiar with the brand) electric semi-hollow-body, with double cut-aways, like John Lennon's Epiphone Casino.
It was blond, too. It had an action like no guitar I have ever played, perfect balance, and frets so smooth they felt frictionless. The neck actually felt soft.
I tried to look the machine up online, to no avail. Moore-Monroe (or Monroe-Moore; see above; who knows?) doesn't have a website, it seems, and they're known for bluegrass acoustic guitars and mandolins. They also make a fair number of resonator guitars and, I kid not, an acoustic-electric bouzouki. But I didn't see this electric thing anywhere. But nothing on the electric guitar. Nobody has seen this beast, anywhere, except, it seems, Ingram, and me and Lauren.
I called Bobo, who not only owns an encyclopedia of electric guitars, but is also in many ways a walking guitar encyclopedia himself. To quote him: "I got nothing."
Horrors. A guitar Imj hasn't heard of is peculiar enough, nigh onto absurd, in fact. There can be only one conclusion: This guitar does not exist. I could go back to Ingram tomorrow (in fact, am sorely tempted), but it won't be there.
Anyway, I've made exemplary sauce Espagnole, the next step in making demi-glace. It's beef stock, a mirepoix of veggies sauteed in fatback, a roux, and good sherry, reduced down to 1/4 or so of its original volume, all the while skimming fat and other stuff off the surface. Tomorrow I'll be adding this to more sherry and the rest of the stock, reducing that to 1/2 or so of its volume, again with the skimming (always the skimming), and finally into ice trays to make demi-glace ice-cubes.
Demi-glace and electric guitars have a few things in common.
I saw a guitar.
It was a Monroe-Moore (or Moore-Monroe; I'm not familiar with the brand) electric semi-hollow-body, with double cut-aways, like John Lennon's Epiphone Casino.It was blond, too. It had an action like no guitar I have ever played, perfect balance, and frets so smooth they felt frictionless. The neck actually felt soft.
I tried to look the machine up online, to no avail. Moore-Monroe (or Monroe-Moore; see above; who knows?) doesn't have a website, it seems, and they're known for bluegrass acoustic guitars and mandolins. They also make a fair number of resonator guitars and, I kid not, an acoustic-electric bouzouki. But I didn't see this electric thing anywhere. But nothing on the electric guitar. Nobody has seen this beast, anywhere, except, it seems, Ingram, and me and Lauren.
I called Bobo, who not only owns an encyclopedia of electric guitars, but is also in many ways a walking guitar encyclopedia himself. To quote him: "I got nothing."
Horrors. A guitar Imj hasn't heard of is peculiar enough, nigh onto absurd, in fact. There can be only one conclusion: This guitar does not exist. I could go back to Ingram tomorrow (in fact, am sorely tempted), but it won't be there.
Anyway, I've made exemplary sauce Espagnole, the next step in making demi-glace. It's beef stock, a mirepoix of veggies sauteed in fatback, a roux, and good sherry, reduced down to 1/4 or so of its original volume, all the while skimming fat and other stuff off the surface. Tomorrow I'll be adding this to more sherry and the rest of the stock, reducing that to 1/2 or so of its volume, again with the skimming (always the skimming), and finally into ice trays to make demi-glace ice-cubes.
Demi-glace and electric guitars have a few things in common.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
back in the saddle
Despite tear gas, stomped vegetables, and general discombobulation, we're settling back into home. Our first full day back home since Saturday, or would have been, except we took off to Funkytown to re-stock the stores.
I'm settling back into myself, too. This morning I started the dough for rye bread. We hit the road to go pay rent and buy stuff to replace all the stuff we used up so it wouldn't get poisoned (see "tear gas," above), and on the way the subject of brewing a stout came up. We proceeded to the fermentation supply store for the necessaries, whence off to Trader Joe's. There, the idea struck that a pork tenderloin might be the thing to do, which brought to mind immediately (as it does, for me at least) sauce Robert, the ultimate French sauce for pork.
Sauce Robert requires demi-glace, the basic instrument of the hardest of hard-core French sauces. I make my own, a process that takes three days, but at the moment we're out. We'd anticipated this, and nabbed some bones the last time we trekked out to Marin County for meat. These I have roasted and am now simmering away to make the 3 or so quarts of stock that will eventually become a couple pints of demi-glace.
Meanwhile, the rye bread dough rises, and I'm listening to the Penguins game over the internets (as we say around here). Lauren is painting a yellow chrysanthemum-like flower onto the black cosntruction paper "fish tank" in the kitchen, inspired by the flowers we bought today.
Bread, beer, demi-glace, Penguins, art. I'm home.
I'm settling back into myself, too. This morning I started the dough for rye bread. We hit the road to go pay rent and buy stuff to replace all the stuff we used up so it wouldn't get poisoned (see "tear gas," above), and on the way the subject of brewing a stout came up. We proceeded to the fermentation supply store for the necessaries, whence off to Trader Joe's. There, the idea struck that a pork tenderloin might be the thing to do, which brought to mind immediately (as it does, for me at least) sauce Robert, the ultimate French sauce for pork.
Sauce Robert requires demi-glace, the basic instrument of the hardest of hard-core French sauces. I make my own, a process that takes three days, but at the moment we're out. We'd anticipated this, and nabbed some bones the last time we trekked out to Marin County for meat. These I have roasted and am now simmering away to make the 3 or so quarts of stock that will eventually become a couple pints of demi-glace.
Meanwhile, the rye bread dough rises, and I'm listening to the Penguins game over the internets (as we say around here). Lauren is painting a yellow chrysanthemum-like flower onto the black cosntruction paper "fish tank" in the kitchen, inspired by the flowers we bought today.
Bread, beer, demi-glace, Penguins, art. I'm home.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
just a blog before I go
My pal Jim ("The Most Optimistic Man in America," which might be a trademark owned by a large conglomerate, but he doesn't care) Williams used to pun on the word "blog" in the titles of his entries, so this title is sort of an homage.
It's also true: we're bugging out for several days. More properly, we're being bugged out, because the mgmt wants to tent about a dozen units and gas them for termites. I suppose they have the right to do so, but insisting that we wear those armbands is, in my opinion, going too far.
In any event, blogging will be a very low priority during this period. Chances are, I won't have net access where we're staying, and hanging around on campus to post a blog entry seems awfully silly.
We were gonna hafta stay in the Best Western Dank Inn here in Turlock. This had been the only hotel anywhere near the university until just this past year, and rumor has it that the accomodations have in fact driven away candidates for tenure-track positions. But luckily a campus pal, Susan, offered us a place, for which we are highly grateful.
Lauren sings in the Motown Symphony Chorus concert this afternoon; then the bugging out begins.
It's also true: we're bugging out for several days. More properly, we're being bugged out, because the mgmt wants to tent about a dozen units and gas them for termites. I suppose they have the right to do so, but insisting that we wear those armbands is, in my opinion, going too far.
In any event, blogging will be a very low priority during this period. Chances are, I won't have net access where we're staying, and hanging around on campus to post a blog entry seems awfully silly.
We were gonna hafta stay in the Best Western Dank Inn here in Turlock. This had been the only hotel anywhere near the university until just this past year, and rumor has it that the accomodations have in fact driven away candidates for tenure-track positions. But luckily a campus pal, Susan, offered us a place, for which we are highly grateful.
Lauren sings in the Motown Symphony Chorus concert this afternoon; then the bugging out begins.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
the state of our onion is strong
After the President's state of the union (approximately) speech, I made dinner: sauteed scallops, and shrimp with lots of garlic and some saffron served over linguine, with salad. I forgot the bread, but oh well. I did decide that while making the salad I should chop up green onions. While chopping I cut a chunk out of the nail on my left index finger, down to the flesh underneath. That's one tough onion.
I'm less sure about the US, though, after hearing the state of the union (in a manner of speaking). I don't recall Bush saying the state of the union (that thing) was strong, which is the traditional statement Presidents make. He didn't say it was weak, either. Should we infer that it's sorta fair-to-middlin'? Or moderately neato, as George Carlin put it? Hunky-dory? Okey-dokey? Blah? What? Damn it, man, speak up!
Actually, I didn't yell that at the TV. No, because we were watching the NHL All-Stars Superskills Competition (TM, in fact), which is far less exciting than you might expect, although Alexander Ovechkin just about fell on his face. I may have yelled a few things at that, or at the President. Who can tell?
I'm less sure about the US, though, after hearing the state of the union (in a manner of speaking). I don't recall Bush saying the state of the union (that thing) was strong, which is the traditional statement Presidents make. He didn't say it was weak, either. Should we infer that it's sorta fair-to-middlin'? Or moderately neato, as George Carlin put it? Hunky-dory? Okey-dokey? Blah? What? Damn it, man, speak up!
Actually, I didn't yell that at the TV. No, because we were watching the NHL All-Stars Superskills Competition (TM, in fact), which is far less exciting than you might expect, although Alexander Ovechkin just about fell on his face. I may have yelled a few things at that, or at the President. Who can tell?
Monday, January 22, 2007
yeesh! finally I'm more or less in one piece
After I was sick, I was sick again. Then I was in the middle of restructuring my entire Professional Ethics class, which is good work, but lots of work. So I haven't been blogging.
It's good, every once in a while, to take a course you've been teaching for a while and throw out everything you've used in the class. I suppose. You know, maybe it isn't such a good idea.
Anyway, I was having a blast yesterday preparing the materials on autonomy, its limitations and conditions, and how to respect autonomy understood that way. The articles were fascinating to me: depths of discussion of respect for client autonomy and competing values in social work, nursing, public policy regarding drug-using pregnant women, plus narrative identity, Rawlsian veils of ignorance, existential advocacy - a freakin' cornucopia o' concepts. Delicious!
It was about then that the realization hit me that, as always, my enthusiasm for these ideas would be much greater than my students'. This is natural, I guess. They don't have the context I have to see how challenging these ideas are to some predominant and rather naive conceptualizations of professional responsibility for client autonomy. I tried to share that today, but I don't think I gave it enough emphasis to show the contrast, and how much this set of essays opens these issues.
This is always a problem teaching any philosophy class. It's endemic to teaching philosophy that, on the fly, it's very difficult to convey to students how important it is that an idea or a way of life can be (in an intellectual sense) turned entirely upside down. Truly: from the assumption that clients are autonomous because they can choose from among options presented by professionals, we got to the analysis of the way conditions of need or lack undermine client autonomy. We moved from informed consent to autonomy as the self-direction implied in narrative identities deeply underlying public behavior and statements. I mean to say, whoa.
Then again, maybe some of them just didn't read the stuff because their midterms were due today. That happens, too. We'll see: Wednesday we'll be discussing assertions of the right to assisted dying. If that ain't fun, then maybe I just don't know what fun is!
It's good, every once in a while, to take a course you've been teaching for a while and throw out everything you've used in the class. I suppose. You know, maybe it isn't such a good idea.
Anyway, I was having a blast yesterday preparing the materials on autonomy, its limitations and conditions, and how to respect autonomy understood that way. The articles were fascinating to me: depths of discussion of respect for client autonomy and competing values in social work, nursing, public policy regarding drug-using pregnant women, plus narrative identity, Rawlsian veils of ignorance, existential advocacy - a freakin' cornucopia o' concepts. Delicious!
It was about then that the realization hit me that, as always, my enthusiasm for these ideas would be much greater than my students'. This is natural, I guess. They don't have the context I have to see how challenging these ideas are to some predominant and rather naive conceptualizations of professional responsibility for client autonomy. I tried to share that today, but I don't think I gave it enough emphasis to show the contrast, and how much this set of essays opens these issues.
This is always a problem teaching any philosophy class. It's endemic to teaching philosophy that, on the fly, it's very difficult to convey to students how important it is that an idea or a way of life can be (in an intellectual sense) turned entirely upside down. Truly: from the assumption that clients are autonomous because they can choose from among options presented by professionals, we got to the analysis of the way conditions of need or lack undermine client autonomy. We moved from informed consent to autonomy as the self-direction implied in narrative identities deeply underlying public behavior and statements. I mean to say, whoa.
Then again, maybe some of them just didn't read the stuff because their midterms were due today. That happens, too. We'll see: Wednesday we'll be discussing assertions of the right to assisted dying. If that ain't fun, then maybe I just don't know what fun is!
Saturday, January 06, 2007
beach impeach project in San Francisco today
It was chilly out today, so about 1200 people snuggled up and incidentally spelled out IMPEACH!
Yeah, kinda silly, but sometimes the point of a protest action is to have a massive lie-in on the beach, complete, I couldn't help but notice, with 12-string guitars (I think that's a Fender, poor soul).
Also: saw Night at the Museum today, and it was a lot of fun. Ben was on a tight enough leash most of the time, which always helps. Good special effects, underdone, sorta warm-rare, if you dig that.
Yeah, kinda silly, but sometimes the point of a protest action is to have a massive lie-in on the beach, complete, I couldn't help but notice, with 12-string guitars (I think that's a Fender, poor soul).
Also: saw Night at the Museum today, and it was a lot of fun. Ben was on a tight enough leash most of the time, which always helps. Good special effects, underdone, sorta warm-rare, if you dig that.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
other news
I bought a bass yesterday, during our trip up to Modesto to pay rent and get groceries from Trader Joe's. It's an OLP MM2, a four-string knock off that seems to have gotten solid reviews online. I have limited bass experience, but I always felt I had an intuitive sense of what to do to play a bassline for the kind of music I'm interested in, so this seems like the right kind of instrument for the task. So soon I'll be posting tracks with basslines. Lauren got a tambourine for Christmas, so now we've got a percussion instrument as well. Now I've got to make this wacko German software work with all these tracks.
sick
Yep, I'm sick.
I switched to the new version of Blogger, for reasons surpassing imagination. But I'm sick.
I switched to the new version of Blogger, for reasons surpassing imagination. But I'm sick.
Monday, January 01, 2007
home at last
Lauren and I left Turlock on Friday the 22nd for L.A. We left L.A. for Detroit on the 26th. We came back to L.A. on the 30th-31st. We stayed up until around 2 this morning talking about music, culture, politics, and hope, concluding yes, perhaps, of course (though ultimately doomed), and yes and no (yes for the planet, nature, cockroaches, individual persons, solidarity, struggle, and creativity, no for the species). We came home from L.A. today. Nuff said.
Got new music for Christmas from my loveliest - Tom Waits' Alice and a new find, a chick named Mirah, that were good eats. I've decided that I want to write the kind of imagery Tom Waits and Kathleen Brennan do. Got a gift card from Allison towards getting a bass, and a hoopy "You can't have too many guitars" t-shirt. My folks bought us some of our airfare to Detroit, which was disgustingly expensive (though oddly and horribly less than my sister paid to fly from Phoenix, a shorter flight, which she booked far earlier).
Down in L.A. I put together a tune for my favorite of their cats, Stella, who only seems to like me and Allison, and whom I always greet by saying "Stelllla! Hey Stelllla!" So that could come online sometime during Winter Term (which, incidentally, starts in two freaking days). Meanwhile, there's a handful of songs up there now from the most recent sessions, at the end of the semester and during finals.
Lancelot is intact. We're intact. I restrung Guinnevere while half-watching the Maple Leafs-Bruins game. I hadn't seen the Leafs yet this year, so I have no idea if this was typical, but they were certainly entertaining. For whatever reason my octave-high G string snapped when I tried to tune it up, but luckily I had a spare.
By the by, I received an invite to link my blog to a site called NHLBloggers. This is odd because I don't particularly blog about hockey - it comes up, like tonight, because I love the game. But it doesn't come up in any systematic way, and if someone followed a link to my little outpouring of teeming meaningless details of my life, I'd think that person would be a little put off.
And so ends this random post. My brain, as of this writing, has the consistency and cognitive power of a bowl of tepid gruel.
Got new music for Christmas from my loveliest - Tom Waits' Alice and a new find, a chick named Mirah, that were good eats. I've decided that I want to write the kind of imagery Tom Waits and Kathleen Brennan do. Got a gift card from Allison towards getting a bass, and a hoopy "You can't have too many guitars" t-shirt. My folks bought us some of our airfare to Detroit, which was disgustingly expensive (though oddly and horribly less than my sister paid to fly from Phoenix, a shorter flight, which she booked far earlier).
Down in L.A. I put together a tune for my favorite of their cats, Stella, who only seems to like me and Allison, and whom I always greet by saying "Stelllla! Hey Stelllla!" So that could come online sometime during Winter Term (which, incidentally, starts in two freaking days). Meanwhile, there's a handful of songs up there now from the most recent sessions, at the end of the semester and during finals.
Lancelot is intact. We're intact. I restrung Guinnevere while half-watching the Maple Leafs-Bruins game. I hadn't seen the Leafs yet this year, so I have no idea if this was typical, but they were certainly entertaining. For whatever reason my octave-high G string snapped when I tried to tune it up, but luckily I had a spare.
By the by, I received an invite to link my blog to a site called NHLBloggers. This is odd because I don't particularly blog about hockey - it comes up, like tonight, because I love the game. But it doesn't come up in any systematic way, and if someone followed a link to my little outpouring of teeming meaningless details of my life, I'd think that person would be a little put off.
And so ends this random post. My brain, as of this writing, has the consistency and cognitive power of a bowl of tepid gruel.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
NO FUTURE!
I have no idea what this means, but it fills me with a mixture of horror and grim satisfaction that words can not describe. Apparently, Jeb Bush has announced that he has no future, which (of course) immediately brings to mind the Sex Pistols' "God Save the Queen." More irony after we spend a moment contemplating the lyric.
God save the queen her fascist regime
It made you a moron a potential h bomb !
God save the queen she aint no human being
There is no future in englands dreaming
Dont be told what you want dont be told what you need
Theres no future no future no future for you
God save the queen we mean it man (God save window leen)
We love our queen God saves (God save... human beings)
God save the queen cos tourists are money
And our figurehead is not what she seems
Oh God save history God save your mad parade
Oh lord God have mercy all crimes are paid
When theres no future how can there be sin
Were the flowers in the dustbin
Were the poison in your human machine
Were the future your future
God save the queen we mean it man
There is no future in englands dreaming
No future for you no future for me
No future no future for you
Ahhh. So, the story from Reuters says that Jeb Bush told a Spanish-speaking audience that he has no future in politics, basically because brother Dubya screwed the pooch. The Bush clan's power-grab over the last 30 years (going way back to when Bush père was head of the CIA) has culminated in one of the most corrupt and vapid Administrations in US history. And the victim: Jeb. (Jeb was the heir apparent, years ago, but somehow that simian creep from Texas took over the family business. Imagine Christmas with the Bushes this year! Whoof!)
Jeb Rotten lives!
Feh. To hell with these people.
God save the queen her fascist regime
It made you a moron a potential h bomb !
God save the queen she aint no human being
There is no future in englands dreaming
Dont be told what you want dont be told what you need
Theres no future no future no future for you
God save the queen we mean it man (God save window leen)
We love our queen God saves (God save... human beings)
God save the queen cos tourists are money
And our figurehead is not what she seems
Oh God save history God save your mad parade
Oh lord God have mercy all crimes are paid
When theres no future how can there be sin
Were the flowers in the dustbin
Were the poison in your human machine
Were the future your future
God save the queen we mean it man
There is no future in englands dreaming
No future for you no future for me
No future no future for you
Ahhh. So, the story from Reuters says that Jeb Bush told a Spanish-speaking audience that he has no future in politics, basically because brother Dubya screwed the pooch. The Bush clan's power-grab over the last 30 years (going way back to when Bush père was head of the CIA) has culminated in one of the most corrupt and vapid Administrations in US history. And the victim: Jeb. (Jeb was the heir apparent, years ago, but somehow that simian creep from Texas took over the family business. Imagine Christmas with the Bushes this year! Whoof!)
Jeb Rotten lives!
Feh. To hell with these people.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
meme: 10 weird things about me
For as long as I've been online, doing the web thing, the email thing, the chat thing, and now the blog thing, I haven't done much of the community thing. One of the community things I haven't done much of is follow a meme. But I've been tapped to follow a meme by my sweetest one, so herewith is my attempt to follow through and provide...
10 Weird Things About Me.
The rules are deceptively simple: "Each player of this game starts off with ten weird things or habits or little known facts about yourself. People who get tagged must write in a blog of their own ten weird things or habits or little known facts as well as state this rule clearly. At the end you must choose six people to be tagged and list their names. No tagbacks!"
Caveat #1: As I begin, I'm not sure there even are 10 weird things about me, despite my loveliest's assurance that there are.
Caveat #2: These are not in order of weirdness. Not all of them seem weird to me.
1. I have to eat. I absolutely must eat three meals a day, just about exactly according to the ol' food pyramid (though consuming far less animal protein), or else I feel like complete and total crap.
2. I have lived for 8 or more years in 4 states (Ohio, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, and California).
3. I played ice hockey for a couple years (sadly only a couple) in Ohio when I was a kid. I played goalie. And I was a holy goddamn terror, though I played for the worst team imaginable (we won 1 game, the first game). I usually saw 30+ shots a game, and usually allowed 4 or 5 goals a game, which gave me the highest goals-against and the highest save percentage in that league. I slashed more ankles than God can count.
4. I own several vintage manual typewriters dating from the 1920s to the 1960s. I love 'em. I wrote a few hundred pages of notes on my dissertation on two of them (and my dissertation was under 200 pages).
5. I floss. You should too, but you don't.
6. From what I've gathered, I was the youngest person ever to complete the requirements for a Ph.D. degree at Duquesne University. I get this second hand. My grad school pal Paul Swift told me that when he filed to complete his Ph.D., the folks in the graduate school told him he was the youngest ever to complete the degree. He finished his the same spring I finished mine, but he was older than me. Q.E.D. Being the youngest, and having a buck and a quarter in your pocket, would get you a bus ride in Pittsburgh.
7. I dream in color, in stereo, lucidly, with taste and smell, and in pure abstract concepts. That last one is what really throws people, perhaps because I can't explain what it's like. Once, when I was reading a hell of a lot of (German philosopher G.W.F.) Hegel for a period of a few days, I dreamed what seemed to be my understanding of the way Hegel makes concepts fit, work, and fight together. It was amazing. I woke up, tried to get some of it down, went back to bed, and in the morning, my notes made (you're expecting this) absolutely no sense whatsoever.
8. I'm terrified of thunder and lightning. More than anything else except vicious homicidal gangsters and my ex-wife, I am stone-cold afraid of thunderstorms. The only thing to do is curl in the fetal position, preferably under the bed, while covered with blankets and cuddling our stuffed bunny or the cat. My fear of thunder and lightning is, as far as I can tell, my only true phobia.
9. My oldest friend, Bob, has been my friend for 32 years. We spent lots of our childhood together in Maumee, Ohio, making ridiculous tape recordings of TV and radio parodies under the auspices of radio station WDUM. Bob was the host of "This Stupid Program," which was (he would say, as the only content to the show) 32 and one-half seconds, even though in fact it only lasted about 12. I wrote ads for products from a conglomerate called Krazy Kooks Inkorporated, which sold flavored puke, manuals on such topics as how to read, and basically anything else that came to mind.
10. Unsightly stains!
The rule is, I have to tag 6 people. There's no rule that they have to participate, but I think if they don't, that means I lose. I'm not sure. Back in the day, memes didn't have rules, you were just in the grocery store and somebody said "where's the beef?!" Newfangled contraptions!
Tag:
Bobo, the Wandering Pallbearer
This Girl I Used To Know
Lancelot
You Gotta Be Kidding You
Bob, whose blog really puts this in perspective
Lascivious Polyphony, aka KOM, because KOM seems to need the boost.
10 Weird Things About Me.
The rules are deceptively simple: "Each player of this game starts off with ten weird things or habits or little known facts about yourself. People who get tagged must write in a blog of their own ten weird things or habits or little known facts as well as state this rule clearly. At the end you must choose six people to be tagged and list their names. No tagbacks!"
Caveat #1: As I begin, I'm not sure there even are 10 weird things about me, despite my loveliest's assurance that there are.
Caveat #2: These are not in order of weirdness. Not all of them seem weird to me.
1. I have to eat. I absolutely must eat three meals a day, just about exactly according to the ol' food pyramid (though consuming far less animal protein), or else I feel like complete and total crap.
2. I have lived for 8 or more years in 4 states (Ohio, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, and California).
3. I played ice hockey for a couple years (sadly only a couple) in Ohio when I was a kid. I played goalie. And I was a holy goddamn terror, though I played for the worst team imaginable (we won 1 game, the first game). I usually saw 30+ shots a game, and usually allowed 4 or 5 goals a game, which gave me the highest goals-against and the highest save percentage in that league. I slashed more ankles than God can count.
4. I own several vintage manual typewriters dating from the 1920s to the 1960s. I love 'em. I wrote a few hundred pages of notes on my dissertation on two of them (and my dissertation was under 200 pages).
5. I floss. You should too, but you don't.
6. From what I've gathered, I was the youngest person ever to complete the requirements for a Ph.D. degree at Duquesne University. I get this second hand. My grad school pal Paul Swift told me that when he filed to complete his Ph.D., the folks in the graduate school told him he was the youngest ever to complete the degree. He finished his the same spring I finished mine, but he was older than me. Q.E.D. Being the youngest, and having a buck and a quarter in your pocket, would get you a bus ride in Pittsburgh.
7. I dream in color, in stereo, lucidly, with taste and smell, and in pure abstract concepts. That last one is what really throws people, perhaps because I can't explain what it's like. Once, when I was reading a hell of a lot of (German philosopher G.W.F.) Hegel for a period of a few days, I dreamed what seemed to be my understanding of the way Hegel makes concepts fit, work, and fight together. It was amazing. I woke up, tried to get some of it down, went back to bed, and in the morning, my notes made (you're expecting this) absolutely no sense whatsoever.
8. I'm terrified of thunder and lightning. More than anything else except vicious homicidal gangsters and my ex-wife, I am stone-cold afraid of thunderstorms. The only thing to do is curl in the fetal position, preferably under the bed, while covered with blankets and cuddling our stuffed bunny or the cat. My fear of thunder and lightning is, as far as I can tell, my only true phobia.
9. My oldest friend, Bob, has been my friend for 32 years. We spent lots of our childhood together in Maumee, Ohio, making ridiculous tape recordings of TV and radio parodies under the auspices of radio station WDUM. Bob was the host of "This Stupid Program," which was (he would say, as the only content to the show) 32 and one-half seconds, even though in fact it only lasted about 12. I wrote ads for products from a conglomerate called Krazy Kooks Inkorporated, which sold flavored puke, manuals on such topics as how to read, and basically anything else that came to mind.
10. Unsightly stains!
The rule is, I have to tag 6 people. There's no rule that they have to participate, but I think if they don't, that means I lose. I'm not sure. Back in the day, memes didn't have rules, you were just in the grocery store and somebody said "where's the beef?!" Newfangled contraptions!
Tag:
Bobo, the Wandering Pallbearer
This Girl I Used To Know
Lancelot
You Gotta Be Kidding You
Bob, whose blog really puts this in perspective
Lascivious Polyphony, aka KOM, because KOM seems to need the boost.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
two more new tunes!
Whew. I don't get much chance to record stuff. But here are two more new tunes:
Christina Sorting Records and Raechel's Song.
I'll be getting a round bajillion papers over the next couple days, so we took the opportunity to put down some tracks. A whole freakin' set to come. Cazart!
Christina Sorting Records and Raechel's Song.
I'll be getting a round bajillion papers over the next couple days, so we took the opportunity to put down some tracks. A whole freakin' set to come. Cazart!
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
dumb ads; brain mush
We got TV for hockey season. We watch all the games we can (which aren't many), and The Daily Show and The Colbert Report. Hockey games are mainly brought to us by Dodge and by the US Postal Service (or as we call it for reasons too complex to go into at the moment, Ground Chicken). Their ads share in common that they're incredibly stupid.
For the Postal Service, this is no doubt due to the fact that, as a large bureaucratic organization run by the federal government, its decision-making processes are broken. Things are bound to go wrong. In fact, you should consider yourself lucky if your mail arrives at all (although, considering the quality of mail we mainly get, maybe unlucky is the more appropriate feeling). The ads depict inanimate objects speaking in accented voices to one another. In one, the water cooler talks to boxed pairs of high-tops about how the Postal Service will handle sending them. The shoes say it's no problem, as a young female in a postal uniform enters with a clipboard, because "the lady drives a big truck." That there are only four boxes, and that she has to leave her clipboard behind, shows us just how practical and thought-out the whole process actually is. Why in blithering hell does she need a big truck to carry four boxes of high-tops? (I bought a pair of high-tops recently, and there's also no way my high-tops would have fit into one of those boxes. Are they being sent one shoe to a box?)
In the case of Dodge, the stupidity of their ads is definintely central to their sales strategy. The only car advertised during hockey on Versus is the Dodge Nitro. The whole range of dumb Nitro ads is displayed. I hate the one where the guy in the parking lot needing a jumpstart has his car blown sky high by the Nitro giving him the jump. I hate it so much I can barely refrain from screaming at the TV when it comes on. Then there's the one where the Nitro is dropped accidentally from a crane that was lofting it for no reason, and falls through the earth's crust, through a cartoon hell with a cartoon devil and a cartoon monster, arriving unscathed in (of course) China, all to what sounds like a Tom Jones loungesong. I do scream at the TV when that's on, because I am sure that if I don't, the pressure will damage my brain. Here's how clever Dodge really is: these ads are a surefire way to capture the attention of people who would think these were funny situations. That's a particular demographic group: dumb guys. Indeed, the protagonists are all men, the situations are generally manly, and as previously stated, scintillatingly inane. Dodge is cornering the dumb guy market! And marketing execs at Ford and GM are sleepless these days.
These are not the main reasons my brain is mush. I was compelled to comment on them because I am watching the Sabres/Devils game on Versus, because my brain is mush. My brain is mush because I spent 4 hours in committee meetings today. They're important committees, and I'm committed (or committeed) to them, but they mush my brain.
But now, I have to pack a Dodge Nitro in a box, so Ground Chicken can come in a big truck and pick it up.
For the Postal Service, this is no doubt due to the fact that, as a large bureaucratic organization run by the federal government, its decision-making processes are broken. Things are bound to go wrong. In fact, you should consider yourself lucky if your mail arrives at all (although, considering the quality of mail we mainly get, maybe unlucky is the more appropriate feeling). The ads depict inanimate objects speaking in accented voices to one another. In one, the water cooler talks to boxed pairs of high-tops about how the Postal Service will handle sending them. The shoes say it's no problem, as a young female in a postal uniform enters with a clipboard, because "the lady drives a big truck." That there are only four boxes, and that she has to leave her clipboard behind, shows us just how practical and thought-out the whole process actually is. Why in blithering hell does she need a big truck to carry four boxes of high-tops? (I bought a pair of high-tops recently, and there's also no way my high-tops would have fit into one of those boxes. Are they being sent one shoe to a box?)
In the case of Dodge, the stupidity of their ads is definintely central to their sales strategy. The only car advertised during hockey on Versus is the Dodge Nitro. The whole range of dumb Nitro ads is displayed. I hate the one where the guy in the parking lot needing a jumpstart has his car blown sky high by the Nitro giving him the jump. I hate it so much I can barely refrain from screaming at the TV when it comes on. Then there's the one where the Nitro is dropped accidentally from a crane that was lofting it for no reason, and falls through the earth's crust, through a cartoon hell with a cartoon devil and a cartoon monster, arriving unscathed in (of course) China, all to what sounds like a Tom Jones loungesong. I do scream at the TV when that's on, because I am sure that if I don't, the pressure will damage my brain. Here's how clever Dodge really is: these ads are a surefire way to capture the attention of people who would think these were funny situations. That's a particular demographic group: dumb guys. Indeed, the protagonists are all men, the situations are generally manly, and as previously stated, scintillatingly inane. Dodge is cornering the dumb guy market! And marketing execs at Ford and GM are sleepless these days.
These are not the main reasons my brain is mush. I was compelled to comment on them because I am watching the Sabres/Devils game on Versus, because my brain is mush. My brain is mush because I spent 4 hours in committee meetings today. They're important committees, and I'm committed (or committeed) to them, but they mush my brain.
But now, I have to pack a Dodge Nitro in a box, so Ground Chicken can come in a big truck and pick it up.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
new tunes!
I recorded a couple tracks today. At least one of these will have a lyric soon, but both of them could be recorded again. I just had a compelling desire to post these.
"It's Usually Tomorrow There" gets its title from something Lauren said to Raechel on the phone, about Australia. The tune had already been written, and I'd been playing it a while, but this seemed like the time to append an arbitrary name on it.
"Looking Down On J St. From The 18th Floor" is not an arbitrary name, because this bit came to mind while I was, in fact, looking down on J St. from the 18th floor.
These aren't the best recordings. I'm working on that, as best I can. I'm not a recording engineer, I'm the philosopher-chef! I roast wisdom! I'm saucier than thou!
"It's Usually Tomorrow There" gets its title from something Lauren said to Raechel on the phone, about Australia. The tune had already been written, and I'd been playing it a while, but this seemed like the time to append an arbitrary name on it.
"Looking Down On J St. From The 18th Floor" is not an arbitrary name, because this bit came to mind while I was, in fact, looking down on J St. from the 18th floor.
These aren't the best recordings. I'm working on that, as best I can. I'm not a recording engineer, I'm the philosopher-chef! I roast wisdom! I'm saucier than thou!
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
what could go wrong?
Recently, CSU Stanislaus received a large donation in exchange for naming the new science building after the donor. During Academic Senate, the question was raised, with no hidden agenda, where the family got their money. No one knew for sure off hand. The questioner then noted that at an institution she'd previously been affiliated with, there was some sort of issue related to the way the family had gotten its wealth, that made the donation a little less than savory.
I wanted desperately to say aloud (but instead muttered sotto voce) "Well, that could never happen here, could it?" Because, near the end of the tenure of our previous president, the university accepted a donation in exchange for naming the gym after a company called DreamLife, which was supposedly a mortgage firm. Well, yesterday the president of DreamLife pleaded guilty to 122 felony counts of fraud. Good times. We sure miss Marvalene around here.
I wanted desperately to say aloud (but instead muttered sotto voce) "Well, that could never happen here, could it?" Because, near the end of the tenure of our previous president, the university accepted a donation in exchange for naming the gym after a company called DreamLife, which was supposedly a mortgage firm. Well, yesterday the president of DreamLife pleaded guilty to 122 felony counts of fraud. Good times. We sure miss Marvalene around here.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
the end is near
The Semester That Wouldn't Die is about to.
At some point, I may write about some of the Internal Turmoil™ and other Serious Stuff™ that made this semester such a treat for my inner masochist. But last night, the more important agenda, after class, was to slough off a massive amount of stress.
Let it be said throughout the land: It's especially difficult to teach Foucault on 2 hours' sleep, because he's dead.
I had to miss yet another meeting yesterday of the University Instituional Review Board, because the board decided to meet on Mondays this semester, when I couldn't come. Today's calendar includes a rollicking Academic Senate meeting, where I'll be called upon to say something intelligent, or at least audible, about the meeting of the ad hoc Committee on Constitutional Amendments. (The CoCA Committee - sing it to the tune of "Copacabana" - met Friday, when I couldn't come, but due to the miracle of Letting Students Run Their Own Group Discussion™ I went anyway.)
It looks like the College of Humanities and Social Sciences (proposed motto: "It beats flipping burgers") may make cultural studies a focus for development, which might mean the formation of a Cultural Studies Committee, which might mean another opportunity for me to be on a committee!
But seriously, no.
In other news, Lauren abides concussive, her main symptoms last night being giddiness, occasional pain and physical disorientation, with a side of unfocused perception. I had a couple concussions as a kid, but I don't remember them well enough to say whether she's on schedule or what. She's reportedly enjoying the experience (at least, the giddy part). Hey, you know what? She should get on a committee!
At some point, I may write about some of the Internal Turmoil™ and other Serious Stuff™ that made this semester such a treat for my inner masochist. But last night, the more important agenda, after class, was to slough off a massive amount of stress.
Let it be said throughout the land: It's especially difficult to teach Foucault on 2 hours' sleep, because he's dead.
I had to miss yet another meeting yesterday of the University Instituional Review Board, because the board decided to meet on Mondays this semester, when I couldn't come. Today's calendar includes a rollicking Academic Senate meeting, where I'll be called upon to say something intelligent, or at least audible, about the meeting of the ad hoc Committee on Constitutional Amendments. (The CoCA Committee - sing it to the tune of "Copacabana" - met Friday, when I couldn't come, but due to the miracle of Letting Students Run Their Own Group Discussion™ I went anyway.)
It looks like the College of Humanities and Social Sciences (proposed motto: "It beats flipping burgers") may make cultural studies a focus for development, which might mean the formation of a Cultural Studies Committee, which might mean another opportunity for me to be on a committee!
But seriously, no.
In other news, Lauren abides concussive, her main symptoms last night being giddiness, occasional pain and physical disorientation, with a side of unfocused perception. I had a couple concussions as a kid, but I don't remember them well enough to say whether she's on schedule or what. She's reportedly enjoying the experience (at least, the giddy part). Hey, you know what? She should get on a committee!
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