Monday nostalgia

To please and pamper an overnight visitor, I set out this morning in search of fresh bakery treats. Ever since Atkins-mania struck again, bakery people are extremely nice to you when you walk in and ask for four pastries. They bring out the whole staff to celebrate your wonderful and unfortunately unusual indulgence.

I reflected about how my favorite little brick strip mall (‘favorite’ by virtue of being the closest and having at least two stores that I periodically set foot in) is forever transforming itself. Where a kids’ book/toy store used to be is now a stitchers’ center (I have no idea what goes on behind those doors – do they sew? Knit? Darn socks?). Where Breadsmith once produced breads, there is a combination of Wild Grains and Victor’s Coffee. Victor’s Coffee once occupied another spot which is now a Taylor shop (yes, really). Only Brugger’s has clung to its corner location, refusing to change anything but the staff (which they seem to do on a weekly basis).

I waved to people driving up for their morning coffee, their low-carb bagels, their half a sweet roll and for a few minutes I felt that this wasn’t suburbia – this was a small village with stores where everyone greets each other each morning and checks up on the health of the missus. Perhaps I shouldn’t get carried away here, but it was such a warm moment – the stores, the bakery treats, the neighbors. So much better than starting the day with an angry anti-ACLU rave (see yesterday) or a bowl of healthy granola (see everyday).

Nader or not

I did listen to Meet the Press in the end: it seemed appropriately suited to the task at hand: tidying up a bathroom or two.

Listening to the pre-show, i.e. Schwarzenegger, was painful enough, especially when he got to his closing comment – about the possibility of a constitutional amendment permitting immigrants who have lived here for at least 20 years to run for the presidency. (Had I the foresight to predict this possibility, I would have lead an untarnished life, just in case duty called…) Does he see himself on this path? Would you believe it, he has yet to do a single remarkable thing for California (though repealing the auto tax hike at a time of such a severe state budget crisis was pretty remarkable), and yet he is unabashedly smackin’ his lips at the possibility of the White House.

Nader, though, was even more painful, in part because he would not acknowledge the likelihood that his candidacy will have a devastating effect on the Democratic run for the White House. He is known for claiming again and again that if Democrats do not win (in 2000 or 2004), they have themselves, and not him to blame.

Okay, Nader makes one good point here: his name on the ballot cannot be viewed as the sole reason for putting GWB where he is today. Nader listed others on the ticket that also drew votes away from Gore back in 2000. So true. Basically we vote without reason or thought. Perhaps we don’t understand arrows either, thinking that they designate the person who should be eliminated from the race. And why do some voters continue to vote for people who are not even running? In the Wisconsin primaries alone, many non-candidates got hundreds of very real votes. What kind of a voting public are we anyway? We’ll vote for Nader whether he proceeds with his candidacy or not. We’ll write in our neighbor’s name, just for the heck of it. Maybe some people draw decorative arrows that lead to nowhere. We are basically voting fools. Nader wont change that. But he could maybe not go out of his way to create another opportunity for us to display our idiocy.

A book to avoid

Is it so desirable to have your book reviewed in the NYT that it hardly matters what the reviewer writes? The flip side of this Q is – why review a book in the Times of a fairly unknown author if you can find absolutely no redeeming value in the work?

There are five novels reviewed in the Books in Brief section of the NYTBR. That’s not bad – each novel gets about half a column of text. One of the books is “Something Rising” by Haven Kimmel. I had read, no yawned my way through, her first book, a memoir called “A Girl Named Zippy.” I kind of like memoirs, and I wanted to see if this one, about a very ordinary life of a girl in the Midwest, could provide some nice zip to a lazy afternoon. It could not. It was an excruciatingly boring book. Possibly Kimmel thought that she could pull out an interesting text out of the dullness of her life (“my life is so ordinary! let me tell you all the ways in which nothing significant can happen on a daily basis!”), but really, she failed. I’m sure people bought the book because it had a very sweet picture of a little girl – the type that usually appears on the cover of a book about overcoming tragic circumstances. Perversely, you grow resentful that chapter after chapter nothing bad happens.

This would not be an author primed for a return appearance in the NYTBR. And yet there she is today, with her new book under scrutiny. You would think, then, that she wrote something exceptional, but no! The reviewer writes:

The father-daughter competition is effective and unusual, but is insufficient to redeem this meandering novel. Of no help are occasional clunky sentences, their meanings elusive, their locutions dubious. Fine books have come from close study of pool hall life. ‘Something Rising’ isn’t one of them.

Harsh words! Someone was not happy to be reviewing this book. If Kimmel didn’t have any rough bumps in the road during her childhood, she’s getting them now.

It’s all about the wife

Examples of “offbeat” and/or “odd” political spouse behavior (NYT front page article on Teresa Heinz Kerry):

“Ms. Heinz Kerry has a reputation of being offbeat if not a little odd… On the campaign trail, she speaks in jarringly frank terms about dealing with grief and loss” [nc: what could you even say about dealing with grief that would be “jarringly” frank?]

“He [Kerry] routinely stood by watching admiringly as she rambled on… her flowing hair hiding her eyes..’Isn’t she spectacular?’ Mr. Kerry would say. Oddly, Ms. Heinz Kerry seems not to return the favor: when he is speaking, his wife often wears a pained, or even bored [nc: the press loves that all-American grin] expression. She says [emphasis added] it is merely the look she gets when she is thinking deeply.”

“Her ideas about healing, though, range far afield of Western science. She talks to bewildered audiences about tai chi [nc: me, I would love to see her lead a bunch of staffers in a morning round of tai chi on the White House lawn], about “embracing the tiger”—a metaphor for…confronting and accepting (grief).”

Oh, and she likes scarves and shawls.

Move over, Judith, we got another weirdo to talk about.

Correcting trash

Except on days where you pick up the wrong newspaper (thinking it to be that day’s edition), mostly what you do with old papers is put them out in a grocery bag for the recycling guys to gather up and convert into something useful, like coffee filters. When I think of people who actually save newspapers, I think of batty hermits who are later found in their shacks in the mountains, with yellowed stacks of newsprint dating back to World War I.

But blogs – as far as I know, they can go on forever. Moreover, the “archives” bar gives the illusion of saved, catalogued, and archived master work, almost as if you were letting it reside in the great library of the British Museum (which purports to have everything ever printed). The storage bar more accurately should be called “trash.”

Because in truth, what current reader ever goes into Archives? Or even to yesterday’s posts? “Oh, let me run through her life just one more time. I may have missed a nuance to the story on the first three readings...”

Well, I did just that this morning – I revisited a couple of older posts on my own blog and on one or two other blogs. Why did I do it? For one, in a moment of great impatience and lacking self-restraint, I had read most of the Times headlines and all online inserts prior to this morning, so that most of the stories were already old news by the time the paper touched the driveway. And, I seemed incapable of figuring out when Meet the Press was on TV, having never watched anything on a Sunday morning in my life. I wanted to catch Nader’s big moment and, instead, I got some odd gent telling me to act now and fill out a ‘survey’ (?) against the ACLU – an organization devoted to teaching school children about gay unions and disarming our leaders of the ability to fight terrorism (almost verbatim from the show). So it was back to the computer for me.

Looking at old posts made me realize two things:
1. I had let some hideous grammatical constructions creep their way into many a post;
2. Occasional, once spotted by me (in an unusual moment of lucidity) grammatical bloopers in others’ posts had been corrected.

Naturally, I did the thing any blogger would do, I “managed” my old posts and cleaned up the two or three that I had read and that now were making me ill (“I used that awkward phrase for WHAT reason?”).

But the question is this: what presumptuous thought was making me correct? Who cares how awful it read – once posted, it’s a done deal. Except for a few stragglers and an occasional new reader, your readership will have moved on. They are now jumping around picking up the latest from blog X Y Z, you are HISTORY until your next post.

Sad but true.

To the loyal readers who continue to log on here even after reading that bit about reclining, both in the chair and in October – you are too kind. To the blogger who went back and clarified a sentence that was cutely suspended without a context – I appreciated your effort even if, most likely, no one else did.

But I do have a new definition of pathetically delusional: “as in: going back to your archives from many months back and correcting the grammar of your old blog posts.”

The day starts with Ollie (my dog), ends with Spot (GWB’s dog)

A touching story on NBC news about the death today of 15 year old Spot, GWB’s spotted canine. It may be the one moment where us dog people genuinely feel for the guy currently occupying the White House. Of course, the pooch had a privileged life, and one could write much about health care and affordability etc, but I’ll let that slide for the moment. The news report on dogs in the White House (and there have always been dogs in the White House) mentioned one tiny but important fact: dogs attach unconditionally, no matter how you perform your job. Must be a comfort to so many who have inhabited the White House.

Neighborhood update

Woah, what a beautiful afternoon, with the happy sound of melting snow and a dizzying array of puddles to jump over when walking the hills of this neighborhood. A pair of girls three houses up the block built a snow pig – a remarkable achievement, down to its curly tail. I almost felt the competitive urge to maybe sculpt a goat in our front yard, thinking if this caught on, we would have a block of farm animals and people would drive up just to admire our multivarious (isn’t this a word?) talents. I held back because I worried that neighbors would come out and ask if perhaps I had toppled my feather or otherwise fallen precipitously into some state of mental decline (not in so many words, of course). Besides, it all looks so WET out there in the snow. Still, it was a gorgeous late afternoon.

I am concerned, though, about the family across the street – the one with the flamingos (see post, February 8). Or rather, the now you see them, now you don’t flamingos. Because the birds are all gone. And this is not the type of clan that picks up their decorations when they are done with them – the adorable Christmas trees are still standing, tilted, but standing on the porch, and the lawn chair, last used I believe in October of 2003, sits where it did then, on that warmish fall day. Did we have a flamingo heist in the neighborhood? Bad enough that mailboxes get batted down every now and then, and swatches of toilet paper still cling to tree tops from brazen teen ‘decorating’ efforts of years back (such a quaint American custom, why ever hasn’t it caught on elsewhere?), but stealing plastic birds crosses the line. Next thing you know they’ll be toting away my rusty upside-down wheelbarrow which I forgot to put away in the garage for the winter, and from there it’s only a matter of days before they start digging up the climbing rose bushes. Young people have no manners.

Blogattack

Fortune magazine claims that there are 10,000 new blogs recorded on the Net each day. Are some of us multiple blogging? Keeping up different personalities maybe? Like, how do you know that the blog on the ‘SmileZone’ isn’t really mine as well? Okay, sure, I don’t have the technological acumen to put together something so visually appealing (one reader wrote just the other day suggesting that I might consider finally eliminating the ads at the top of my blog, though he admitted that commercials for Dean buttons aren’t necessarily a mismatch to the content of my blog, by which I am hoping he did not mean “losers all”). True, once you use your name in the blog, it is incumbent upon you to keep it honest. But if you don’t – oh the lives you could bloglive!

Of course, the statistic is a demographic fallacy for it says nothing about replacement levels. Maybe 20,000 other blogs self-destruct and 40,000 die a slow death, never to be heard from again (all this leading to negative replacement levels).

This point about blog disappearance is worth a worry. It could well be that at some moment you became blogaddicted to someone’s blog, reading it daily, enjoying the progression of events, the births, the marriages (maybe I should flip the order here), the social commentary, the humor. And then the writing stops. Now what? What a cruel hoax! The author manages to tantalize, entertain, amuse, engage, and then, without explanation, the blogging STOPS. What’s left for the reader? Maybe simply the four stages of blog withdrawal: denial (I’ll check again in an hour, maybe she’s just pausing to shower..), panic (how will I live without knowing if her dog learned to read?), anger (what a socially irresponsible act of hedonistic cowardice!), RELIEF (good bye blog, hello Fyodor Dostoevsky).

A very serious aside on war: skip it if you’re feeling light and airy

The writing of an important chapter of World War II history has yet to be completed. The NYT notes this in today’s story on how deeply preoccupied we’ve been with analyzing battles between German and the Allied forces on the Western Front, and how little attention has been given to the battles on the Eastern Front, where the Wehrmacht suffered as much as 80% of its total war casualties. It is in the course of battles with the Red Army that the Germans experienced their most stunning defeat.

Apart from the military issues, there are other harrowing aspects of war between the Red Army and the Wehrmacht. Any Pole will tell you that a key preoccupation for Poland has been why Stalin chose to let Warsaw fall to the final destructive onslaught of the Germans during the Warsaw Uprising. Given the inevitable and devastating outcome, many Poles believe that the Uprising wasn’t heroic, it was suicidal – an unnecessary loss of life. Speculation rather than fact fuels the debate as to the reasons behind Stalin’s passive role in the ultimate leveling of the city.

And there are the issues surrounding Red Army tactics: the retaliatory rape of 2 million German women, the pilferage and assault on Polish homes and families that lay in the path of the Russians – all this is shrouded in mystery, noted only in the limited stories told by survivors.

Why this empty slate? Because few historians have had access to Russian military documents from this period. Now, as the doors are opening for academic research, there still aren’t enough scholars, nor is there money to scrutinize the voluminous materials. The writer Eva Hoffman said recently that it is the obligation of the second generation to record and preserve, from its position of both distance and proximity to the events of war, the memory of those events. A burden? Maybe, but a critical one. Starting each day fresh, without the imprint of a history carefully drawn, seems to me at the very least heartless, and at worst, dangerously irresponsible.

What Diane Keaton meant to me…

The story in the Times (here) on DK’s idiosyncratic style of dress suggests that all those layers of buttoned blouses, blazers, turtle-necks, the wire-rimmed glasses, and always – the gloves, were emblematic of the confused (is that what “gracefully puzzled” means?), outgoing, emboldened modern woman. The suggestion is that women both imitated and were dazzled by DK’s style:

“Her throwaway verbal style and her thrown-together dress style became symbols of the free, friendly, gracefully puzzled young women who were busy creating identities out of the epic miscellany of materials swirling in the American cultural centrifuge," rhapsodized Jack Kroll, Newsweek's film critic at the time.
Her fashion influence in those days should not be underestimated, Mr. Talley [of Vogue magazine] said last week. "What Sarah Jessica Parker is to young women today, Diane Keaton was in that day," he said.

I wont waste time explaining why I think these statements are ludicrous, but let me just say that I wont ever admit to having had Keaton as a symbol of anything except a mildly crazed, sometimes quirky and amusing, most often not, character in movies that may have caused a ripple of chuckles, but only if you were in a room full of people who were under the influence of controlled substances.

The article does punch her out a bit for the glove thing (note suggestive comparison to creepy Michael Jackson):

Then there are the gloves, sheathing Ms. Keaton's slender hands wherever she goes (reminding fans with a more twisted turn of mind a bit of Michael Jackson). She wore gloves with her Woodyesque sport coat, and once again in Beverly Hills at the Oscar nominees' luncheon on Feb. 9. Leather gloves covered her wrists at the International Film Festival in Berlin a few days before that, a counterpoint to the black-and-white-checkered coat she wore. White leather gloves provided the creamy finish to the ivory-colored suit Ms. Keaton wore two weeks ago on "The Tonight Show." And white satin gloves accented her Richard Tyler coat at the Golden Globes Awards in January.
Her near fetishistic devotion to those gloves has inevitably prompted queries. Is she making a style statement, or is she simply hiding a pair of hands she deems too unsightly for a close-up?
Ms. Keaton, who declined to be interviewed for this article — because she is talked out, a publicist said — did nothing herself to clear up the mystery.

Well now, maybe we should leave her alone with her mittens. Whatever her reasons, they can’t be anything but sad. Warped, gnarled knuckles, scaly spotted skin, or a perennial nail biting problem – let’s not let our curiosity force some prankster to rip off her armor and zero in the camera. As I once wrote, the presence of some mystery is a good thing and, often as not, the fact of mystery is more interesting than the undisclosed reality.

Not amusing February musing

This morning my dog and I had a morning cup of coffee together, just him and me, as everyone else in the household is away in distant places, and I thought, how wonderful is the relationship between person and beast! – so perfect, sitting there, reading the paper, clipping Klinke’s coupons together, reading about the success of Olbrich Gardens (Horticulture included them on a list of ten gardens in the country that inspire us), not even noticing that I was actually thumbing through yesterday’s paper (local headlines are much the same from day to day), such a peaceful beginning to a Saturday.

Then I remembered that the exertion and strain of this morning activity for the dog (of sharing a breakfast Kodak moment with me) is going to require that he take the rest of the day to sleep it off: it is not unusual for him to take his morning nap from 8 am ‘til 5 pm. Luckily he has not yet learned to keep up with my blog (water spaniels are reading-challenged: he still can’t tell an A from a B and he’s almost 5), so he wont know how deeply disturbed, perhaps even resentful I am becoming over the inequities in our week-ends. Consider this. Dog’s Saturday: Kodak moments with owner, rest, eat, steal a few pieces of garbage, more rest. Owner’s Saturday: Kodak moment with dog, walk the beast, feed him, do a corrective read of today’s (as opposed to yesterday’s) paper, read 30 Admissions files and reject most of the applicants knowing that my flick of the pen will instill misery and gloom for the recipient of this largess, blog to bolster the spirit, pay bills due January 31st, think about which week to start gathering papers for taxes, think about going to the gym, rearrange contents of briefcase so that “urgent work” papers, crammed in some afternoon in 2002 finally get to see the light of day, feed dog again, yell at him for eating garbage, think about taking him for long walk, blog, by which time it will be evening.

The sad thing is, there is no writer’s hyperbole in that paragraph. It may be that a surprise will pop up – perhaps a call from my mother (much overdue as she is ‘processing’ my last weekend’s absence), or a note/call from a reader who will have read this and decided it’s best to check in, just to make sure we’re not all witnessing the disintegration and last desperate acts of a blogger, but otherwise, the course of this day is set.

The month of February is just too long. The framers of the calendar should have chopped off another 11 days and spread them among the remaining months. That thoughtful gesture would have put us on March 2nd today (leap year).

For everything else, there’s MasterCard

Drinking Steve’s wine with the dinner roast: $20+ (per bottle: see post below).
Spending the evening with your once-students-now-friends: priceless.
Shoveling heavy, wet snow from your sidewalk and from that of your neighbor at 1 o’clock at night: ridiculous.

[Tonight I heard that the city of Madison has officially closed its outdoor skating rinks and ski trails for the season. So why am I out there clearing snow and moving a car due to alternate street parking? Though I have to say, the night is so iridescent right now that you could read the newspaper without any trouble, just by the light of the winter sky.]

You and your blog

Comment from today: ”you’re funnier in your blog than you are in person.”

Response: “hey, I’m plenty funny in person. You don’t know how funny I can get. I used to make myself laugh out loud. Whereas the blog – sometimes it isn’t even slightly funny. Take the post (below) on book choices: what’s so funny about that?"

“It’s funny in some parts. I’d say in person you’re more contrary than funny”

Response: “Now that’s not funny. I’m not at all contrary. But I am funny. Really. Well, sometimes. Oftentimes. Ask others. No, don’t ask others…”

Poster update

Thanks to the reader who pointed me to a possible referent for the “No More Sour Juice” poster over University Avenue (see yesterday's post). I think I best not venture a description lest I should have the language police carry me away for a comfy night in the slammer. (Her email alone got a rating of three red peppers from Eudora’s morality patrol.) But I have to wonder still if the guy with the poster was offended by this musical venue (I’ll let you know that much: we’re dealing with a possible music group) and therefore felt compelled to protest, or whether he was envious of their apparent success.

I am anticipating a bizarre set of blog readers tonight. As always, sorry to disappoint, but you most certainly will not find anything here about…… never mind.

The art of buying wine

I was at Steve’s Liquor today, having the following (oft repeated) conversation:

me: “so, I’m serving a roasted tenderloin today, and I want something different, exciting to go with it.. But let’s keep it French and not too pricey; maybe a red Burgundy or a Gigondas?”

Randy: “yeah, sure, whatever you want.. here, let me show you this fantastic Chilean wine I just brought back from my trip there—it’ll knock your socks off!”

me: “I don’t want my socks knocked off…but seeing as I am such a loyal customer, perhaps, knocking off a few dollars off of a Burgundy would be nice?”

Randy, clearly hurt: “didn’t you like the California Vintage Renard Santa Rita I recommended last time? Wasn’t that special?”

me: “so special that I am saving it, along with the Jaffurs Syrah that you rang up for me that was twice as much as I had wanted to spend.”

Randy, feigning indifference: “I had a guy come in and buy a case of that for the week-end.. I mean, you can’t take your wallet with you to your grave, you know.”

me: “no, but I can take it to the grocery store and buy food that’ll last a whole week with left over cash for over-priced lattes. Okay, so what do you suggest? Should we look at a Cotes du Rhone? I can usually find a decent one for around $15 - $20..”

Randy: “I’ve got just the thing: a 1999 Morey St Denis Bourgogne for $29” [before tax, n.b.]

me: “You sold that to me three weeks ago when I was looking for a cheap bottle of French table wine. I’ll take the White Oak Cabernet that I had wanted the time I walked off instead, under your guidance, with the Chateauneuf du Pape from La Nerthe.”

Randy: wounded silence

So it’s not from France, and is the wrong price. At least it’s red. One out of three right.

Somewhat lengthy and not really funny reflections on book choices

Last night I had my other book group meeting (the “lawyer-loaded” one). The book, Lahiri’s “Namesake,” is wonderfully readable in a sad sort of way, as it chronicles the life of an Indian immigrant family. I am, of course, mesmerized by accounts of immigrant displacement. Doesn’t matter that I am not Bengali, I have never been to an American-Bengali party in my life, I don’t even seek out Poles living in America -- as has been repeatedly pointed out to me, in the spirit of: “if you’re so homesick for Poles, why don’t you go hang out at the Polish food store in Middleton?”

I am not really “homesick” and certainly not pathetic enough to hang with the kielbasy just so that I can hear my native tongue. It is more accurate to say that I am displaced. Having lived in the States as a girl (ages 7 – 13), I was more like the child of immigrants, having picked up Americanisms early on – only to throw them away again when we returned to Poland. So I can’t even wear the “first generation immigrant” label very well because I was crossing the ocean too many times, a habit that is still with me now. Hence the name of the blog. No one else gets it, but it has great significance to me.

One more note on book choices. In my other, “neighborhood” book group, the leaders were looking for interesting titles for future months, and of course, as usual, I foisted a title about World War II, this one describing a disintegrating social fabric in the city of Berlin. I’m sure there has to be some eye-rolling about my choices. The first time I went to a meeting of this group some four or five years ago, I suggested that we read the “Rape of Europa,” and then, soon after, the “Reader,” and so on. So long as it’s confession time, I should admit that certain persons from this household, when they were younger, commented that they were spoon fed books about Santa Claus and World War II survival in about equal doses. You’d be amazed how many titles I could find on the Holocaust or the Resistance Movement that I believed were appropriate for children.

It’s not that I myself feel compelled to read only from this period of European history. It’s worse than that: I feel compelled to recommend (meaning “force”?) books to others about these topics. “Here, you want to know what I think we all should read? This. And this. And this.”

When I left NY at 13 to make my home again in Poland, I remember vividly the classroom I left behind, with the usual display of maps, photos, student work, posters of famous people, who knows what else. An American classroom has more things posted, suspended, plastered on walls, windows, doors and ceilings than I would think possible for anyone to even look at in the course of the year. The first day back in a Polish classroom I was struck by its complete nakedness. There was one straw mat on the wall. On it, there was a black and white photo of the rubble that was Warsaw after the war. There was a banner across the bottom which read “Never Again.” I saw it every day, for all three years of my high school life there.

Help me with this one

As I was driving home this evening, I glanced up, as always, at the pedestrian bridge over Campus Drive. You don't need to pick up the paper in Madison to figure out what's playing in the theater or concert hall; all you need to do is look up at the bridge and you will see signs announcing anything from jazz artists, to musical hits, or the coming of any number of noteworthy performers.

But what I saw today was a guy holding up a huge sign that read: "NO MORE SOUR JUICE."

What am I missing here? It's one of those things that's lost in translation, right? Probably everyone else is driving home and thinking "yeah, no more of that stuff, right on!" Or, is it that the person with the sign was complaining that there is no more sour juice to be found anywhere, it's all sweet, damn it! Or what -- an irreverent rock band, aka Sour Juice, that should not be permitted entry into our concert halls or nightclubs? Truly, I'm in the dark.

If you know the significance of this, write me. My ignorance is killing me.

Need a spouse? Try the cemetery

According to GWB, your mate must be of the opposite sex. But we have an unresolved question here: must s/he be alive?
In France, the answer is no. For example, a certain Ms. Demichel married a dead man just last week (NYT, the paper of record, so reported)– perfectly legitimate according to French law. She carried flowers, there was a wedding cake, they say the only thing missing was the groom.

A honeymoon? Yes, of sorts –she’s going to visit her new mother-in-law. Her new dead husband died in an accident two years back. But she’ll keep his ashes in her bedroom. The mayor, who presided over the ceremony, did ask if she wanted to “exchange” rings in some manner, but the bride politely declined.

Scheming minds

CNN is speculating about the possibility of a new alliance between Edwards and Dean (and therefore also Gore). It makes sense. Edwards is short on money, and desperate to win in New York. Could it be that Gore will announce a shift in favor of Edwards this week-end? A CNN public preference poll, conducted before Tuesday, indicates that both Kerry and Edwards are currently favored over Bush.

As if all this wasn’t intriguing enough, I read today (NYT) that according to a survey (okay, I suppose that goes without saying), 9% of the primary vote in Wisconsin was cast by Republicans. One has to wonder – who did they vote for and why?

United

At a meeting of the neighborhood book group last night politics crept into the conversation (okay, were forced into the conversation by me). It was shocking, exhilarating, astonishing to hear how many (most?) had voted for Edwards. One had even given Kucinich a plug. You have to understand that many of these women are not on the same end of the political spectrum: Some have crossed over and connected the arrow pointing to a Republican in the past, others have been decidedly moderate Democrats, and still others have been known to waffle about which party to support (okay, ms exception, I know who you are and I know your record is unscathed by any GOP leanings, but admit that I am correct about the others). If a candidate would openly speak in favor of raising taxes, s/he’d lose at least half of them right then and there.

But last night, it became evident that these past voting patterns were nothing but youthful indiscretions, all forgotten, ignored now as visions of a future without GWB tantalizingly danced through their heads. A united front of Democrats? Never thought it could happen, but there it is.

Different worlds, different visions

Every once in a while I have days like this: an early morning seminar to conduct downtown at the Department of Justice and a late seminar to finish the day back at the Law School. Two Madisons, the Government/Courthouse on one side and the University on the other, staring, often glaring at each other, disconnected, both resenting decisions emanating from one sphere and affecting the other.

Which world voted for Kerry? Which for Edwards? I don’t think we have that one figured out yet. In fact, I read in one post-election survey (the Times maybe, but in all honesty I don’t remember) that fewer than a third of Wisconsinites voting for Edwards were “angry” at Bush, whereas fully 50% of those supporting Kerry were. What does that mean for the future months? What does that say about the Democratic constituents? I thought everyone was angry. Up here, in the “towers” of Bascom Hill, it seems that way. But we are so removed, sitting here on the other end of State Street, transfixed, glaring at the government, holding out hopes for change.

The Octopus: friend or foe?

A reader wrote to tell me that she is considering never washing her car at Octopus Car Wash again, due to her recent discoveries about the beastly nature of the animal. She was searching the Net for the Car Wash and came across this website, written by a person who once, too, was loyal to our friendly Octopus on old University Avenue. You wont regret reading it. It may save your life. Evil lurks inside that cute rounded head and the helpful arms wiping down your windows.

More on Bush’s meeting with Zine El Abidine Ben Ali

In the post below I noted the defining event of GWB’s day – a meeting with Tunisian President Zine El Abidine Ben Ali. I have since read reports of that encounter and I must say I misjudged the situation: apparently there weren’t any weighty issues to discuss, nor did the meeting require much preparation on the part of GWB. The rule is: when in doubt as to what to say to the Tunisian president, talk about gay marriage.

From CNN:

"I strongly believe marriage should be defined as between a man and a woman," Bush said during an Oval Office session with Tunisian President Zine El Abidine Ben Ali. "I am troubled by activist judges who are defining marriage."

Can you just imagine poor President Zine El Abidine Ben Ali during this? What message will he take back to his people in Tunisia? Maybe: “The President of the United States assures us that marriage should be defined as between man and woman. The policy implications for us remain unclear. We will study this message and let you know, once we come to an understanding of what this means for our country.”

Calendar boys

No, this isn’t heading where you’re thinking. I was simply curious what the candidates (the democratic pack of 5 + GWB) were up to today. Looking at their calendars is always illuminating, though today seems to be a slow day for most – not surprising, given the zeal of campaigning before yesterday’s important primary. But wait, were all campaigning? Perhaps the one on that list who has already secured a place on the (republican) ticket is especially busy, given that he does hold down what is thought to be a demanding job. Let’s take a look at where they’re at today (from CNN’s “Inside Politics” page):

Howard Dean
In Vermont -- Dean will hold an "event" in Burlington at 1 p.m. where sources say he'll announce he's no longer campaigning actively for president.

John Edwards
In Washington and New York -- Edwards has private events in Washington and New York and has nothing public scheduled.

John Kerry
In Ohio -- Kerry holds a town hall meeting on jobs and the economy in Dayton at 12:15 p.m. and holds a rally with Democrats in Columbus at 5:30 p.m.

Dennis Kucinich
In Ohio -- Kucinich has a discussion with students at the University of Dayton at 12 p.m. before participating in a labor event in Cincinnati at 7 p.m.

Al Sharpton
In Georgia -- Sharpton holds a news conference at 8 a.m. in Atlanta to announce his endorsement by several Georgia elected officials before attending a fund-raiser at 12 p.m. He attends a march with the United Brothers of Carpenters Union at 2:30 p.m. before attending a rally at Clark Atlanta University at 3 p.m. He attends a fund-raiser in Atlanta in the evening.

George W. Bush
In Washington -- President Bush meets with the President of Tunisia at 11:25 a.m. at the White House.

Well, that can be taxing, right? A brief, pre-lunch meeting with the leader of Tunisia? Much is at stake. Preparing for it, de-briefing afterwards, resting for the next day’s events – juggling all that takes time. And don’t forget travel – from one end of the White House to the next – we know how delays and weather conditions can mess with a tight schedule. Is it time for a “working vacation” in Texas yet?

One Wisconsin fish, dinner for 400

A reader reminded me that there is pleasure to be found in spending a winter week-end in northern Wisconsin (as opposed to, say, the desert). In the article she forwarded, I got a sense of the excitement that may be generated by a successful day of spear fishing. Really. (Did you know that the season is only two days long? It started on Saturday and finished on Sunday. If you’re enthused after reading the article and want to try your luck – you have to wait some 360 days to set out with your weapon.)

In case you don’t have time to link, let me just tell you that Lake Winnebago had a winning moment this season. A spear fisherman (of Polish background no less!) caught a 188 pound sturgeon. There are fish like that swimming in Wisconsin lakes? And we send innocent children and dogs to mingle in the water with them? The fisherman, an able bodied 47-year old jailer from the Sheriff’s Office, who is probably used to handling some rough types, could hardly control his catch. Tranquil lake waters indeed! Who knows what remains un-speared down there. Maybe an overweight cousin from the same Wisconsin fish family? Frightening.

Having lived here for 25years, am I a true Wisconsinite?

I heard from one of my Polish readers today. He sent me a clipping of a newspaper article depicting a photograph that is identical to one I had purchased from an artist-photographer when I was last in Poland (December). It is actually quite nice in a muted and dreamy style of fuzzy contours and soft and faded blacks. I bought it by happenstance, following the most improbable set of circumstances, on the eve of my departure. And, to make things even more tricky, I could not fit it into my suitcase, so that I was forced to take kitchen sheers to it and chop the matting down to a size that could be accommodated in my bag.

Konrad Pustola, the 27 year old photographer, speaks of a Warsaw that follows him in his dreams (he lives there still). He digs into childhood memories for inspirations, taking photos on days when the pace slows down (Sundays) and the city becomes lazy, immobile, still. I wish I could link to the story, but I appear to be incapable of creating the connection.

After the flurry of political drama here in Wisconsin, this article, the photo, the recollection of scenes immortalized by Konrad – all are a perfect antidote. Sure, it may be important to cross oceans and set up homesteads in unfamiliar places, but it is also helpful in a soothing kind of way to return and take another look at the images (as depicted by a new generation of talented artists) that are left behind.

Avoiding the phone

The ringing phone makes my heart sink. Inevitably it is going to be one of the following: a taped message from a democratic candidates, or, worse, a live voice asking if I needed a ride to my polling place (what demographic list are we on anyway?? I am NOT a member of AARP!), or, inevitably, my mother asking if I voted for Dean. Only the first on this list of possibilities is not a strain. I feel terribly guilty when Kerry’s or Dean’s loyal campaign staffer offers me a ride because I have to say that I have already voted and then there is this dead silence as s/he comes to understand that I did not vote for their guy. I wish someone from Edwards’ office would call (they have not today, which is wise on their part – they read my blog yesterday, waited til midnight, and knew that they had my vote), so that I could be jubilant and say YES! I was with you all the way (or at least all the way this week)!

I would let the machine pick up the phone, but that just leads to confusion, because if it is a recorded message, then it is mangled by my prerecorded announcement and it is hard to understand who is calling or what they want. For instance, when I got back from work, I listened to something like this:

“... (beep) Bush. We need your support. Our country needs to move ahead with the economic plan that will give every American a chance at a good education, a decent job, and a safe world to live in.. blah blah.”

I really do not think I got a call from Bush. I am not on any mailing list that could have generated a Republican message, and anyway, to the best of my knowledge, GWB isn’t campaigning through grass roots phone calls at the moment. Too plebeian. But whoever left the recording did not anticipate that the first words would be cut. In denouncing Bush, they became Bush. What a warped twist of fate.

Neighbors

I met a neighbor at the polling place and naturally asked him how he was voting. People will lie rather than say “none of your business.” But he seemed honest in telling me he was voting for Edwards. He said he really liked Kucinich, but since he saw himself as a strategic voter, he’d go with Edwards. I reminded him that in the last presidential elections he had a Nader lawn sign, which was about as un-strategic as you can get. He explained that actually, in the end, he changed his mind and voted for Gore. He also admitted that while he was supporting Nader, he hadn’t realized how bad GWB would be.

Two interesting points to consider from that:

1. people’s lawn signs aren’t indicative of much. Of course, I’m not sure I understand the purpose behind lawn signs anyway. Yes, I usually stick one in the ground to irritate my Republican neighbors, which I admit isn’t a very neighbor-friendly approach to things. And, too, I know it’s the American way, and immigrants tend to conform to the peculiar habits of their host country. But still, do the signs have persuasive value? Walking to Grainger Hall on campus, I noticed a chalked statement on the sidewalk saying “Vote Dean.” It is really pathetic if you decide to vote for Dean based on a sidewalk chalk scribble.

2. I should not let my hostilities toward Nader-ites fester for so long. My neighbor is right: at the time of the elections, no one suspected how much damage GWB could do. Only in the last three years have we come to understand that long-term strategic voting, of the sort where you cast your vote so that you’ll have influenced the elections four years from now, is foolish, as we may not survive for so long under a particularly trigger-happy administration.

Youth scramble for Dean

Driving in to work today, I saw, at the edge of Campus Drive, a lamp post with a stack of Dean lawn signs adorning it all the way to the top. You know Dean has youthful supporters when you see something like that. I would NEVER EVER climb up a lamppost (how do you even do that?) to put up a sign for a political candidate, even if it meant an automatic handful of votes for that person. I know Wisconsin has a lot of tall men with names like Olaf and Lars, but this feat would have required a whole stack of them—one on top of the next. I’m thinking Dean is going to pick up some votes here after all. [Good. I can call my mother in California tonight and continue to placate her by saying agreeable things about her favorite, Dean (see yesterday’s post). Then, when she finally begins to recognize that it is over for Howard, I can capitalize on her vulnerable emotional state and start sending books and bribes so that she’ll switch her allegiance to the trailing John. The art of corrupt politics, duly recorded on a blog.]

Comments from someone who came to see the carpet (purchased from truck standing on the periphery of the largest-gem-show-in-the-world):

“It is the most beautiful trapezoid I have ever seen!”

me: “it is not a trapezoid: if you regard any very long rectangle from one end, it will form the illusion of a trapezoid”

“How come it doesn’t have those long threads at both ends like most Persian rugs have?”

me: “I asked that too. It’s because people have complained that the ends get sucked in by the vacuum cleaner.”

“If anything gets sucked in around here, it is perhaps you. You took the entire carpet as a carry-on?? They didn’t make you check it in?

me: “hey, you’re talking about a very special carpet from Afghanistan: I would not hand it over to just anyone.”

“Beautiful trapezoid. Absolutely exquisite.”

Family update

My mother called (from Berkeley) while I was away in the desert. She wanted to know 1. where I was and 2. if I had gotten her gift (=bribe) with the note urging that I vote for Dean. I was glad not to field that call because there really wasn’t an adequate answer as to why I was in Arizona and not in Berkeley California (so long as I was taking the time to be away from where I properly should be: at home attending to obligations). And as for Dean – if I wait until after the vote to discuss this with her, I can be evasive and not quite admit that Howard did not in the end get my support . But I first have to see if he gets at least one vote, otherwise she’ll catch me at my own game. I suppose Dean will almost certainly get at least one vote, but what with campaign staffers and chairmen dropping like flies, you just can’t count on it.

Bugs

A reader asked if I had encountered any odd looking bugs while in the desert (this past week-end: see posts below). Well of course. Where people go, so go the insects. Or is it: where insects go, so go the people? In any event, one specimen that crossed my path looked especially peculiar: it was almost translucent, with a body composed of many segments. I looked at photos online since my return and I have to conclude that it was not a scorpion. I fully expected to encounter a scorpion, since everyone said that scorpions are part of the landscape of southern Arizona, but In all honesty, I don’t think I saw a single one. As I said earlier: Polish speaking human beings? Yes. Scorpions? No. The desert was full of such odd surprises.

So it’s John?

I’ve been back in Wisconsin less than two hours and already I have picked up a handful of calls from John, Howard, John, and Dennis (it seems we are on first name basis: the calls are all very back-slappin’ friendly). I was almost convinced that Howard deserved an “I feel sort of sorry for you” vote, but a friend just talked me out of that line of reasoning, reminding me that “feel sorry for you” voting could have given us some unsavory leaders in the past.

Having eliminated Howard, my attention turns to the Johns. There is no doubt that I know more about the politics of the straggler John rather than the front-runner John – which is in itself interesting. My friend, who luckily was in a giving advice mode (though she offered no bribes, which was discouraging), reminded me that “military record” did not in the past swing voters (recall Clinton’s success), and would probably not be enough to pull Kerry forward. She also painted a very realistic picture of a debate where Kerry’s New England’s stiffness rubs everyone the wrong way. Finally, she made me admit that there were a great many voters who actually believed that GWB was a pleasing and sympathetic speaker (in an “aw, shucks” kind of way), and so it was vitally important to position someone who himself could be charismatic enough to off-set that sheepish little grin that seems to melt the hearts and minds of many.

Let me just say that my lines are open til at least midnight tonight. I could still be persuaded to abandon John the straggler, though less so with each minute.

Forgetting to obey the law

I was so impressed with the fact that my flight was taking off on schedule (the one from Chicago to Madison, which has an on-time departure rate of 2%) that I completely forgot to turn off my cell phone while on the plane. I am actually fairly certain that we weren’t reminded to do so, because I usually do half-listen to the front of the cabin instructions, just in case we are being told something important, like to bail out instantly, or that the plane has no functional lavatory. Still, after all that fuss in the Sunday Times about the rudeness of travelers and mutinies in airports and on trains and planes, I was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that if the phone would ring, 30 or 40 passengers could very well pounce on me with anger at my flagrant disrespect for the law.

To shut it down in mid-air would be a dead give away that I had failed to do so earlier, especially since Verizon plays a little jingle as it’s being turned off. There was nothing to do but remain confident that the law of probabilities would come through for me in such rough times. I gambled that since only about three people have my cell number, the chances of any of them calling during the 29 minute flight were slight.

I sweated it out, the phone remained silent, and I did not confuse the navigational system, because we did land in Madison. On time.

P.S. Two years ago I listened to an NPR interview with a guy who was a telecommunications expert. He claimed that there actually is no evidence that the use of cell phones during flights would have any impact on the navigational system or equipment. He speculated that the government had probably struck a deal with the airlines, who wanted to promote the use of their own in-flight phones rather than have customers pull out their cells. I always think of that interview when the flight attendant tells us that we are surely going to do great damage to the sophisticated navigational equipment if we use our electrical or cellular instruments. Of course, today I didn’t think about this at all, having been one of those spaced-out travelers who forgot that she even had a cell phone.

Snakeskin jaspers and meteorites

This is the week-end of the Tucson Gem exposition. There is only one such exposition ever anywhere in the entire world, I am told. That means that I just had to check it out. People travel from Germany and Hong Kong to view minerals and stones, so I can certainly travel the 10 miles or so from the desert to take a look.

What turned out to be, however, even more interesting than the convention center's big show (yes, of VERY expensive stones-- even though there are lots of free ones in the canyon -- see yesterday's post) was the off-off-off Broadway of gem shows -- the one in tents and warehouses at the edge of town. Now that was worth the hike! Australian opal mixed in with Pakistani onyx, Peruvian minerals, meteorites, Snakeskin jasper -- more names than even yesterday's litany of cacti species. And let me not forget the Indian (from India) patchwork quilts and Afghani carpets.

I bought a carpet woven in Afghanistan-- it seemed fitting to do so at Tucson's biggest-in-the-world gem show. The man was selling it from the back of his truck. His pal had some more in a tent not too far away, as you head toward the desert. The land around me and the weather seemed much like I imagine Afghanistan to be (I am quite uninformed and so I could be off by several zones, but I think it's a fair guess). The seller explained to me how the old man who had made the carpet was dead now, but his son had taken over and was making fine carpets -- maybe he'll bring some next year to Tucson. The other seller, the one in the tent, told me that he had a regular customer in Wisconsin: he asked me if I knew where Madison was. The skeptics may scoff at my naivete ('how do you know it's real'?), but I really have no doubt that it is quite authentic. And, even more importantly, it is very beautiful.

Back home tomorrow, carpet under my arm, rocks, cacti and mountain lions on my mind, and some good photos taken of all but the mountain lions -- couldn't get one to stand still long enough (or maybe it was only a pack rat?).

Thanks, Florida and Texas lawyer pals and Arizona desert friends, for taking in a northerner for a while.

regrets

I saw a newspaper lying around -- it was yesterday's paper, tossed to the side, about to be trashed forever. I couldn't help myself - I picked it up. It was innocent on my part: I'd never read a copy of the Arizona Star before. I wanted to see its tone, maybe find some interesting story about desert life (though I felt certain that there would not be desert news per se: the sun goes up, shines brilliantly, goes down. The end of another day).

The news was of the type you'd find anywhere: a Valentine Day's story of some improbable love, a heroic local rescue of someone's pet, an accident here, a robbery there.

I was about to toss the whole thing away when the words "Madison, Wisconsin" caught my attention. I read it, but wish I hadn't.

Is it true, then, that a reporter in Madison asked Kerry if he had had an extramarital affair? Were there rumors circulating to that effect? A day without news should have been a week withouth news if this is what the media is playing with now.

It is not surprising that Kerry would deny this (assuming, for argument's sake that it is a valid rumor). If a scream percipitated Dean's slide, what would an admission of this sort do to Kerry? But what is discouraging is the insatiable desire to pursue these types of questions. After all. do we fully understand at this point all that each candidate can offer? What policies they stand behind? What implementation tools and strategies they propose to use if elected? Have we weighed these against the three and a half grueling years of GWB? No? Well, shouldn't we get on with that project?

I read that subsequently, Kerry was asked: "is there anything that you want to tell us that's going to come up?" Do I understand this question to be asking -- is there anything incriminating that we can't quite lay our finger on now, but you'd like to share anyway, just in case we eventually learn about it? I'll let you imagine Kerry's brilliant reply [hint: it starts with the letter ""n"].

mountain lions??

What good is a sign that warns you of recent sightings of mountain lions? If you're in a canyon, and a mountain lion runs into you by accident, or you into him, what earthly protection is there for you?

The day proceeds without any reading of political headlines, and without a single lawyer joke. We leave that to the rest of the world. My partners in this desert madness took me instead into a canyon studded with cacti. So many new names to remember -- I wont even begin to demonstrate here how little knowledge of desert plantlife I have retained.

I have only two quick little recollections for now: the first is of the moment after that long hike EVEN DEEPER into the desert (it's not enough that I can be attacked by these plants at night if I am not careful), when finally I could stretch out on a flat rock and look up at a relentlessly blue sky: priceless. Especially the lying down part. Rocks and canyons and steep inclines go together.

My second recollection is of waiting for the little truck thing to come and take us deeper into the canyon. A couple of other folks were heading in the same direction and so we stood there together, strangers, bound by a common desire to see a million more cacti and perhaps an odd bird or two. I kid you not-- these folks were speaking Polish. I promise, I don't seek this out, it follows me all over the world. Even in the desert, I WILL find the one Pole who also decided at this moment to risk testing the will of the stray bobcat or the mountain lion. How odd to never escape your heritage in this way.

Sun's up in the canyon

..and the Internet is still working, whaddaya know..

It was to be a week-end with no politics -- what do coyotes know about democratic candidates after all -- but I can't quite leave it behind, even if I am not reading any headlines.

I am here with three lawyer types (and one more who comes in and out), or, more accurately, freinds (sorry, no spell-check to catch mistypes in the canyon) who once studied law with me. One of them actually lives in the desert. This morning, for instance, I woke up to dangerous looking cacti specimens that I could touch if I stretched long enough.

But politics joined the rising sun that came up very very slowly (bored with making an appearance every single day?) over the mountains. Our discussion was about whom we don't like more: candidate X, Y, or Z. Is it always like this? Eliminating the bad rather than pursuing the noble?

I am the only one in this group that still lives up north year round. This is the first time that I got greeted with -- so, what IS Wisconsin thinking these days? We are on the map!

a late note from a disoriented traveler

On my flight to the desert (see post below signaling the great journey) I met a prof of physics. He was extraordinarily good about explaining the laws of the universe to me. By 'universe' I mean everything you could imagine (for example he explained why it is bad for chidren to read Harry Potter, and why the kid behind me was crying so hard), rather than a universe of the black infinity that is beyond imagining. Recognizing his gift of explaining, I decided to ask a question which has always bothered me about the sciences: why is physics so difficult to comprehend?

By the time we were almost landing in Denver (a necessary stop on the way to the desert) I understood that the world is really divided into those who think like physicists, and those who do not. My seat mate teaches the 'physics for poets' class at UW and so he tells me that he works with a roomfull of students who cannot cross that great divide. They cannot make themselves think like physicists.

The reason I found this prof's explanation so interesting is that it filled the two hour flight in a congenial way, and, more importantly it sounded so very familiar. We, at the law school, offer the same incantation. The world is divided into two groups: those who think like lawyers, and those who do not. Not having the luxury of teaching "law for poets," and knowing that we have three years before we have to let loose the next batch of so-called lawyers, we take our job of teaching them to think like lawyers quite seriously.

I am not sure I could ever explain what the physics prof told me about a physics mindset. It was supremely complicated. And truthfully, I, like his class, never really managed to cross the great divide: I never fully comprehended the world of physics. But flying in the clear starry night, somewhere over Iowa or Kansas, it was fitting that we should be talking physics, possibly the only time in my entire life, in a knowledgeable sort of way.

Taking to the desert

Don't even think of rechecking this blog until very very late on Saturday. The Arizona desert, where I will be spending the next three days is inhospitable to the Internet until the night descends. Thus I am at the mercy of the cacti and the creatures that rule the arid land. Cold at night, warm during the day, confusing to a Wisconsin person who thinks of winter as uniformly, painfully cold. Off I go.

I’m submitting my photo to the IRS

I never thought that it was permissible to throw in supporting documents with tax returns, but now I see that I missed countless opportunities to build a strong case for the integrity of my financial records. Since I have never been audited by the IRS, I am guessing that they googled me, found my UW Law School photo, and saw me to be the honest woman that I am. But this year, I want to cut their administrative burden and so I will append the photos myself.

I got the idea from reading about the 2004 Budget as submitted by President Bush. According to Krugman of the NYT, it includes 27 photos of GWB – in various noble poses with citizens like you and me (well, one photo is just alongside a shot of Mt Rushmore—his head next to the carved heads, suggestive, no?).

There is a picture in the budget where GWB is helping a child learn how to read. Now this just knocks me over: was the president taking time from his busy, albeit short work day, to help a child read? And did the terrified child learn anything? Maybe we should test the kid?

Photos in support of the budget. What an original idea! Kind of distracts from the numbers though, doesn’t it?

Spies

What is it about my sense of fair play that makes me live with the institution of the infiltrator-spy, but find repugnant the spy who secretly turns over information about his/her own country?

Yesterday, the Times reported the death of a spy (I can’t link – the story was buried and is now gone), a Polish man who had been central to American intelligence during the latter years of the Cold War. Here, he was a hero. Staying within the military in Poland, he passed on possibly some of the most vital military secrets to the CIA. He was such a staunch anti-Communist – it is said of him that he truly was passionate about his 20 years of espionage. His sole purpose in life was to see that the Soviet control over Poland would weaken, and that the Communist Party would lose it’s grip on political power.

To his surprise, once a democratic government was elected in Poland, no one there wanted to have anything to do with him. Walesa himself refused to pardon the guy. The country considered him a traitor to the nation.

Today’s press is full of news about the American soldier who allegedly passed information on to Al Qaeda. What demonic instincts would lead a person to do that? Even the least patriotic person would regard that as an immoral act.

But spying on the enemy? That appears to be different. Yes, it’s based on deceit, but it hasn’t the elements of betrayal to the country of origin. The infiltrator who obtains secret information is a hero in film and literature. They may be fighting for the same principles, but the traitor seems a tainted person, while the infiltrator is just doing his/her job. Not one that I’d like to be doing, and not always acting on behalf of policies that I would support, but still, just a well-greased peg in the machinery that noses its way into odd places where secrets are kept.

The world of plastic toys

To the reader who just volunteered to dig out her pink flamingo and lend it to me in order to appease my nascent desire to upstage the 4 neighborhood kids (whose total age does not even add up to half of mine): I am wondering why your plastic flamingo is in the garage, or basement, or wherever you are hiding it and not out in the snow where it would make the most noticeable impression. I am sure that someone across the street from you would get a real thrill if you went out and slapped some snow into a hill and then danced around with a flamingo in a carefree way. Moreover, you probably would not succumb to the kind of hostilities and rivalry that ultimately lead to the demise of the young pack in Lord of the Flies and are now threatening to chip away at the solidarity of the gang across the street. Or would you?

To the manufacturers of Barbie and Ken: what does it mean that Barbie and Ken are “splitting up” (read story here)? I always assumed that the white wedding dresses, the glitzy costumes, and all that Barbie paraphernalia, belonged to the world of plastic toys and corporate gimmicks. Tell me, which state are you fancying as that which will sanction your “divorce?” Because right now, I’m going to go out on a limb and say that I do not think that you are legally married to begin with. Marriage, so far as I know, is, in most jurisdictions, between two humans. We are currently debating how generously that should be interpreted, but I do not think anyone has yet suggested that the legal institution of marriage should embrace Barbie and Ken. I ask myself, wouldn't even the most liberal minds draw the line at plastic?

The night they invented champagne

A tip for those who are staying in town, celebrating Valentine’s Day, and want to appear loving and generous to their partner or friend on that day: do as I did today (my excuse – I wont be here on VDay): go out and buy a bottle of Michel Turgy, Brut – Blanc de Blancs Champagne. It is notable for a number of reasons:

1. It’s a relatively small house, and so you’re not buying the SUV of champagnes;
2. It is a great “sipping” champagne: full and robust, so as to keep you interested til the end of the bottle, dry enough that you never quite believe that you’ve already emptied the whole thing;
3. It is < $30. Now when was the last time that you had a memoralbe champagne (or ANY champagne for that matter) for <$30? Possibly never? I asked the guys (think: woman with short dark hair—she knows TONS!) at Steve’s if they had done a secret blind taste this year – where they taste a bunch prior to VDay and pick their favorites. I was told that indeed this bottle had come out at the top, right up there with Vilmart (those of you, and I know who you are:), who had met Laurent of Vilmart fame back in 2001 and have not yet admitted to being in love with the guy – I forgive you; one has to keep sane about things like that) and the other small family houses.

Write me if you end up buying this small treasure and agree – or if you get engaged or hooked up in an enduring relationship, or a civil union, or whatever as a result. I want credit.

Lord of the Flies, Redux

I drove up the street thinking good thoughts: the snow, Owen Woods Nature Conservation Park on the left, a bike path leading into a quiet neighborhood on the right.. winter light.. a peaceful landscape.. (the radio is off because of the pledge drive: I’ve come to my senses; see post below).

I’m home and so I take out my dog for a romp (that’s what I call a quick pace up to the neighbor’s driveway and back.. I mean, how long should it take..), I glance over at the snow hill, you know, the one with the flamingos (see Sunday post below) and I see --- chaos. The littlest boy seems to have his head stuck in the snow (or almost so) very close to that of the upside down flamingo. Big sister is whacking his torso with a broom. Middle brother is taking out the other flamingos one by one and throwing them rather meanly toward the bushes. Middle child (of yet unidentified gender) is staring at the scene, and am I imagining it or is there a hint of malice in his eye?

The building of a snow hill and the placing of pink birds in it was a beautiful image. I should have come home a half hour later. I’d never have noticed the missing bird or two, nor the hole in the hill where the boy’s head had just been.

On Wisconsin!

Today the Cap Times mentioned (here) that the NYT hinted at the possibility of having Doyle added to the democratic ticket. Governor Doyle has met with (courted?) all the contenders and so it is not impossible to imagine that if the one supported by Wisconsinites does get the nomination, there’ll be some gratitude floating around.

Doyle on the campaign trail? Well, he’s got the height thing going for him…(see post here)

Listening to the voice

The drive from my home to my office takes about 15 minutes. 90% of the time I have NPR going: it’s soothing in the morning (no one should start the day with rapid-fire speech of WBBM “all news all the time,” nor the thump thump thump of other invigorating musical venues; in the one yoga class that I ever took in my entire life the instructor told us we should start the day slowly, softly, contemplatively; I quit the class, but retained the idea), and it is fascinating during All Things C’d in the evening.

But I ask myself, what demonic force within me keeps the public radio station turned on during the pledge drive? “Why, thank you caller from Neenah, a very generous gift… we count on listeners like you to meet our financial goals… we need you to support the music and the news programming that you come to depend on.. we work for you… thank you for that call from Oshkosh, yes, Jane from Oshkosh called in, and so can you. The number to call is 1 800 000 0000, or locally, if you live in Madison, and we’d love to hear from you too, the number to call is 263, 7903..We have with us the chancellor of UW Extension, here to tell us what to him is so special about Wisconsin Public Radio.. Hello chancellor.. Remember, the number you should be calling, and our operators are standing by for your call… I see two lines open right now, so please, pick up the phone and dial..” and so on.

I have lived through pledge drives, and mini pledge drives, and during each one, for the 15 minute drive, the voice continues to make its case, in its atrociously monotonous drawl, on and on and on, and I am too lethargic, or inert, or unbalanced, or reasonless, or something (what?) to reach over and shut it off.

'Public radio. Funded through generous gifts of listeners like you.' Like me? Heaven forbid.

Really Lost in Translation

I have to say this, because I am hearing from some readers who do not know this about my writing: English is not my first language, Polish is. I learned (learnt? which one?) English during a six year stint in an elementary school in NY, but I spent my formative years (high school and most of college) in Warsaw. While everyone here was reading Hemingway and learning about “dropping the 'e' when you add ing”, I was in Warsaw reading Mickiewicz and learning about “kto uje kreskuje ten dostaje dwoje.”

NY elementary school English is not the language you can build a career on and I am happy that I have moved beyond phrases picked up on the streets (off the streets?), and in copies of the Bobbsey Twins. I mean Freddy and Flossie just didn’t have the vocabulary, nor the wit to say anything useful or intelligent.

But every once in a while, you can catch me. Although I think I am a careful writer and, in fact, I am not very tolerant of sloppy writing in general (hey, I had to learn the stuff the hard way, what’s your excuse?), I can easily be obtusely unaware of rule infractions. So, if someday I write something absurd (for ten years I thought the saying was “sufficient to say,” just because that’s what it sounded like to me), just say to yourself – oh, there’s one she doesn’t know. Chances are you’re right, I don’t.

Walk feminine, talk feminine

Tonya writes in her blog that by withholding “favorite movie rental” information (post, February 10), I am perhaps engaged in the flirtatious behavior of a bygone era: retaining elements of mystery in order to tantalize.

Could it be that she is right?

It all began in 1963 when my family took a road trip, and what was to be a pass-through in Las Vegas, turned out to be a five day layover, because my father had a bit of a car accident right there in the middle of the main intersection of Vegas.

Many jokes could be made at his expense now – all about wondering eyes and mind being elsewhere. Suffice it to say that the police faulted the other guy, though let me now, 40 years later, come clean and admit it: I was there, I saw it, it was my dad’s fault.

And so there we were, 10 year old me, 11 year old sister, frugal mom and stingy dad. We stayed at a seedy motel (that was the pattern of the trip) and waited for the sun to move from one end of the desert to the other while the car was being repaired. For a kick, my sister and I would go to the grocery store and work our way through pocket change at the slot machines. After two days of this my parents woke up and said enough: let’s do something that’s family-appropriate.

In those days, “family appropriate” in Las Vegas was hard to come by. Basically, it had to be a movie or back to the slot machines.

Not surprisingly, the theater was showing only one General Audience movie. These were the days that you normally didn’t let your kids watch “Lolita part 3” or “Sensuous Sandy” at the age of 10. So our movie was to be “Summer Magic” with Haley Mills over and over again.

The movie is a study in contrasts: Haley’s character (a teen age girl whose father just died, leaving the proper Bostonian family destitute) was one of resilience and strength. She single-handedly found an old house in Maine where they then moved, living off the land I guess (that part isn’t really explained, and the mother continued to wear fancy hats and dresses, even in Beulah, Maine). But the girl was also intent on being more feminine and a successful flirt.

The reason this story is at all relevant here is two-fold:

1. I have now demonstrated to Tonya my willingness to share favorite movies (Summer Magic) and real life dramas (car accident).
2. The movie taught me the lyrics of an influential song – one that I repeated to myself again and again as I failed to attract the boy of my dreams in my Polish high school (initially; he later succumbed to my wily ways; but then he turned his attentions elsewhere, proving that flirtatiousness will only get you so far). The song goes something like this:

You must walk feminine, talk feminine, act shy and smile feminine, complement his masculinity,
That’s what every girl should know
If she wants to catch a beau.
Let him do the talking, men adore good listeners,
Laugh, but not loudly, if he should choose to tell a joke.
….
Be demure, sweet and pure, HIDE THE REAL YOU!

So Tonya, perhaps you are right. I am but a product of my times, taught to be mysterious, secretive. True characteristics of a fanatically dedicated blogger.

Proud to be a badger

My seminar ended late (we actually finished early, but it felt late – one has to be precise in one’s words), everything about this day ended late, but I did manage to stop at Border’s on the way home to pick up a book for the week-end trip that I have ahead of me (more on that later). In the end I got two books, and it is the second, the unintended purchase that I am now remembering. Why? Because amongst all those front page reviews (that I read with great diligence and that I always way over-analyze) I found, snuggled between the NYT and the Library Journal, a review from the Madison Capital Times! It says:

His taut narrative language is direct, strong and original with a restraint lyricism full of trenchant observations. Particularly outstanding are the descriptions of Berlin crumbling from war and the oppressive ordinariness that accompanies apocalypse.

Aren’t you proud of our little Madison paper? That’s pretty heady language! [though in reality, I bought the book because of its really terrific smell. If you don’t believe me, go to Border’s and pick up a copy of “The Pieces of Berlin” by Michael Pye. You’ll see.]

A post scriptum to the entire “Fed Ex was late” saga

On January 29, I posted a blog about not trusting Fed Ex to pick up my grant application in a timely way (is anyone except me sick of this story yet?). A few weeks later I posted a related (according to me) story about Fed Ex not picking up 30 UC Berkeley applications for Fulbrights on time, thereby causing the Department of Education to summarily reject all 30 applicants because their applications came in a day late. Okay. That’s just a quick summary.

Today I read that Berkeley has been negotiating with the Department of Education so that they would reconsider their position in rejecting the late applicants. After all, Fed Ex has claimed responsibility for the pick-up and delivery error.

The resolution: the 30 applicants will get their grant proposals reviewed. Successful applicants (predicted at around 50%) will be able to call themselves “Fulbright Scholars.” But they will not be under the Fulbright program administered by the Dept of Ed. – they will be under a separate special program for them administered by the Dept of State. And the government will not pay for their scholarships. Berkeley (which will obviously milk Fed Ex for this) will have to come up with the funds. Truly the work of legal minds. This isn’t about adhering to principles of fairness, it is entirely about living within the “letter of the law.”

BTW (a term I seem to have used three times in my posts and 5 times in emails just today… the mind is getting tired), I remember that when university applicants are attempting to meet deadlines, they are given language that specifically states that the apps have to be in by January 1, and nothing, not an act of God (or Goddess, or secular entity), or war, or a late Fed Ex delivery will excuse tardiness. Maybe the Dept of Ed should look to academia for guidance in setting its application guidelines to avoid ambiguity. Dept. of Education -- academia, you’d think the two would keep in touch.

Astrology

Okay. The time is now. I have been asked in class, I have been asked in the hallways (of life), I have been asked repeatedly: do I think the constitutional amendment defining marriage as between a man and a woman will pass? I have avoided giving my opinion – possibly to make it seem like I have an inside track, or at the very least infinite wisdom on the matter. I have neither, but I will give my answer nonetheless (prompted in part by Ann’s blog, which gives the completely opposite answer): yes, if the amendment were to require a vote today, I think it would pass.
I don’t want to get into a detailed and terribly serious analysis as to why. Let me just keep it short and simple:

1. Ann (who speaks with a great deal of credibility here because she is, after all, a Constitutional scholar, and so I realize I am tip-toeing over terrain that is near and dear to her heart, whereas the Constitution is virtually silent on family matters, and the number of important Supreme Court cases addressing the family can easily be counted on the fingers of both hands, and that is only a slight, journalistic exaggeration) concludes that Americans treat the Constitution as an instrument that confers, and rarely (if ever) removes rights.

Answer: Maybe. But there are no words in the Constitution articulating a right to marriage (let alone gay marriage) and so we can’t really say that the amendment is “removing” a right. Only in 1967 did the Supreme Court even attempt to link marriage to a fundamental rights discourse. And, in subsequent decisions, it became clear that even though marriage is considered a fundamental right, the state may regulate it if it can demonstrate a compelling state interest. No one wanted to permit under-age kids, or fathers and daughters to marry with the state’s blessing. So, from day one, limits on who can marry have been acceptable. This train of thought is obviously not what the MA court chose to develop (in a split decision), but we are talking about the national read on the Constitution.

2. Many (including Ann) say that Americans are not that mean-spirited and they will not indulge this type of bigotry.

Answer: Americans are not inherently any more mean-spirited than anyone on the planet (except for a small contingency from some political... okay—off topic). But the reality is, I think, that Americans are made to feel that they are already giving in to things that run against their belief systems: they will feel themselves to be generous in granting same-sex couples access to some benefits. There are, after all, some 70 million Evangelical Christians in this country. Not to say that they ALL have uniformly strong feelings about gay marriage, but they certainly are under the influence of religious leaders who will not say kind things about this type of union. (n.b., did anyone read the story today about the woman in Texas who was arrested for having sex-toy Tupperware parties? The so-called "Christian" groups are a powerful force.) Can those that align themselves with the groups that repeatedly condemn same-sex marriage withstand the (almost certain to escalate) pressure to support the amendment?

3. One last point for now: there is the ever burning fear of the slippery slope. The perception is that the amendment is necessary so that other forms of marriage that are repugnant to our values wont also be pushed down our throats. Today = same-sex, tomorrow = bigamy. And why not (the argument goes)? The law is suddenly unstable here. Bigamous marriages based on religious beliefs have been rejected by the Court because of our adherence to a traditional belief system that favors monogamy. Oh-oh. That’s it? Gulp.

So, as of today, February 11, 2004, I am predicting that an amendment will pass. And, having said that, let me also say that many things can happen to change the mood of the country or to change my mind. Astrology is a tricky thing.

Now wait a minute...

Yesterday we got a really friendly call from a Clark supporter asking for our vote this coming Tuesday. Now what if that one call (and the fellow emphasized that he was NOT a recording, though our phone recorder recorded his call and so this then became an untruth, because he turned out to BE a recording – but I don’t think the misstatement is what caused Clark to withdraw), okay, sorry for the digression, what if that call had directed me to make up my mind once and for all, so that I was ready to throw away all literature on anyone else and plunge ahead in support of Clark? Where would I be now? It reminded me of the campaign requests you get from candidates AFTER the race, so they can better address their accumulated debt (and who is going to address MY accumulated debt?), though it is even more eerie to ask for my vote where there is no longer a "candidate" behind the name on the ballot.

Right on the heels of this I get in the mail a nice flashy card from Dean, all about how he and no one else is willing to stand up to George Bush. I liked the quality of the card, and indeed, in the photo, Dean appears to be standing, but I am thinking that my presidential choice wont have to stand up to Bush after next November because there will no longer be a Bush in DC. Instead he’ll need to be president. So I take the card to be a statement about what Dean can do in the next few months, that’s all. Interesting, but not persuasive as to ultimate leadership capability. But I will keep it in mind. I did like the fact that Wisconsin was the direct target for the card – the name of the state appears right there on the glossy front. State pride and all that. Also not dispositive, but very attractive.

Speed your way to bankruptcy

This, very buried in the paper today (buried, I suppose, because if you have stocks or caches of gold, you don’t want to give anyone on this side of the ocean legislative ideas):

Jussi Salonoja, the 27-year-old heir to a large sausage business, has been fined $216,000 for driving 50 miles an hour in a 25-mile-an-hour zone in Helsinki, the police said. The fine is believed to be the largest ever given for speeding in Finland, where traffic offenders are penalized according to their ability to pay. Mr. Salonoja's 2002 income was $8.9 million, Reuters said. The Finnish Internet millionaire Jaako Rytsola held the previous record for a speeding fine: $101,700. Walter Gibbs (NYT)

I’m really all for this: I mean, imagine the wealth we could tap into. And the headlines this would generate. And the smug satisfaction all of us would get from seeing rich people zapped by radar guns and being made to pay, pay, pay. [BTW, how does a traffic cop know if s/he’s cornered a wealthy person?]

I can’t keep to my own schedule

Though in a previous blog I suggested (to myself) that I review readers’ comments on Sunday (that was because it was a particularly slow moving Sunday and I predicted many more such Sundays this winter given my work load this semester), I am now departing from my rule. Actually it never became a rule, because there hasn’t been a Sunday since I wrote that. Anyway, ANY day is reader-comment day.

To the reader who asked if I knew about the drug trade that went on at night on the hill where she found out I went sledding – the answer is yes, I remembered and left shortly thereafter. However, sledding at the local hill near the high-school is/was perfectly safe and so I took a handful of runs there. You see a lot of sky – it’s open and quite beautiful at night.

To the reader who had gone back to a blog from the early days of January and read about my warped floors, let me give you an update: the floor boards now are so separated that I could store enough winter provisions in the cracks and keep us going for a whole month. I will call my floor person for another conversation on this come Spring. Update will follow.

To the super nice reader (I’m not suggesting that other readers aren’t super nice, it’s just that this one lives far away and doesn’t know me and still took a moment to be super nice) with the preference for rats over mice, just a note of reassurance: though you may feel bad about neglecting and not challenging your favorite rat in the past and worry that this made her (him?) unhappy – actually you don’t KNOW that the rat was less happy being left alone. Maybe s/he liked retiring from cerebral maze games: maybe s/he had burnt out and wanted a hiatus from all that intellectual stardom. Maybe s/he had been faking enthusiasm all along. What do we know about rat feelings anyway. I mean, it’s not the same level of guilt as, say, I would have over not filling the bird feeder (update: it is now filled and I have attracted wood-peckers to it and so now we are in the next stage of the vicious orbit of neglect-entice-expunge-entice etc..)

Winter dreams, part 2

Later...(see post below)

If I wrote about sledding now, it would be as if I sledded just to write. It was, though, a perfect night to work the plastic on the snow. Not pink bird plastic, but a sleek blue strip, with the terrifying speed of someone who doesn’t really know what she’s doing and can hardly see where she’s going. Sublime.

Winter dreams

A colleague in Madison once told me not to make any important decisions in February. It’s like your car, which, at this time of the year, makes all sorts of odd noises that have little to do with real maintenance issues and more to do with the abysmal state of the weather. Don’t take your car to the repair shop in February. It may not need a fix. It may just need a new month. Winter at this point is never ending, the short day never appears longer, the groundhog deserves to be impeached for his inaccurate prognosis, etc.

At the same time, February takes up 28 – 29 days out of each year. That’s a lot of days to avoid making decisions just because they may be tainted by the cold.

So, Mr. colleague, I’m about to respectfully decline your suggestion and go forth with my decision, inspired by a reader who found my rhapsodizing about flamingos on a snow hill sweet but misguided: I’m taking a piece of plastic (they call this thing a sled?? What kind of cheap garbage do we give our kids anyway? When I was young…) and going out to look for a hill. Sledding in the moonlight sounds, at this moment, sublime.

How much power in cheese?

A lot. Jonathan Alter writes in this week’s Newsweek:

Kerry is Brie and crackers on a rugged picnic. Edwards is a slice of American on a hamburger at Wendy’s [no! take that back!]. Even beyond Wisconsin, politics is still about how you say “Cheese!”

Battles brewing on the home front

Does Wisconsin need this much attention? As of today, we have a proposed constitutional amendment in Wisconsin proclaiming marriage to be a union between a man and woman only (thanks, Rep. Gundrum, we really needed that), at the same time that we will have this week same-sex couples applying for marital licenses to underscore the state’s current discriminatory practices that preclude this form of marriage. On Thursday (February 11, just 5 days before the Sheboygan showdown – see earlier post today) there will be rallies and town hall meetings scheduled, just to add support for same-sex unions, and (simultaneously) a hearing will be taking place before the Assembly Judiciary Committee on the resolution to support the constitutional amendment.

It is, I think, rather sad but predictable that this has become a partisan issue. In Wisconsin, the constitutional amendment has 46 sponsors: 45 of them Republicans. A family law question hasn’t been in the media to this extent since the story of Elian Gonzalez from Cuba hit the press. One hopes that the public is looking carefully at the likely consequences of each legal step taken. A few words on paper can have far-reaching implications for the many different families affected by them.

So this is Henry…

A reader directed me to a review of Barfly, the 1987 movie referred to by Roger Ebert as “one of the year’s best films.” Thank you. I did not know about the screenplay. For those too young or too out of it (like me) to remember, Barfly was about a guy named Henry, described by Ebert in this way: “a drunk who is sometimes also a poet. The day bartender hates him, probably for the same reason all bartenders in gutter saloons hate their customers: It's bad enough that they have to serve these losers, without taking a lot of lip from them, too.” One day Henry hooks up with Wanda (Faye Dunaway), another time he hangs (well, rests in a reclining position) with a publisher. The two women meet each other in the bar. They don’t like each other. That’s basically it. The movie is not heavy on plot. But Ebert writes:

“The result is a truly original American movie, a film like no other, a period of time spent in the company of the kinds of characters Saroyan and O'Neill would have understood, the kinds of people we try not to see, and yet might enjoy more than some of our more visible friends.”

Yes well, in case I haven’t been all too obvious about it, Henry is really “Hank,” and “Hank” wrote the screenplay. About this, Ebert says:

“Louis Armstrong was trying to explain jazz one day, and he finally gave up and said, "There are some folks that, if they don't know, you can't tell 'em." The world of Charles Bukowski could be addressed in the same way. Bukowski is the poet of Skid Row, the Los Angeles drifter who spent his life until age 50 in an endless round of saloons and women, all of them cheap, expensive, bad or good in various degrees. "Barfly," based on his original screenplay, is a grimy comedy about what it might be like to spend a couple of days in his skin - a couple of the better and funnier days, although they aren't exactly a lark.”

BTW, Barfly did NOT come up on the list of movies I would most like to see (earlier blog today). You’d think the survey would have asked “is there any person you’ve come across recently whose work you find intriguing?” Instead, it asked about sleep. That’s too subtle. No point in beating around the bush. Might as well ask outright – what kind of movie do you have in mind for tonight? A brooding flick about a poet on skid row, or something set in Salzburg with a lot of music, tons of longueurs and costumes made of drape fabric?

Showdown in Sheboygan

Story titles ought not have unifying letter themes, but this indeed is what we are hearing about the forthcoming Wisconsin primary (contrasted with Dean’s Downfall in Des Moines, from same news source). CNN writes:

Much like you, we're nostalgic for the heady days of January, when this race was still a race, before the Kerry Comeback became the Kerry Coronation. So, like you, we look forward to the Showdown in Sheboygan, what Howard Dean vows will be the mother of all comebacks in Wisconsin.

I did think that we were no longer important, but CNN reassures Wisconsinites:

If Kerry does clobber Dean next week and the '04 Dem race unofficially ends (Dean says he'll keep running, but then so do Dennis Kucinich and Al Sharpton).

Letting the story fly a little into the terrain of lofty hopes and dramatic suspense, CNN continues thus:

Undaunted, we cast our gaze today upon Wisconsin, whose presidential primaries have served up high drama and sparked comeback dreams.

This is the challenge part. Again, from CNN:

Dean's Wisconsin press secretary, Mike Spahn, said their uphill campaign boiled down to a dare, issued to Wisconsin's traditionally independent voters: You're not going to let the rest of the country tell you what to do, are you? Are you .... ?

Hmmmmm. Sometimes, I would very much like to be told what to do. Not to trivialize this (oh no, I wouldn’t do that), but isn’t it sort of like playing Spider Solitaire? You know, where you have the feature that allows you to bring up the menu and undo your last move? So that when you are indeed stuck, with no possible move leading to a win, you can undo yourself to the point where your choice lead to this dim-witted impasse. And then you can actually pick another card, and eventually win. So if someone could please scroll forward and tell me what would happen were I to pick candidate number 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, or 6 (are there still 6?), I would be a better voter come Tuesday. [For some of my options, this is just a rhetorical question; I know what will happen if I vote for Kucinich; nothing will happen. People will reflect how Wisconsin had this weird Kucinich contingency.]

Winners all

My colleagues,Tonya and Ann,have posted results of their own DVD rental survey (see post, February 9). Tonya states that the following picks were selected as matching her personality, taste, disposition, imagination, etc:

1.All About My Mother
2.One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
3.Y Tu Mama Tambien
4.Secretary
5.Igby Goes Down
6.The Man Who Wasn't There

For Ann, the survey came up with these selections:

1.Being John Malkovich
2.Punch Drunk Love
3.Raging Bull
4.Magnolia
5.The Man Who Wasn't There
6.What's Eating Gilbert Grape
7.Cradle Will Rock

The pressure is on for me to state my own results. After all, I did admit to taking the survey… Okay, here’s the list:

1. Titanic
2. Artificial Intelligence
3. Pearl Harbor
4. Vanilla Sky
5. The Blair Witch Project
6. Batman & Robin
7. The Avengers
8. Battlefield Earth
9. Eyes Wide Shut
10. Highlander II—The Quickening.

And the sad thing is that, as you were reading it, so many of you actually believed this, indeed, to be the list that best matched my personality, tastes, disposition, etc. Even those who didn’t know me, just based on these blogs, I'm sure you thought – well that’s fitting.

Let me just say that any survey that seeks to determine my viewing preferences based on an answer (among others) to the question “how long does it take you to fall asleep?” is suspect. If I say 5 hours (and this has been known to happen, though not too often), does that make me sensitive, anxious, brooding, neurotic, prone to picking films from the “film noir” genre? If I say 0 minutes does it mean I need action, thrill, violence, because otherwise I’m likely to zonk out?

As I said, I did find the questionnaire to be a fun assessment of movie tastes and preferences. But as for “outing” my list here.. Naaahhh.. Or at least not this time around. I blog a lot, but there has to be some mystery left in life, some curiosity.

So where did the above list of ten come from? It’s the BBC’s top ten worst films ever. The comments are ones I have no problem agreeing with:

1.Titanic: It sank. There. I've saved you three hours of your life.
2. A.I.: Completely artificial but devoid of intelligence.
3. Pearl Harbor: It battered my intelligence with such ferocity I could barely find my way out of the cinema.
4. Vanilla Sky: The lowest point of my life so far.
5. Blair Witch Project: Two hours that would have been more profitably spent trying to staple my tongue to my forehead.
6. Batman & Robin: [my favorite comment] I wanted to sandpaper my retinas.
7. Avengers: As the film went silent before the closing credits I said aloud: 'That was ****!' and got a round of applause.
8. Battlefield Earth: A totally miserable experience shared with six other sad and bemused people and 120 empty seats.
9. Eyes Wide Shut: What the hell was that all about?
10. Highlander II: Breathtakingly stupid.

Ivan the Terrible (husband)

This week-end’s international headlines offered intriguing and – come on, let’s admit it –tantalizing material about the imminent (March 14) Russian elections. Putin is a front-runner, but there is a list of five challengers, and one person on the list, Ivan Rybkin (a vocal critic of Putin), disappeared last Thursday. Just like that. Gone. Albina, his wife, filed a missing persons report, convinced that her husband was at the very least kidnapped, or even worse, brutally murdered.

I want to know how many of us were thinking “boy, once a KGB-kind of nation, always a KGB-kind of nation” or “now, there’s a country with really vicious pre-election politicking!”

Albina now must feel quite mortified. Her “missing” husband had simply gone to Kiev (note story in the Times) for a “break” to visit “friends.” Didn’t want to be bothered, didn’t look at the press (he was having a “busy” week-end) until today, when he learned that there was a huge man-hunt going on (apparently their intelligence isn’t any better than that in “other” countries, though I dare say that one Russian man is even harder to find than WMD).

Or, maybe Albina is one smart woman: she probably knew all along and wanted to make a media show of her husband’s “disappearance.” And to think that our press made a big deal of Judith Dean being “unsupportive.”