Adrienne's Place

Voting Musings

2008-02-05T21:19:00.000-05:00

So I took my 8 year old with me to the polling place. I get to vote on the candidates as I am a registered Republican because that is the only party that matters here in terms of local politics. We started talking about the rules for voting. "Kids can't vote, can they?" "No," I answered, "you have to be 18." "Or older," he added, "because then a lot of old people couldn't vote." I thought it was an interesting concept. How would things be different if only 18 year olds were allowed to vote? Would kids be groomed and courted for the big day? For how long? Would Bob Dole have ever made it? One could guess voter turnout would be much higher. Chances are, there would never be talk of a draft. One might also predict the drinking age would be lowered. I guess I am kind of a romantic, believing that the younger you are, the lower your threshold for bullshit is. Then again, I think back to getting my bachelors a few years ago. The kids in my classes were a tremendous disappointment to me in their expressed political views. Who knows, but it's kind of entertaining to think about.

Creativity for the Lazy

2007-10-03T22:21:00.000-04:00

Just got home not too long ago from seeing zefrank in the flesh at RIT. All sorts of educational institutions from everywhere send libraries all sorts of fliers telling about all the stuff they have going on, which is how I got wind of this particular program. I said, "Hey, he's the guy that never blinks!" So of course I had to see him and find out if he really never blinks, but I forgot to pay attention to that because he was just so darn entertaining. He talked for an hour and a half, and the time just zipped by. He's also a lot taller than he is on the Internet.

The chart he kept coming back to showed how with an increase in acceleration, there is an exponential increase in anxiety, and tied this to both his fear of flying and the explosion of the Internet, devices with which one can consume media/information and so on and so forth. Stuff most of us have heard before in less entertaining deliveries. He briefly covered his foray and history of creating content on the Internet and having people actually pay attention. He mentioned Web 2.0 only once. (It's been a big thing in the library world over the past year, and very difficult to avoid.) One of his main points was the question of how to get people to interact in a ways that do not produce crap or drawings of penises on the tablecloth, to use his analogy about facilitating dinner conversation. It's certainly understandable for him to be interested in the topic, as he has had some success in doing so.

What struck me about it (and I am far from being a hard core fan of ze? [I guess this is what people call him but it just sounds so weird] having probably only seen a few dozen video casts out of a year's worth) were the parallels I could draw between what he's done and what I perceived to the best UUism had to offer when I was in high school. There's this summer camp called Unirondack that my sister and went to for a few years. Actually, she never really stopped going, but that is another story. Some years were better than others. One year was really right and I felt very welcome, like I was part of a unique community. Any and all creative endeavors were encouraged and I was made to feel like I had something to offer. Plus, I thought it was way cool that on a hike with 7 to 10 other kids we sang the White Album from "Back in the U.S.S.R." to "Good Night."

Zefrank seems to have managed to facilitate creative responses from thousands of people and provide a forum of sorts that they want to be a part of. One such instance were the folks who contributed to the dressed up vacuum cleaner thing. And creating stuff feels pretty darn good, even God said so. (Adorning household appliances must be at least as satisfying as creating slime mold.) Once one is finally past adolescence and into the "real" world, you get bogged down in paying the bills, maintaining some level of hygiene in one's living quarters, and dealing with various levels of stress in the work environment, not to mention stresses induced by even marginally paying attention to all the depressing events of the world at large, it's easy for any and all creative acts to go by the wayside because it's not considered important. So he provides creative fodder to get the juices flowing, a jumping off point.

But more to the point, most of us are too cheap and lazy to go to the trouble of setting up and maintaining a web page. I have no idea what goes into that, and moreover I have not thus far been inspired to learn how. So let's say an audience member is inspired by the blinkless guy to dress up a vacuum. The amount of effort required is minimal. 1. Dress the appliance. 2. Take digital photo. 3. Plug camera into your computer. 4. Send email. That's it. I don't know if he posts everything he gets, or if he picks and chooses. If it is the former, then the participating audience member is affirmed and rewarded by now being able to boast a 1x1.5 inch claim to fame. If indeed he picks and chooses, then there is the element of anticipation and surprise. Should your contribution be accepted, you are then part of an elite group of people who submitted stuff that was published on zefrank.

He enables a creative outlet for the lazy because he does all the organizational work. Contributors feel like they have something of worth to offer because their stuff gets posted and have these sense they are a part of a self-selected community of people who appreciate the quirky stuff available on the site.

Plus, it's just damn entertaining.

The Mind of an Eight Year Old

2007-09-13T21:59:00.000-04:00

I am driving the car the other day, and from the back seat I hear my son talking to himself,
"Business is booming.
BOOM BOOM BOOM
BOOM BOOM
I am business."

I think it would make a hell of an advertising campaign for somebody.

What I Didn't Read

2007-09-12T20:47:00.000-04:00

Junior high is such an odd period in life. When I was in 7th and 8th grade, I had two favorite authors, Stephen King and John Steinbeck. I know, I can't really see much common ground between them, either. The weird thing about me and Steinbeck is I never read anything the rest of the world reads. Never read Cannery Row, or Of Mice and Men, or East of Eden. What I did read was The Wayward Bus and Travels with Charley. Unlike most books, I read Travels with Charley several times. I think I had to read The Moon Is Down for an English class at some point. This summer, I stopped by a church rummage sale and looked through the books because I cannot help myself. I found Sweet Thursday.

I can see why it's not on high school reading lists across the country. Among other things, it may have something to do with the highly entertaining aside about growing marijuana on government property in Los Angeles. This novel is not heavy like the other ones that made him famous. There is respite for those of you who find pages and pages or landscape description tedious. The ending is fairly predictable, though I suppose most happy endings are.

The setting is Cannery Row. The cast of characters include the eccentric Doc, Fauna the madam of the local brothel, and Suzy, who's new to the neighborhood and just got a job at said local brothel. There is also a whole cast of colorful supporting characters. The crux of the plot is that ol' Doc is going through a midlife crisis and everybody in Cannery Row thinks it is their bound duty to cure him of his malaise. The plot is alright, it works. What's entertaining are the tangents concerning the side characters. For instance, there is Jesus and Mary, the owner of the general store in town, who figures there has to be a way to cheat at chess, and eventually comes to the conclusion that honesty just might be a good way to scam people. The trials and tribulations of the inhabitants at the Palace Flophouse are also good for a laugh.

The thing with "literature" is that it is wrought with grand themes about what it means to be human. It makes the reader assess one's place in the world, one's ideologies and assumptions, the relationship between society and the individual and so on and so forth. Not that there's anything wrong with those things. I find reading these sorts of things is generally a good practice, and it adds to my understanding of the world. I enjoy well written pieces, but am not always interested in high drama and big questions. Sweet Thursday is a good answer to that sort of mood. It's literature lite; good enough not to make you ashamed to be reading it in an artsy-fartsy coffee shop, but mindless enough to let your brain go on vacation for a few days.

Now all I have to do is figure out what the next Steinbeck novel is I should read that no one's ever heard of so I can be really pretentious and esoteric at the coffee shop.

People Can See You In Your Car

2007-05-15T21:06:00.000-04:00

So I was sitting at a traffic light in our area Mallville with six to eight lanes of traffic. I casually looked out the window to the SUV stopped next to me. A middle aged man was behind the wheel. His middle aged wife had a pair of tweezers and was plucking out the hairs on the end of his nose. At the time, I thought it was funny as hell. On the other hand, I can't imagine allowing anybody do that to me, much less in public. But there could be worse things.

Strange Brew

2007-04-27T08:37:00.000-04:00

Don't get me wrong -- I think it is way cool that my kid knows Cream. It seems strange though, to hear a seven year old walking around the house humming the riff of "Sunshine of Your Love" to himself.

Really Bad Comics

2007-02-09T08:56:00.000-05:00

As further proof that my taste (or lack thereof) is indiscriminate, check out www.ep.tc. It is a collection of old comics that have been scanned for your viewing pleasure. They are simultaneously really weird and really bad. The "Comics With Problems" section is my favorite thus far, but as I am on dial-up, it is painfully slow going. Enjoy!

Bookgirl, Fanboy, Gothgirl

2007-02-03T21:40:00.000-05:00

So I did the stupid thing that I do about three times a year the other night. I sat down and read a book cover to cover and didn't get to bed until the wee hours of the morning. This particular volume was "The Astonishing Adventures of Fanboy and Gothgirl" by Barry Lyga. It's a novel which the YA (Young Adult) librarians in my library system seem to think is pretty good. **Side Tangent -- There have been studies made, and actual persons age 13-19 spoken to by librarians that have indicated said audience actually prefer to be called simply "teens" and yet for some curious reason, librarians insist on saying they cater to Young Adults. I don't get it. I think the perhaps the real reason is that it would mess up the YALSA acronym.** Because I am a public librarian and have this compulsion to be all things to all people, I have this guilt thing going that our little library doesn't do enough for teens, so I figure the least I can do is read a book geared for teens every now and then.

The book is good enough that I read it for three hours straight. It was well written, and there were not any parts that disappointed me or that I thought were lame. Fanboy is a total geek, has a not-exactly-great home life and ends up making friends with this goth girl, Kyra, who is his complete opposite because she is all about breaking rules. He is also writing and drawing a graphic novel he feels is "important." Kyra agrees it is worth getting published. The story revolves around them trying to get Brian Micheal Bendis to have a look at it. Woven in between is an overview of the horrors of high school social life, as far as the social outcast is concerned, and the horrors of clueless teachers and asshole administrators. I liked the character development of Fanboy the most. His feelings and attitudes for most of the book were totally on the mark for a 15 year old. By the end he experiences a few epiphanies that broaden his perspective, giving him a clearer view of his circumstances.

Personally, there was one section that just made me feel so old. He talks about having to sit in the truck with his step father who he completely despises, (because what teen does not despise the step parent that comes on the scene too late?) and he bemoans the possibility of having to listen to a lot of grunge crap. Not that I was all in to the grunge thing, but I was old enough to have acquaintances that were into it before it got really big. (I am also old enough to remember seeing hair care products that you sprayed into your hair to make it "look dirty.") And I was thinking, "Damn, I am biologically old enough to have a 15 year old of my own." Not a good revelation.

After reading the novel, and the comments by famous people on the back cover, I learned that there is a lot of disrespect for comics. They informed me of this attitude in library school as well. I don't quite understand. Unlike Fanboy, I cannot elucidate on the social relevance of the Joker, though I suppose good points can be made. I simply like reading comics and always have. My mother was a devoted subscriber of the newspaper, so there were always Sunday comics. **Yet Another Side Tangent -- After trying to be a grownup, informed citizen that actually reads the rest of the paper, I have given up and find only the comics of use these days. Hell, I can keep up on current events by reading Doonesbury alone.** When comic books were about 75 cents, I was heavily into Richie Rich. Later on, I moved up to Elvira's House of Mystery, mostly collections of Twilight Zone-type stories. My step father lent me his old copies of Creepy, Eerie and Vampirella from the 70's which I think my mom burned after she actually read one. More recently, I've read Will Eisner's Contract With God Trilogy, which I would recommend. It is a series of stories that covers the history of fictional Dropsie Avenue in NYC. Some of the stories are a little uneven, but that may be perhaps because I plowed through all 544 pages in about a day and a half. On the other hand, there is social relevance a plenty. He brings up a number of issues like race, socioeconomics, the myth of childhood innocence, the failure of some bleeding heart liberal projects, and other themes that will induce thought to those who are so inclined.

Dr. Librarian

2006-12-22T11:24:00.000-05:00

We librarians like to be organized. One of the ways we do this is to categorize books under different subject headings, handed down to us from the Library of Congress. This is nice in that there is the same standard everybody uses so we all know what we are talking about. On the other hand, some of the subject headings are less than intuitive. For instance, if you want a book on hand guns, you will get more results if you look up "fire arms." And you will probably never find what you are looking for if you type in "cook book." What you need to use is the word "cookery." I know, it gives me a headache, too.

So in light of some of the odd terminologies librarians find for subjects, I was working on collection development the other day, using the Public Library Catalog, 12th Edition. This is a standard resource in the library world. It lists books which a majority of the libraries in the United States own that are considered to be authoritative on particular subjects, books that you should feel ashamed not to have in your collection. Of course, there is an extensive index with cross references. I was startled to find the following entry, "Sick - See also Terminally ill." All I can say is it's a good thing librarians are not doctors.

Heavenly Stupidity

2006-11-17T13:59:00.000-05:00

I finished "The Stupidest Angel" by Christopher Moore. It is a very funny book. On occasion, books will make me laugh out loud, but this is generally limited to a single "Ha!" Not so with this book. I would sit on the couch and read it and giggle long enough to interrupt my reading. It is hard to go wrong with quotes like, "[He] smoked enough pot to put a choir of Rastafarians in a coma." The novel takes place in Pine Cove, California, populated with lots of colorful characters. Something like a highly dysfuncional Cicely, Alaska. Anyway, seven year old Josh witnesses the accidental killing of Santa several days before Christmas. Raziel the angel, is on a mission to grant a child's Christmas wish. And Josh's was to make Santa come back to life. Any watcher of B-horror movies knows that the resurrection of the dead means they return hungry for brains. And so it was with Santa and of course the rest of the dead in the chapel cemetary. Why Raziel didn't just raise Santa I guess is one reason why he is the stupidest angel. It is hard for me to imagine why anyone would need additional motivation to read this because fer pit's sake, it's got a zombie Santa in it. What more do you want? For those of you that do not properly appreciate zombies, the rest of the characters make for entertainig reading in and of themselves: the pot-smoking constable, the former(???) B-movie warrior princess, the crude broad who tends bar, the scientist who gives his testicles electric shock each time he thinks about sex, another scientist obsessed with her make-up, the horny pilot who doesn't want to spend Christmas alone, and to top it off, a talking fruit bat. What's not to love? Happy reading!

Really Bad Monsters

2006-10-23T20:51:00.000-04:00

Shaw has been kicking my butt for not writing, so here I am. I would like to say thanks to him for the butt-kicking, even though I am not, and haven't been particularly inspired to write.

A few books have crossed the pathway of my eyes, but none of them made much of an impact one way or the other. The last one I got through was "How I Became Stupid" by Martin Page. The cover said it was an internationl cult classic, whatever that means. I kind of wonder about the use of "classic." Can anything be termed "classic" after two years? If a guy slips on a banana peel, someone could say, "Dude, that is classic." By all definitions it would be considered classic, but not particuarly original. So the catch-phrase "cult classic" is potentially a contradiction of terms, because many things that develop a cult following are highly original. But I digress...Anton, the main character, decides he is miserable because he is so intelligent. (There is a chapter about a suicide society which I concede was most entertaining.) After much soul searching, he decides to dumb himself down and gets a job as a stock broker. He makes tons of money but loses his quirky friends in the process. Desperate to get thier old friend back, they dip into the occult. I didn't really care much for the ending (and I do like happy endings), but the end was just too happy somehow.

In all truth, "How I Became Stupid" probably did more for me than what I did to myself the other day when I wasn't feeling well and watched lots of really bad monster movies like "Gidrah, The Three Headed Monster," "Megalon," and "Twilight of the Cockroaches." Even though it probably carries the potential to reduce my I.Q., I was pleased to discover some library in the system carries "Godzilla vs. Mothra."

On the book front, there is hope. Today I just got a copy of "The Stupidest Angel: A Heartwarming Tale of Christmas Terror" by Christopher Moore. Click here for a really great review of this book. Hopefully, it will be worth writing home about.

My Right Hook Man, Mr. Smeeds

2006-07-10T21:40:00.000-04:00

Somehow or other, I've always had a thing for pirates. First off, they have a great sense of fashion. Tall boots, gold hoop ear rings, silk scarves wherever they fit, cool-looking cutlasses, AND of course eye patches. I was one of that minority who never experienced cable until high school. So as kid, the regular networks would play old movies Saturday and Sunday afternoons, where I first got a taste for swashbuckling action. Could anyone be more dashing than Errol Flynn?
Hollywood just doesn't seem to have done much with the pirate genre for the past 50 years. So I was really excited when the first Pirates of the Caribbean came out and even took myself to see it in the theater, a highly unusual occurance in my world. It was then that I developed my philosophy concerning pirate movies. Either there are good pirate movies, that incorporate all the things that we've come to expect in this genre, or there are bad pirate movies that do not, or execute said expectations very poorly, or mar these devices with a lot of trivialities and annoyances such as excessive dialogue or plot lines. This is not great literature, or great film. Nobody goes out to see a pirate movie for the splendid acting, or the tender, moving drama, or to learn something about the human condition. You go to see a pirate movie because you want to see action. You want to see parrots, patches, planks, and peglegs. Swordfighting, cannons, ship to ship combat, daggers, guys swinging from ropes and tearing sails to shreds. There must be rum, grog, AAAARRRRR!'s, booty, pistols, smoke and scallywags. You get the idea.
A friend insisted that the plot was important and necessary to move the action along. I counter with the argument that there is only one essential plot when it comes to pirate movies. Legitimate authority -> Pirates -> Hidden Treasure. Anything else that concerns character development, romance or other relationships between characters, or political intrigue is frivolous. Really, the only reason the legitimate authorities are important is that they give the pirates somebody to fight.
So, I was very psyched about the first Pirates of the Caribbean and thrilled to hear that they were coming out with a sequel. It seemed that July 2006 would never arrive. After months and months of waiting, July 7th was here. I went to see Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest on opening night. I've never seen a movie opening night, and it was nice to have saved the experience for this particular movie since I'd been expectantly waiting for it. The verdict?
THIS IS A GOOD PIRATE MOVIE. I would even go so far as to say this is a very good pirate movie. It offers essential pirate elements: the hidden treasure chest, parrot, barroom brawl, sword fight, sticking a dagger into a sail and sliding down, swinging around on ropes, cannons, rum, and pistols. The cannibals were a nice added touch. Unfortunately, the one thing missing was a good ship to ship combat, but I am willing to forgive this oversight. They certainly made up for it by staging the swordfight on a deserted island, which just happened to have some abandoned monastery or mill with a bell tower, so that the swordsmen would have steps to fight on and ropes to swing from. Because really, what is a swordfight without a staircase? After Jack Sparrow's exceptional entrance in the first movie, I was waiting to for his entrance to this one. It was not disappointing, though I still like the first better. It is better than the previous movie in that it severely diminished the role and tangent storyline of Cutler Beckett, the nasty prick who's only interested in amassing power, a proponent of globalsim, blah, blah, blah. If he's not actually swordfighting pirates, what the hell good is he? Cutting out the political intrigue and relationship stuff and too much dialogue just made this a much better movie.
On the other hand, there are bits that could have been improved. There were three separate occasions in which the kraken takes over a ship. Granted it is a large beast, and does not move quickly. However, computer animation guys and editors are much smaller, and so could have more quickly executed these scenes. I love a pirate movie as much as the next guy, but it was starting to drag a little bit toward the end, and shortening these scenes up would have alleviated that problem. Jack Sparrow's finale was fitting, but the end that was tacked on afterwards was just, tacky. At any rate, I would yet highly recommend Dead Man's Chest becasue as my philospher son, reader of Chinese fortune cookies says, "Never judge a work of art by its defects."

Hormones

2006-06-17T16:35:00.000-04:00

We ended up near Charlotte Beach last night around 10:00 or so. It felt like there had been some sort of festival or goings-on during the day and people were still milling about. A really gorgeous evening, even on the lake. Hardly any wind and the the air temperature didn't feel that much different from your body's. After walking around on the beach, we came back to the boardwalk and passed by a group of teenage girls interacting with two young men. There was the sort of typical banter back and forth. One or two of the girls was preparing to fall or jump and were testing to see if the boys were really interested. (Mind you, the distance from the boardwalk to the sand was approximately two feet.) "Are you going to catch me?" And one of the boys answered, "I promise everything I love." Chances are it was hormones that said that, but it made me wonder, "What if he really meant it? What would that mean?" Would it mean his favorite band? His mother's spaghetti sauce? Days when everything goes right? Feeling sunshine on his face? "Everything I love" must mean such a lot of things, people, feelings...And I'm sure there are those who would say I'm reading way too much into it. But it grabbed my attention in a way few things have lately.

New Quote

2006-05-15T12:55:00.000-04:00

"One of the tragedies of real life is there is no background music."
--From "The Shipping News" by E. Annie Proulx

Quote of the Day

2006-04-18T13:11:00.000-04:00

"Put your head in the sand and your butt becomes a beautiful target for buckshot."
--Sarah Ban Breathnach, Moving On

Kids Say the Darndest Things

2006-04-10T23:37:00.000-04:00

My 6-year-old: "If it weren't for China, children wouldn't have any toys."

Thought Provoking Question

2006-03-14T11:00:00.000-05:00

You have to love libraries. Where else can you gain the perverse satisfaction of seeing Bill O'Reilly sitting right next to Queer Eye for the Straight Guy?

The Freedom of MSG

2006-03-10T21:30:00.000-05:00

Feeling gracious the other day, I let my 6 year old pick out something from the grocery store snack aisle. Like most American 6 year olds, he returned with something that had never resembled food in the entirety of it existence: Wise Onion Rings. There is absolutely nothing in the ingredients that anybody would eat all by itself. Tapioca starch, anyone? In the current political and social climate, where there are those who believe our civil rights are in the process of being eaten away, the back of the Onion Rings package does offer some reassurance, (though goodness knows it's not the list of ingredients). It says right there: "WISE ONION RINGS ... set your tastebuds free!" So, if you are not able to use your tounge as a free instrument of your thoughts and views, at least your tastebuds, tool of your stomach, have some freedom.

Non sequitur

2006-03-09T22:26:00.000-05:00

"The moon closest to Jupiter has a cave on it, so you won't need to bring a tent."
--From Corner Gas, a Canadaian TV show.

You can try going to cornergas.com. But it's all flashy. I'm on dial up so I can't see a damn thing on it. Anyway, the show is entertaining. It's kind of like Northern Exposure, only Canadian. The differences are interesting, because NE was definitely American. The characters were weirder than life, the situations improbable (ie the fate of Maggie's boyfriends -- how many people really die from getting hit by a meteor?) But, not only that but with the Northern Exposure Ginsu 2000, you get not only comedy, but drama, philosophy and morality. (Preach it, Prettyboy Chris!) Not to mention the Native American spirituality bit. The whole weird town of Cicely, Alaska is extremely self-concious of being weird. Kind of not too far off from the whole Real World concept of throwing together characters who have absolutely nothing in common so the audience can watch and see the fur fly.

As for Corner Gas, you pretty much just get comedy, and they don't really worry themselves about philosophy, or good looking actors. Although Lacey is kind of pretty, so apparently Canadian males have some standards. On the other hand, she's pitied in one episode because nobody in Dog River thinks she is all that great looking. Not like Brent, who is over weight and balding. Dog River is on the whole, more homogenous than its American counterpart. There's a few characters floating around you might guess are Native Americans, but it's never ever mentioned. It's not an issue. If you get your hands on the first season, the first two episodes are a bit meh, but it gets a lot better.

Good Literary Sex

2006-03-07T11:55:00.000-05:00

Every so often, I get the inclination to listen to books on tape as I drive half an hour to work. A few weeks ago, I picked up Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald. One of the things I find attractive about it is that it is the story of American expatriots in Europe after WWI. For some reason, I have this thing about World War I. It just seems so sad because it seemed to mark such an abrupt loss of innocence. Anyway, I had never read Fitzgerald before. Somehow I slipped past the high school required reading of The Great Gatsby. It's not too hard to understand why he's considered one of the great American novelists. The contrast between the way he says things, and the way some of the contemporary novelists I've read lately is interesting. The way the latter convey an idea is a bit poetic, and somewhat detatched in an ethereal, thoughtful sort of way. Not having any expamples at the moment, I can only "prove" my point by saying that is the sort of feeling they left me with. Fitzgerald is definitely not poetic, but his descriptions are brilliant. Not so much of places and things, but of people, emotions, motivations and to a lesser extent, ideas. He is probably best at describing the momentary in but a phrase or two, but because he pins down a particular, peculiar feeling, that fleeting impulse becomes almost tangible somehow. In verbalizing a sentiment, I often "knew" just what he meant. I also enjoy his little barbs of sarcasm and satire.

Another great thing about this book is the sex. (For other rants on sex in books, see 1/22/06 and 9/27/05.) Fitzgerald satisfies all my requirements for novel sex, or sex in novels. He doesn't write about it to titillate. He often spends a great deal of time describing kisses, embraces, feelings and all the things that lead up to coitus. He may hint at or suggest goings on. The reader's imagination may take it further or choose to be obtuse about it all. Secondly, every single time sex is mentioned or people do it, it does something to the plot, or the relationship between characters is dramatically changed. Imagine that. Good, novel sex. I was dubious of its existance, but Fitzgerald pulled it off.

The book is about Dick Diver and the eventual decay of his marriage to one of his extremely wealthy psychological patients. For some reason, critics and reviewers like to dub it a "descent into madness." Mostly, I think they are just really happy to have an excuse to use that phrase because nobody takes reefer madness seriously anymore. I'd say a more accurate theme is one of promise unfullfilled. At the beginning of the book, Dick is unbelievably charming, is well respected in his field, has written a book and is working on a second, important book in his field. The rest of the book describes his subsequent deterioration, where he ends up mediocre. This is a book I will probably have to sit down with sometime and read with my own two eyes.

Some Literary Effects of Great War

2006-02-28T13:51:00.000-05:00

For those of you out there who can't get enough of the World War I era, there are several other books I would highly recommend.

The Razor's Edge by W. Somerset Maugham. This is also a not half-bad movie starring Bill Murray. It's about a guy who fought in WWI and decides to live as an expatriot in Paris for awhile, then goes to India to meditate. A brief description which does absolutely no justice to the book. It's about the only book I've read four or five times. At this point in time, I would say it's ultimately about the choices people make and the consequences they live with.
Johnny Got His Gun by Dalton Trumbo. This one is about a soldier who gets his arms, legs, and jaw blown off, as well as losing his sight and hearing, but doctors just wanted to see if they could keep him alive. Sounds boring, I know, but it is very disturbing and will not leave you for days. The mark of a really good book, if you ask me. This was also turned into a really good movie, Trumbo himself worked on the screenplay. Scenes from this were used in Metallica's video, "One."

More Mill

2006-02-21T14:52:00.000-05:00

From On Liberty , "Complete liberty of contradicting and disproving our opinion is the very condition which justifies us in assuming its truth for purposes of action; and on no other terms can a being with human faculties have any rational assurance of being right." Within the context of the essay, he is referring to supressing certain "wrong" opinions from public discourse, but it struck me as being applicable to a personal level. There are those of us out there who tend to keep things to ourselves...which is of course another way of keeping one's opinion from being contradicted. So you censor the world and yourself. It's highly effective. Yeah, it's probably one of those passive-aggressive things. Which of course, is based on fear. Oh, no, I might be wrong! After reading Mill it's easy to come to the conclusion that chances are, I probably am. But then again, most people are and always have been, so what the hell.

Futility

2006-02-07T12:57:00.000-05:00

I recently discovered that the following idiom was frequently uttered by my own flesh and blood, specifically my great-grandmother Wilson: "It's like trying to poke smoke up a cat's ass with a knitting needle." And she looks like such a nice lady in snapshots....

Free Speech. Who's Speech? And Where Are They Keeping Him?

2006-01-31T13:24:00.001-05:00

So I am in the middle of reading On Liberty by John Stuart Mill. Well, not really in the middle, more like at the beginning. Yes, it is another short book. But it takes longer to read, as it is a bit denser than your average novel. If you have the patience for Victorian phrasing, it's not too bad. If you give a damn about free speech, it's important to read. An interesting thing about his approach is that he considers government action as well as social censure. So far (I've just finished the Intro. and gotten into Ch. II), he basically points out that social customs are rather arbitrary. Because they vary so widely with time and culture, none of them can make claims of absoulute truth. This is why it is so important that everybody have thier say. It could be that the crazy guy on the corner is actually proclaiming the Truth with a big T. He might even be the only person on the planet with this insight. And if we suppress him, then we may be suppressing the progress of the whole race. Ah yes, I am feeling the well-spring of my UU upbringing just come gushing up.

5 Weird Things

2006-01-24T13:15:00.000-05:00

"The Rules: The first player of this game starts with the topic "five weird habits" and people who get tagged need to write an entry about their five weird habits as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose the next five people to be tagged and link to their web journals(only if you want to). Don't forget to leave a comment in their blog or journal that says "You have been tagged" (assuming they take comments) and tell them to read yours."

I was tagged by Shaw.

1. I entertain my coworkers by making sound effects as I read things that either greatly please me or piss me off. Sound effects change with mood.

2. When creating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the peanut butter must always be spread first. Crusty jelly gobs in peanut butter is gross.

3. I take out way many more books from the library than I could possibly read in a lifetime. Actually, I continually collect more books than I could possibly read in a lifetime. There are several piles of books in my living room, bedroom, hallway and bathroom because the shelves are all full. But they all look so interesting....

4. When I'm cooking, I listen to an old fart AM station that advertises for retirement communities and funeral homes on the shelf radio in my kitchen that has got to be 35 years old and has a 4 track player in it. Vive Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters.

5. When I take my son to a playground, I feel compelled to try out all the slides.

Nobody else I know with a blog would probably interested. Go to Shaw's site. He can probably hook you up with tons.

Miserable sex

2006-01-22T00:01:00.000-05:00

Generally, I do not like sex in the novels I read. It irritates me. Usually it consists of gratuitous, titillating descriptions which have little to do with the plot line. "And then she reached for a certain part of his anatomy..." Hubba, hubba. I know what sex is like, you don't have to tell me. So it is unusual that I picked up Rapture by Susan Minot. But I was impressed that the jacket flap was straight forward about sexual content. More or less it said, this book is about these two characters having sex one afternoon. I appreciate when people and dust jackets are up front.
I read it. This is another short read. Better than Amsterdam. Mostly she writes like a novelist, which is an okay thing, as the book is a novel. And writing like a novelist can produce lyrical descriptions or penetrating insights, and in them you can recognize a bit of truth. What is a little different about Minot is that she captures lines here and there which are very honest. I think that's pretty rare. For example, there's this part describing Benjamin's perspective of meeting Kay for the first time. The paragraph is concluded with this sentence, "He wanted to keep making her laugh." There's no fifty cent words or artistic adjectives or similies or metaphors. No allusions to great literature or nature or philosophy. Just a simple expression of desire that somehow carries with it the excitement and anticipation of someone new.
So these two, Kay and Benjamin, are having sex the whole book (or not, if you use Bill Clinton's definition.) The uh, blow by blow descriptions are very short because the rest of the book is taken up with flashbacks of their entire relationship - alternating with the his and her perspective. {Apparently, this is a popular format? I would like to know since when. It's very annoying at first because it means I, the reader, have to work. Jeez.} Anyway, as far as the plot and character development is concerned, I think she does a very good job of depicting the sorts of games people play with themselves. You know, those rationalizing, justifying, second-guessing sorts of games. Oh yes, this is a really happy book.
I guess I am a bit of a simpleton, because partly how I judge a book is if I like the characters. These two are not necessarily people I would want to hang out with - but Minot does an excellent job of relaying thier motivations and miseries. Unfortunately, I can relate to some of it, so they can't be all bad, right? Which reminds me of another most excellent quote from this book, "The only things truly in the past are things completely forgotten." I am still trying to decide if this would be worth reading again, and if I have to think about it, the answer is probably no. But not bad for a few hours worth of somebody else's psychological and emotional convolutions.

Damn!

2006-01-17T16:48:00.000-05:00

I need to get a new pic, don't I? He certainly doesn't look six in that picture, and neither do I.

And what did you get for Christmas?

2006-01-17T16:30:00.000-05:00

One of the best quotes I have come across in a very long time, I actually found in a book given to my 6 year old son, written by Jay Leno - How to be the Funniest Kid in the World.

"Once you can accept the universe as matter expanding into nothing that is something, wearing stripes with plaid comes easy." -- Albert Einstein

Oh, by the way Allison, I am still suffering with that one. Get it? O-HI-O? Get it? Yeah, thanks. Thanks a lot.

the waiting game

2005-10-03T20:28:00.000-04:00

At present, I am not an entirely well person. So I was at the hospital the other day in a waiting room, waiting to have a test done. And waiting and waiting for about an hour. Like most waiting rooms, there were the five year old magazines and a television set to A&E. They had one of those cop shows on, and because I was overly optimistic about how long I would be there, I neglected to bring a book, and so I was sucked into this show. It was about this little kid (close to my son's age, about 7 or so) who saw his father fatally stab his mother in the chest and then is kidnapped by said father, who when finally cornered by the police, commits suicide by slitting his throat. This just doesn't seem like the best choice of viewing options for a hospital waiting room. Just about anybody who is in a hospital (aside from having to work there) is by definition, anxious. Watching the cop program definitely increased my anxiety. (Ohmygod! That poor kid! That's terrible! I must watch the whole program or things will not turn out ok!) The Price Is Right would be much better waiting room programming. Jeez, even cheesy soaps would be better (I confess, I was very sad when they took Santa Barbara off the air.) Maybe the idea was that they would show stuff that is probably more terrible than most reasons people would have to be in a waiting room so that they forget about their own troubles. Um, yeah, right.

Sleazy n' scandalous

2005-09-27T12:13:00.000-04:00

The latest book I've been reading is called Sex with Kings by Eleanor Herman. Mostly I picked it up because I couldn't resist the title. Also at the time, I was feeling sorry for myself as well as a bit self indulgent and felt I deserved some sleazy reading. This pretty much fits the bill. Overall, it is a bit choppy, as she divides the relations between kings and their mistresses into categaories, ie multiple mistresses vying for the king's attention (It's good to be king!), or how cuckholded husbands deal with the situtaion. She mainly focuses on the private lives of about four kings, but as different scenes from their lives are doled out among the categorical chapters, I found myself confused about who was who, though it starts to become more clear about halfway throught the book. Aside from this major problem with the layout of the book, there are some very entertaining stories to be read. And since it is so choppy, it would make excellent bathroom reading. Overall, a good way to spend a weary afternoon, curled up with a dish of bon bons.

Let's hear it for choice!

2005-09-14T17:47:00.000-04:00

The natural gas billed arrived the other day. Included with the usual brochure thingy telling you not to excavate trees in a thunderstorm was an "environmental update" for Energy Services Companies (ESCOs) aka suppliers. (I truly do not understand why the categories for everything have to be so complicated these days.) I don't give money to Greenpeace or anything, but I am interested enough in the environment to at least try educate myself enough to choose lesser evils. Anyway, this sheet lists two charts a piece for seven companies. The first lists percentages of fuel sources to generate electricity (biomass, coal, hydroelectric, natural gas, nuclear, oil, solid waste and wind), and the other lists the air emissions for each company, relative to the state average. Aside from the one company that mostly uses nuclear power, the percentages for fuel sources are exactly the same for all the other companies. Hence, their emissions are all the same, although one does manage to come in 1% under the others for sulfur dioxide. I am not completely sold on nuclear power. The air emissions are far lower than the others. Actually, the emissions are a lot lower than the state average. I just don't trust that the waste will always be taken care of properly. One is then left with two choices among seven companies. So, how does one choose among the conventional companies? One is called ECONnergy, whose byline is "Break Free." Highly entertaining. Or ironic at the very least. In the end, it's just about picking a name. You could go with the name that is most aesthetically pleasing. My advice: pick the one with the shortest name so as to spend less time writing checks each month.

The Company of Oneself

2005-09-13T15:28:00.000-04:00

I am in the process of reading Fifty Days of Solitude by Doris Grumbach. These are the musings of a writer in the middle of a Maine winter, delibrately shunning society as much as possible. It combines several elements that have long captured my attention: solitude and an acute awareness of the natural world. I enjoy the company of such writers. The world seems such a larger place on a small scale. Without the distractions we have come to accept, even embrace, there is time to examine one's thoughts as well as the habits of the wildlife one shares a piece of land with. For writers of this genre at any rate, the observations of even the smallest details of daily life provide insights which would otherwise be missed. Never having entered into such an experiment myself, I am sure my impressions are largely romanticized, but then, each of us is entitled to harbour her own secret fantasies via books. For some, a bare chested, wind blown Fabio embraces a busty, lusty heroine on the cover. For others, the cover presents snowy hills pricked by black trunks supporting lacy branches.

True Story

2005-09-13T12:14:00.000-04:00

I went to Burger King the other day and ordered a veggie burger. The girl behind the counter asked me, "Would you like cheese or bacon on that?"

Generations

2005-08-31T21:08:00.000-04:00

I am not much of a fiction reader. I don't dislike it, but it is never the first thing I pick up. However, being in the profession that I am, I know that most readers in this world prefer fiction. So in order to be the best librarian I can be, I pick up a novel every now and then. In truth, this is probably not nearly as noble as it sounds because my tastes would tend to be classified "literature" as opposed to the various genres or bestsellers the public finds infinitely more interesting.

So in the spirit of consciously expanding my horizons, I picked up Ian McEwan's Amsterdam, winner of the illustrious Booker Prize in 1998. I guess he is a good writer. The situation he creates is believable. The way the characters react is credible. The characters remain consistent throughout the whole story, they never do anything that conflicts what you expect them to. All the threads come together, there is no situation or dialog that is extraneous. The pacing is good, it pulls you along enough so that you want to finish the book. Not every novel does this; I have read some otherwise good novels that have shortcomings in one or more of these areas. Another positive aspect of the book is that it is rather diminuitive in size, and less than 200 pages long. At least in my world, this is a compelling reason for it be read cover to cover because it is so short and doesn't take up much time to accomplish.

But in the end, my advice is to save your time for the thousands of other good books that are out there. I will be open about my particular bias -- when I read a book, I want to walk away with something I did not have prior to reading. In a work of "literary" fiction, I am looking for some insight into human nature or some angle of looking at the world I had not previously considered that is at least remotely appealing. And this is what Amsterdam utterly fails to do.

The main problem with Amsterdam is its characters. Each and every one of them is despicable. There is Molly, who has had tons of boyfriends and lovers, regardless of whether either party is married or not. Clive is a composer who witnessed a rape and did nothing to stop it. Vernon is a mediocre newspaper editor who turns into Kenneth Star. And then there is George, Molly's husband, who is generally unliked, overbearing, and manipulative. The supporting characters are about as savory as this crew. Apparently, the only character who possessed any charm was Molly, and she starts out dead. The only redeeming aspect of the story is that most of them get what they deserve in the end.

Why on earth would anybody give a damn about these characters? Why, indeed. I found myself wondering why the hell am I spending precious time reading a book about a bunch of self-absorbed, hypocritical, ambitious baby boomers fueled by delusions of pompous granduer? Personally, I have had enough of this particular generation. I will be so happy about 20 years from now when they have ceded control of the media to the next generation and have started to die off so we will no longer be plagued by the continual spotlight they seem to feel they deserve.

Of course, there are a number of historical reasons which would explain why and how they have managed to co-opt the media. Their mere birth hailed the formation of a term and definition of a whole demographic: Baby Boomers. Growing up on TV, by the time they were young adults in the 1960's, they had learned well how to manipulate the media. Of course, hippies come immediately to mind. In the late 60's, you couldn't open a newspaper or magazine without seeing some sort of article on the Generation Gap, the drug culture, or the Counter Coulture. Even the academics were taking them seriously. The manufacturers had a field day offering the public all the accouterments of beads, headbands, and flowery prints to transform the 9 to 5 grunt into a "weekend hippie." Despite all the publicity they got, (which presumably applied to all youth) the truth is that not everybody in that age bracket was a hippie or even close. Not a even a simple majority, probably 15% or less. And yet, everybody in America knew exactly who the following people were: Timothy Leary (not offically a boomer, but definitely regarded as a spokesperson), Abbie Hoffman, Bob Dylan, Arlo Guthrie, Ken Kesey, not to mention the Beatles and the Stones. Bob Dylan had his film, Don't Look Back, and the Beatles had Hard Day's Night. The whole point of these films was to follow them around being marvelous. Arlo Guthrie had his own movie, wherein he played none other than, Arlo Guthrie. Abbie Hoffman was a genius at getting media attention. From supporting Pigasus the Pig for president in 1968 to levitating the Pentagon, the man made headlines. Everybody could connect Leary with "Turn on, tune in, drop out." Monterey Pop, Woodstock, and even Altamont were made into full length movies. No wonder Baby Boomers got the idea they were fascinating as all get out. And to be completely truthful, I think they actually were for a brief time.

Unfortunately, they didnt' all die at 30. They grew up and became part of the Establishment. Not that there's anything wrong with being 30, or that there's anything wrong with growing up. It happens to the best of us. The problem I have with it all is their insistence that their experience is singular and completely different from everybody else's. Lots of people have lost, and are still losing brothers and boyfriends in shitty, pointless wars. Millions of women have had to raise children on thier own, for one reason or another and had to work, to boot. So the boomers work 80 hours a week for a SUV and to send their kids to 80 million camps, soccer fields, and lessons, using equipment made by mothers in Asia working 80 hours a week to keep their kids fed. Somehow, I don't think it's all that unique or fascinating. It fucking bloody sucks. From one generation to another, right back at 'cha. That's right, I'm talkin' bout my generation.

Light and Lack Thereof

2005-08-23T11:29:00.000-04:00

Today is Tuesday. Today is the day I work in a computer lab, making sure people are not viewing porn. Or I help them use email, save pictures of boyfriends in Iraq to disk, or print whatever the hell it is they're trying to get off the net. There aren't any windows in this place, though you do get some second hand light from doors that open into this hall. Yeah, we've got six computers, not in a room, but in a hall approximately 12 feet wide. Oh yes, we is very cozy here. Anyway, Western New York is under a thick layer of grey at the moment, so even the secondhand light is very dim and dreary. The place is lit by two over head lights. I hate overhead lights. Generally, I cannot think of a more depressing way of lighting a place. Perhaps it's just the personal associations I have with this method of lighting and the numerous college apartments I have visited for parties and so forth. There was one place I hung out at that had been dubbed "Purgatory" by the crowed that hung out there, which kind of explains it all. Naked bulbs suspended from the ceiling probably is the sort of lighting you find in Purgatory. Or, maybe Hell has the naked bulbs and Purgatory gets globes to go over them. (Hey Shaw, maybe the Howland common room is one of the levels of Purgatory Dante never got to.) I suppose the overheads are preferrable to the artificially chipper violet brightness of flourescents. That is if all bulbs are working -- which they somehow never are, in which case they offer their own unique variety of depressing atmosphere. Only five more hours to go and I can be immersed in fresh air and real light.

Bummer....

2005-08-16T12:17:00.000-04:00

When I was a student, (it is so nice to be able to say that in the past tense), I was webmaster for this student organization. Mostly all I did was change the dates for meetings and stuff. But, my crowning achievement was putting together a "survival guide" for first semester students to find thier way around this huge campus, which, being built in the early 1970's was specifically designed to discourage students from meeting en masse and taking over administration buildings and making the university go to the trouble of calling in the National Guard, but I digress. At any rate, I checked my school email for the hell of it, (that address is still up on the site because they never got around to finding a new webmaster), and I found a message from a new student providing feedback about this page. One of the things I had done was to solicit advice from other students about the campus and our particular program. And these I slapped up there, with only minor editing for tense, spelling, etc. Apparently this student had a problem with some of the advice given, saying that it was too negative, a real "bummer" and not particularly inspiring to new students. Couldn't it just be said in a more positive way?
I didn't really know how to respond. At heart, I am a disgusting optimist. I tend to focus either only on the good in situations, or to overlook and diminish the negative. And I love being a librarian. I love my job. I love the profession. But . . . I think there is a difference between being an optimist and living in a fantasy world of Care Bears and rainbows. I regret to report there are a lot of library students out there who think that being with books all day will be wonderful, and helping the public will be wonderful, and making and following rules will be wonderful. (I know this last one sounds weird, but I have observed behavior that would support such an assertion.) The truth is, I do not spend a lot of time reading books because I am reading reviews, meeting minutes, developing programs, etc. Another shocking truth is that working with the public is not always wonderful. Sometimes it is just plain weird. A few weeks ago, an older gentleman wanted to renew a book. As I was scanning his card, he took his hearing aids out, put them on the counter, changed the batteries, and then handed me the dead ones as a "gift." Imagine my joy. Anyway, I am all for encouraging people, but to completely deny that there are some aspects of the job that are not exactly ideal is first of all dishonest. Secondly, it would imply that there is nothing to be improved, thus proving oneself to be a self-satisfied prig. But apparently, people want to live by these sorts of lies. When you hear horror stories of mean librarians, maybe it's becuase they bought into the "wonderful" lies, got a taste of the real world, were unable to reconcile the experience to said lie, became bitter, and made the rest of us look bad. Even roses are not entirely removed from fertilizer.

Typical Blog Rant OR Bruce, Say It Ain't So!

2005-08-11T10:24:00.000-04:00

My heart sunk last night as I checked out Bruce Campbell's website and discovered to my horror that he will not be coming to Buffalo for a book signing, as was promised only a month ago. I adore Bruce Campbell. Maybe it's the chin. Maybe it's the way he renders even the cheesiest of movies palatable by not taking them or himself seriously. But mostly it's his stellar performance in Evil Dead II that stole my heart away. The way he could make a ridiculous situation believeable (that of having his own right hand turn evil on him), is nothing short of genius. At any rate, I was certain that meeting him and having him sign my copy of Make Love the Bruce Campbell Way would be the highlight of my September. I was going to distinguish myself from all the other Bruce Campbell fans by wearing my Bubba Ho-Tep t-shirt. *sigh* O, cruel world! Life is so unfair!

Trivial Announcement

2005-08-10T11:35:00.000-04:00

No, I have not forgotten about the blog, nor have I given up on it. I just haven't been inspired lately by anything I think perfect strangers would be even remotely interested in.

Safety

2005-06-28T21:22:00.000-04:00

So I am reading The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis to my son. There's this part where they are talking about Aslan the King of Beasts. And the children say they would be afraid to meet a lion, and the answer is of course they would be scared. "'Then he isn't safe?' said Lucy. 'Safe? . . . . Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good.'" What a concept. Something good, but not safe. These days we are sooooo obsessed with safety. All the toys and playground stuff for kids is made out of plastic and has rounded edges and is super safe. What does this teach our kids? That the world is colorful and plastic and safe. Guess what? The world is not safe. There are wicked witches out there with sugary houses that want to stuff you into ovens and eat you up. We have this crazy expectation that the world should be safe, and then sue the bejeezus out of anybody who might possibly be responsible and then they come up with seatbelt laws and OSHA videos telling you not to sniff the whiteout or use it to clean your contacts.

Passion

2005-06-28T14:34:00.000-04:00

Finally finished reading the Razor's Edge, for perhaps the third or fifth time, I don't really remember anymore. At any rate, it is one of the few books I have been compelled to read more than once. Of course, I was always drawn to Larry -- without him the book would never have been written. What caught my attention this time, was a conversation between the narrator and Isabel, about halfway through the book. He goes on for almost two pages about passion. Passion these days is either connected to romance or being enthusiastic about something, which has little to do with the word's original meaning, which was "suffering or enduring." There is something romantic about our current meaning of the word. To be passionate about someone or something is exceptional, it makes one more alive than the rest of us. But Maugham knows better. "Unless love is passion, it's not love, but something else; and passion thrives not on satisfaction, but on impediment. . . . Passion is desctructive. . . . And if it doesn't destroy, it dies." Of course, within the Christian tradition, there is the Passion of Christ and all the suffering that entailed, which precedes God's greatest act of love. Juxtaposed with our current concept of passion of being more alive, the notion of suffering and destruction as the key element to being really alive is a completely foreign concept. Not only is it foreign but it's scary, too. Few people say, "Pain! Oh, yeah, bring it on!" (unless you happen to be into some pretty kinky stuff.) On the other hand, the idea of walking around half-dead just to be comfortable and conflict-free is also unappealing. God grant me the courage to rise above playing it safe.

Whatever....

2005-06-11T13:24:00.000-04:00

It's nice to be validated. For some time, I have had this theory that my birth year, 1974, was what I termed a "Filler Year." Something had to go between 1973 and 1975. Nothing memorable really happened that year. We finally got rid of Nixon....and uh, there were pet rocks and polyester pantsuits in huge plaid. I believed that the lack of anything exciting or memorable occuring in our birth year would help explain the collective lameness exhibited by my high school class. Anytime we were called upon to show our school spirit as a class, the results of our efforts were mediocre, or bizzarrely lame. Our graduation invitations were black. Most of the interesting people I chose to hang out with were either in the class ahead or two years behind. I recently came across this book called Popstrology by Ian Van Tuyl. It's like astrology, but based on the songs and careers of the popstars who were number one on the charts the year and week you were born. Each year has a pop star who dominated the charts, except of course for 1974, which is the only year from 1956 to 1989 in which no pop star shined especially brightly. Mr. Van Tuyl has determined that those unfortunate enough to be born this year have "disunity of purpose," and are more or less clueless, yet unwilling to accept a philosophy thier peers dish out. It's nice to know somebody else has come to the same conclusions I have. Although there are a few worthwhile things that sprung from this year. Being biased, I regard my birth as a good thing. Also worth noting is the fact that Dylan recorded Blood on the Tracks in 1974, which is arguably his best album ever. This tirade being what it is, it was only natural for me to discover the album was not released until 1975.

2005-05-31T21:13:00.000-04:00

Just got back yesterday from spending the weekend at a camp in the Adirondacks. A combination of things gave me a lot to think about, so much so that I don't think I have time to put it all into one post. The week before, all of the meteorologists, here and in Watertown said it would rain all weekend, and this I was prepared for -- but the weather was lovely, and I was so grateful. We were able to hike and go canoeing, which is what I had really hoped we would be able to do. I took Friday off work, packed at my leisure, drove up and arrived relatively early. Driving back Monday was a joy because of what was not there -- no need to race home, no need to immediately unpack. Somehow, being up there momentarily cleared my mind of all the usual crap that resides there. There was time to read and hang out with people and just be.

Tramp-o-line

2005-05-17T21:03:00.000-04:00

Trampolines are fun! Had my first first experience with one this evening. It is a smile I think I will carry with me for awhile. It felt good to giggle with friends, and whoops! lose both my stomach and my footing. People don't usually laugh when they lose their footing and most times, it is probably more dangerous to do so on a trampoline.

Buffet n' Burgers

2005-05-12T21:12:00.000-04:00

Been kind of a long day. The morning started with a 3 hour meeting, followed by an enjoyable reprise for a few hours at Java Junction with Justin. (J is my favorite letter in the alphabet, so having 3 J-words converge in a sentence describing my day gives me bizzarre pleasure.) The next 6 hours had to be spent at work. I would probably feel less tired if I had put something into my body over and above a bowl of Raisin Bran, two cups of Columbian coffee (heavy cream, a little sugar) and a cheeseburger. One of the libraries I work at is located in a plaza about 30 years old. The line of businesses runs as follows: Dr's office, pizza place, library, bar, storefront church, empty laundromat, abandoned grocery store whose interior walls are reputed to have moss growing up them. The bar next to the library has the best cheeseburgers on the planet. They are so greasy and delicious. They even McDLT'd it, separating the hot stuff from the cool stuff in the styrofoam box. (If you are in the nonfiction section of the library on a Friday afternoon, you can be sure to hear Patsy Cline's "Crazy" or Jimmy Buffet doing "Margaritaville" -- if the mood so strikes, you may also check out his book, A Salty Piece of Land -- sorry, can't help myself, I am a librarian, after all.) An interesting feature of the bar is that it has rustic boards on the walls up to chair rail height -- that are painted silver, which looks cooler than you are probably imagining, but not by a whole lot. Usually I call in my order and walk over, but one day it took them a bit longer and some guy at the bar was talking to me about being Catholic in this town. I don't remember exactly why this was a big deal, but apparently it was enough of a major component of his identity that he had to bring it up with complete strangers, trying to get them to side in an argument he was mostly having with himself because nobody else in the bar seemed to care a whole lot. Kerouac could probably find meaning in this, tonight I am at a loss.

Painting Away Chaos

2005-05-11T21:03:00.000-04:00

So I am clearing out my living room about 3 feet at a time, prepping it to paint. I am removing the books from the shelves and packing them up in boxes to be left in the garage until the job is done, which is a bit of an extreme measure for a person like myself who has this "problem" with books. As in accumulating way too many of them. Even after the paint goes on, I think I will let the shelves remain empty for a little while to try out the minimalist point of view. This will be rather a novel experience in itself. I've always been a busy person, and the environments I create for myself generally reflect that. In high school my personal appearance definitely reflected that. Anyway, I eventually want to get the whole room emptied, except for the furniture -- there isn't any other storage place for that. In the end though, things will be sorted out and there will be somewhat rational reasons for having things where they are aside from sheer laziness or "oh shit company is coming i'll just throw this shit in here they'll never know." When I was younger I didn't plan for anything, which made life pretty exciting because I was open to almost anything. If something came up out of the blue, I would say sure, why not? unless there was a really obvious reason why not, but that didn't usually stop me either. All that has given me some pretty good stories to tell, but there is something to be said for planning. . . .while not always a deterent to the forces of chaos, it does provide some stability that would never exist without it. I guess i've gotten sick of flying by the seat of my pants. I know Justin will have problems with the lack of books in my living room, though I am sure he will be relieved to know I did not pack the reference books away and they are sitting in a pile next to an easy chair, in what he considers an aesthetically pleasing manner. Of course, when I have gone through everything, it will be infinitely easier to locate books that come up in the course of conversation. . . .

Mama said there'd be days like this

2005-05-05T21:14:00.000-04:00

I have had worse days than this, and they are all too recent in my memory. . . . but this has just been the kind of day when I come home and crack open a bottle of wine all for myself and waste a lot of time on the computer instead of thinking much. Have Nora Jones' Come Away With Me on which I will probably end up listening to several times before the wine runs out. I first heard it at my son's friend's house. George, the man of the household, installs plate glass windows and has these bulked up shoulders and arms from his work. He drinks Canadian beer and smokes Marlboro lights and loves music. And Nora Jones. I think it's the only thing I've ever seen him put on, switching from Ween once his teenage daughters leave the room and he plays it over and over. They are the sort of people where you can't just stop by for a quick minute. No, you have to sit down and have a cup of tea. And then another. Sometimes they offer me a beer, particularly on balmy summer evenings, but I guess I retain my "good girl" aura, so usually it's tea. They offer a kind of a cozy hospitality I find no where else. Anyway, the Nora Jones thing is all George's fault.

Aging hippies.

2005-04-19T15:24:00.000-04:00

What is the deal with aging DeadHeads and me? Within the past month I have been approached by several incarnations of this subculture on the make. It's not like Western NY is exactly rife with the sort of liberal atmosphere that would be attractive to followers of Jerry. Somehow they find me and they are in their 40's, almost old enough to be my dad. Not that I consider 40 particularly old, but experience has made me wary of males in this particular age bracket. Just this afternoon, I stopped by this cafe for lunch, and it was too nice of a day to sit indoors, so I sipped my coffee outside, waiting for the rest of lunch to arrive. And this guy at the next table starts talking about how he can't wait to get back to Long Island, and how he used to go to Dead shows, and missed going with the Dead to Egypt, and just talks and talks and talks and slips in "Hey, you're cute, d'ya want to go on a date?" and talks some more. I guess you can't fault a guy for trying. It's not that I have anything against DeadHeads or aging hippies, I am just not that into them hitting on me. This sort of thing has happened to me since I was 19 -- I was hoping I would somehow grow out of it. I don't even vaguely look like a hippy anymore, fer pit's sake. My hair is bobbed, no hair wraps. I always wear a bra in public, no patouli. No India prints. I'm a goddamn librarian and have the khakkis and cardigan to prove it! Why do they still keep coming? (I know, the picture in the corner would have you believe otherwise, but rarely these days do I look like that.)

The Stream.

2005-04-15T18:16:00.000-04:00

The thermometer outside my window (one of the seven I inherited when I moved into this house) reads 52 degrees. It's cool enough to need a jacket, but not too uncomfortable to sit still for awhile. Spent some time sitting by the small stream that runs through the backyard, contemplating the ripples, the slime at the bottom, the new green pushing up along the banks, getting the occasional whiff of the wild onion that makes up part of that green, and all the different bird songs...It could barely be called a stream; it's usually dried up by summer, unless the farmers decide to engorge it letting water in from the canal so they can irrigate the fields adjacent to the stream. Most of it is barely deep enough for minnows, though I have spotted some in the past in some deep sections. I am always amazed at how they get there when some years it dries out entirely. Perhaps there is some pool underneath the nearby concrete bridge which never dries up. It is also the home of water skeeters, tiny snails, and frogs, who are not too keen on being seen. I imagine that watching running water, even in this less-than-poetic landscape, this puny little excuse for a stream, is a good habit. Watching a river did wonders for the Buddha.

This is a test....

2005-04-14T22:37:00.000-04:00

just to try and figure out how this thing works. Thanks Shaw, for setting this up because you know I never would have done it on my own. Who knows, maybe I will get all blog saavy and I will have followers of the blog just waiting to read the words of wisdom I would publish for all the world to see and appreciate. Hey, I can always daydream, can't I?