Sociological perspectives

A reader wrote to tell me he had recently received a complementary book in the mail (he is a sociologist and the book appears to fit into that discipline’s boundaries). The book is titled “If You Tame Me” and from what I can tell, it has something to do with developing a conceptual and theoretical framework for looking at “human-animal intersubjectivity,” whatever that means (who said sociology is obvious?). If you are concerned that this perhaps hasn't the worth of a more conventional text, do note that it has been favorably reviewed by Jeffrey Masson, author of "When Elephants Weep: The Emotional Lives of Animals and The Nine Emotional Lives of Cats: A Journey into the Feline Heart."

But there's more: in the envelope, along with the book, a baggie was included with a little promo card announcing the release of the book. Along with it, there were 3 animal chewies and a little green mouse with pink ears. I want to know what's behind this. The publisher writes that “’If You Tame Me’ makes a persuasive case for the existence of a sense of self in companion animals and calls upon us to reconsider our rights and obligations regarding the non-human creatures in our lives.”

Are we to chew the toys ourselves, perhaps to demonstrate ‘the animal within’ (meaning our shared traits with other species)? Or should we take on the task of bringing a greater number of animals into our fold? I presume the little toy mouse is for a cat? Aren’t we, therefore, sacrificing one animal-kind (the mouse) for another (the evil predator cat)?

The other (literally) mystifying thing is the author’s previous publication. It appears to have no relation to this most recent topic. Or does it? She is only an assistant professor of sociology but she already has an earlier book in print. That previous one has the title of “Codependent Forevermore: The Invention of Self in a Twelve Step Group.” It is at times like this that I have a lingering regret that I am no longer part of the sociological enterprise. The things I could be reading right now! Instead, I am stuck with deciphering the contextual antecedents to the legal best interest standard in custody determination. Bummer.

Disconnect

Sometimes there is a total disconnect between what you want to accomplish in a day, or in an email, or in a post (your intent) and what ultimately appears to happen (your inept end-product). Perhaps on those days it’s best to make your way to that part of Owen Woods where charred fallen logs are still smoking after a burning of deadwood. Then, on returning, you can play an endless number of Chopin’s Nocturnes (try Nocturne No.2 or No.1 for a real Polish-style melancholy spin into the land of moroseness). And then? I’m still working on the “then.”

Spring Update

Last night I pulled weeds, all 847 of them, until it was so dark that I couldn’t tell a weed from an honest plant.

The perennial beds are so full of promise at this stage! I can’t see the planting mistakes yet, everything looks fresh, dense, alive.

I especially like my clumps of Aquilegia out front and my pink Gaura plants in the back. Each comes with a delicate stem, but it is misleading: the blooms will be sturdy and strong and subtly beautiful. And when the Aquilegia fades in late spring, the evening primrose will take over – that magical flower that has spread to form a mat of yellow faces. All are well established by now, just biding the time until the weather decides to settle down into a more stable pattern of warm days and nights.

A letter from my mother

I’ve blogged about my mom on numerous occasions, particularly around the time of the primaries. Though she is 80 years old, I don’t think most would regard her as feeble or soft-spoken.

With each letter she sends newspaper clippings and these reflect her unique Berkeley-style take on the political scene. I haven’t read all the clippings yet. Each time the size of the envelope grows—she’s now using yellow manila to pack it all in. But I did read the letter.

One has to know this about my mother: she has a not insignificant interest in home decorating. Though she lives in one tiny room in a very modest retirement home in Berkeley, there was a period in her life when she moved in and out of diplomatic circles (my father worked for the UN, actually at the time that Bush Sr. was the US Ambassador) and she studied carefully that which she herself could never have: the glamorous life of privilege (the UN itself was an odd assortment of wealth and modest means, depending on which country you came from).

This time she writes:

“Incidentally, did you see the picture in last week’s Newsweek of Bush with the Saudi prince inside the Crawford ranch?? What an ugly, ugly house with those ugly dining room chairs, ugly tall windows, ugly bookshelves and ugly sofa chairs. Ugly, ugly, ugly.”

You heard it here. Listen, the woman knows classic high-end décor, so I’m taking her comment seriously. The operative word here is ‘ugly.’

Perhaps I am over-sensitive…

In the NYT Sunday Travel Section there is an article about Warsaw (here). I was expecting it, really, what with May 1st being just days away (Poland, along with 9 other countries, will be joining the EU then).

I know the author of the article is the NYT Bureau Chief in nearby Prague and so he is knowledgeable about Central European matters. Still, there were many points in the piece that I felt were skewed and misleading.

The opening paragraph is just fine. I read:

"Poland is the new player in the New Europe, the biggest by far of the 10 countries set to join the European Union in May. Its lure is not the grand or the quaint; it was leveled with systematic cruelty by the Nazis in World War II, and you can still find houses where holes from bullets and shells have not been repaired. No country suffered more in the last century. Rather, Poland, and particularly Warsaw, is a place where you can almost see history being overcome."

But then, we come to observations that are a touch more troubling. Briefly, the article raises the following points:

* It concludes that Poles are skeptical about joining the EU, not foreseeing any immediate benefits for themselves.
[response: although Poles will acknowledge that an immediate economic miracle is not in the cards, virtually every single Pole I have raised this with has said that they are hopeful because of the emergence of a European community, with Poland in its midst.]

* There’s the following sentence to worry about as well. The Times writes: “Luckily for visitors, that moment comes in spring, when Poland shakes off its long winter and the flowers of its big downtown parks eliminate all shades of drear.”
[question: Drear? What drear? Does the author imply Warsaw is dreary at times when it isn’t covered over with flowers? I'm not liking this guy...]

* Then, there is also the Chopin bit. From the Times: “When the weather finally warms, Poles pay weekly tribute to Chopin - revered like no other Pole, with the possible exception of Pope John Paul II - in free Sunday concerts at Lazienki Park off Aleje Ujazdowskie. Poland is rarely overrun by tourists, so the concerts attract a fair share of ordinary folk”
[comment: Poland is rarely overrun by tourists? Well, okay, though maybe the Prague Bureau chief hasn’t been in Warsaw during its hot days of summer when tourists are EVERYWHERE, especially in Warsaw and Krakow. And what’s this last line about ‘ordinary folk?’ Who is the referent here? Ordinary, plain, colorless, fade-in-the-crowd type people? And am I an ordinary folk?]

* Comment on the Polish cuisine: I have never eaten wild-boar knuckles in my life. I do NOT consider it a well-known or beloved traditional Polish dish.

* On the subject of milkbars, the Times writes: “For a quick and cheap meal, it is worth a visit to one of Warsaw's vanishing Communist traditions, the milk bar. Among Poles, milk bars are regarded with nostalgia, disgust or both. They are places where students and workers could fill up on breakfast with a glass of milk, pancakes, pirogi and soups inexpensively, often in gloomy surroundings.”
[comment: how many things are wrong with that paragraph? Are milk bars a Communist tradition? Are they regarded with disgust, ever? They are the former fast food emporia of sorts. Most Poles did like them quite a bit and I don’t remember anyone ever referring to them as gloomy. They may not have had the pizazz of an American food court, but they were nonetheless highly popular.]

It’s late. I’m sure I’ll see the good sides to this article come morning. For now the exuberance is lost on me. I read a description of a city that is dreary, with uninteresting food and ordinary folk lappin’ it up, in gloomy surroundings. Makes you want to pack your bags and go to Prague.

Birches

If you were a birch tree today (IF YOU WERE A BIRCH TREE???), you might want someone to write and revel in your good looks. I am providing that service. A grove of young birches could never look more fetching than in the late morning light of an April day. Not surprisingly, in this summer-like weather, the birches I saw today were absolutely stunning.

Dinner

Last night two very wonderful people came to dinner. As is my custom, I identify no one outside the blogger community by name here and so they shall remain anonymous. Call them A & Z if you want.

In my mind, they were the perfect guests. I couldn’t quite put my finger on any one reason and so I floated a list in my head of what was especially congenial about the evening. I came up with the following:

1. They brought flowers. The custom of flower-giving is something that hasn’t quite caught on here. I don’t know why. Flowers are a lasting (at least for several days) source of pleasure. They move the evening beyond the meal itself. They are uplifting. They are cheerful, colorful, they speak of spring and summer days, and you can never have too many in the house.

2. They accepted a second helping graciously. We are talking about thin, food-conscious people here who probably would eat half the amount were they home. But they were thoughtful of my preparations and they extended themselves in this way for my benefit.

3. They noticed my salt shaker. I love my salt shaker – it is a work of art. Most people never pay much attention to it because it holds the substance of evil – salt – an anathema to the dieting public. (I’m not thinking of those with medical necessity on their side; I am thinking of the common joe or jane out there.) But salt, in small doses, is a flavor enhancer. Eliminate canned, processed foods and you will eliminate the need to monitor the salt you sprinkle on your main dish or put into the cake (to enhance the intensity of chocolate, you need salt). But even when a diner picks up the offending container, the vessel itself goes unnoticed. A shame.

4. They tried everything that was offered. Cooking these days for others is a minefield of tastes, diets, statements, inclinations. People are off the deep end with their preferences. It makes me think back to winter months in Poland some thirty years back when one was SO GRATEFUL for any food variety at all. I did not understand the concept of food preferences until I moved here.

5. They politely asked for the site of this blog. I need say no more.

Revenge

Depending on whom you ask, cyclists around town are either a supreme menace, or are menaced by the world of cars. Cross, say, University Avenue on a green pedestrian light, and inevitably you will be grazed by the manic rider who is determined to weave around every obstacle in sight, including you, at breakneck speed. Conversely, ride a bike on one of the streets where there aren’t bike lanes and you will understand what it means to have a brush with death as cars mistakenly calculate that they CAN pass you while sharing the same lane.

Perhaps we have reached a time where bikers, walkers and motorists simply cannot coexist. It’s a tense world out there: gentility is gone, the pressure to get where you need to be mounts, and there you are, glaring at the obstacle that is impeding your progress and making life difficult.

I am assuming that was the mood of the moment in England, where a cyclist had experienced one too many road incidents where he was done in by a motorist. This time a car had passed him in total oblivion to the road issues they both faced: puddles, in the very real British definition of puddles: big oceans of water on the road. The cyclist got drenched as the car whizzed by.

Fury took hold and planted the ugly seed of revenge. Over the next ten days, the cyclist slashed the tires of some 2000 cars.

The NYTimes notes today that he got a hefty jail term for his act of violence. Deservedly so. Still, one can sympathize just a bit. Cars are merciless to cyclists. But then, cyclists are merciless to pedestrians. I have to admit that when a cyclist darts in front of me when I cross a street, I have been known to ‘tap’ his (it’s almost always a guy) tail end with my bag, just as a reminder that my pedestrian rights have been egregiously violated. A form of revenge, I suppose. At least I leave the tires alone at the bike racks.

[to interject a note of lightness into the tense story, I have included a Guinness Book of Records photo of a man cycling backwards while playing the violin]

Spring Update

(it’s not all about plants you know)

If you were to look outside right now, directly into the morning sun, you would see the rays working their way through branches glittering with the wetness of last night’s rain. It is such a beautiful sight that it deserves a post of its own.

[photo credit: scottwork.com]

My grandfather was a better person than I am

As a young kid, I used to sit outdoors next to my grandfather quite often. He and I shared a love of sun, plants, fresh air, spring. A favorite activity for me (these were not very stress-filled days) was to sit by his side, chin in cupped hands, and watch bugs walk across his stomach or his arms, on the way to their next destination. I’d always ask – “don’t you want to chase them off?” and he’d answer “what for? They like this path.”

Today was a perfect day for me to take my notes outside (I’m trying to imagine what I am going to say during guest lectures I have to give later this month). Sitting in my yard, thinking of my plants, of the sun, of the fresh air and of spring makes me drift back to my grandfather. He and I shared a birthday, except his was in a different century. He would have been 118 this week.

Out of deference to him, I tried the ‘let bugs move across my stomach and arms’ thing. It was like the oldest form of torture. One pernicious wasp-like creature actually appeared to raise its fangs, poised for an attack. I flicked it off. Sorry, dziadku*, I tried.

*[Polish, directive tense (in the Polish language, nouns get conjugated as well), for grandfather]

Wisconsin images

To no one’s surprise, I’m sure, a Wisconsin patrolman took the first prize in the annual doughnut-eating contest for police officers (story here).

The World Cop Donut Eating Championship attracted some 40 contestants from the US and Canada.

I thought that the winning result was unspectacular. The prediction had been 7 or 8 doughnuts in 3 minutes. Our Wisconsin man ran away with first prize at 10 doughnuts. That seems entirely doable to me. Unless they were powdered sugar, with no accompanying beverage to push things down faster. That would be a challenge.

Politics, politics and more politics: patriotism is all about how you speak

It was disheartening to read the New Yorker story (here) on Kerry and his use of the French language when among French diplomats or journalists. The Washington Bureau Chief for France 2 has remarked that in recent months Kerry has refused to banter on record with the French press corps in their native language. It appears that Kerry’s relatives in France, his attendance at a Swiss boarding school, and his comfort level with foreign journalists in general have earned him such labels as “Monsieur Kerry” and “Jean Cheri” and “Jean Francois Kerry.” Capitalizing on the whiff of negative air directed at the Democratic campaign, the Secretary of Commerce, Donald Evans (perhaps looking after his own le job), told reporters that Kerry even looks French. Mais non!

The French press have had a tough go of it in Washington this year, the article tells us, what with snide references to freedom fries and the Axis of Weasel hanging in the air. But Kerry’s abrupt departure from his previous open-door policy toward foreign journalists has the press corps ‘perplexed.’ The following comment is cited in the New Yorker: “For us (this from the French journalists), to speak any other language and have an open view of the world, for a President, should be a plus.” It appears that this view is not shared by the rest of this nation.

Patriotism has come to have an interesting, singularly American meaning: it appears to require a repudiation of anything not born and bred on American soil. And it requires speaking like an American.

The concept of ‘patriotism’ makes another appearance in the New Yorker: in a letter to the magazine, a reader writes in response to a review of Woody Guthrie’s biography which had suggested that the songwriter was less than patriotic. The reader states: “[M]ore troubling…especially in today’s political climate, is the implication that one becomes patriotic by supporting one’s government. Wasn’t Guthrie being patriotic when he stood up for poor people during the Depression or when he fought for the labor movement? Was he being unpatriotic when he wrote “Pastures of Plenty” and “This Land is Your Land?”"

I suppose if Guthrie had also worn a French beret and occasionally thrown around a bonjour, he wouldn’t have stood a chance. Can you blame him for affecting an American drawl?

How to irritate a government official

Say you’ve just written a mystery-thriller novel. All characters appear to be fictionalized versions of people out there. You’ve inserted the standard language about everyone not really being anyone and about the coincidental likenesses that may have emerged (which is, of course, foolish because your imagination most likely made use of traits scalped straight from your black book of familiar persons), and you are hoping for big sales. Your book even has political undercurrents: it is about a person who seeks revenge after being driven by the government to a state of complete desperation. This main protagonist winds up shooting the Chancellor (I forgot to mention, the book takes place in Germany).

Wouldn’t it be maddening if you were that author and the real Chancellor (Gerhard Schröder) brought a successful injunction to put a stop to the sale of the book, because on the cover there is an illustration that sort of kind of but not really looks like him? The NYTimes writes about this (here), noting that the judge sided with the Chancellor (oh what a surprise) and banned publication until the picture is removed from the cover. Is someone over-sensitive, or could one really make the credible argument that such a likeness (if it is a likeness) might incite someone to acts of great violence?

A word of thanks to the greats

There are four weblogs out there that keep me going each day. There are others, too, but these four are what I start the weblog day with and I am never disappointed. They could not be more different from each other and it is this perhaps that gives me such joy in reading – the diversity of perspectives and the singular personalities that come through (I do happen to know all four authors reasonably well and that is definitely an asset).

I’ve picked one completely non-representative post from each to cite to here. The authors may squirm at my selections, but hey, it is my choice!

I’ll start, alphabetically, with Ann’s. Ann doesn’t always accompany her text with photos, but on the rare occasion that we do get pictures, there’ll often be a gem of a caption. Consider the post here – and be sure to scroll down to the "trees squirming." Look around at her other posts to get a taste of her commentary on art, politics and the American Idol.

Jeremy, yes, well, then there’s Jeremy. In truth, his was the first blog I ever read and so if there is any culprit out there responsible for the blogathon that was born this year, I suppose he must bear the blame. Just today he posted a paragraph about a concert he attended. Read about it here. It is poignantly hilarious. Scroll down further (note photo depicting his sentiments about teaching this semester) and you’ll become a JFW addict.

Mary came onto the blog scene later than the others. Though legally inclined, she brings to her blog her past life as a journalist. Consider her post today on cranberries (here). It makes me so very proud that her blog grew out of our discussions on blogging early in the semester. (You mean I had a wee tiny role in this? Wow!)

Tonya can be irreverent in her blog. I can’t resist linking to her post from today (here) because it shows off her pride in having 'Communist friends' – and perhaps only she would appreciate the joy I get from being singled out as a friend in this way!

Again, there are so many other bloggers who can make my day on any particular morning. But these four – they are always part of my wake-up. This, then, is a quick (and late! oh my is it late!) note of thanks. Your efforts are SO appreciated.

Are you STILL in school?

That is the question I wanted to ask a student who came by to talk about his work plans for the summer. My memory may be off a bit, but I swear that he was first in a class of mine some five or six years back. His visit reminded me of the cartoon below -- a relic from days when it seemed like I would NEVER be done with the proceess of collecting degrees (or not collecting them, as the case may be, unless they have now officially designated an 'ABD' as a recognized academic degree). And isn't there a law that says you have to be out of law school within six years (in Wisconsin) OR ELSE??

Early run in with the law

I was taking a morning sprint through Owen Woods when I came across a police officer and a squad car. Being rather in a fine mood and not wanting to face a dose of blood and gore on this gorgeous day, I went up to him and asked, in my most level (rather than excitement seeking) voice: “Is everything alright, officer?” I mean, I sounded like a role in a movie. I swear he blushed. Or maybe he was just flushed. He said: “I couldn’t help it! I just had to get out of that squad car and take a stroll on this fine day! The weather got to me! So, let’s just say I inspected the trails. They’re safe, you can go right ahead.”

I don’t blame him. I myself should have been preparing notes for lectures that I have to give at the end of the month. Instead, I was counting chikadees in Owen Woods (I don’t know anything about birds; they looked like they should have been chikadees). This day is THAT beautiful.

A momentary retreat into politics: on the error-proof GWB

Watching the GWB press conference today, I noted (as I hope the rest of America noted) that his greatest source of difficulty was with the four differently worded but basically same questions having to do with his mistakes of the past. It was fascinating to watch how uncomfortable he was, to the point of stumbling and ultimately flubbing the direct appeal to give just ONE EXAMPLE of a mistake, a misstep, an error of judgment. He couldn’t do it: he visibly squirmed and in the last go-around, admitted to one thing: that he wasn’t adept at thinking of mistakes extemporaneously.

[BTW, I think the reporter from NPR, the guy with the very last query – QUESTION: But I guess I just wonder if you feel that you have failed in any way. You don't have many of these press conferences where you engage in this kind of exchange. Have you failed in any way to really make the case to the American public?—can just assume that his goose is cooked in the White House; GWB had taken the gamble, feeling perhaps that it’s a do or die situation, and pointed to NPR for that last Q. Mistake. NPR will have lived up to the GOP image of it as a commie-liberal waste-pile –it hammered in the point that GWB regards himself as error-proof. I’m sure even at this moment GWB is scribbling memos that will lead to further cuts in federal funding for All Things Considered.]

And how do you respond to the question of “What were your mistakes, your errors, your moments of poor judgment?” knowing that Democrats are sitting at the edge of their collective chair, pencils poised, tomorrow’s TV ads waiting to be written?

Bush’s speech writers failed him. Any person applying for a job would know that the interviewer may ask for a list of weaknesses, or reflections on things you wish you had done differently. You learn to enumerate faults and errors in ways that make you look strong. To say “shucks, I really can’t imagine what they could be” is an invitation for someone to say “oh yeah? Let me help you come up with a list for future reference.”

Is it really the end of the semester?

(Where inconsequentiality and lightness return to the blog)
Today marked the beginning of the end: I gave out course evaluations in my big Family Law class SO NOW I DON’T HAVE TO BE A GOOD TEACHER ANYMORE (and of course proceeded to have immediately after one of my best classes ever – can we redo the forms?)!

Just a few minutes ago, a student came in to talk about her paper and she told me how thrilled she was that the academic year is nearly over. She was animated and excited about her future work, but completely deflated when she spoke of the next few weeks.

I don’t think there’s a person teaching who doesn’t relish the end of a semester to a degree. But I have to say that to me, there are ulterior sad elements as well. By now, I have a decent sense of the students – I know their style of speaking in class, the slant of their comments, their quirky traits. But unlike in grad school where you see the same faces for many years, in law school you only get to work with them once, at most twice and then they’re gone. And the class dynamic, that irresistible and energizing force of the collectivity – that ends with the end of the semester.

So, at the risk of sounding extremely odd and off-kilter, I do have to admit that part of me is sorry to have just a few more class meetings left –especially now that the evaluations are done and I am free to be AWFUL.

"When you digest your lunch is that you?"

This question is posed by Dr. Crick, who, at 87, is still attempting to determine what creates conscious awareness.
Is there a dividing line that separates mind (consciousness) from matter (the millions of neurons operating in the brain and the nervous system)? The NYT states: “While some philosophers claim that consciousness is a phenomenon outside the purview of material science, Dr. Crick dismisses such arguments with the imperious confidence that is part of his legend.”

If you are as fascinated by the debate over the validity of a neurobiological approach to understanding consciousness, you’ll have read, no doubt, today’s NYT Science article on this subject (here). If you’re not, well YOU SHOULD BE! Today, the weblog is seeking to educate and expand the horizons of the fellowship of blog readers. From Slovakia (below) to the brain: let it not be said that I write about fat cats (below) and Siberian irises (below) alone! [Have I suddenly strayed from my pledge to maintain an incredible lightness of blogging? Nothing could be further from the truth; the post titles alone should reassure the worried reader who does NOT wish to be educated, but simply wants to kill time in between more valuable pursuits, such as reading other, more worthy blogs.]

Dr. Crick is ruthlessly opposed to the idea of a consciousness that “lives” outside the body. In the Times article we read: “In a 1979 editorial in Scientific American, he argued that the time had come for science to take on the previously forbidden subject of consciousness. In his 1994 book "The Astonishing Hypothesis: The Scientific Search for the Soul," he went further. "You," he wrote, "your joys and your sorrows, your memories and your ambitions, your sense of personal identity and free will, are in fact no more than the behavior of a vast assembly of nerve cells and their associated molecules."”

Does Dr. Crick’s view diverge from mainstream science? The Times states: “While many scientists assume that consciousness is a global property of the brain — "a gestalt phenomenon" — Dr. Koch and Dr. Crick say they believe that only a few neurons are responsible at any given moment. Of the 50 billion or so neurons in the brain, Dr. Crick says that perhaps only tens of thousands, or even a few thousand, give rise to the feeling of conscious awareness. "We believe it is essentially a local phenomenon," he said. That position is certainly contentious. "The idea that there is a special population of neurons that mediate awareness is a minority view," Dr. Kanwisher noted.”

Moreover, Dr. Crick’s work raises questions about when exactly we can speak sensibly of consciousness: “[H]e asks, "How do we know that a newborn baby is conscious?" Perhaps consciousness is something that doesn't begin at birth, he said, but gradually emerges.” Dr. Crick insists that in the next several hundred years the idea of an independent soul will have been discarded with the science of the Dark Ages.

Be proud that you've read this far! This blog will stand out one day as being at the vanguard of modern science -- it will be admired for putting forth revolutionary ideas in the same way that bloggers 500 years ago, had they the time and means to do so, may have been tempted to link to the Copernicus website (we all know that he was Polish, right?), to share with other bloggers all that we now take for granted.

Spring Update

So long as we are on that side of the Atlantic (see post below about Slovakia), I thought I’d sneak in a post about the Siberian Iris – a favorite plant that is coming up in a robust way both in the front and back yards. I’ve not met a person who doesn’t think this flower is a “ten” on the scale of loveliness. My most recent additions (from last year) have the added bonus of rather unique, variegated yellow and green leaves. But the attention is all on the blooms. A sample of what’s coming appears herein.