Watoosa and I are now back home in Portland, after our Christmas travels. Compared to last year, it was a remarkably stress-free and uneventful experience, even though we still managed to cover three states and four cities.
It struck me this year how much every Christmas is pretty much a carbon-copy of all the others I've spent. Here's what happens every year:
-My mom always drops a joke about us not getting presents this year, or only getting one present this year, or some variation on that theme. This is despite a mountain of presents conspicuously placed under the tree.
-There are always ample disclaimers along the lines of, "Now, if you don't like it, you can take it back."
-Among the gifts I receive, the "Toy to Clothing" ratio inexorably continues its downward trend.
-My dad always finds crazy things for stocking stuffers. This keeps the local Big Lots in business for another month.
-When it comes time to unwrap presents, my mom insists on stuffing the torn paper into a garbage bag as each gift is opened, lest the floor become "cluttered." I've noticed this tendency in my mother-in-law, too; maybe it's hardwired into the maternal psyche.
-My grandparents are impossible to shop for, and when we give them something, they say, "Y'all shouldn't have spent so much money on us," or "Y'all didn't need to get us anything."
-The main meal at my grandparents' place is always and without exception a turkey (and sometimes ham), green beans that have stewed for hours in bacon fat, a gaggle of casseroles, Sister Shubert's rolls, mac & cheese (for the kids), and some kind of cranberry substance. For dessert, there are always two or three options, but there's at least chocolate-based cake or pie made because it's what I like. It's one of the perks I get for being the oldest grandchild. Deal with it, siblings and cousins!
-My grandfather expects that meal to be ready promptly at noon, and that expectation is always disappointed.
-There is a blessing before the meal. However, it's always a surprise who is going to do it. Sometimes my grandfather handles that duty himself, and sometimes he calls on someone else, thus putting them on the spot. The first year he did that to me, he caught me totally off guard. I think my blessing that year consisted of an e.e.cummings-esque melange of short, incoherent sentence fragments, punctuated with lots of "umms" and "errrrs." I learned my lesson, though. Now I have prepared material I can draw on.
-My grandmother is physically incapable of sitting down to eat while there is anyone else left who :
(a) is getting food;
(b) needs seconds;
(c) might possibly need something in the way of condiments, salt, etc. for the food they
already have;
(d) might possibly be dissatisfied with the chosen menu, and therefore needs her to fix them something else;
(e) might in the foreseeable and/or distant future need anything at all, be it food-related or not food-related;
(f) needs dessert; or
(g) needs more dessert.
Of course, since we have so many people eating, by the time the first people to get their food are finished, there are plates to be cleaned and put away in the dishwasher, and she's sure not going to let anyone else do that! This year, she maintained this regimen, even though she was--I kid you not--visibly wincing from the pain caused by the bone spurs in her feet. That caused her to sit down a bit earlier than usual, but she wasn't down long.
-There is always some kind of game in the evening. For the past decade or so, it's been either dominos, or Power Uno. The latter amounts to regular Uno with a couple enhancements that make it approximately fifty billion times more fun. After a couple rounds of Power Uno, we move on to Silent Power Uno, which is even better, because the need to settle disputes must also be done silently, which means that everyone is left only with fingersnaps and histrionic facial gestures. When Granny plays, it results in utter chaos, because not only does she (seemingly) not understand half the rules, she also cheats like there's no tomorrow. This sends my uncle into a fit of rage.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Way Down South
Watoosa and I are in Pensacola, Florida, the first of four cities in three states that we'll be visiting during our Christmas travels. It feels very different from Portland, especially because of the accents (Southern) and the weather (balmy). The trip out here was uneventful enough, which is good. The worst part about it was the fact that I had probably the worst cup of coffee in my life at the Coffee Beanery, a franchise with a name so stupid it should be shut down for that reason alone.
The only other source of stress was on the flight from Atlanta. Toward the end of the boarding phase, an enormous man collapsed into the seat directly in front of me. With my long legs, I already feel a bit cramped in economy class. This man's weight pushed the back of his seat into full "recline" mode, even without pressing the button. Then, during take-off, the G forces pushed the seat back more and more into my lap. It was like a pair of giant jaws were closing around my legs. I began wondering how much weight those seats are rated to support, and whether they took G forces into account in their calculations. Fortunately, the seat held up through the flight, and I avoided an almost certain crippling.
Tomorrow, we head up to Birmingham to visit Jackamo and her brood, and then we'll meet up with my family for a couple nights in Huntsville. On Christmas Day, we'll drive up to my grandparents' farm in Tennessee.
We feel very fortunate that we both get along so well with our in-laws, and yes, I would still say as much even if Watoosa's parents weren't frequent readers of this blog. One highlight of our visit thus far was learning a bit more about Watoosa's ancestors. As it turns out, several on her mother's side met a rather violent end! When we asked what happened, she (Watoosa's mom) just said, "Well...he, er...he just wasn't a very nice person." If that's the kind of thing that gets you shot, then I'm in big trouble.
It's been nice this year not having to worry about the impending ordeal of the APA. To those of you who are not so lucky, my prayers are with you.
The only other source of stress was on the flight from Atlanta. Toward the end of the boarding phase, an enormous man collapsed into the seat directly in front of me. With my long legs, I already feel a bit cramped in economy class. This man's weight pushed the back of his seat into full "recline" mode, even without pressing the button. Then, during take-off, the G forces pushed the seat back more and more into my lap. It was like a pair of giant jaws were closing around my legs. I began wondering how much weight those seats are rated to support, and whether they took G forces into account in their calculations. Fortunately, the seat held up through the flight, and I avoided an almost certain crippling.
Tomorrow, we head up to Birmingham to visit Jackamo and her brood, and then we'll meet up with my family for a couple nights in Huntsville. On Christmas Day, we'll drive up to my grandparents' farm in Tennessee.
We feel very fortunate that we both get along so well with our in-laws, and yes, I would still say as much even if Watoosa's parents weren't frequent readers of this blog. One highlight of our visit thus far was learning a bit more about Watoosa's ancestors. As it turns out, several on her mother's side met a rather violent end! When we asked what happened, she (Watoosa's mom) just said, "Well...he, er...he just wasn't a very nice person." If that's the kind of thing that gets you shot, then I'm in big trouble.
It's been nice this year not having to worry about the impending ordeal of the APA. To those of you who are not so lucky, my prayers are with you.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Oh, the Humanity
I've now submitted my grades for the semester. My Modern Philosophy class did well enough, especially since that course covers challenging material, and it was the first philosophy class for some of those students.
As for my two sections of Intro...well, that's a different story. They bombed--bombed--the final exam. There was one 90, one 81, and everything else was pretty far below those scores. What really hurt them was the first section. Worth 40 points, it consisted of 22 questions that could be answered in a few words or a sentence or two, and which covered material that was central to the course. Most students didn't even clear the 20 point threshold, even with the two extra credit questions. Several got single-digit scores.
It's as if my students hired random people off the street to take the exam for them, and underpaid them. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of people who correctly answered the question, "What is epistemology?" even though I not only clearly defined the term, but used it throughout the semester in such a way that makes it pretty obvious what it means (theory of knowledge, for those of you who don't already know).
Grades for the course were somewhat better. I ended up scaling the final, and generously rounded a few times, but there were still far more C and D grades than everything else combined.
I had begun to suspect early on that my students here were generally weaker than those I had in years past. That suspicion just got confirmed big time. Sheesh. Maybe next semester's batch will be better.
As for my two sections of Intro...well, that's a different story. They bombed--bombed--the final exam. There was one 90, one 81, and everything else was pretty far below those scores. What really hurt them was the first section. Worth 40 points, it consisted of 22 questions that could be answered in a few words or a sentence or two, and which covered material that was central to the course. Most students didn't even clear the 20 point threshold, even with the two extra credit questions. Several got single-digit scores.
It's as if my students hired random people off the street to take the exam for them, and underpaid them. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of people who correctly answered the question, "What is epistemology?" even though I not only clearly defined the term, but used it throughout the semester in such a way that makes it pretty obvious what it means (theory of knowledge, for those of you who don't already know).
Grades for the course were somewhat better. I ended up scaling the final, and generously rounded a few times, but there were still far more C and D grades than everything else combined.
I had begun to suspect early on that my students here were generally weaker than those I had in years past. That suspicion just got confirmed big time. Sheesh. Maybe next semester's batch will be better.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Another Perspective on Philosophy
Not quite as hilarious as the letter I reproduced earlier, but still amusing:
That's from the first paragraph of Frederick Marryat's Mr. Midshipman Easy, which was included in 101 Crackerjack Sea Books. Watoosa has given it to me for Christmas (yes, we've now exchanged gifts).
The paragraph continues:
"For some time, Mr Easy could not decide upon what description his nonsense should consist of; at last he fixed upon the rights of man, equality, and all that; how every person was born to inherit his share of the earth, a right at present only admitted to a certain length; that is, about six feet, for we all inherit our graves and are allowed to take possession without dispute. But no one would listen to Mr Easy's philosophy. The women would not acknowledge the rights of men, whom they declared always to be in the wrong; and, as the gentlemen who visited Mr Easy were all men of property, they could not perceive the advantages of sharing with those who had none. However, they allowed him to discuss the question, while they discussed his port wine. The wine was good, if the arguments were not, and we must take things as we find them in this world."
I love it! I'm struck by how Wodehousian it feels, which is an accomplishment in itself, especially since the book was published in 1836. And doesn't he also come off as ahead-of-his-time in his toying with the ambiguity of the word "man?"
I've only read the first page, but I suspect this will be a fantastic read.
"Philosophy is said to console a man under disappointment, although Shakespeare asserts that it is no remedy for toothache; so Mr Easy turned philosopher, the very best profession a man can take up, when he is fit for nothing else; he must be a very incapable person indeed who cannot talk nonsense."
That's from the first paragraph of Frederick Marryat's Mr. Midshipman Easy, which was included in 101 Crackerjack Sea Books. Watoosa has given it to me for Christmas (yes, we've now exchanged gifts).
The paragraph continues:
"For some time, Mr Easy could not decide upon what description his nonsense should consist of; at last he fixed upon the rights of man, equality, and all that; how every person was born to inherit his share of the earth, a right at present only admitted to a certain length; that is, about six feet, for we all inherit our graves and are allowed to take possession without dispute. But no one would listen to Mr Easy's philosophy. The women would not acknowledge the rights of men, whom they declared always to be in the wrong; and, as the gentlemen who visited Mr Easy were all men of property, they could not perceive the advantages of sharing with those who had none. However, they allowed him to discuss the question, while they discussed his port wine. The wine was good, if the arguments were not, and we must take things as we find them in this world."
I love it! I'm struck by how Wodehousian it feels, which is an accomplishment in itself, especially since the book was published in 1836. And doesn't he also come off as ahead-of-his-time in his toying with the ambiguity of the word "man?"
I've only read the first page, but I suspect this will be a fantastic read.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
What It's Like at the APA
This week, the latest issue of Proceedings and Addresses of the American Philosophical Association arrived in my office mailbox. The current issue includes a reprint of a 9-year old boy's report about attending the annual Eastern APA meeting. Here's what he wrote:
"2 days after Christmas I went to a philosophy confrence [sic]. It was horrible. There were 200 philosophers. They all did weird things. They couldn't make jokes, many had beards.
"2 days after Christmas I went to a philosophy confrence [sic]. It was horrible. There were 200 philosophers. They all did weird things. They couldn't make jokes, many had beards.
In the elevator it was worse. Once a philosopher got off on the wrong floor, so said, "wait for me." "We'll take you to the 27th," said another. Nobody laughed. "Get it there are only 10 floors," said some random old guy in a country accent. You get the point it was creepy.
A few days later there was a fire. Only one person was hurt, but everyone did weird things. Like people were standing in the roads, so nonphilosophers had to lead them out. Some people went back into the hotel. Firefighters had to lead them away. Still one guy stayed and had his bags blocking the door. Firefighters told him to move his bags, so he did, but when they left he put them back. I'll never go to a philosophy confrence [sic] again."
Your Itenerary is Now Set
The New York Times offers a list of 53 Places to Go in 2008 (free reg). I've been to five of them, if you count driving through Las Vegas. I have no idea why they would include Detroit on that list--yes, Detroit! Other than that, these all look appealing to me. Each entry has a picture; it's worth a look.
One critical oversight: Portland, Maine.
One critical oversight: Portland, Maine.
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Weekend at Ickie's
It's been a nice, relaxing weekend here for Watoosa and me. On Friday night, we were in the mood for a movie. We thought about going to see No Country for Old Men, which is supposed to be excellent. Although I will definitely see it in the theater at some point, neither of us were in the mood for an unflinching look at human depravity. So we opted for the other end of the spectrum and saw Enchanted. It was surprisingly good. Amy Adams gives one of the most enjoyable performances I can remember; as she sends up the "Disney Princess" character, she perfectly embodies all that is pure and wholesome and innocent in the world. We loved her performance in Junebug, and while this isn't as serious a role, obviously, it was such a pleasure to watch her thoroughly inhabit her character. It was also a treat to be in the theater with so many children who completely ate this film up. There was one little girl in front of us for whom the whole Disney romantic mythos was still fresh; at one point, I heard her worriedly exclaim, "But, she's not supposed to be with him!" It reminded me of just how absorbing and exciting it was to go to the movies was when I was a kid.
Last night, we attended the Portland Choral Art Society's annual Christmas concert, at the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, which was wonderful. I've written before about how much I love Christmas music, and this was the perfect way to kick off the holiday season. Apart from some usual Christmas fare (selections from Messiah, "In dulci jubilo," "God Rest You Merry Gentlemen," and the like), there were some non-standard selections as well. Two were from Rachmaninov's sublime All Night Vigil, which the Society will be performing in its entirety later in the season. This was a treat because acoustically the basses were especially prominent, and the low-register parts are so important to Russian choral music, and that piece in particular.
There was also a contemporary piece by a local composer. It's a setting of a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Portland's most famous literary figure. I was wary of it when I saw it on the program, but Watoosa and I ended up loving it. In honor of the coming winter storm (which starts tonight), here is the text.
"Snow-Flakes," by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.
Even as the cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals
The grief it feels.
This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.
Last night, we attended the Portland Choral Art Society's annual Christmas concert, at the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, which was wonderful. I've written before about how much I love Christmas music, and this was the perfect way to kick off the holiday season. Apart from some usual Christmas fare (selections from Messiah, "In dulci jubilo," "God Rest You Merry Gentlemen," and the like), there were some non-standard selections as well. Two were from Rachmaninov's sublime All Night Vigil, which the Society will be performing in its entirety later in the season. This was a treat because acoustically the basses were especially prominent, and the low-register parts are so important to Russian choral music, and that piece in particular.
There was also a contemporary piece by a local composer. It's a setting of a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Portland's most famous literary figure. I was wary of it when I saw it on the program, but Watoosa and I ended up loving it. In honor of the coming winter storm (which starts tonight), here is the text.
"Snow-Flakes," by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.
Even as the cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals
The grief it feels.
This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Pigeonholed, Part Two
In a class discussion of John Stuart Mill's Utilitarianism...
Me: So Mill identifies pleasure with the good, but do you think there are any pleasures that are just intrinsically bad?
Student: Well, what about, like...dogfighting, y'know? That's. like, real popular down South, isn't it?
Me: (silent disbelief)
Me: Uh...no, not really.
What's with these Yankees?
Me: So Mill identifies pleasure with the good, but do you think there are any pleasures that are just intrinsically bad?
Student: Well, what about, like...dogfighting, y'know? That's. like, real popular down South, isn't it?
Me: (silent disbelief)
Me: Uh...no, not really.
What's with these Yankees?
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Out of the Mouths of Babes
From the student paper I just read:
"For centuries, philosophers have been perceived as arrogant men that question everything. And in fact they are."
It's funny 'cuz it's true! I guess I shouldn't laugh too much, though:
"There are many things in science that do not have any explanation or answer. A philosopher would always be thinking about these things and could very well end up senile at a younger age."
We've been warned, Kevin and Tim.
"For centuries, philosophers have been perceived as arrogant men that question everything. And in fact they are."
It's funny 'cuz it's true! I guess I shouldn't laugh too much, though:
"There are many things in science that do not have any explanation or answer. A philosopher would always be thinking about these things and could very well end up senile at a younger age."
We've been warned, Kevin and Tim.
Monday, November 19, 2007
C'mon Get Happy
Recently, a friend who was in serious need of cheering up sent out a request for happy thoughts. The best I could muster apparently garnered a mere smile--alas!. But I started thinking about the way I try to manipulate my own mood when the need arises.
Of course, there's always food--I'm a sweets man, myself. But I also turn to music. There are just some songs that reliably bring out a grin or a chuckle. So here's a virtual mix tape for those of you who need to kick the blues.
1. "Indiana," by Joe Venuti and Zoot Sims. I love the opening riff on this track so much that sometimes I'll restart it several times after just a few seconds when I need a pick-me-up. The song is so lighthearted and joyful that it even makes up for the boring wasteland that is its namesake (sorry, Tim, but you know it's true). There are other good versions out there, but "Four-string" Joe's is my absolute favorite, and one of my all-time favorite songs by any artist in any genre.
2. "Symphony No. 3 in C (first movement)," by Luigi Boccherini. It starts out light and dainty, but after a few seconds Boccherini sneaks up on you with a theme that is so unrestrainedly exuberant that you start to worry that you won't be able to stand it. Then he brings it back down, toying around with a minor key, but he keeps coming back to that wonderful theme.
3. "Summertime," by the Sundays. Yeah, it's girl-rock. But I defy any man to withstand the charms of Hariett Wheeler's pixie-like voice. Can't be done, so don't even try. The first time I heard this one on the radio, I thought it was decent, until the final chorus. That was when the chintzy synth-horns kicked in, and I was hooked.
4. "Shulie A Bop," by Sarah Vaughan. My favorite female vocalist, and this track shows that she could scat with the best of them. She throws in a line from "I Ain't Mad at You, Pretty Baby" for good measure.
5. "I Wanted to Tell You," by Matthew Sweet. I don't know what happened to this guy, but in the 90s he sure could write a hooky rock song. While "Girlfriend" is more recognizable (and a fantastic tune, to be sure), I might like "I Wanted to Tell You" even more. The great thing about Sweet's work on this album (and especially this track) is the bright, cheery backing vocals that contrast the stripped-down "garage" sound of the instruments. I'm pretty sure the BGVs are just Sweet's own voice overdubbed a few times. It works.
6. "That's Right (You're Not from Texas)," by Lyle Lovett. This song actually makes me wish I was. And that's saying a lot.
7. "Baraat," by Mychael Danna. This song that plays during the opening credits in the film, Monsoon Wedding (it's a pretty good title sequence, by the way). The song is performed by an Indian marching band, so it sounds a little like halftime entertainment in Mumbai.
8. "3:00 A. M. Blues," by Dick Hyman Group featuring Howard Alden. Another soundtrack number, this time from the Woody Allen movie, Sweet and Lowdown. As soon as I finished watching this movie, I told Watoosa I wanted the soundtrack for Christmas. It's got lots of good stuff on it, but this New Orleans-style jazz number is the tops. Toward the end, when the trumpet comes back in, I come undone.
Finally...
9. Pretty much anything by AC/DC. It's just so bombastic, I can't help but laugh. Which isn't to say I don't enjoy it. One night while riding in the car with a friend, one of their songs came on the radio, and we both just started snickering. I described their music as "big, dumb, and stupid," and I'm convinced that the redundancy is justified. Exhibit A: "For Those About to Rock," complete with actual cannon fire. It goes to eleven, if you know what I mean.
One other reason their music makes me laugh is that it reminds me of a funny story. The whole extended family had gathered at my grandparents' house for Christmas. As we were opening presents, my grandfather turned on the radio, thinking we'd all enjoy some Christmas music. But he didn't pay too close attention to what was actually being broadcast. It took us all a few minutes to realize it was "You Shook Me All Night Long." Watoosa was the first to realize the error, thanks to the line "... knockin' me out with those American thighs." Merry Christmas, indeed.
Of course, there's always food--I'm a sweets man, myself. But I also turn to music. There are just some songs that reliably bring out a grin or a chuckle. So here's a virtual mix tape for those of you who need to kick the blues.
1. "Indiana," by Joe Venuti and Zoot Sims. I love the opening riff on this track so much that sometimes I'll restart it several times after just a few seconds when I need a pick-me-up. The song is so lighthearted and joyful that it even makes up for the boring wasteland that is its namesake (sorry, Tim, but you know it's true). There are other good versions out there, but "Four-string" Joe's is my absolute favorite, and one of my all-time favorite songs by any artist in any genre.
2. "Symphony No. 3 in C (first movement)," by Luigi Boccherini. It starts out light and dainty, but after a few seconds Boccherini sneaks up on you with a theme that is so unrestrainedly exuberant that you start to worry that you won't be able to stand it. Then he brings it back down, toying around with a minor key, but he keeps coming back to that wonderful theme.
3. "Summertime," by the Sundays. Yeah, it's girl-rock. But I defy any man to withstand the charms of Hariett Wheeler's pixie-like voice. Can't be done, so don't even try. The first time I heard this one on the radio, I thought it was decent, until the final chorus. That was when the chintzy synth-horns kicked in, and I was hooked.
4. "Shulie A Bop," by Sarah Vaughan. My favorite female vocalist, and this track shows that she could scat with the best of them. She throws in a line from "I Ain't Mad at You, Pretty Baby" for good measure.
5. "I Wanted to Tell You," by Matthew Sweet. I don't know what happened to this guy, but in the 90s he sure could write a hooky rock song. While "Girlfriend" is more recognizable (and a fantastic tune, to be sure), I might like "I Wanted to Tell You" even more. The great thing about Sweet's work on this album (and especially this track) is the bright, cheery backing vocals that contrast the stripped-down "garage" sound of the instruments. I'm pretty sure the BGVs are just Sweet's own voice overdubbed a few times. It works.
6. "That's Right (You're Not from Texas)," by Lyle Lovett. This song actually makes me wish I was. And that's saying a lot.
7. "Baraat," by Mychael Danna. This song that plays during the opening credits in the film, Monsoon Wedding (it's a pretty good title sequence, by the way). The song is performed by an Indian marching band, so it sounds a little like halftime entertainment in Mumbai.
8. "3:00 A. M. Blues," by Dick Hyman Group featuring Howard Alden. Another soundtrack number, this time from the Woody Allen movie, Sweet and Lowdown. As soon as I finished watching this movie, I told Watoosa I wanted the soundtrack for Christmas. It's got lots of good stuff on it, but this New Orleans-style jazz number is the tops. Toward the end, when the trumpet comes back in, I come undone.
Finally...
9. Pretty much anything by AC/DC. It's just so bombastic, I can't help but laugh. Which isn't to say I don't enjoy it. One night while riding in the car with a friend, one of their songs came on the radio, and we both just started snickering. I described their music as "big, dumb, and stupid," and I'm convinced that the redundancy is justified. Exhibit A: "For Those About to Rock," complete with actual cannon fire. It goes to eleven, if you know what I mean.
One other reason their music makes me laugh is that it reminds me of a funny story. The whole extended family had gathered at my grandparents' house for Christmas. As we were opening presents, my grandfather turned on the radio, thinking we'd all enjoy some Christmas music. But he didn't pay too close attention to what was actually being broadcast. It took us all a few minutes to realize it was "You Shook Me All Night Long." Watoosa was the first to realize the error, thanks to the line "... knockin' me out with those American thighs." Merry Christmas, indeed.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Pigeonholed
This past week I saw one of my students in the caf. Here's a transcription of our brief conversation:
She: Hey, Dr. Ickenham!* Are you here for the ______ meeting?
Me: What's that?
She: He's the Democratic candidate for _______.
Me: Oh yeah, I heard he was coming to campus. Actually, I'm just here for a department meeting. Besides, I'm not a Democrat.
She: Really? That surprises me.
Me: It does? Why?
She: Oh wait--that's right. You're from the South.
*Redacted
She: Hey, Dr. Ickenham!* Are you here for the ______ meeting?
Me: What's that?
She: He's the Democratic candidate for _______.
Me: Oh yeah, I heard he was coming to campus. Actually, I'm just here for a department meeting. Besides, I'm not a Democrat.
She: Really? That surprises me.
Me: It does? Why?
She: Oh wait--that's right. You're from the South.
*Redacted
Happy Birthday to the Monocle
I hadn't realized that my last post was on the first anniversary of the founding of this blog. To those of you who regularly read it, thanks for checking in. Extra-special thanks to commenters.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Avast, Ye Dogs!
Watoosa and I have both recently developed a taste for stories set in the Age of Fighting Sail. Our appetite was whetted by the film adaptation of the novels of Patrick O'Brian, Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World, and the excellent A&E adaptations of C. S. Forester's Horatio Hornblower series. Watoosa read the first Hornblower novel, Beat to Quarters, insisted that I read it immediately, and then we were hooked.
I began listening to audiobook versions of the O'Brian novels this summer on my commute to school. I had read the second one, Post Captain, several years ago, but I have decided that it's not good to start with it. I was surprised that so much of the story took place on land as the characters developed romantic attachments. It felt like a Jane Austen novel, which (according my then-benighted view of that author and genre) was a strike against it. I later discovered that such was O'Brian's explicit intent, as he wanted to pay homage to Austen.
It's made a big difference to start with the first novel, Master and Commander (the film is actually a composite of several of the novels). It starts out a bit slow, and I think it's harder to appreciate O'Brian's writing in audio form, but I was soon engrossed by it. I liked Post Captain much better this time, too. Last week, I finished the third book, H. M. S. Surprise, and it's my favorite so far.
The fans of these books argue over which series is greater, but I like them both, although for different reasons. Forester's books are more streamlined and focused on the action (although not at the expense of character development). As a result, they're a bit more exciting and harder to pull yourself away from. O'Brian also knows a thing or two about describing vividly the terror and exhilaration of battle. But he's more inclined to take his time getting the narrative under way, more interested in exploring the world of his characters.
Both use liberal amounts of seafaring jargon. It can seem daunting to some readers, but even if you simply read past the lingo, you can follow what's important about any given scene (the effect is similar to the techno-babble in Star Trek). However, one nice thing about O'Brian's books is that the character Stephen Maturin is a complete landlubber; the Navy and its language and traditions are completely foreign to him. That gives O'Brian a chance to explain the details of life in the Royal Navy via the words of his characters, as they point things out to Stephen. It also lets him inject comical moments into the narrative as Maturin commits faux-pas and makes wry observations on the absurdities of the world he's entered.
I can't recommend these books enough. Get them, read them, love them. And if they (ahem) float your boat, you'll want to check out this list I recently found: 101 Crackerjack Sea Books.
They treat series of books as a single entry, so the Aubrey/Maturin series is #4, and Hornblower is #9. I've read a handful of others on the list, and pretty much enjoyed them all (although I had to give up on Robinson Crusoe).
One of most enjoyable reads I've had in years is #77: George MacDonald Fraser's The Pyrates. It's full of swordplay, daring escapes, and battle, but it's also hilarious. Watoosa and I both snickered and guffawed while reading it. If you like pirates, British humor, historical fiction, or just a good ripping yarn, you won't be disappointed.
And ye may lay to that.
I began listening to audiobook versions of the O'Brian novels this summer on my commute to school. I had read the second one, Post Captain, several years ago, but I have decided that it's not good to start with it. I was surprised that so much of the story took place on land as the characters developed romantic attachments. It felt like a Jane Austen novel, which (according my then-benighted view of that author and genre) was a strike against it. I later discovered that such was O'Brian's explicit intent, as he wanted to pay homage to Austen.
It's made a big difference to start with the first novel, Master and Commander (the film is actually a composite of several of the novels). It starts out a bit slow, and I think it's harder to appreciate O'Brian's writing in audio form, but I was soon engrossed by it. I liked Post Captain much better this time, too. Last week, I finished the third book, H. M. S. Surprise, and it's my favorite so far.
The fans of these books argue over which series is greater, but I like them both, although for different reasons. Forester's books are more streamlined and focused on the action (although not at the expense of character development). As a result, they're a bit more exciting and harder to pull yourself away from. O'Brian also knows a thing or two about describing vividly the terror and exhilaration of battle. But he's more inclined to take his time getting the narrative under way, more interested in exploring the world of his characters.
Both use liberal amounts of seafaring jargon. It can seem daunting to some readers, but even if you simply read past the lingo, you can follow what's important about any given scene (the effect is similar to the techno-babble in Star Trek). However, one nice thing about O'Brian's books is that the character Stephen Maturin is a complete landlubber; the Navy and its language and traditions are completely foreign to him. That gives O'Brian a chance to explain the details of life in the Royal Navy via the words of his characters, as they point things out to Stephen. It also lets him inject comical moments into the narrative as Maturin commits faux-pas and makes wry observations on the absurdities of the world he's entered.
I can't recommend these books enough. Get them, read them, love them. And if they (ahem) float your boat, you'll want to check out this list I recently found: 101 Crackerjack Sea Books.
They treat series of books as a single entry, so the Aubrey/Maturin series is #4, and Hornblower is #9. I've read a handful of others on the list, and pretty much enjoyed them all (although I had to give up on Robinson Crusoe).
One of most enjoyable reads I've had in years is #77: George MacDonald Fraser's The Pyrates. It's full of swordplay, daring escapes, and battle, but it's also hilarious. Watoosa and I both snickered and guffawed while reading it. If you like pirates, British humor, historical fiction, or just a good ripping yarn, you won't be disappointed.
And ye may lay to that.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Film Fright
Watoosa has just posted a write-up about scary scenes from books, and she has twisted my arm to do the same for films. I'm pretty malleable, so here goes.
In its early scenes, F. W. Murnau's silent film, Nosferatu, suffers from having been made in the days of slow film speed. The movements of the characters and vehicles look very choppy and (as a result) comical. The effect enhances comedies, and when I first watched this film I began to think that it would undercut the horror. But when Max Schreck makes his appearance as Count Orlok the vampire, the laughter stops. He's truly disturbing. From that point on, the technological limitations of cinema actually make Nosferatu even more unnatural and frightening.
The rumor/urban legend about Nosferatu is that Schreck really was a vampire. This legend is sent up by Shadow of the Vampire, which I think is one of the great combinations of horror and comedy. John Malkovich plays Murnau as an artist obsessed with his craft who passes off the obviously vampiric Schreck as simply a "character actor." Willem Defoe is wonderfully over-the-top as Schreck.
Another great horror/comedy combo is Simon Pegg's Shaun of the Dead. It's a brilliant and hilarious send-up of the zombie genre, but it's as much a celebration of those films as a spoof (the same is true of Pegg's even more hilarious Hot Fuzz). The scene in which Pegg and his best mate are throwing vinyl records at a zombie and then begin arguing over which ones are worth throwing and which worth keeping is a scream.
I know M. Night Shyamalan has turned out to be little more than a two-bit hack, but darned if I didn't have a fantastic time watching Signs. I had enjoyed The Sixth Sense well enough on video, and Unbreakable was interesting, if a bit slow, but I was a bit apprehensive about Signs because I didn't think M. Night would be able to show the aliens without being campy. Still, the previews lured us in, and it was one of the best "rollercoaster" experiences I've ever had in a movie theater. Everyone was shrieking and laughing and jumping out of their seats. The scene where Gibson is debating with himself about whether or not to look in the pantry where an alien has been trapped is masterfully done. The ending is hokey, but the ride is such a thrill that I don't care.
One of the best movies I've seen in the past year--period--is Pan's Labirynth. It's an odd mix of a gritty look at the brutality of life in Spain under Franco combined with an Alice-in-Wonderland fantasy (where said wonderland is a bizarre and sometimes terrifying nightmare world). After several months, I'm still trying to make sense of it, but the imagery is amazing. And if you can watch the scene that features this thing without soiling yourself in terror, you should count yourself lucky.
Finally, I think perhaps the scariest movie I've ever seen is the original Night of the Living Dead. This film isn't exactly "scary" as much as it is extremely creepy, so much so that I woke up in the middle of the night after having just seen it and experienced a residual sense of dread (and I never have nightmares from movies). There's just something disturbing about zombies--almost human, but not quite, and chilling in their utter relentlessness. This movie's low budget somehow gives the whole thing a greater sense of realism. It's easier to forget you're watching a movie. None of the actors are recognizable, and the music is just plain eerie (lots of bizarre pedal tones on an organ, as I recall). One great thing about it is that one of the protagonists is actually smart. He assumes leadership, keeps his cool, and makes wise decisions while everyone else goes straight into "disaster-flick irrationality mode."
In its early scenes, F. W. Murnau's silent film, Nosferatu, suffers from having been made in the days of slow film speed. The movements of the characters and vehicles look very choppy and (as a result) comical. The effect enhances comedies, and when I first watched this film I began to think that it would undercut the horror. But when Max Schreck makes his appearance as Count Orlok the vampire, the laughter stops. He's truly disturbing. From that point on, the technological limitations of cinema actually make Nosferatu even more unnatural and frightening.
The rumor/urban legend about Nosferatu is that Schreck really was a vampire. This legend is sent up by Shadow of the Vampire, which I think is one of the great combinations of horror and comedy. John Malkovich plays Murnau as an artist obsessed with his craft who passes off the obviously vampiric Schreck as simply a "character actor." Willem Defoe is wonderfully over-the-top as Schreck.
Another great horror/comedy combo is Simon Pegg's Shaun of the Dead. It's a brilliant and hilarious send-up of the zombie genre, but it's as much a celebration of those films as a spoof (the same is true of Pegg's even more hilarious Hot Fuzz). The scene in which Pegg and his best mate are throwing vinyl records at a zombie and then begin arguing over which ones are worth throwing and which worth keeping is a scream.
I know M. Night Shyamalan has turned out to be little more than a two-bit hack, but darned if I didn't have a fantastic time watching Signs. I had enjoyed The Sixth Sense well enough on video, and Unbreakable was interesting, if a bit slow, but I was a bit apprehensive about Signs because I didn't think M. Night would be able to show the aliens without being campy. Still, the previews lured us in, and it was one of the best "rollercoaster" experiences I've ever had in a movie theater. Everyone was shrieking and laughing and jumping out of their seats. The scene where Gibson is debating with himself about whether or not to look in the pantry where an alien has been trapped is masterfully done. The ending is hokey, but the ride is such a thrill that I don't care.
One of the best movies I've seen in the past year--period--is Pan's Labirynth. It's an odd mix of a gritty look at the brutality of life in Spain under Franco combined with an Alice-in-Wonderland fantasy (where said wonderland is a bizarre and sometimes terrifying nightmare world). After several months, I'm still trying to make sense of it, but the imagery is amazing. And if you can watch the scene that features this thing without soiling yourself in terror, you should count yourself lucky.
Finally, I think perhaps the scariest movie I've ever seen is the original Night of the Living Dead. This film isn't exactly "scary" as much as it is extremely creepy, so much so that I woke up in the middle of the night after having just seen it and experienced a residual sense of dread (and I never have nightmares from movies). There's just something disturbing about zombies--almost human, but not quite, and chilling in their utter relentlessness. This movie's low budget somehow gives the whole thing a greater sense of realism. It's easier to forget you're watching a movie. None of the actors are recognizable, and the music is just plain eerie (lots of bizarre pedal tones on an organ, as I recall). One great thing about it is that one of the protagonists is actually smart. He assumes leadership, keeps his cool, and makes wise decisions while everyone else goes straight into "disaster-flick irrationality mode."
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Worlds Collide
This week I traveled to Waco, Texas to attend a conference at Baylor. I hadn't seen the campus since 2002, and approximately 50% of it has completely changed. It was almost eerie.
The conference was devoted to friendship, which was appropriate since much of my motivation for going was to visit some good friends that I hadn't seen in quite a while. Down in Waco, I stayed with Jones, who was my roommate for both years I was in school down there, and had dinner with Schobert, who was one of the friends I made from the seminary there. The conference attendees included lots of Baylor people, naturally, but also a lot of people from SLU.
On Friday, I drove up to Dallas to see my sister, Karen, and my brother-in-law, Sean. Sean went with me to dinner that night with a handful of my friends who live in the DFW area. There were six of them (not including yours truly), representing four different social circles (and one spouse whom I was meeting for the first time). Normally, I find myself a bit ill-at-ease when my worlds collide like that, and this was the biggest world collision I'd experienced since my wedding. But we all had a great time.
The whole experience wiped me out--I was ready to drop by the time I got back to Portland last night--but it reminded me how blessed I am to count these people (and others) among my friends. I certainly don't deserve them, and I've failed my friends more than I like to admit, but I do treasure each one. On this topic, Aristotle was absolutely right: friendship is an essential part of a choiceworthy, flourishing life.
The conference was devoted to friendship, which was appropriate since much of my motivation for going was to visit some good friends that I hadn't seen in quite a while. Down in Waco, I stayed with Jones, who was my roommate for both years I was in school down there, and had dinner with Schobert, who was one of the friends I made from the seminary there. The conference attendees included lots of Baylor people, naturally, but also a lot of people from SLU.
On Friday, I drove up to Dallas to see my sister, Karen, and my brother-in-law, Sean. Sean went with me to dinner that night with a handful of my friends who live in the DFW area. There were six of them (not including yours truly), representing four different social circles (and one spouse whom I was meeting for the first time). Normally, I find myself a bit ill-at-ease when my worlds collide like that, and this was the biggest world collision I'd experienced since my wedding. But we all had a great time.
The whole experience wiped me out--I was ready to drop by the time I got back to Portland last night--but it reminded me how blessed I am to count these people (and others) among my friends. I certainly don't deserve them, and I've failed my friends more than I like to admit, but I do treasure each one. On this topic, Aristotle was absolutely right: friendship is an essential part of a choiceworthy, flourishing life.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Only in Japan
While living in California, it struck me how different regions produce their own particular kind of quirkiness and outright craziness. There's just something different about the crazy you find in California compared to what you get, say, down South. The former has a hippie quality that distinguishes it from the Southern Gothic kind you get in the Bible Belt.
Of course, things get even weirder once you go overseas. When in Indonesia, I witnessed the most bizarre parade in a Jakarta theme park. At one point, there were trumpet playing monkey/human hybrids sporting clown wigs and Elizabethan-era puffy trousers. It was like Mardi Gras on Planet of the Apes.
Then there's Japan. The Land of the Rising Sun has its special kind of weirdness, and the Japanese love to express it via technology and design. Hence, this slide show from today's New York Times. Alarmed by a rising crime rate (that is still enviably low by many standards), one clothing designer has created outfits that can be converted into "urban camouflage."
Got the feeling you're being trailed by some miscreant who is eying your handbag or wallet? Quick! Round a corner, jump into your vending machine disguise, and pray to Jebus that he doesn't feel like buying himself a cold beverage!
Before you rush out to buy your own, however, note the quotation on slide 6: "Ms. Tsukioka said her disguises were experimental and could even be a bit impractical at times, 'especially when your hands are shaking.'"
Watoosa pointed out that these disguises could just as easily be used by the criminal element itself. Naturally, someone will be tempted to get them outlawed for that very reason, but he should remember that when crazy urban camouflage outfits are outlawed, only outlaws will have crazy urban camouflage outfits!
Of course, things get even weirder once you go overseas. When in Indonesia, I witnessed the most bizarre parade in a Jakarta theme park. At one point, there were trumpet playing monkey/human hybrids sporting clown wigs and Elizabethan-era puffy trousers. It was like Mardi Gras on Planet of the Apes.
Then there's Japan. The Land of the Rising Sun has its special kind of weirdness, and the Japanese love to express it via technology and design. Hence, this slide show from today's New York Times. Alarmed by a rising crime rate (that is still enviably low by many standards), one clothing designer has created outfits that can be converted into "urban camouflage."
Got the feeling you're being trailed by some miscreant who is eying your handbag or wallet? Quick! Round a corner, jump into your vending machine disguise, and pray to Jebus that he doesn't feel like buying himself a cold beverage!
Before you rush out to buy your own, however, note the quotation on slide 6: "Ms. Tsukioka said her disguises were experimental and could even be a bit impractical at times, 'especially when your hands are shaking.'"
Watoosa pointed out that these disguises could just as easily be used by the criminal element itself. Naturally, someone will be tempted to get them outlawed for that very reason, but he should remember that when crazy urban camouflage outfits are outlawed, only outlaws will have crazy urban camouflage outfits!
Monday, October 15, 2007
The Best Thing I've Read Today
How you--yes, you!--can win a Nobel Peace Prize. "The important thing to remember is that peace doesn't have much to do with it."
It's funny, because it's true.
Click here.
It's funny, because it's true.
Click here.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Faux Europe
As Watoosa has reported, we spent last weekend in Quebec City. It was a fantastic trip. I'd been to Canada before, and loved it, but Quebec is something altogether different. It really feels like you've driven to Europe. The Old City has narrow streets that twist around and split off in every direction, it is still surrounded by an imposing wall, everything is in French (and French alone, unlike the rest of Canada), and there was even the occasional example of Quebec separatist graffiti. It was so easy to forget that we were just a couple hours' drive from the U. S. A.
The city itself is beautiful. It overlooks the St. Lawrence river from its position atop a large cliff. In the distance we could see rolling hills covered with colored autumn leaves. Many of the buildings are quite old, and their architecture embodies the influence of French culture.
We peeked into beautiful churches, toured the imposing Citadel and the magnificent Chateau Frontenac, walked along the old fortifications, and generally just wandered around soaking the whole place in. It was great. If you're looking for an imitation-brand version of France, without the hassle of intercontinental travel, Quebec should be at the top of your list.
The city itself is beautiful. It overlooks the St. Lawrence river from its position atop a large cliff. In the distance we could see rolling hills covered with colored autumn leaves. Many of the buildings are quite old, and their architecture embodies the influence of French culture.
We peeked into beautiful churches, toured the imposing Citadel and the magnificent Chateau Frontenac, walked along the old fortifications, and generally just wandered around soaking the whole place in. It was great. If you're looking for an imitation-brand version of France, without the hassle of intercontinental travel, Quebec should be at the top of your list.
Monday, October 1, 2007
In-class Embarassment, part II
Last April I wrote about my worst nightmare coming true. I'm happy to report that I have doubled my vigilance on that front, and there have been no more incidents of that kind.
So the good news is that my worst nightmare has yet to come true again, but the bad news is that something even worse than that occurred today. In my Modern Philosophy class, we were discussing sense perception. I had decided to use the whiteboard to illustrate what's going on when we have a visual perception of an object.
Now, my drawing skills are what prompted the coining of the term "ham-fisted." It's not unusual to hear snickering from my students as they watch me scribbling stick figure persons in front of them, and today was no exception. Then, one of my students mentioned that there are scientific devices that allow us to monitor brain activity associated with perception. So I decided to draw such a device pointed at the stick person.
No sooner had I finished this masterpiece than I realized the device looked remarkably like a giant man's naughty part. The snickering was replaced by what I took to be shocked silence and looks of disbelief.
"Uh..." I said.
"This looks a little...offensive. Let's erase it and just imagine a scientific device that can monitor brain activity, shall we?"
There were no objections.
So the good news is that my worst nightmare has yet to come true again, but the bad news is that something even worse than that occurred today. In my Modern Philosophy class, we were discussing sense perception. I had decided to use the whiteboard to illustrate what's going on when we have a visual perception of an object.
Now, my drawing skills are what prompted the coining of the term "ham-fisted." It's not unusual to hear snickering from my students as they watch me scribbling stick figure persons in front of them, and today was no exception. Then, one of my students mentioned that there are scientific devices that allow us to monitor brain activity associated with perception. So I decided to draw such a device pointed at the stick person.
No sooner had I finished this masterpiece than I realized the device looked remarkably like a giant man's naughty part. The snickering was replaced by what I took to be shocked silence and looks of disbelief.
"Uh..." I said.
"This looks a little...offensive. Let's erase it and just imagine a scientific device that can monitor brain activity, shall we?"
There were no objections.
Monday, September 24, 2007
America...FRACK YEAH!
Watoosa and I got a double-barreled blast of America yesterday, as we ventured to the storied Cumberland County Fair. It's a real "County Fair" type county fair, which means its heavy on the 4-H displays, cooking and baking contests, and lots and lots of animals. We saw cows, pigs, chickens (several kinds of fowl, actually), oxen, sheep, goats, bunnies, and giant draft horses. There was also no shortage of deep fried cuisine, which we passed up, but we did get to try some authentic maple syrup that was so good I had to fight the urge to pour myself a glass and drink it down like lemonade.
One of the marquee events of the day was bull riding, which I'd never witnessed before. It took the America to a whole nuther level. For one thing, there were 16 cowboys, or so, and it don't get more America than cowboys. Of course, half of them were Mexican, but whatever. Then, a color guard of National Guardsmen brought in the Stars and Stripes, along with the rodeo flag and the flag for the State of Maine. At that point, the announcer exhorted us to "make some love to Old Glory." I would have thought that would actually be disrespectful, but what do I know?
There was also an opening prayer, which I suspect was pre-composed by the touring company's announcer (although I hope to Zod that the "make love to Old Glory" line was just his extemporaneous riffing on a theme). It was appropriately non-sectarian and not too theologically determinate, but the warm-up music pumped through the PA system had just finished up with a song that rivaled AC/DC in lyrical debauchery. The chorus was something like "where the girls are easy and the drugs are cheap." The perfect call to worship.
Here are a few pics:
One of the marquee events of the day was bull riding, which I'd never witnessed before. It took the America to a whole nuther level. For one thing, there were 16 cowboys, or so, and it don't get more America than cowboys. Of course, half of them were Mexican, but whatever. Then, a color guard of National Guardsmen brought in the Stars and Stripes, along with the rodeo flag and the flag for the State of Maine. At that point, the announcer exhorted us to "make some love to Old Glory." I would have thought that would actually be disrespectful, but what do I know?
There was also an opening prayer, which I suspect was pre-composed by the touring company's announcer (although I hope to Zod that the "make love to Old Glory" line was just his extemporaneous riffing on a theme). It was appropriately non-sectarian and not too theologically determinate, but the warm-up music pumped through the PA system had just finished up with a song that rivaled AC/DC in lyrical debauchery. The chorus was something like "where the girls are easy and the drugs are cheap." The perfect call to worship.
Here are a few pics:
Saturday, September 8, 2007
For the Book Lover in You
I just came across a site that has posted photographs of the most beautiful libraries in the world. Most are in Europe, but there are a few in the Americas, including an impressive one in Puebla, Mexico, and a gorgeous one in Brazil (the authors tout it as the most beautiful of them all, and I'm not going to disagree). Click, and marvel.
I want to visit each one. And right now. I've managed to hit a couple, such as the Copley library in Boston, but that's not nearly enough.
Many of them are a bit too ornate for me to get serious reading done. Still, I can only applaud the aesthetic celebration of books. At the same time, it makes me a little dissatisfied with the gray fortress that is the Portland Public Library's downtown branch, a building so bland and forgettable that Google refuses to honor my request for images of it.
I want to visit each one. And right now. I've managed to hit a couple, such as the Copley library in Boston, but that's not nearly enough.
Many of them are a bit too ornate for me to get serious reading done. Still, I can only applaud the aesthetic celebration of books. At the same time, it makes me a little dissatisfied with the gray fortress that is the Portland Public Library's downtown branch, a building so bland and forgettable that Google refuses to honor my request for images of it.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
My Take on St. Louis
It was great being back in St. Louis last week, although I didn't have time to see nearly as much as I wanted. Here's what I remember most about the River City.
Favorite Park: There are many to choose from. Forest Park, which was the site of the 1904 World's Fair, is great, but my favorite is still Tower Grove. Its most unique feature is a series of ornate pavilions, but it also features lawn tennis courts, a ruin fountain, a wading pool for children, and a Victorian greenhouse devoted to palm trees. It's beautiful and romantic, and it was just a few blocks away from our apartment. During the first winter after we got married, we spent a great afternoon walking through it after ten inches of snow had fallen.
Favorite Neighborhood: The Loop is the funkiest area, but I prefer the sophistication of the Central West End. It has lots of great places to eat, beautiful Victorian houses, and also my...
Favorite Bookstore: Left Bank Books. I still have a couple bookmarks from this store. It's not huge, but they have both new and used books, and their used fiction collection was quite good. Philosophy wasn't so great, but I can count on two fingers all the bookstores in the world that get that section right.
Favorite Season: Spring. It starts with daffodils and forsythia, continues with tulips, tulip trees, and Bradford pears, and culminates with crabapple and cherry tree blossoms. After the dismal month of February, it's especially glorious. Every spring we would wait for the peak of the color and stroll through the Missouri Botanical Garden. Runner up: Fall.
Least Favorite Season: Summer. It's super-hot, and super-humid. Oh, and one year our air-conditioning wasn't working.
Favorite Pizza: You wouldn't guess from looking at it, but the inconspicuous corner bar called the Blackthorne Pub makes some incredible pizza. The thick crust version weighs half a ton, and the sauce is spicy. Runner up: Fortel's.
Favorite Frozen Dessert: It's Serendipity, as I mentioned in my last post. But you've got to at least try the legendary Ted Drewes' Frozen Custard.
Favorite Ethnic Food: Pho Grand. It was my first foray into Vietnamese food, and it's still my favorite. Maybe it's the slight French influence. They moved into a swankier spot on South Grand and still kept their prices dirt cheap. I loved them for that. There were four or five other Vietnamese places on that stretch of Grand, but Pho is my phavorite.
Favorite Place that is No More: The Chocolate Bar. Alas. They served the best hot chocolate ever.
Favorite Place that I Would Never Step Into for all the Money in the World and Absolute Power over Space and Time Combined: Some place on South Grand called "The Buttery Restaurant." It looks like they took a Waffle House back in the seventies, soaked it in grease, and set it out in the sun to rot.
Least Favorite St. Louis-style food: I griped earlier about St. Louis style barbecue, and I stand by that gripe. But by far, the hands-down worst St. Louis food is what goes by the name "St. Louis-style pizza." Imagine a cracker lightly coated with ketchup and then covered in molten vinyl, and you'd be pretty close. People who grew up in St. Louis love it. The rest of us cower in fear.
Favorite Awesome Place that is Full of Astounding Awesomeness: The City Museum. They bought an old factory, and then turned a bunch of artists loose in it and let them go wild. Click here to see pictures of just part of the fun that is to be had, and know that they don't even begin to capture how cool it is. That airplane is about four stories off the ground, by the way. If I were ten years old, they'd have to drag me away from the place, and I'd be kicking and screaming.
Favorite Theater Troupe: Magic Smoking Monkey Theatre. They do stage productions of bad movies (and sometimes good ones) and TV shows, and they feature the cheapest production values possible. When Watoosa and I saw their 1-hour Star Wars trilogy, I ached from laughing so hard. Without a doubt, it remains the funniest thing I've ever seen, and I pity everyone who missed it. Here is a list of their past productions.
Favorite Free Entertainment: It's a toss-up between the Zoo and the Art Museum (both in Forest Park). I'll pick the Art Museum since it's air-conditioned.
Favorite Famous Person from St. Louis: There's a surprising number. T. S. Eliot, Redd Foxx, Ike and Tina Turner, and Chuck Berry, just for starters. But I'm going with Miles Davis.
The city is not without its problems, and no one's going to mistake it for New York or Seattle or San Francisco. But I still think it's a pretty great place to live.
Favorite Park: There are many to choose from. Forest Park, which was the site of the 1904 World's Fair, is great, but my favorite is still Tower Grove. Its most unique feature is a series of ornate pavilions, but it also features lawn tennis courts, a ruin fountain, a wading pool for children, and a Victorian greenhouse devoted to palm trees. It's beautiful and romantic, and it was just a few blocks away from our apartment. During the first winter after we got married, we spent a great afternoon walking through it after ten inches of snow had fallen.
Favorite Neighborhood: The Loop is the funkiest area, but I prefer the sophistication of the Central West End. It has lots of great places to eat, beautiful Victorian houses, and also my...
Favorite Bookstore: Left Bank Books. I still have a couple bookmarks from this store. It's not huge, but they have both new and used books, and their used fiction collection was quite good. Philosophy wasn't so great, but I can count on two fingers all the bookstores in the world that get that section right.
Favorite Season: Spring. It starts with daffodils and forsythia, continues with tulips, tulip trees, and Bradford pears, and culminates with crabapple and cherry tree blossoms. After the dismal month of February, it's especially glorious. Every spring we would wait for the peak of the color and stroll through the Missouri Botanical Garden. Runner up: Fall.
Least Favorite Season: Summer. It's super-hot, and super-humid. Oh, and one year our air-conditioning wasn't working.
Favorite Pizza: You wouldn't guess from looking at it, but the inconspicuous corner bar called the Blackthorne Pub makes some incredible pizza. The thick crust version weighs half a ton, and the sauce is spicy. Runner up: Fortel's.
Favorite Frozen Dessert: It's Serendipity, as I mentioned in my last post. But you've got to at least try the legendary Ted Drewes' Frozen Custard.
Favorite Ethnic Food: Pho Grand. It was my first foray into Vietnamese food, and it's still my favorite. Maybe it's the slight French influence. They moved into a swankier spot on South Grand and still kept their prices dirt cheap. I loved them for that. There were four or five other Vietnamese places on that stretch of Grand, but Pho is my phavorite.
Favorite Place that is No More: The Chocolate Bar. Alas. They served the best hot chocolate ever.
Favorite Place that I Would Never Step Into for all the Money in the World and Absolute Power over Space and Time Combined: Some place on South Grand called "The Buttery Restaurant." It looks like they took a Waffle House back in the seventies, soaked it in grease, and set it out in the sun to rot.
Least Favorite St. Louis-style food: I griped earlier about St. Louis style barbecue, and I stand by that gripe. But by far, the hands-down worst St. Louis food is what goes by the name "St. Louis-style pizza." Imagine a cracker lightly coated with ketchup and then covered in molten vinyl, and you'd be pretty close. People who grew up in St. Louis love it. The rest of us cower in fear.
Favorite Awesome Place that is Full of Astounding Awesomeness: The City Museum. They bought an old factory, and then turned a bunch of artists loose in it and let them go wild. Click here to see pictures of just part of the fun that is to be had, and know that they don't even begin to capture how cool it is. That airplane is about four stories off the ground, by the way. If I were ten years old, they'd have to drag me away from the place, and I'd be kicking and screaming.
Favorite Theater Troupe: Magic Smoking Monkey Theatre. They do stage productions of bad movies (and sometimes good ones) and TV shows, and they feature the cheapest production values possible. When Watoosa and I saw their 1-hour Star Wars trilogy, I ached from laughing so hard. Without a doubt, it remains the funniest thing I've ever seen, and I pity everyone who missed it. Here is a list of their past productions.
Favorite Free Entertainment: It's a toss-up between the Zoo and the Art Museum (both in Forest Park). I'll pick the Art Museum since it's air-conditioned.
Favorite Famous Person from St. Louis: There's a surprising number. T. S. Eliot, Redd Foxx, Ike and Tina Turner, and Chuck Berry, just for starters. But I'm going with Miles Davis.
The city is not without its problems, and no one's going to mistake it for New York or Seattle or San Francisco. But I still think it's a pretty great place to live.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Me Defend Dissertation Real Good
Well, it's now official. I defended the dissertation on Tuesday back in St. Louis, so now I don't have to correct my students when they call me "Doctor." It feels good to be done, especially since I know that a certain elderly family member will finally stop hounding me about it! The defense went well, and I got good feedback from my committee members.
I ended up dedicating it to Watoosa, which is the least I could do, since she's been so patient and supportive. Honestly, I don't know how I would have made it without her.
It was great being back in St. Louis. Most of my friends have moved on, but I did get to have a celebratory dinner with some who are still there. Two of them were the first friends I made after starting grad school, so it was a fitting way to finish things off.
On the previous evening (the day I arrived in town), I treated myself to a quick meal at our favorite TexMex place, Nachomama. Then I headed over to Serendipity. We discovered this place shortly before we moved away, and I was kicking myself for not trying it sooner, because their ice cream is just amazing. In fact, after this trip, I think I have to say that it's the best ice cream I've ever had. On this visit, I had two flavors. One was gooey butter cake. GBC is a dessert the locals make, and it's delish--sort of like pound cake, except gooier and butterier. I'd never had it in ice cream, but it was great. The second scoop was chocolate peanut butter, which is definitely the best example of that flavor I've ever had the pleasure of tasting. The chocolate was wonderfully rich, and as you bite into it you are thrilled to discover generously-sized dollops of peanut butter, and the peanut butter is still creamy (I don't know how they manage that). It was divine. I seriously thought about going back the next day, but I just couldn't swing it. But anyone reading this who lives in or near St. Louis should make sure to try it.
I ended up dedicating it to Watoosa, which is the least I could do, since she's been so patient and supportive. Honestly, I don't know how I would have made it without her.
It was great being back in St. Louis. Most of my friends have moved on, but I did get to have a celebratory dinner with some who are still there. Two of them were the first friends I made after starting grad school, so it was a fitting way to finish things off.
On the previous evening (the day I arrived in town), I treated myself to a quick meal at our favorite TexMex place, Nachomama. Then I headed over to Serendipity. We discovered this place shortly before we moved away, and I was kicking myself for not trying it sooner, because their ice cream is just amazing. In fact, after this trip, I think I have to say that it's the best ice cream I've ever had. On this visit, I had two flavors. One was gooey butter cake. GBC is a dessert the locals make, and it's delish--sort of like pound cake, except gooier and butterier. I'd never had it in ice cream, but it was great. The second scoop was chocolate peanut butter, which is definitely the best example of that flavor I've ever had the pleasure of tasting. The chocolate was wonderfully rich, and as you bite into it you are thrilled to discover generously-sized dollops of peanut butter, and the peanut butter is still creamy (I don't know how they manage that). It was divine. I seriously thought about going back the next day, but I just couldn't swing it. But anyone reading this who lives in or near St. Louis should make sure to try it.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Fun Fact of the Day
"From the first days of life, [human infants] attend more readily to faces than to other visual stimuli and more readily to speech than to other auditory stimuli. This latter bias can apparently be traced to a preference for the intonation contours in spoken language: two-day-old babies show distinctive cerebral blood flow when they hear a normal sentence but not when the same sentence is played backward."
That's from Baboon Metaphysics: The Evolution of a Social Mind, which I think is worth reading for the title alone; it certainly raised the librarian's eyebrow when she handed it to me. The book also includes stories of domesticated baboons in Africa: one who worked as a signalman for the railroads in South Africa, and another who worked as a sheep-dog. I've just started it, but it promises to be a fascinating read.
That's from Baboon Metaphysics: The Evolution of a Social Mind, which I think is worth reading for the title alone; it certainly raised the librarian's eyebrow when she handed it to me. The book also includes stories of domesticated baboons in Africa: one who worked as a signalman for the railroads in South Africa, and another who worked as a sheep-dog. I've just started it, but it promises to be a fascinating read.
I'll Take "Misuse of Executive Privilege for 500," Alex
Economics is increasingly shedding its reputation as "the dismal science." Here's one example--a recommendation to improve elections as decision procedures. I like it, and not just because it involves Salma Hayek.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
What Dreams Did Come
Last night, I had a dream that Watoosa and I got married, or got married again. It was very much like our real wedding--we looked the same, all our friends and family were there, the church looked a lot like the one we used. Watoosa's dress was the exact same one she wore seven years ago, too. And like our real wedding, we hadn't seen each other that morning until the actual ceremony.
The only major difference was that I was wearing her dress, and she wore a tux (thankfully, without those goofy vests that the formal wear shop foisted on me and my groomsmen). I'm not sure why. The intention was that Watoosa would wear the dress after the wedding day, and so I remember asking her, "Do you think this will fit you after today?" I don't remember what she said. But I do remember that I absolutely rocked that bridal gown!
So, armchair psychotherapists...what is my subconscious trying to tell me?
The only major difference was that I was wearing her dress, and she wore a tux (thankfully, without those goofy vests that the formal wear shop foisted on me and my groomsmen). I'm not sure why. The intention was that Watoosa would wear the dress after the wedding day, and so I remember asking her, "Do you think this will fit you after today?" I don't remember what she said. But I do remember that I absolutely rocked that bridal gown!
So, armchair psychotherapists...what is my subconscious trying to tell me?
Fun with Visuo-Cognitive Stimuli of the Frontal Cortex
Here's a quick experiment you can try right at your computer. Click on this page and watch the video (it's only about 15 seconds). It features two teams--one dressed in white and the other in black--throwing basketballs around. See if you can accurately count the number of successful passes that the white team makes. Then look in the comment section on this page to check your answer.
UPDATE: Make sure you do the test before looking at the comments. If you don't, you'll only be cheating yourself!
UPDATE: Make sure you do the test before looking at the comments. If you don't, you'll only be cheating yourself!
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Book Report
I know that writing about books is Watoosa's gig, but here's what I've been reading this summer (for fun, as opposed to dissertation/class prep), in no particular order.
1. Passarola Rising, by Azhar Abidi. A Jules Verne-esque adventure story that also features light philosophical explorations of the challenge to ecclesiastical authority that early modern science posed (although I think that challenge was more acute in the seventeenth century). It's fiction, but the protagonists were historical figures--one of them invented a working airship years before balloons were used for flight. It's a fun read, and I read the whole thing in a day.
2. Water for Elephants, by Sara Gruen. A pretty absorbing tale of life in a third-rate circus in the 1930's, a life that was pretty rough. The protagonist recounts his story as an old man, and the narrative shifts between his recollection and his present experiences in an assisted-living home. The latter is what I found especially affecting, as he is constantly patronized and infantilized, and therefore dehumanized. I can't think of another book (or film, for that matter) that portrays old age so vividly. You can read Watoosa's review here.
3. Whales on Stilts, by M. T. Anderson. A completely silly--and hilarious--novella for junior readers. It blithely blurs the line between fiction and reality, and it is populated with characters from children's lit of earlier generations who keep all the idiosyncrasies of their eras, even though it takes place in the present. For example, one of the main characters is Jasper Dash, Boy Technonaut, whose books Anderson read as a kid. He wears knickers and uses exclamations like "Jupiter's Moons!" unironically. He's also so earnest, industrious, and upright that he makes model Boy Scouts look like slackers and scoundrels. It's one of the funniest books I've read in a long time. The follow-up is The Clue of the Linoleum Lederhosen, which is not quite as funny, but still worth reading. These books are completely different from Anderson's Octavian Nothing, which is one of the best books I've read in the past year. It's hard to believe they came from the same author.
4. Lieutenant Hornblower, by C. S. Forester. A ripping tale of life in the Royal Navy, wonderfully told. All the Hornblower stories are great entertainment, as are the A&E film versions. This one was especially fun, since it features mutiny against a crazed captain. I've also been listening to an audiobook version of Patrick O'Brian' Master and Commander, which I'm enjoying, but I'm still partial to Forester.
5. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, by J. K. Rowling. We saved money by getting a Chinese-pirated version for two bucks. This was a HUGE disappointment. Granted, I thought it was a bold choice to make Ron gay, but when Voldemort slices off Harry's hand and says, "No, Harry... I am your father!" I just gave up.
6. The Ladies of Grace Adieu, by Susannah Clarke. A collection of stories in the same vein as her wonderful novel, Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. Clarke mixes English legends and ghost stories with nineteenth century "society" lit in a way that is utterly unique. I describe it as a mix of Edgar Allan Poe and Jane Austen, but that doesn't do her work justice. I liked Jonathan Strange a bit more, but Ladies is well worth reading, too. I'm eager to see what Clarke does next. Also, I wish I could add an extraneous "e" to my name like the Clarkes and Brownes of the world.
7. The Chinatown Death Cloud Peril, by Paul Malmont. The characters of this book are the great pulp writers from the early twentieth century. One of them is a young upstart named Ron Hubbard (sound familiar?). I've just started it, so I can't say yet whether I like it or not, but it struck me as an interesting idea for a novel.
1. Passarola Rising, by Azhar Abidi. A Jules Verne-esque adventure story that also features light philosophical explorations of the challenge to ecclesiastical authority that early modern science posed (although I think that challenge was more acute in the seventeenth century). It's fiction, but the protagonists were historical figures--one of them invented a working airship years before balloons were used for flight. It's a fun read, and I read the whole thing in a day.
2. Water for Elephants, by Sara Gruen. A pretty absorbing tale of life in a third-rate circus in the 1930's, a life that was pretty rough. The protagonist recounts his story as an old man, and the narrative shifts between his recollection and his present experiences in an assisted-living home. The latter is what I found especially affecting, as he is constantly patronized and infantilized, and therefore dehumanized. I can't think of another book (or film, for that matter) that portrays old age so vividly. You can read Watoosa's review here.
3. Whales on Stilts, by M. T. Anderson. A completely silly--and hilarious--novella for junior readers. It blithely blurs the line between fiction and reality, and it is populated with characters from children's lit of earlier generations who keep all the idiosyncrasies of their eras, even though it takes place in the present. For example, one of the main characters is Jasper Dash, Boy Technonaut, whose books Anderson read as a kid. He wears knickers and uses exclamations like "Jupiter's Moons!" unironically. He's also so earnest, industrious, and upright that he makes model Boy Scouts look like slackers and scoundrels. It's one of the funniest books I've read in a long time. The follow-up is The Clue of the Linoleum Lederhosen, which is not quite as funny, but still worth reading. These books are completely different from Anderson's Octavian Nothing, which is one of the best books I've read in the past year. It's hard to believe they came from the same author.
4. Lieutenant Hornblower, by C. S. Forester. A ripping tale of life in the Royal Navy, wonderfully told. All the Hornblower stories are great entertainment, as are the A&E film versions. This one was especially fun, since it features mutiny against a crazed captain. I've also been listening to an audiobook version of Patrick O'Brian' Master and Commander, which I'm enjoying, but I'm still partial to Forester.
5. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, by J. K. Rowling. We saved money by getting a Chinese-pirated version for two bucks. This was a HUGE disappointment. Granted, I thought it was a bold choice to make Ron gay, but when Voldemort slices off Harry's hand and says, "No, Harry... I am your father!" I just gave up.
6. The Ladies of Grace Adieu, by Susannah Clarke. A collection of stories in the same vein as her wonderful novel, Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. Clarke mixes English legends and ghost stories with nineteenth century "society" lit in a way that is utterly unique. I describe it as a mix of Edgar Allan Poe and Jane Austen, but that doesn't do her work justice. I liked Jonathan Strange a bit more, but Ladies is well worth reading, too. I'm eager to see what Clarke does next. Also, I wish I could add an extraneous "e" to my name like the Clarkes and Brownes of the world.
7. The Chinatown Death Cloud Peril, by Paul Malmont. The characters of this book are the great pulp writers from the early twentieth century. One of them is a young upstart named Ron Hubbard (sound familiar?). I've just started it, so I can't say yet whether I like it or not, but it struck me as an interesting idea for a novel.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Portland Maine and Sloe Gin Fizz*
I haven't been posting much in the past month. One reason for that is the ol' mad-scramble-to-finish-one's-dissertation-before-the-fall-term-begins. Another reason is the endless trouble we had with Verizon, our local phone and DSL provider. We needed, on three separate occasions, a technician to come and fix something. On none of those occasions did the guy show up on the day he was supposed to. The last incident was the worst--Verizon just kept canceling the appointment (without informing us, naturally). Each day, when we called to ask why our phones still weren't working and why they were blowing us off, they told us, "You probably just have a phone off the hook." Thanks. On one occasion, they actually hung up on Watoosa, leaving me to cower from the ferocity of her rage. I could go on, but suffice it to say that I've never seen a utility company that provided less utility, nor have I ever had a worse experience with customer service. So don't do business with Verizon. Ever. We now have cable internet and phone service, but it meant going about two weeks without either one. Thankfully, that's behind us.
Life in Portland, though, communication utilities notwithstanding, has been great. And I've reproduced two great pleasures from our life in California. The first is cycling. Alas, Portland doesn't have mountains to climb like my route in Santa Barbara, and so my calves are no longer frighteningly huge. Still, I've enjoyed biking along the coast. We live near the Back Cove (the city of Portland sits on a peninsula, just like Boston), so I start there and follow the trail around it and into the city. From there I work my way through downtown and over the Casco Bay Bridge into South Portland and Cape Elizabeth. That area has lots of beautiful houses and rugged coastline. It also features two lighthouses: the Spring Point Ledge Light and the Portland Head Light. The latter is supposedly one of the most photographed lighthouses in the country, and it's easy to see why. Its other claim to fame is that George Washington dedicated it, shortly after his election as our country's eighth president (you read me right; check this out for proof). So while I miss biking in California, I still have some good ride options here.
The other great pleasure we've now reproduced is grilling out ("barbecue," as the benighted locals call it). I bought another Weber kettle grill, but I got a slightly larger one, so that now when we cook for four I won't have to do it in shifts. We had some new friends over on Sunday and cooked up a flank steak with chimichurri marinade (which I think is now my favorite for beef). Then we did swordfish on Wednesday night. I can't tell you how jazzed I was to see that we could get fresh, local swordfish here on the East Coast (plus, all the seafood here is much cheaper). Tonight we do steaks, with pork chops on tomorrow's menu. I think Watoosa is going to make more of her sangria, too, so if you want to hear what she is like when she's loopy from wine give us a call late this evening. It's, uh...entertaining.
*Title explanation here, for those of you who are less hip than I.
Life in Portland, though, communication utilities notwithstanding, has been great. And I've reproduced two great pleasures from our life in California. The first is cycling. Alas, Portland doesn't have mountains to climb like my route in Santa Barbara, and so my calves are no longer frighteningly huge. Still, I've enjoyed biking along the coast. We live near the Back Cove (the city of Portland sits on a peninsula, just like Boston), so I start there and follow the trail around it and into the city. From there I work my way through downtown and over the Casco Bay Bridge into South Portland and Cape Elizabeth. That area has lots of beautiful houses and rugged coastline. It also features two lighthouses: the Spring Point Ledge Light and the Portland Head Light. The latter is supposedly one of the most photographed lighthouses in the country, and it's easy to see why. Its other claim to fame is that George Washington dedicated it, shortly after his election as our country's eighth president (you read me right; check this out for proof). So while I miss biking in California, I still have some good ride options here.
The other great pleasure we've now reproduced is grilling out ("barbecue," as the benighted locals call it). I bought another Weber kettle grill, but I got a slightly larger one, so that now when we cook for four I won't have to do it in shifts. We had some new friends over on Sunday and cooked up a flank steak with chimichurri marinade (which I think is now my favorite for beef). Then we did swordfish on Wednesday night. I can't tell you how jazzed I was to see that we could get fresh, local swordfish here on the East Coast (plus, all the seafood here is much cheaper). Tonight we do steaks, with pork chops on tomorrow's menu. I think Watoosa is going to make more of her sangria, too, so if you want to hear what she is like when she's loopy from wine give us a call late this evening. It's, uh...entertaining.
*Title explanation here, for those of you who are less hip than I.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Notable Netflix, Foreign Film Edition
It's been a while since I've written anything, so I thought I'd do another Netflix report. This one is all foreign films, but don't let that put you off. Each one of these is pretty accessible (i.e., not some Bergmanesque meditation on the absurdity of life--not that there's anything wrong with that).
I've been waiting for Werner Herzog's Rescue Dawn, because it's a dramatic version of his earlier documentary, Little Dieter Needs to Fly. Technically, this might be an American production, and much of it is in English, but I'm still including it here. As a boy, Dieter Dengler's village was attacked by the Allies in World War II. When he saw the fighter planes, he became obsessed with flight. After he finished school, he moved to the United States, and he eventually joined the American navy. The Navy made him a pilot and sent him to the Vietnam war, and on one of his first missions, he was shot down over Laos and taken prisoner. He made a daring and dramatic escape through the jungle, and he was eventually rescued.
Herzog takes Dengler back to Laos to show him (and us) the conditions he faced as a prisoner of war and an escapee. The details of the man's ordeal alone make for an entertaining film, but getting to know Dengler himself is half the fun. He seems irreppressibly cheerful, even when describing his brutal treatment and the terror he must have felt. In many ways, then, this film is similar to Herzog's more recent Grizzly Man. Both are studies of extraordinary men who face extreme danger. Luckily, Dengler came out of his ordeal better than Timothy Treadwell.
One of the "must see" French films is Robert Bresson's A Man Escaped (the longer title is A Man Escaped, or The Wind Blows Where It Wills). The word "minimalism" is usually paired with Bresson's name, and this film shows why. He does not use professional actors, the dialogue is simple and sparse, and the performances are unemotional and flat. And yet, the total effect is absorbing. A Man Escaped is the true story about a French Resistance fighter's escape from a Nazi prison. It's similar in this respect to Herzog's movie about Dieter Dengler, but it feels completely different (even apart from the fact that one is a documentary and the other a feature film). Bresson simply presents the escape as a problem to be solved and a plan to be executed, without trying to affect the viewers' emotions at all with music or techniques. But the viewers know what's at stake for this man, and so we can't help but become emotionally involved. The long silences (especially when the main character is sneaking out of prison) build up a level of tension worthy of Hitchcock. I haven't seen any of Bresson's other films, so I have little to compare it to, but I found this one completely absorbing.
I caught the last part of Lotte Reiniger's The Adventures of Prince Achmed on television last year, and was blown away by it, so we finally watched the whole thing this spring. Released in 1926, it's supposedly the first animated feature film ever made. Reiniger's films consisted of elaborate cut-out figures filmed as silhouettes, similar to Javanese shadow puppets. The level of detail of the figures and her use of depth and even color are stunning, and I was surprised at how much emotion her characters could convey. The story is essentially a fairy tale along the lines of The Arabian Nights, but really it's the images and the "How in the world did she manage to do that?" responses that keep you watching. It would be an impressive achievement today, but it's all the more impressive for having been made in the 1920's. Although it's a silent film, with dialog reported on title screens, Reiniger commissioned a German composer to create an original score, and a version of it accompanies the film on the disc I watched. The disc also includes a documentary about Reiniger and a couple of her short films, one of which turns out to be an advertisement for Nivea soap! You can read about her and see a few still shots from Prince Achmed here.
I've been waiting for Werner Herzog's Rescue Dawn, because it's a dramatic version of his earlier documentary, Little Dieter Needs to Fly. Technically, this might be an American production, and much of it is in English, but I'm still including it here. As a boy, Dieter Dengler's village was attacked by the Allies in World War II. When he saw the fighter planes, he became obsessed with flight. After he finished school, he moved to the United States, and he eventually joined the American navy. The Navy made him a pilot and sent him to the Vietnam war, and on one of his first missions, he was shot down over Laos and taken prisoner. He made a daring and dramatic escape through the jungle, and he was eventually rescued.
Herzog takes Dengler back to Laos to show him (and us) the conditions he faced as a prisoner of war and an escapee. The details of the man's ordeal alone make for an entertaining film, but getting to know Dengler himself is half the fun. He seems irreppressibly cheerful, even when describing his brutal treatment and the terror he must have felt. In many ways, then, this film is similar to Herzog's more recent Grizzly Man. Both are studies of extraordinary men who face extreme danger. Luckily, Dengler came out of his ordeal better than Timothy Treadwell.
One of the "must see" French films is Robert Bresson's A Man Escaped (the longer title is A Man Escaped, or The Wind Blows Where It Wills). The word "minimalism" is usually paired with Bresson's name, and this film shows why. He does not use professional actors, the dialogue is simple and sparse, and the performances are unemotional and flat. And yet, the total effect is absorbing. A Man Escaped is the true story about a French Resistance fighter's escape from a Nazi prison. It's similar in this respect to Herzog's movie about Dieter Dengler, but it feels completely different (even apart from the fact that one is a documentary and the other a feature film). Bresson simply presents the escape as a problem to be solved and a plan to be executed, without trying to affect the viewers' emotions at all with music or techniques. But the viewers know what's at stake for this man, and so we can't help but become emotionally involved. The long silences (especially when the main character is sneaking out of prison) build up a level of tension worthy of Hitchcock. I haven't seen any of Bresson's other films, so I have little to compare it to, but I found this one completely absorbing.
I caught the last part of Lotte Reiniger's The Adventures of Prince Achmed on television last year, and was blown away by it, so we finally watched the whole thing this spring. Released in 1926, it's supposedly the first animated feature film ever made. Reiniger's films consisted of elaborate cut-out figures filmed as silhouettes, similar to Javanese shadow puppets. The level of detail of the figures and her use of depth and even color are stunning, and I was surprised at how much emotion her characters could convey. The story is essentially a fairy tale along the lines of The Arabian Nights, but really it's the images and the "How in the world did she manage to do that?" responses that keep you watching. It would be an impressive achievement today, but it's all the more impressive for having been made in the 1920's. Although it's a silent film, with dialog reported on title screens, Reiniger commissioned a German composer to create an original score, and a version of it accompanies the film on the disc I watched. The disc also includes a documentary about Reiniger and a couple of her short films, one of which turns out to be an advertisement for Nivea soap! You can read about her and see a few still shots from Prince Achmed here.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Froo Froo Food
If you look on the right side of the display screen on your computer device, you'll see a new blog listed: Pretentious Salad. It's published by my sister, Karen, and her husband, Sean, and they'll be writing about what they're eating and drinking. They love talking about food almost as much as preparing and eating it. Most of our phone conversations now are pretty much devoted to that theme. And they know what they're talking about; they've been responsible in one way or another for several of the best meals Watoosa and I have had.
The phrase "pretentious salad" is one Karen has thrown around the past few years to refer to a salad that meets her high standards for both taste and creativity. Beth thought it would work well as a blog title, and they went with it. I originally suggested "Vino-n-Vittles," and was promptly ignored.
I had another suggestion that met the same reception that paid homage to Karen's legendary...uh, "creativity" with the English language. When she gets excited or irritated, her word choice transcend the realm of mere cognitive meaning and takes on an expressionist quality that somehow manages to communicate her point even as she resorts to quasi-absurdity. For instance, she once expressed her irritation with me by calling me a "piece of slab." On a different occasion, the high pitched sound I make when I yawn pushed her past the breaking point, and she lashed out with this gem: "CHRIS! YOU'RE PIERCING THE SKULLS OF BATS!"
Anyway, when she was visiting us in Santa Barbara, she was describing a dish to us, and she was getting so caught up in the moment that she said, "I wolfed it down like a shark." If you've ever seen a shark wolf something down, or even if you've seen a wolf sharking something down, you know exactly what she means. It's one of my favorite Karenisms. So I thought Wolf This Down Like a Shark would be a a fitting blog title. Again, my suggestion fell on deaf ears. Alas.
Since blog writing tends to get more editorial filtering than conversational speech, we might not see too many phrases like "piercing the skulls of bats." But you should check out their blog, anyway. And if you end up making one of the dishes they write about, I give you my personal guarantee* you won't be disappointed.
*Guarantee may not be legally binding in your state. Consult your lawyer.
The phrase "pretentious salad" is one Karen has thrown around the past few years to refer to a salad that meets her high standards for both taste and creativity. Beth thought it would work well as a blog title, and they went with it. I originally suggested "Vino-n-Vittles," and was promptly ignored.
I had another suggestion that met the same reception that paid homage to Karen's legendary...uh, "creativity" with the English language. When she gets excited or irritated, her word choice transcend the realm of mere cognitive meaning and takes on an expressionist quality that somehow manages to communicate her point even as she resorts to quasi-absurdity. For instance, she once expressed her irritation with me by calling me a "piece of slab." On a different occasion, the high pitched sound I make when I yawn pushed her past the breaking point, and she lashed out with this gem: "CHRIS! YOU'RE PIERCING THE SKULLS OF BATS!"
Anyway, when she was visiting us in Santa Barbara, she was describing a dish to us, and she was getting so caught up in the moment that she said, "I wolfed it down like a shark." If you've ever seen a shark wolf something down, or even if you've seen a wolf sharking something down, you know exactly what she means. It's one of my favorite Karenisms. So I thought Wolf This Down Like a Shark would be a a fitting blog title. Again, my suggestion fell on deaf ears. Alas.
Since blog writing tends to get more editorial filtering than conversational speech, we might not see too many phrases like "piercing the skulls of bats." But you should check out their blog, anyway. And if you end up making one of the dishes they write about, I give you my personal guarantee* you won't be disappointed.
*Guarantee may not be legally binding in your state. Consult your lawyer.
Monday, June 25, 2007
West Coast is No Longer the Best Coast
As Watoosa has reported, we arrived in Portland on Wednesday of last week. Unfortunately, our stuff was still in California at that time, which pretty much ensured that we'd have to wait through the weekend to get it. They now tell us they'll deliver it today after lunch, but I'll believe it when I see it.
It's been weird camping out in our own living room. We feel very disconnected from the rest of the world with no radio, TV, newspaper, or internet (I'm in the public library now). Luckily, we've got our computer, which means we can play the occasional video, and we brought a few books.
I've also been working through a Chess book that blakbuzzrd recommended: How to Beat Your Dad at Chess . I think it's already improved my game (which means I've gone from "Execrably Awful" to "Consistently Embarassing"). But it does have one serious drawback. When it shows an example (and it's filled with them), it either indicates "Black Moves" or "White Moves." The problem with the latter is that it sounds a lot like the title of that Bob Seger song, "Night Moves," which means the chorus from that craptastic ditty involuntarily plays in my head, and there seems to be nothing I can do to prevent it. Man, I already had a pretty strong aversion to Seger and his oeuvre, but now I hate that #@%*ing song like poison. And I'm only about three-fifths of the way through the book. Seriously, it's slowly driving me insane.
It's been weird camping out in our own living room. We feel very disconnected from the rest of the world with no radio, TV, newspaper, or internet (I'm in the public library now). Luckily, we've got our computer, which means we can play the occasional video, and we brought a few books.
I've also been working through a Chess book that blakbuzzrd recommended: How to Beat Your Dad at Chess . I think it's already improved my game (which means I've gone from "Execrably Awful" to "Consistently Embarassing"). But it does have one serious drawback. When it shows an example (and it's filled with them), it either indicates "Black Moves" or "White Moves." The problem with the latter is that it sounds a lot like the title of that Bob Seger song, "Night Moves," which means the chorus from that craptastic ditty involuntarily plays in my head, and there seems to be nothing I can do to prevent it. Man, I already had a pretty strong aversion to Seger and his oeuvre, but now I hate that #@%*ing song like poison. And I'm only about three-fifths of the way through the book. Seriously, it's slowly driving me insane.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Disaster Strikes!
Well, not so much disaster as a series of annoyances.
1. We found out just today that ABF--who currently has control of all our personal property except for our car and what we could fit in it--doesn't deliver on Saturday or Sunday. That adds two more days of sleeping on the floor. Originally, we thought our stuff would probably arrive on Friday, which means we've doubled the amount of time we have to go without our stuff. And that in turn means I'll be wearing the same khaki shorts and blue Polo shirt for a total of 1.5 weeks. At least I brought enough undies.
2. Another nugget from ABF: our stuff is still in San Fernando, California. That was our first clue that it wouldn't be ready for delivery on Friday.
3. In just a few seconds, Greta changed our Hyundai into her own rolling litter box. She chose the armrest that separates driver from passenger for the honor. Luckily, it was (mostly) solid.
4. And since the Fates wanted to reiterate the old saw, "When it rains, it pours," it also rained. And, man, did it pour. Luckily, we had functioning wiper blades. Until we didn't.
Still, we made it to Erie, Pennsylania, our heads bloody but unbowed. Nothing can stop us now!
1. We found out just today that ABF--who currently has control of all our personal property except for our car and what we could fit in it--doesn't deliver on Saturday or Sunday. That adds two more days of sleeping on the floor. Originally, we thought our stuff would probably arrive on Friday, which means we've doubled the amount of time we have to go without our stuff. And that in turn means I'll be wearing the same khaki shorts and blue Polo shirt for a total of 1.5 weeks. At least I brought enough undies.
2. Another nugget from ABF: our stuff is still in San Fernando, California. That was our first clue that it wouldn't be ready for delivery on Friday.
3. In just a few seconds, Greta changed our Hyundai into her own rolling litter box. She chose the armrest that separates driver from passenger for the honor. Luckily, it was (mostly) solid.
4. And since the Fates wanted to reiterate the old saw, "When it rains, it pours," it also rained. And, man, did it pour. Luckily, we had functioning wiper blades. Until we didn't.
Still, we made it to Erie, Pennsylania, our heads bloody but unbowed. Nothing can stop us now!
Monday, June 18, 2007
Central Illinois...
...is just as mind-numbingly dull as I remembered.
But the Texans who proudly ignored the narrative of Genesis 11 and built the
The strategy behind these edifices is shrewd. The builders know that the drive from St. Louis to Indianapolis and from New Mexico across the Texas Panhandle is so agonizingly boring that it (a) induces a kind of stupor, thus lowering the mind's critical faculties; or (b) causes motorists to seriously question the meaning of their existence. Either way, they're just bound to make a few converts out of the people who stop by the accompanying gift shops (yes, you read that right--they have gift shops).
One thing the Texans have over the Lincolnites, though, is the generous offer of free 72-ounce steaks (free, that is, provided you eat it all in one sitting) at Exit 75 of Interstate 40. I seem to recall that there was a Simpsons episode about just such an offer, but I didn't realize it was based on fact.
The monotony of Illinois' share of I-70 has so diminished my creative powers that I am unable to write further.
*END TRANSMISSION*
Sunday, June 17, 2007
A Question for the Ages
I don't have much to add to Watoosa's account of today's journey. I'll just ask for help solving the big mystery of the trip thus far: Why are there so many interstate billboards advertising Vasectomy Reversals? Seriously, I stopped counting at twenty.
That mystery in turn raises an even larger one--Why do they offer money-back guarantees?!
That mystery in turn raises an even larger one--Why do they offer money-back guarantees?!
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Journey through a Land that Time Forgot!
As Watoosa has reported, we've made it as far as New Mexico. The drive has been more or less uneventful. We spent last night in Barstow, California, on the edge of the Mojave Desert. Today's drive--approximately 600 miles--was pretty much all desert, broken up by the Colorado River and a brief cut through the Kaibab National Forest. We passed up some tantalizing diversions, like the Grand Canyon, the Petrified Forest, and the big Meteor Crater that you've seen in photographs. But with a half-crazed (and wholly vicious) feline in the car, it's just not possible to stop.
It's not as jaw-droppingly impressive as our drive through central and southwestern Utah, but it was beautiful, all the same. And now I can color in another state in my map of states I've visited. Tomorrow, I'll be able to add Oklahoma.
The picture above is from the one moment of excitement today: a dino-attack. For another great picture, check out Watoosa's post.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Endgame
Posting will likely be pretty scanty in the next couple weeks, as Watoosa and I get ready for the big cross-country trek to Maine. We leave on Friday. Already, we have much of our stuff packed up, pictures and knickknacks pulled down from the walls, closets cleared out. It definitely feels like we're moving, now.
It hit me a couple weeks ago how much I will miss Santa Barbara. I had no idea I'd come to love it as much as I have. Except for the distance from our families and friends, it's just about a perfect place to live. Oh yeah, there's also the mind-blowingly exorbitant housing prices, too. But luckily we've not had to deal with that.
Last weekend, we had a couple "last time to do X"s. We went to the legendary farmer's market on Saturday morning. That was pretty much a weekly appointment for us. The market has an excellent variety of fruits and vegetables, but it also has other stuff like a New Age healer (i.e., a charlatan who makes you feel better about yourself), several musicians who regularly show up and play for donations (including a really great Django Reinhardt/Stephane Grappelli string band), and the odd political protester. But really it's about the food. We've been able to eat so well here, in large part because everything grows in California. You can get fresh produce year round.
One thing we've gotten into is artisan olive oil. I had always figured oil was oil, but here we've been able to taste just how complex olive oil can be. It's like wine in that it can offer a combination of flavors in a single sip like pepper, citrus, and grass. We're hooked. So we bought one last bottle at the market. Luckily, most producers sell on the internet, now. If you are looking to get some of the good stuff, I recommend Joelle or Olive Hill Farm. Don't muck it up with vinegar, cheese, or herbs. It's good enough to stand alone.
We also made one of our favorite Santa Barbara meals on Saturday. We bought fresh local swordfish, grilled it up, and matched it with fresh greens and fresh bread (dipped in olive oil, of course). It's simple, and it's simply divine.
On Sunday, we went to our parish for the last time: All Saints by-the-Sea. We went there on our first Sunday in town, and we liked it so much we didn't bother to look at other parishes. It's been a great place for us, and we're going to miss it.
It hit me a couple weeks ago how much I will miss Santa Barbara. I had no idea I'd come to love it as much as I have. Except for the distance from our families and friends, it's just about a perfect place to live. Oh yeah, there's also the mind-blowingly exorbitant housing prices, too. But luckily we've not had to deal with that.
Last weekend, we had a couple "last time to do X"s. We went to the legendary farmer's market on Saturday morning. That was pretty much a weekly appointment for us. The market has an excellent variety of fruits and vegetables, but it also has other stuff like a New Age healer (i.e., a charlatan who makes you feel better about yourself), several musicians who regularly show up and play for donations (including a really great Django Reinhardt/Stephane Grappelli string band), and the odd political protester. But really it's about the food. We've been able to eat so well here, in large part because everything grows in California. You can get fresh produce year round.
One thing we've gotten into is artisan olive oil. I had always figured oil was oil, but here we've been able to taste just how complex olive oil can be. It's like wine in that it can offer a combination of flavors in a single sip like pepper, citrus, and grass. We're hooked. So we bought one last bottle at the market. Luckily, most producers sell on the internet, now. If you are looking to get some of the good stuff, I recommend Joelle or Olive Hill Farm. Don't muck it up with vinegar, cheese, or herbs. It's good enough to stand alone.
We also made one of our favorite Santa Barbara meals on Saturday. We bought fresh local swordfish, grilled it up, and matched it with fresh greens and fresh bread (dipped in olive oil, of course). It's simple, and it's simply divine.
On Sunday, we went to our parish for the last time: All Saints by-the-Sea. We went there on our first Sunday in town, and we liked it so much we didn't bother to look at other parishes. It's been a great place for us, and we're going to miss it.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Songbirds
Here’s some new music I’ve been listening to over the past few months. It’s new only to me—none of it was recorded any later than the 1960s.
Tina Turner was in the thick of her “comeback” career phase when I was coming of age, but her songs from that era don’t strike me as having anything other than nostalgic value (“What’s Love Got to Do with It?” and “Private Dancer” are so 1980s). Then there was her role in Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome. All that was enough to lead me to ignore her music. Until now. For some reason, I recently recalled hearing (and enjoying) her version of “Proud Mary” when I was a teenager. I began to wonder what the rest of her early work was like. So I turned to iTunes and downloaded a few tracks (despite the fact that it makes me feel like a sucker every time). The first was “Proud Mary,” which cooks. I also got “River Deep, Mountain High” and “I Want to Take You Higher,” which compare favorably to “Proud Mary.” The superfunky “Sexy Ida, Pt. 1” was fun, but the strongest track I got was “I’ve Been Loving You Too Long.” This song shows just how powerfully she can sing. It’s a bluesy number, and the way she sings it, you know she’ll do anything to keep her man. The best part is the closing bars: Turner and the band get really quiet, only to raise the volume back up to full blast, as Tina sings, “sock it to me, SOCK IT TO ME, SOCK IT TO ME!”
Helen Merrill’s eponymous album came my way as a present last Christmas. I had heard good things about her as a singer, but my main interest in that record was the fact that it featured one of my favorite trumpet players, Clifford Brown. Merrill’s voice just knocked me out, though. It has a hint of whispery raspiness, but not at the expense of strength and control, and she gives so much attention to every word she sings. I don’t know what the recording conditions were, but it sounds like she’s singing right into your ear, especially if you play it through an iPod’s earbuds. You can often hear her lips parting, or her mouth taking in breath. All of the songs are ballads or mid-tempo, except for the closing “’s Wonderful,” so it’s a nice, relaxing listen. All the tracks are gems, but my favorites are probably “What’s New” and “Falling in Love with Love.”
I first heard about Nina Simone in the Bridget Fonda flick, Point of No Return, in which Fonda’s character keeps asking her handlers for some of Simone’s music. That movie was pretty forgettable, which I guess is why I was always reluctant to try out Simone’s music. Big mistake. I recently picked up a copy of a live album, At the Village Gate. She plays piano and sings. I have no idea what her merits are as a pianist, but her voice is unmistakable. It’s deep—maybe a low alto. Her tone would work well for a blues singer, and I hear a dimension of that music in her singing, but she has the ability to do more than holler out the blues. Listen to “Brown Baby,” and you’ll see what I mean. She also does a version of “House of the Rising Sun” that bears hardly any resemblance to the versions you’ve heard from Bob Dylan or the Animals. She closes the set with a couple gospel numbers: “If He Changed My Name” and “Children Go Where I Send You.” Those tracks alone are worth the price of the album.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
The Best Sentence I've Read this Morning
From Peter Travers' review of Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End:
"Pirates 3 raises everything from the dead, except inspiration."
Here's the runner-up:
"... the story plods along like a PBS special on the founding pirate fathers."
We ended up loving the first Pirates, which was such a surprise, since we assumed it would be terrible. I remember laughing at the very idea of it when we saw previews. But Travers' review convinced us to go see it. Based on what he says about Pirates 3, it looks like that franchise is pulling a Wachowski.
I can't wait to read Pajiba's take.
"Pirates 3 raises everything from the dead, except inspiration."
Here's the runner-up:
"... the story plods along like a PBS special on the founding pirate fathers."
We ended up loving the first Pirates, which was such a surprise, since we assumed it would be terrible. I remember laughing at the very idea of it when we saw previews. But Travers' review convinced us to go see it. Based on what he says about Pirates 3, it looks like that franchise is pulling a Wachowski.
I can't wait to read Pajiba's take.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Ascending the Mount of Purgation
This afternoon I made it farther up Gibraltar Road than ever before. According to Google Earth, I made it past the 2100 foot mark, which is 200 feet higher than my previous best. Since I had determined to re-reach my previous best before we move, I was pretty psyched to surpass it, and to surpass it ahead of schedule. Unfortunately, the road gets pretty bad at that point, so I don't think I'll be going much farther. However, my stopping point was in view of Gibraltar Rock, which offers a great view of the canyon and the Santa Barbara Channel (Watoosa and I hiked there shortly after we moved to SB). So I may push on a bit just to hit the rock.
Below is a map of my route.
And here is an update on my calf muscle development. They're the poster calves for www.massivecalves.com. Ladies, try to control yourselves.
Below is a map of my route.
And here is an update on my calf muscle development. They're the poster calves for www.massivecalves.com. Ladies, try to control yourselves.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Live to Ride/Ride to Live
Since moving out to
Basically, that route starts at my house and goes pretty much straight uphill to the Mount Calvary Monastery. It’s just over a 1000 foot climb, which gives me a pretty good workout. The views from the monastery are spectacular—you can see two canyons, the highest mountains in the area, the shoreline, and on clear days, you can see the peaks of
The picture above is my faithful steed. The first one below is the Santa Barbara Mission, which is just a few blocks away from our house. Once I pass the mission, the steep part begins. The rest of the pictures are views from the monastery, except for the last one, which is a shot of my leg muscles when I finish a ride.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Time Magazine: "Metaphysicians are Pseudophilosophers"
Some of my best friends are metaphysicians. Earlier today I read about their secret society: the Royal Fraternity of Master Metaphysicians. The article is here.
A quotation:
At the Royal Fraternity's headquarters, the Forum of Truth and the
What they study is far from clear, but the Royal Fraternity's creed might be described as a theological goulash of Rosicrucianism, Christian Science, Christianity, Supermind Science, faith healing and How to Win Friends and Influence People.
First of all, I always looked up to metaphysics guys for doing something hard. No one told me how easy it was to become a Master Metaphysician! And here I am writing a dissertation in political philosophy, like a chump.
Then again, the next two sentences make me suspect that the quality of instruction might not be up to par:
As to the number of middle-aged ladies he has attracted, "the Christian Science Church doesn't publish the number of its membership," says Mr. Schafer; "Why should we?" However: "Our organization is unorganized. You can't define a thing like that."
Bonus tidbit: the last sentence of the article uses the racial epithet "darky" in referring to another cult. This freaked me out, until I saw that it was published in 1938. Still, what’s up with that, Time Magazine?
Extra bonus tidbit: I actually read about Little Father Divine about three weeks ago. I had watched a mesmerizing documentary about the Jonestown massacre (that was some seriously messed up stuff, by the way), and came across FD when I looked up Jim Jones on the web. I even watched footage of him on Youtube. Things like that make me suspect I'm in the matrix.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Headlines that Alarm Me
Earlier today, my Google Desktop News window featured this headline:
“Ranson Bids to
For those of you who didn’t know already, Watoosa’s maiden name was “Ranson.” So you can imagine how sharply my right eyebrow arced upon seeing that news tidbit. Suspecting that my devious spouse was up to something, I expressly forbade her from ever setting foot in or near
That makes sense, but I’m still keeping my eye on her.
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