I Got Deja Vu for Christmas

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.

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.

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.

Another Perspective on Philosophy

Not quite as hilarious as the letter I reproduced earlier, but still amusing:

"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.

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.

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."

I got a good laugh out this, until I realized that a 9-year old has more publications in the Proceedings than I do.

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.

Pithiest Movie Review Ever

It's for The Golden Compass.

Find it here.

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.

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?