these guys know their beer
5 days ago
Friday, July 30, 2004
A comment on the green-eyed monster play
During last night’s dinner (see post below) the topic of what to do with out-of-town visitors came up. I was asked if I had taken my group last week-end to American Players Theater. I replied that I hadn’t because they were performing Othello and I didn’t much care for Othello.
Dead silence. You could hear the proverbial grease sizzle on a hot platter in the kitchen 1 mile away.
Finally, The Question sprang to the lips of one shocked listener: “You don’t like Othello? Is there something WRONG with Othello? What the hell is the matter with you??” (perhaps I only imagined that last part).
I couldn’t think of a reason for my anti-Othello stance. I quickly went on assure everyone that I did like Twelfth Night and Macbeth alright, and blog readers have heard me rave about Romeo and Juliet (a bit déclassé these days perhaps, but what can I say, it’s the truth), just so everyone would resume eating and the dreaded silence-after-a-bombshell would cease to be (or not to be).
This morning, still burning with shame I clicked through my favorite online presses and lo and behold, what light through yonder paper shined if not an article in the International Herald Tribune (here) on Shakespeare-hate.
The author describes the waning popularity in England for the works of William S.. According to the journalist, this is for good reason, which can be summarized thus: boring and incomprehensible.
I wouldn’t go that far. Listening to the poetry of Juliet’s speech to Romeo is, in my opinion, unbelievably moving. Tear-jerking, in fact, in its loveliness. And how about Macbeth’s words:
Whoa! That’s positively chilling!
But I am with the IHT writer when he says this about professed Shakespeare-love:
"There are those who believe that to sprinkle his words into a conversation shows how smart they are. Discussing politics, you might hear someone say: "A peace above all earthly dignities, a still and quiet conscience." You know it's Shakespeare because you don't have a clue what it means. But you feel obliged to nod knowingly."
I feel empowered after reading this. Suddenly I feel no compulsion to suck up to the Othello lovers amongst you. Chances are you don’t much care for it either but are afraid to admit it. What's wrong with it? Plenty! It’s depressing, it’s long and it gives us the green-eyed monster label to a perfectly normal feeling that every person in the world experiences now and then.
Dead silence. You could hear the proverbial grease sizzle on a hot platter in the kitchen 1 mile away.
Finally, The Question sprang to the lips of one shocked listener: “You don’t like Othello? Is there something WRONG with Othello? What the hell is the matter with you??” (perhaps I only imagined that last part).
I couldn’t think of a reason for my anti-Othello stance. I quickly went on assure everyone that I did like Twelfth Night and Macbeth alright, and blog readers have heard me rave about Romeo and Juliet (a bit déclassé these days perhaps, but what can I say, it’s the truth), just so everyone would resume eating and the dreaded silence-after-a-bombshell would cease to be (or not to be).
This morning, still burning with shame I clicked through my favorite online presses and lo and behold, what light through yonder paper shined if not an article in the International Herald Tribune (here) on Shakespeare-hate.
The author describes the waning popularity in England for the works of William S.. According to the journalist, this is for good reason, which can be summarized thus: boring and incomprehensible.
I wouldn’t go that far. Listening to the poetry of Juliet’s speech to Romeo is, in my opinion, unbelievably moving. Tear-jerking, in fact, in its loveliness. And how about Macbeth’s words:
“Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.”
Whoa! That’s positively chilling!
But I am with the IHT writer when he says this about professed Shakespeare-love:
"There are those who believe that to sprinkle his words into a conversation shows how smart they are. Discussing politics, you might hear someone say: "A peace above all earthly dignities, a still and quiet conscience." You know it's Shakespeare because you don't have a clue what it means. But you feel obliged to nod knowingly."
I feel empowered after reading this. Suddenly I feel no compulsion to suck up to the Othello lovers amongst you. Chances are you don’t much care for it either but are afraid to admit it. What's wrong with it? Plenty! It’s depressing, it’s long and it gives us the green-eyed monster label to a perfectly normal feeling that every person in the world experiences now and then.
Convention notes: no, not THAT Convention!
The monthly convention of UW bloggers (A, B, C and F) took place last night at L’Etoile, pulling together for me different strands from my days into one tasty package.
Though blogging about blogger digestion (indigestion?) is proving less compelling now (as opposed to after the first such meetings some months back), I did want to offer a comment about the effect of regular convening on one’s awareness of the passage of time. Weren’t we just toasting the end of Spring teaching? Heavens! How did we move so quickly into (almost) August, with its odd mixture of vacation days and Fall teaching preparations?
Last night’s dinner meeting had many more serious elements than in the past. We returned to the topic of challenges facing bloggers again and again. Perhaps for this reason, all* but one of the bloggers (I’ll let the readers guess which one) chose to end the evening with a rousing spin on the hip hop dance floor.
All conventions should end with such a healthy discharge of physical energy.**
* Those that hip hopped late into the night were impressive. Really impressive. It just goes to show that you can’t judge a blogger by his/her blogger image. Sedate? Staid? Serious? Sedentary? Certainly not.
** I could not resist this plug at physical activity, if only to live up to the pronouncements made last night about this blog. It was determined that “Ocean” ranks highest (of the 4 blogs) in terms of spewing forth mantra about good, healthy living (what with references to long walks and market foods, it appears to read like a column out of “Organic Lifestyle” or some equally virtuous, health-oriented magazine). “Ocean” was deemed also to be the most chronologically journalistic. Though I disagreed vehemently with this latter description (come on, this post is the exception!), I was glad that at least it did not get the “weirdest blog” award. No such prize was granted last night, but since “Ocean” was, in terms of awards and characterizations, on a bit of a roll, I was worried.
Though blogging about blogger digestion (indigestion?) is proving less compelling now (as opposed to after the first such meetings some months back), I did want to offer a comment about the effect of regular convening on one’s awareness of the passage of time. Weren’t we just toasting the end of Spring teaching? Heavens! How did we move so quickly into (almost) August, with its odd mixture of vacation days and Fall teaching preparations?
Last night’s dinner meeting had many more serious elements than in the past. We returned to the topic of challenges facing bloggers again and again. Perhaps for this reason, all* but one of the bloggers (I’ll let the readers guess which one) chose to end the evening with a rousing spin on the hip hop dance floor.
All conventions should end with such a healthy discharge of physical energy.**
* Those that hip hopped late into the night were impressive. Really impressive. It just goes to show that you can’t judge a blogger by his/her blogger image. Sedate? Staid? Serious? Sedentary? Certainly not.
** I could not resist this plug at physical activity, if only to live up to the pronouncements made last night about this blog. It was determined that “Ocean” ranks highest (of the 4 blogs) in terms of spewing forth mantra about good, healthy living (what with references to long walks and market foods, it appears to read like a column out of “Organic Lifestyle” or some equally virtuous, health-oriented magazine). “Ocean” was deemed also to be the most chronologically journalistic. Though I disagreed vehemently with this latter description (come on, this post is the exception!), I was glad that at least it did not get the “weirdest blog” award. No such prize was granted last night, but since “Ocean” was, in terms of awards and characterizations, on a bit of a roll, I was worried.
Thursday, July 29, 2004
Food, grocery stores and idealism
David Brooks, author of “Bobos in Paradise” and the more recent “On Paradise Drive,” has a way of tapping into the sore spots in my generation’s outlook on life, love and consumer goods. I was not surprised, therefore, to see him cited in this week’s Isthmus article on the Madison organic food market expansion.
Why do we shop at Willy Street, Magic Mill and especially Whole Foods? Well yes, because the food is damn healthy and tasty, and efforts are made by the stores to support small, regional farms that have respect not only for the food but for also the environment (meaning they practice sustainable agriculture). A win-win situation –but for the prices.
Enter the cheaper, but still trendy Trader Joe’s. Or – about to enter, since, as the Isthmus piece tells us, no decision has been made as yet if it will occupy the anointed grocery spot on Monroe Street (EVERY grocer in town wants that spot which lays there waiting for the well heeled click click of Vilas – Edgewood area shoes.) The battle between Trader Joe’s and Willy Street to woo the developers is at the heart of the news story.
But I want to return to the Brooks comment, which addresses (ridicules?) our state of the mind as we enter the grocery store. We are indeed longing for that feel-good market shopping experience. And, ever since Whole Foods and before that, Magic Mill, moved to the west side, grocery shopping has become a happy experience for me. I hated grocery shopping prior to this in the same way that I still hate going to big malls. But is it only because of the better food that I am now happily throwing pricey items into my green cart? Brooks says that the “feel good” experience stems from something else. He writes:
“You get the impression that everybody associated with Trader Joe’s [fill in: Magic Mill, Willy Street, Whole Foods] is excessively good – that every cashier is on temporary furlough from Amnesty International, that the chipotle-pepper hummus was mixed by pluralist Muslims committed to equal rights for women, that the Irish soda bread was baked by indigenous U2 groupies marching in Belfast for Protestant-Catholic reconciliation and that the olive spread was prepared by idealistic Athenians who are reaching out to the Turks on the whole matter of Cyprus.”
Exactly! You mean all that’s not really the case????
I have to add, as a post scriptum, that Brooks doesn’t forget to throw a quick little punch at our restaurant culture. He writes: “the rule in these pedestrian-friendly town centers [nc: hello State street] is ‘Fight a war, gain a restaurant.’ You’ll find Afghan eateries, Vietnamese restaurants, Lebanese diners, Japanese sushi bars alongside dining options from Haiti, Cambodia, India, Mongolia and Moscow.” No wonder there aren’t any Polish eateries – America hasn’t had much grief with Poland in the last century or two.
Why do we shop at Willy Street, Magic Mill and especially Whole Foods? Well yes, because the food is damn healthy and tasty, and efforts are made by the stores to support small, regional farms that have respect not only for the food but for also the environment (meaning they practice sustainable agriculture). A win-win situation –but for the prices.
Enter the cheaper, but still trendy Trader Joe’s. Or – about to enter, since, as the Isthmus piece tells us, no decision has been made as yet if it will occupy the anointed grocery spot on Monroe Street (EVERY grocer in town wants that spot which lays there waiting for the well heeled click click of Vilas – Edgewood area shoes.) The battle between Trader Joe’s and Willy Street to woo the developers is at the heart of the news story.
But I want to return to the Brooks comment, which addresses (ridicules?) our state of the mind as we enter the grocery store. We are indeed longing for that feel-good market shopping experience. And, ever since Whole Foods and before that, Magic Mill, moved to the west side, grocery shopping has become a happy experience for me. I hated grocery shopping prior to this in the same way that I still hate going to big malls. But is it only because of the better food that I am now happily throwing pricey items into my green cart? Brooks says that the “feel good” experience stems from something else. He writes:
“You get the impression that everybody associated with Trader Joe’s [fill in: Magic Mill, Willy Street, Whole Foods] is excessively good – that every cashier is on temporary furlough from Amnesty International, that the chipotle-pepper hummus was mixed by pluralist Muslims committed to equal rights for women, that the Irish soda bread was baked by indigenous U2 groupies marching in Belfast for Protestant-Catholic reconciliation and that the olive spread was prepared by idealistic Athenians who are reaching out to the Turks on the whole matter of Cyprus.”
Exactly! You mean all that’s not really the case????
I have to add, as a post scriptum, that Brooks doesn’t forget to throw a quick little punch at our restaurant culture. He writes: “the rule in these pedestrian-friendly town centers [nc: hello State street] is ‘Fight a war, gain a restaurant.’ You’ll find Afghan eateries, Vietnamese restaurants, Lebanese diners, Japanese sushi bars alongside dining options from Haiti, Cambodia, India, Mongolia and Moscow.” No wonder there aren’t any Polish eateries – America hasn’t had much grief with Poland in the last century or two.
Convention notes from someone who is still a bit mystified by American elections (even though these will be the 5th* in which I will be voting)
Ann writes (here) that she doesn’t “want to watch the phony display that is a political party convention.” Household preferences do force her to tune in, at least in the first days of the speeches. By the third day she prefers to retreat into a room where she can flip on “Amish in the City.”
I am less critical of the speechmaking. Where Ann sees Obama’s words as “banal” with perhaps excessive references to “hope,” I see them as a rather successful attempt by a novice politician to position himself as someone who can speak well to the general public. As for Clinton’s rapid-fire words delivered with his typical (and contagious) pleasure in being on the stage, aren't they exactly what Kerry needs to buffer his own lackluster oratorical style? And Edwards? Half of the country is taking in that Southern accent, watching the aged parents in the audience and believing that the ticket represents more than just the viewpoint of the liberal Democrats of the Northeast.
A commentator on NPR’s Fresh Air yesterday (believe me, if I remembered who it was, I would have said the name) noted the great transformation that has occurred in the last 40 years where politics have now become quite public. Before, politicians got elected, passed laws, waged wars, while the public watched performances of people belonging to the performance world. Now the two are intrinsically intertwined. We know that, like it or not, selling an image on TV is crucial. Who can deny that Gore lost in part because he could not shake the fueled-by-media accounts that he was two-faced? And how often did the media scramble to show us every instance of GWB misspeaking to reaffirm the idea that this man is basically illiterate? [In the end, it was argued that Gore ran the stupid campaign and GWB was the bigger liar of the two.]
In these times, then, the Convention is monumentally important. If GWB’s image is bolstered by the “performances” of the politicians who surround him, so, too, Kerry must enter on the wings of the best of the best, so that he can minimize his own particular shortcomings. And he has had a splendid crew. Clinton (whom Ann admits is an “engaging” speaker) roused the audience on the first night, Obama (whom I did not hear, but I did read his speech; Ann gave him high marks for his “delivery” and so I’ll go with that) delivered a speech that was rated A+ by a vast majority of the pundits and Edwards reeled in the unity theme with a number of well chosen and well stated sound bites.
I don’t even have to watch tonight (and I wont because of “blogger dinner” – more on that later). Kerry had his henchmen and women working hard to use the stage in the way that we have come to expect it to be used. Insofar as politics now belong on that stage, we had as good a presentation as we can get. Me, I’m saying a silent thank you to the openers -- Clinton, Obama and Edwards. Kerry can't carry the show alone. He needed their act and they served him well. Now we can all just sway and sing along to the well-known favorite songs.
* Presidential, that is (Blogger refused to let me insert a single other word into the title).
I am less critical of the speechmaking. Where Ann sees Obama’s words as “banal” with perhaps excessive references to “hope,” I see them as a rather successful attempt by a novice politician to position himself as someone who can speak well to the general public. As for Clinton’s rapid-fire words delivered with his typical (and contagious) pleasure in being on the stage, aren't they exactly what Kerry needs to buffer his own lackluster oratorical style? And Edwards? Half of the country is taking in that Southern accent, watching the aged parents in the audience and believing that the ticket represents more than just the viewpoint of the liberal Democrats of the Northeast.
A commentator on NPR’s Fresh Air yesterday (believe me, if I remembered who it was, I would have said the name) noted the great transformation that has occurred in the last 40 years where politics have now become quite public. Before, politicians got elected, passed laws, waged wars, while the public watched performances of people belonging to the performance world. Now the two are intrinsically intertwined. We know that, like it or not, selling an image on TV is crucial. Who can deny that Gore lost in part because he could not shake the fueled-by-media accounts that he was two-faced? And how often did the media scramble to show us every instance of GWB misspeaking to reaffirm the idea that this man is basically illiterate? [In the end, it was argued that Gore ran the stupid campaign and GWB was the bigger liar of the two.]
In these times, then, the Convention is monumentally important. If GWB’s image is bolstered by the “performances” of the politicians who surround him, so, too, Kerry must enter on the wings of the best of the best, so that he can minimize his own particular shortcomings. And he has had a splendid crew. Clinton (whom Ann admits is an “engaging” speaker) roused the audience on the first night, Obama (whom I did not hear, but I did read his speech; Ann gave him high marks for his “delivery” and so I’ll go with that) delivered a speech that was rated A+ by a vast majority of the pundits and Edwards reeled in the unity theme with a number of well chosen and well stated sound bites.
I don’t even have to watch tonight (and I wont because of “blogger dinner” – more on that later). Kerry had his henchmen and women working hard to use the stage in the way that we have come to expect it to be used. Insofar as politics now belong on that stage, we had as good a presentation as we can get. Me, I’m saying a silent thank you to the openers -- Clinton, Obama and Edwards. Kerry can't carry the show alone. He needed their act and they served him well. Now we can all just sway and sing along to the well-known favorite songs.
* Presidential, that is (Blogger refused to let me insert a single other word into the title).
Wednesday, July 28, 2004
The tears have got to stop!
But what can you do? The night is magnificent! A clear sky, a setting sun and an evening Concert on the Square that is set to bring down the house (indeed, it was so crowded that people turned a bit vicious in overlapping their blankets on top of your own).
Tonight, the New Zealander, Hayley Westenra sang in her debut orchestral performance. The music was deliberately powerful: Bocelli’s “Time to Say Goodbye” from Romanza (download it, the version with Sarah Brightman, everyone! Guaranteed tears! Or is it me? I heard this song repeatedly on my very first visit to China several years back: I will always think of it as a mix of China where I heard it and Italy – the country where I secretly buried my roots way back when... more on that next month), and then a beautiful piece from New Zealand – Pokarekare Ana. Sob city! I could not stop bawling. My co-listeners shifted the blanket a bit to disassociate themselves, but it was no use, because the songs call for hugs and embraces and tears. Schmaltzy? No, not at all. Beautiful.
My pal, John, from the L’Etoile bakery crew was there, performing with the Madison Chamber Orchestra. That, too, was sad – he’s leaving next month to study in Switzerland. I know he’ll be famous someday, especially if fame is determined by kindness and a good soul.
In the end, as I wrote in Japan, what you notice every time is the presence of the children. These little girls (see below) climbed up to the podium and swayed to the music. But then, so did the grownups. God, it was a beautiful evening. (And we got back just in time to catch the Edwards speech.)
Tonight, the New Zealander, Hayley Westenra sang in her debut orchestral performance. The music was deliberately powerful: Bocelli’s “Time to Say Goodbye” from Romanza (download it, the version with Sarah Brightman, everyone! Guaranteed tears! Or is it me? I heard this song repeatedly on my very first visit to China several years back: I will always think of it as a mix of China where I heard it and Italy – the country where I secretly buried my roots way back when... more on that next month), and then a beautiful piece from New Zealand – Pokarekare Ana. Sob city! I could not stop bawling. My co-listeners shifted the blanket a bit to disassociate themselves, but it was no use, because the songs call for hugs and embraces and tears. Schmaltzy? No, not at all. Beautiful.
My pal, John, from the L’Etoile bakery crew was there, performing with the Madison Chamber Orchestra. That, too, was sad – he’s leaving next month to study in Switzerland. I know he’ll be famous someday, especially if fame is determined by kindness and a good soul.
In the end, as I wrote in Japan, what you notice every time is the presence of the children. These little girls (see below) climbed up to the podium and swayed to the music. But then, so did the grownups. God, it was a beautiful evening. (And we got back just in time to catch the Edwards speech.)
Calling all blog readers: help save Pimbury
You may have missed the short little story in the NYTimes today (here) announcing the sad fate of Mike Pimbury. It appears that he is the last of the living Pimburies, having never married nor produced offspring. After his demise, the name belongs to history. [And not much of a history at that, since a quick Google revealed few Pimburies of note that could potentially survive in our collective memory. Most of the Pimbury hits are news articles about Mike searching for more Pimburies, as in for instance the piece titled “Y a-t-il un Pimbury dans la salle?” – is there a Pimbury in the room? And so on.]
I have no similar sad story to relate, since my maiden name of “Lewandowska” is about as ubiquitous in Poland as Smith or Brown are in this country. But simply because I am one of a million or more doesn’t mean that I cannot empathize. And so, I am issuing this appeal: if you are about to marry and are caught in the trap of having to pick a name (his? hers?) and a hyphen will no longer work because two generations before you have made a menace of your now multi-part names already, consider Pimbury. It’s easy, it’s classy, it’s short. Your offspring could be academics (Professor Pimbury) or cheesemakers (Pimbury cheddar) or book publishers (Pimbury Press) – it all sounds good. Maybe not gravediggers (“bury with Pimbury”?), but just about anything else. Give Mike Pimbury hope: keep his name going for a couple more rounds.
I have no similar sad story to relate, since my maiden name of “Lewandowska” is about as ubiquitous in Poland as Smith or Brown are in this country. But simply because I am one of a million or more doesn’t mean that I cannot empathize. And so, I am issuing this appeal: if you are about to marry and are caught in the trap of having to pick a name (his? hers?) and a hyphen will no longer work because two generations before you have made a menace of your now multi-part names already, consider Pimbury. It’s easy, it’s classy, it’s short. Your offspring could be academics (Professor Pimbury) or cheesemakers (Pimbury cheddar) or book publishers (Pimbury Press) – it all sounds good. Maybe not gravediggers (“bury with Pimbury”?), but just about anything else. Give Mike Pimbury hope: keep his name going for a couple more rounds.
Get out and smell the summer air
Sometimes I cannot get off of the computer in the morning. Small tasks pile up and by the time I'm done, the day is half over.
I should have this cartoon pasted on my screen (or, not to point fingers, but there's a colleague or two out there who might find it fitting):
But today, I was restless enough to push myself out that door early. I went to Owen Woods (a mere 5 minute walk from my house) and now I have to say, if anyone wants to see a dazzling array of prairie flowers, they should go there right now, this week, this day!
I'm including a photo below to help set the stage. But the real display of prairie color is even more beautiful. My advice to every blog reader in the Madison area -- go take that hike through Owen Woods (Old Sauk Road and Old Middleton)! It's worth it.
I should have this cartoon pasted on my screen (or, not to point fingers, but there's a colleague or two out there who might find it fitting):
But today, I was restless enough to push myself out that door early. I went to Owen Woods (a mere 5 minute walk from my house) and now I have to say, if anyone wants to see a dazzling array of prairie flowers, they should go there right now, this week, this day!
I'm including a photo below to help set the stage. But the real display of prairie color is even more beautiful. My advice to every blog reader in the Madison area -- go take that hike through Owen Woods (Old Sauk Road and Old Middleton)! It's worth it.
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
Café chatter
Oh my God, the woman at a nearby table is explaining to her professor the details of her nervous breakdown that lead her to not prepare for his exam. Does she know that all of us are only pretending we can’t hear? I am tempted to jump in and say: you were so right to go to student mental health services! You sound like you are completely beyond the beyond. Get more help! And pick a more private spot to explain your suicidal tendencies. Twenty of us know too much and are now sitting at the edge of our seats, waiting to hear his response.
UPDATE: He’ll let her retake the (philosophy) class in another semester. She is pleased. Morbid thoughts are pushed aside, the future looks good to her again. Such power in the professorial magic wand (or in the student threat of mental collapse)!
UPDATE no.2: Ah! Having addressed one issue she is forging ahead with the next: “what about my GPA?” she groans. He cuts her some slack here as well. Incomplete this, drop that, do this and it’ll all work out. She is dripping gratitude. She is also stacking her other health issues on the table for him (and us all). Enough! The problem has been taken care of, move on, move on! He cannot also be expected to fix your eating habits! The professor, the god, the therapist, the healer, the dietician – how much is placed on the shoulders of this poor man... How bad he is at saying “I’m sorry, I only teach philosophy, nothing more.”
UPDATE: He’ll let her retake the (philosophy) class in another semester. She is pleased. Morbid thoughts are pushed aside, the future looks good to her again. Such power in the professorial magic wand (or in the student threat of mental collapse)!
UPDATE no.2: Ah! Having addressed one issue she is forging ahead with the next: “what about my GPA?” she groans. He cuts her some slack here as well. Incomplete this, drop that, do this and it’ll all work out. She is dripping gratitude. She is also stacking her other health issues on the table for him (and us all). Enough! The problem has been taken care of, move on, move on! He cannot also be expected to fix your eating habits! The professor, the god, the therapist, the healer, the dietician – how much is placed on the shoulders of this poor man... How bad he is at saying “I’m sorry, I only teach philosophy, nothing more.”
Has no one noticed all the pretty little stop signs around here?
I think I am an okay driver. I have been behind the wheel of a car since I was 18. I was in NY then and decided the time was ripe to learn and so I called a driving school that advertised its services on the back of a matchbox and asked for a couple of lessons. The instructor came over to where I was living in Manhattan, sat me behind the wheel and said “drive!”
Since then, I have logged in what seems like millions of miles on several continents, in bad weather, poor road conditions, amidst tractors, cattle and bicyclists, in the glare of broad daylight and in the middle of a pitch black night. I have never had an accident. My driving is so calm and predictable that it puts most passengers on long hauls to sleep. I stop for pedestrians on crosswalks and I try not to run over little critters on the road.
But I am at my wits end when I negotiate the newly constructed little curving drive that snakes past the west-side Borders in Madison. This stretch of road seems to defy even the best of the best. No one drivers correctly here. Drivers pull out of parking lots (which, unfortunately, surround you on all sides) and side lanes without heed to convention or rules of the road, in the way that you would when you have no idea who has the right of way and you don’t care.
If I stuck to my guns and did what the good book told me (I mean the driving manual), I would be the proud owner of a pulverized heap of metal. So, in case you are reading this blog, let me send forth this little note:
Since then, I have logged in what seems like millions of miles on several continents, in bad weather, poor road conditions, amidst tractors, cattle and bicyclists, in the glare of broad daylight and in the middle of a pitch black night. I have never had an accident. My driving is so calm and predictable that it puts most passengers on long hauls to sleep. I stop for pedestrians on crosswalks and I try not to run over little critters on the road.
But I am at my wits end when I negotiate the newly constructed little curving drive that snakes past the west-side Borders in Madison. This stretch of road seems to defy even the best of the best. No one drivers correctly here. Drivers pull out of parking lots (which, unfortunately, surround you on all sides) and side lanes without heed to convention or rules of the road, in the way that you would when you have no idea who has the right of way and you don’t care.
If I stuck to my guns and did what the good book told me (I mean the driving manual), I would be the proud owner of a pulverized heap of metal. So, in case you are reading this blog, let me send forth this little note:
Dear city planners and road engineers,
You suck.
Sincerely,
nc
Monday, July 26, 2004
Distractions
I could not resist the London Review of Books at Borders. I was taken in not so much by the piece on Stephen Spender, but by this lovely sketch on the cover:
pleasant imagery
Well of course, once I picked it up, I had to read it (good-bye productive afternoon at Borders). I spent far too much time on it, including on the last page with the listings of “personals.” I actually don’t much read personals, but recently I’d looked at those in the New York Review of Books and I was curious how these might be different.
For instance, in the NYRB someone had posted this:
So then there’s the LRB. More sedate perhaps? Well, consider this posting:
pleasant imagery
Well of course, once I picked it up, I had to read it (good-bye productive afternoon at Borders). I spent far too much time on it, including on the last page with the listings of “personals.” I actually don’t much read personals, but recently I’d looked at those in the New York Review of Books and I was curious how these might be different.
For instance, in the NYRB someone had posted this:
IF LOVE TAKES, we’ll keep one NYC co-op and sell the other to establish a B & B upstate. You’ll garden, I’ll cook, we’ll write more books, play backgammon, embrace each other’s grown children. I’m a woman (62); you’re not.That is some ad. It seems more of a quest for a lifestyle than for a partner. I wonder if there’s room for his input. Wouldn’t another game do, for instance?
So then there’s the LRB. More sedate perhaps? Well, consider this posting:
Not everyone appearing in this column is a deranged, cross-dressing sociopath. Let me know if you find one and I’ll strangle him with my bra. Man, 56.Or this:
An inspired calligrapher can create pages of beauty using stick ink, quill, brush, pick-axe, buzz-saw or even strawberry jam. Pangrams of delight, but the worst sex you’ve ever had with a dumpy kibitzer (M, 41)…Good grief. Suddenly the NYRB “wants to open a B & B” ad is looking like the winner of the lot. I suppose if there’s a guy who’ll go so far as to agree to sell a New York co-op and to dig trenches in some run-down B & B, he wont much mind a game of backgammon now and then, if it’s absolutely essential to her happiness.
About rabbits...
I rarely do Net quizzes. But something about Ann's post (here) tempted me. So what state am I? Never mind -- too many true insults lay burried in the result! Slightly less insulting and perhaps, therefore, less truthful is the result from "What book are you?" quiz, on the same website (here).
What am I? Blue Pyramid tells me:
You're Watership Down!by Richard Adams
Though many think of you as a bit young, even childish, you're actually incredibly deep and complex. You show people the need to rethink their assumptions, and confront them on everything from how they think to where they build their houses. You might be one of the greatest people of all time. You'd be recognized as such if you weren't always talking about talking rabbits. (have they been reading my blog here??)
What am I? Blue Pyramid tells me:
You're Watership Down!by Richard Adams
Though many think of you as a bit young, even childish, you're actually incredibly deep and complex. You show people the need to rethink their assumptions, and confront them on everything from how they think to where they build their houses. You might be one of the greatest people of all time. You'd be recognized as such if you weren't always talking about talking rabbits. (have they been reading my blog here??)
Taliesin
I remember the first time I saw the houses of Taliesin (Frank Lloyd Wright’s Wisconsin residence, some 30 miles west of Madison) some years back. It was humbling, it really was. The scope of the project, the vision behind it – all a revelation to me. What did I know about architecture after all?
Organic architecture. It’s a term I heard quite a bit today as I once again walked the grounds of Taliesin (it’s a great place to take out-of-town visitors and this is indeed was the reason for a return trip there).
Of course, when you visit Frank Lloyd Wright places, you often find yourself asking the awkward questions – like, why is to damp and dank at Falligwater? Or hot in Taliesin West? Or, presumably, cold in the winters at Taliesin in Spring Green?
I do not really follow the discussions that would lead one to firmly articulate a position on the success (or lack thereof) of F.LWright in the arena of architectural innovation. But I can say this much: on a day such as this, nothing can beat a walk through Taliesin. The paths that work their way through fields of flowers bordering the corn rows, with undulating hills and patches of forest framing the scene, are a place of such breathtaking loveliness that it almost hurts. The FLWright houses are never a disturbance to the natural beauty here. That in itself is no small accomplishment.
Organic architecture. It’s a term I heard quite a bit today as I once again walked the grounds of Taliesin (it’s a great place to take out-of-town visitors and this is indeed was the reason for a return trip there).
Of course, when you visit Frank Lloyd Wright places, you often find yourself asking the awkward questions – like, why is to damp and dank at Falligwater? Or hot in Taliesin West? Or, presumably, cold in the winters at Taliesin in Spring Green?
I do not really follow the discussions that would lead one to firmly articulate a position on the success (or lack thereof) of F.LWright in the arena of architectural innovation. But I can say this much: on a day such as this, nothing can beat a walk through Taliesin. The paths that work their way through fields of flowers bordering the corn rows, with undulating hills and patches of forest framing the scene, are a place of such breathtaking loveliness that it almost hurts. The FLWright houses are never a disturbance to the natural beauty here. That in itself is no small accomplishment.
Sunday, July 25, 2004
Serious political commentary, continued: Democrats don't have as much fun as Republicans
A survey conducted by the Washington Post (read about it here) confirms earlier findings suggesting that Republicans spend their leisure time in ways that are more satisfying, while Democrats fret and worry more and, in general, do less on the week-end that would lead to personal happiness. (The paper notes: “a majority of Democrats said they wished they had more fun on weekends, a complaint expressed by fewer than half of all GOP partisans.”)
The WashPost commentator notes this about previous research on the politics of leisure and happiness:
Political scientist and wit Lee Sigelman of George Washington University, in a study he did a decade ago of national trend data collected over the previous 20 years, discovered that Democrats, on average, didn't live as long as Republicans, were less likely to marry, more likely to divorce if they did get married and more likely to commit suicide.
He also found that Democrats were less likely to say in national public opinion polls that they were "very happy." "Compared to respectable Americans, i.e. Republicans," Sigelman concluded impishly , "Democrats can be expected to inhabit a Hobbesian state of nature, a world in which life is poor, short, solitary, brutish and nasty."
Saturday, July 24, 2004
Some things that I am mulling over after this morning’s Market foraging for L’Etoile
Q: What’s round and comes in colors of yellow, orange and deep red and goes well with an outdoor picnic or summer meal?
A: The food items in the first two Market photos (below).
Q: Is that a burst of stars over the word L’Etoile appearing in all items bearing the restaurant’s logo?
A: It’s actually a sketch of a flowering dill umbel, which, indeed, does resemble a starburst. (See fourth photo below – they were on my list for today’s Market.)
Q: How come the blue and yellow flowers look almost impressionistic in their fuzzy contours?
A: Because I was tired and didn’t bother taking a second picture – even though everyone knows that blue and yellow are my favorite color combination and so I should have been extra careful with my photography when I came across this particular batch of flowers at the Market. Ah well, just think “Renoir” when you scroll down to the fifth picture below.
A: The food items in the first two Market photos (below).
Q: Is that a burst of stars over the word L’Etoile appearing in all items bearing the restaurant’s logo?
A: It’s actually a sketch of a flowering dill umbel, which, indeed, does resemble a starburst. (See fourth photo below – they were on my list for today’s Market.)
Q: How come the blue and yellow flowers look almost impressionistic in their fuzzy contours?
A: Because I was tired and didn’t bother taking a second picture – even though everyone knows that blue and yellow are my favorite color combination and so I should have been extra careful with my photography when I came across this particular batch of flowers at the Market. Ah well, just think “Renoir” when you scroll down to the fifth picture below.
Dancing revisited
(A comment on an evening with friends doing something I haven’t done in years)
Okay, so we left before the club closed, but we’re talking minutes before. My two-word assessment of dancing (from the perspective of one who has lived through many trends and styles) – it’s great fun in its current incarnation. Tonight, the hip-hop deejay was running the show and the place was electric! Also packed. So that when they played “lean back… lean back…” and you swayed back a bit (with an arm out for emphasis), you could actually lean comfortably into the person behind you, no problem.
I can’t write more – I have to be up in 4 hours to go to the market and I’m all danced out. I’ll end with a photo of the deejay. If you change the nose a bit, doesn’t he remind you of someone?
Stuck in my head now – “I like the way you move…thump thump thump… I like the way you move…” Fantastic beat. Really, amazing movement opportunities.
Okay, so we left before the club closed, but we’re talking minutes before. My two-word assessment of dancing (from the perspective of one who has lived through many trends and styles) – it’s great fun in its current incarnation. Tonight, the hip-hop deejay was running the show and the place was electric! Also packed. So that when they played “lean back… lean back…” and you swayed back a bit (with an arm out for emphasis), you could actually lean comfortably into the person behind you, no problem.
I can’t write more – I have to be up in 4 hours to go to the market and I’m all danced out. I’ll end with a photo of the deejay. If you change the nose a bit, doesn’t he remind you of someone?
Stuck in my head now – “I like the way you move…thump thump thump… I like the way you move…” Fantastic beat. Really, amazing movement opportunities.
Friday, July 23, 2004
One afternoon, two reader comments
A professor-type writes: “ [bla bla bla …amounting too ‘your blog is too critical’ bla bla bla] [It's] up to you, but ...”
A student writes: “…I will be a 1L at UW this fall. I am emailing you because I have been reading your blog for the last couple of months. I have thoroughly enjoyed the pictures of Madison and your commentary since I have only been to Madison once for two days…”
You can tell who your real friends are.
Sadness is…
…watching your dog willingly hop in the car, confident, unaware that he is on his way to Stevens Point for a 5-month stay because his owner, who has walked, fed, cleaned, scolded, loved him for 5 years cannot keep him during the rather hectic month and then Fall Semester.
If a dog bears the imprint of the owner’s personality, then, extrapolating from Ollie, I have to conclude that I am smart, persistent, loyal and peace-loving, though I make rude noises at strangers until they make the effort to pat me on the head. After that I am all over them, “climbing into their lap” (let’s hope this is metaphorical) whenever and wherever they “get down to my level.” I don’t realize that this is inappropriate behavior for a person my age/size. I do it because I trust them and like the comfy bonding that ensues. I don’t slobber and I like my own space, but I watch the comings and goings of people closest to me with an astonishing precision. I always know what everyone is up to and what mood they’re in. I tolerate the vicissitudes of their temper swings, though I sure would prefer a calm day. And I love food. I eat basically anything.
Thursday, July 22, 2004
A light posting
The house is near capacity – filled with out-of-towners, some experiencing the “Midwest” for the first time. Where to take them? What to do?
It’s the perennial problem: Madison is a great place to live in, a harder city to show off to an outsider.
Today’s plan was simple: a tour of the campus + home. Simple? Maybe not so much. The last of the visitors, arriving today, was to occupy a room that is rarely used. In freshening things up, I noticed that the light switch was temperamental: sometimes it produced light, sometimes it stubbornly remained oblivious to my prodding. I called the electrician and this morning she arrived. Yes, she. Aside from the 1960s TV ad featuring Josephine the lady plumber, I have not seen a single female in any of the service rounds I’ve had to schedule with plumbers, electricians and the like. Not even in Poland. Actually there were no service rounds in Poland, but the Ukrainian whom you hired on the side and paid under the table to resolve your electrical issues was never a female either.
“Josephine” came and took three hours (really) to assess the problem. Ultimately she deemed it unfixable, short of rewiring the entire lower portion of the house. Our last guest was scheduled to arrive this evening. I said “go for it!”Many hours and hundreds and hundreds of dollars later the problem was (sort of) fixed (even though it was only 'sort of' a problem to begin with): the light is now 75 % un-temperamental, so that on the rare, once in a decade occasion that someone actually uses the subterranean room (for lack of space elsewhere), they now have fairly reliable light.
Many things are spinning through my mind. Such as – did the house really need to be rewired (given that the light success rate has risen from 35% to only 75%)? And am I doubting this because she was a woman and therefore, in my conditioned eyes, somehow less electrically savvy? Was it worth almost taking out a second mortgage for this project, given that our very easy-going guest could well have adapted to the couch upstairs? And finally, now that this project is over and done with, how else may we amuse all these people that are passing through?
Just so you know, I don’t pamper guests. Today I forced all three to go out and gather fruits and berries for their supper. As a result they got me to bake the cake that was a household favorite for many many years. It’s called the F.B.I. cake (in honor of J.Edgar, who loved it) and it comes from Maida Heatter – all chocolate, freshly whipped cream (skip the sugar! Good quality cream rarely needs sweetening), and backyard berries. A tiny photo for the blog to commemorate a remembrance of things past.
It’s the perennial problem: Madison is a great place to live in, a harder city to show off to an outsider.
Today’s plan was simple: a tour of the campus + home. Simple? Maybe not so much. The last of the visitors, arriving today, was to occupy a room that is rarely used. In freshening things up, I noticed that the light switch was temperamental: sometimes it produced light, sometimes it stubbornly remained oblivious to my prodding. I called the electrician and this morning she arrived. Yes, she. Aside from the 1960s TV ad featuring Josephine the lady plumber, I have not seen a single female in any of the service rounds I’ve had to schedule with plumbers, electricians and the like. Not even in Poland. Actually there were no service rounds in Poland, but the Ukrainian whom you hired on the side and paid under the table to resolve your electrical issues was never a female either.
“Josephine” came and took three hours (really) to assess the problem. Ultimately she deemed it unfixable, short of rewiring the entire lower portion of the house. Our last guest was scheduled to arrive this evening. I said “go for it!”Many hours and hundreds and hundreds of dollars later the problem was (sort of) fixed (even though it was only 'sort of' a problem to begin with): the light is now 75 % un-temperamental, so that on the rare, once in a decade occasion that someone actually uses the subterranean room (for lack of space elsewhere), they now have fairly reliable light.
Many things are spinning through my mind. Such as – did the house really need to be rewired (given that the light success rate has risen from 35% to only 75%)? And am I doubting this because she was a woman and therefore, in my conditioned eyes, somehow less electrically savvy? Was it worth almost taking out a second mortgage for this project, given that our very easy-going guest could well have adapted to the couch upstairs? And finally, now that this project is over and done with, how else may we amuse all these people that are passing through?
Just so you know, I don’t pamper guests. Today I forced all three to go out and gather fruits and berries for their supper. As a result they got me to bake the cake that was a household favorite for many many years. It’s called the F.B.I. cake (in honor of J.Edgar, who loved it) and it comes from Maida Heatter – all chocolate, freshly whipped cream (skip the sugar! Good quality cream rarely needs sweetening), and backyard berries. A tiny photo for the blog to commemorate a remembrance of things past.
What should be moving – the earth under my feet or the feet on the dance floor?
I am to join friends tomorrow for a night of clubbing and dancing. I have a concern. I have always thought myself to be a bit of a wild dancer. We’re talking about the height of my dancing activity – late 60s through 70s. Perhaps the label was given because I arrived back in Poland at a time when couples were still twirling each other in traditional rock ‘n roll movements. I didn’t even KNOW the traditional spins and twirls and so I broke loose. Eventually things evened out because Poles, too, started waving, jumping, swaying and generally making spectacles of themselves on the dance floor, just like their American counterparts. Still, my energy level being on the high side, I think I was rather excessive.
These days I never dance anywhere except in the privacy of my own quarters. But others who have observed me have noted that I dance in the “70s” way. What does that even mean, I want to know? I have been told that jumping from foot to foot in little steps is just not DONE and hasn’t been done for maybe two decades. Well, fine, I can contain myself, but then, do you mean you lose all that leg motion? Dancing with feet glued to the floor? What sense does that make?
So this, then, is the dilemma – dance like I once did and have people smile benevolently, or adapt to the new, feet-glued-to-the-floor mode (so far as I can tell) and get the hips to take over? It’s all very nerve racking.
Oh, for the easy days of the Polish dance floor… [Below is a shot from my Warsaw high school senior prom in the spring of ’69 so I am a fresh and eager 16 year-old; frankly my partner and I look whacked out – like we’ve tangoed our way through the gates of hell; I think I forgot that this was supposed to be a sedate and more formal event.)]
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
“Go to sleep my weary travelers..*”
A blogger, who has been working hard to develop an “equilibrium theory of anonymous blogging” (espoused here), suggests that juicier posts are the product of blogs that maintain greater anonymity. As I understand the theory, less juicy post are an eventual outgrowth of the blogger’s inevitable acquiescence to the demands of popularity: the shedding of the protections of anonymity, ergo, leads one to become boring.
If his theory is correct (and I have every reason to give him the proverbial sociological benefit of the doubt – or is it the benefit of the sociological doubt?) then indeed, you, the reader might as well just scroll to the bottom and check to see the one or two photos and then kiss the blog good night, because I operate under no pseudonyms. Indeed, I am the only one of the UW fac bloggers who hasn’t even bothered to create a separate EMAIL account to capture those illicit, torrid and lascivious EMAILS that must surely come if you just dare yourself to be RACEY enough.
And so here’s the truth: most of my posts are not even PG13. They are above the Disney standard of violence and potty-mouth language. And there’s no sex. In fact, I dare say I implied quite recently that I thought a conversation between two people with high chemistry (movie: Before Sunset) was more sexy than a visual undressing and explicit groping and touching.
Still, I am all for truth in advertising and so on the days I remember to do this, I will post the rating that correctly classifies my immanent paragraphs. I start (and with my memory of late, possibly end) with tonight:
THE POST THAT FOLLOWS IS APPROVED FOR GENERAL READERSHIP OVER THE AGE OF 5 (under 5 – well, you really don’t want them up late enough to understand what a sunset is).
Post now unfolds:
It should have rained tonight (100% probability – the main weather website said this; yet, how can it be 100%?). But it didn’t rain. Oddly it didn’t. So the organizers of Wednesday Concerts on the Square got it right when they called the shots at 3pm today announcing that “the show will go on.”
The clouds were ominous, then less so, less so, until finally, just around intermission, I looked up and saw the sun declare its victory. What a lustrous, tantalizing night! (No visuals -- it's all in the mind, for God's sake, it's all in the realm of the imagination!)
* from “A Hobo’s Lullaby” – rated G
Reports from the trenches
A Madison reader and fellow blogger writes:
It all seems a bit overwhelming to me. Today I went to the Law School with my laptop JUST IN CASE I would feel compelled to post a photo (I cannot do that from my office computer). I turned around half way there because I realized I'd forgotten to pack my camera-attachment cord (needed for photo transfers). I was late for an appointment (only by 5 minutes!) because of this (the traffic was unusually slow, I'm telling myself). Cords are dangling from my bag, my D-link card is an essential item, my camera is getting travel fatigued.
The Q is -- should I take my laptop to the Concert on the Square tonight? To catch up with blog reading? Will they steal my shoes (read about it here) if I click click click at the sidelines? What am I saying, what has become of me, I'm one of the listeners! I go for the music! Still.. music, blogging, blogging, music. Temptations in your face... Free wireless, eh?
State Street has free wireless Internet! yes, it does! I am at Steep and Brew, outside, and ONLINE. if there was any doubt about this street's permanent utopia status...In the same hour I read (today's WashPost, here) that every incoming freshman at Duke U will be receiving a free ipod in the first days on campus (though 'free' is a term that has to be regarded with a degree of skepticism given that Duke has one of the highest undergrad price tags in the country).
It all seems a bit overwhelming to me. Today I went to the Law School with my laptop JUST IN CASE I would feel compelled to post a photo (I cannot do that from my office computer). I turned around half way there because I realized I'd forgotten to pack my camera-attachment cord (needed for photo transfers). I was late for an appointment (only by 5 minutes!) because of this (the traffic was unusually slow, I'm telling myself). Cords are dangling from my bag, my D-link card is an essential item, my camera is getting travel fatigued.
The Q is -- should I take my laptop to the Concert on the Square tonight? To catch up with blog reading? Will they steal my shoes (read about it here) if I click click click at the sidelines? What am I saying, what has become of me, I'm one of the listeners! I go for the music! Still.. music, blogging, blogging, music. Temptations in your face... Free wireless, eh?
Serious political commentary: On the campaign trail
From the Washington Post (here) I read about the sophisticated strategy employed by the Bush team to win over the media:
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
Picnic
The thing that I love about University Food Services is that they can really put on a good party. For instance, you tell them “picnic for 30 foreign attorneys + hosts” and they really go all out. The food: yummy chicken parts, brats (boiled?), imitation-meat burgers – on white bread buns, with pudding pies for dessert.
And the setting. This is one green town. Perfect for a picnic. So take a look at our beautiful environs (below).
Yet, this is all trivial. It’s the company that makes or breaks a party and this group is up up up up there in terms of greatness.
We talked about the work week for a lawyer in Japan, the US, Brazil and Germany. Work to live, live to work – a familiar theme. The Japanese lawyer is expected to bill 3000 hours per year. 3000 hours!! (In a top NY firm you’re closer to 2500 which is insane; in Madison it’s around 2000.) In Brazil, the partner in one of the top branch offices of a US firm tells us that you could not get away with setting the bar at over 1500. The Europeans and South Americans praised their stars for the sanity which prevailed in their practices.
Excuse me, I need to pause and get something to eat. The veggie burger sucked, even with all the condiments (available choices: sauerkraut (why??) and yellow mustard), all you could taste was the white bread.
And the setting. This is one green town. Perfect for a picnic. So take a look at our beautiful environs (below).
Yet, this is all trivial. It’s the company that makes or breaks a party and this group is up up up up there in terms of greatness.
We talked about the work week for a lawyer in Japan, the US, Brazil and Germany. Work to live, live to work – a familiar theme. The Japanese lawyer is expected to bill 3000 hours per year. 3000 hours!! (In a top NY firm you’re closer to 2500 which is insane; in Madison it’s around 2000.) In Brazil, the partner in one of the top branch offices of a US firm tells us that you could not get away with setting the bar at over 1500. The Europeans and South Americans praised their stars for the sanity which prevailed in their practices.
Excuse me, I need to pause and get something to eat. The veggie burger sucked, even with all the condiments (available choices: sauerkraut (why??) and yellow mustard), all you could taste was the white bread.
Facing reality
I have been avoiding my office for many weeks now in the way that one would avoid disturbing encounters with people who are going to cause one's mood to plummet. It’s just not fun being there anymore. Everything is significantly out of control.
I know, everyone has stacks of unread papers, but mine look like a monumental groundswell had caused all books and papers to rise in uneven formations on top of every available surface. And the problem is that I hate it. I hate working in conditions that are symptomatic of a chaotic lack of control, like an announcement to the world : “hey, there’s no captain minding this ship!” Indeed, when things get this bad I begin stacking books outside the door hoping that someone’s ignoble impulse to steal will make them disappear. (They never do.)
What to do? Here’s my game plan: Spend the afternoon dumping EVERYTHING on the floor and putting it back into newly developed and defined spaces. No leaving the office until entire project is completed. File cabinets are spared the overhaul (after all, I can’t see the clutter there), but everything else gets inspected and, if at all possible, trashed.
Today is the day. I’m a little late getting started, what with this blog and a few friendly exchange with colleagues who had mistakenly concluded that I was on leave (I am usually much more present in the building than I have been recently). Now, just one quick run to State Street to see what’s new there, maybe a hasty cup of coffee to pump the adrenaline a bit and then I’m getting right to it.
Okay then, first State Street.
I know, everyone has stacks of unread papers, but mine look like a monumental groundswell had caused all books and papers to rise in uneven formations on top of every available surface. And the problem is that I hate it. I hate working in conditions that are symptomatic of a chaotic lack of control, like an announcement to the world : “hey, there’s no captain minding this ship!” Indeed, when things get this bad I begin stacking books outside the door hoping that someone’s ignoble impulse to steal will make them disappear. (They never do.)
What to do? Here’s my game plan: Spend the afternoon dumping EVERYTHING on the floor and putting it back into newly developed and defined spaces. No leaving the office until entire project is completed. File cabinets are spared the overhaul (after all, I can’t see the clutter there), but everything else gets inspected and, if at all possible, trashed.
Today is the day. I’m a little late getting started, what with this blog and a few friendly exchange with colleagues who had mistakenly concluded that I was on leave (I am usually much more present in the building than I have been recently). Now, just one quick run to State Street to see what’s new there, maybe a hasty cup of coffee to pump the adrenaline a bit and then I’m getting right to it.
Okay then, first State Street.
Monday, July 19, 2004
Traditional dress and a p.s. on language
There was a pleasant surprise in the mail today. My sister, ever encouraging of my linkage* to my home country, sent a colorful little text on Polish folk culture.
From the point of view of an American, I suppose folk culture is quaintly foreign. I don’t even know what it means to recognize American folk culture – I would probably associate it with Woody Guthrie folk songs and Old World Wisconsin Outdoor Museum, though that’s a cheat since much of the folk traditions on display there are direct imports from European countries.
But for a Pole, folk culture has rich associations: it’s Highland music and dance, colorful religious processions, painted houses and wooden carvings. It’s sculptured gingerbread, thatched cottages and delicately designed Easter eggs. And it’s traditional regional dress.
You have no idea how much I loved my very own Polish outfit. I wore it at every opportunity – anytime you were asked to wear a costume or dress up, there I’d be, dressed in my full flowered skirt with a ribboned apron and my beaded vest over a starched cotton blouse with puffy sleeves. [The shoes were never quite right, but I’ve already posted about the odd shoe choices of my youth.] It was a long time before I understood that this was perhaps not what was expected for Halloween trick-or-treating.
I copied just one or two pictures of traditional dress from the Folk book and I appended my own photo from a 1959 party in Poland. It is a forerunner to the clash of cultures that was to be mine in a matter of months. My friend Janek is the cowboy. Me, I’m proud as anything to be in my own little heaven of lustrously shiny beaded flowers and ribbons. Bliss.
From the point of view of an American, I suppose folk culture is quaintly foreign. I don’t even know what it means to recognize American folk culture – I would probably associate it with Woody Guthrie folk songs and Old World Wisconsin Outdoor Museum, though that’s a cheat since much of the folk traditions on display there are direct imports from European countries.
But for a Pole, folk culture has rich associations: it’s Highland music and dance, colorful religious processions, painted houses and wooden carvings. It’s sculptured gingerbread, thatched cottages and delicately designed Easter eggs. And it’s traditional regional dress.
You have no idea how much I loved my very own Polish outfit. I wore it at every opportunity – anytime you were asked to wear a costume or dress up, there I’d be, dressed in my full flowered skirt with a ribboned apron and my beaded vest over a starched cotton blouse with puffy sleeves. [The shoes were never quite right, but I’ve already posted about the odd shoe choices of my youth.] It was a long time before I understood that this was perhaps not what was expected for Halloween trick-or-treating.
I copied just one or two pictures of traditional dress from the Folk book and I appended my own photo from a 1959 party in Poland. It is a forerunner to the clash of cultures that was to be mine in a matter of months. My friend Janek is the cowboy. Me, I’m proud as anything to be in my own little heaven of lustrously shiny beaded flowers and ribbons. Bliss.
* A famous blogger recently deplored the use of “linkage” and “signage” in everyday speech (here), arguing that they provide no additional benefit that would cause one to abandon the old stalwarts, links and signs. Having learned English later in life than 95% of the people reading this blog, I have to say that my hypersensitive-to-nuance understanding of it (fueled by the late-bloomer complex) leads me to respectfully disagree. And I am using linkage here to exactly demonstrate my point. Linkage, to me, bespeaks of a series, a system, with a common thread running through it. The same can be said of signage. It’s not just signs, it’s the signage in a given town or along a certain path. It’s the signage, not the pavement or the trees that grow by the roadside. This is a classic case of a word having an almost identical meaning but setting for you a different idea because of the context. In my sentence, nothing works as well as linkage – not links nor link. They would be okay, but linkage tells more – it emphasizes the system of links that I have to Poland. Or at least that is what my slow and shade-sensitive learning leads me to envision for the words under fire.
Happiness is less wealth and more leisure time
This morning the IHT (here) returns to one of my favorite comparisons between Europe and the United States: what is the value of leisure time on either side of the ocean?
Europeans work shorter weeks and typically take two long vacation periods during the year (it is my impression that the summer one often extends upwards of a month). Yes, the reduced work time translates into reduced wages. On the average, Europeans are 30% poorer than their counterparts in the States. But it is a relative deprivation. Consider these points from the IHT article (boldface is mine):
Europeans work shorter weeks and typically take two long vacation periods during the year (it is my impression that the summer one often extends upwards of a month). Yes, the reduced work time translates into reduced wages. On the average, Europeans are 30% poorer than their counterparts in the States. But it is a relative deprivation. Consider these points from the IHT article (boldface is mine):
...This image of a casual West European work ethic tends to be viewed with something just short of scorn among the world's other wealthy economies…
… Is Europe, which has about the shortest workweeks and longest vacations in the world, doomed to lag behind, a victim of its penchant for ever more leisure and an overly generous welfare state?
.
One response: If the answer is yes, then so what?
Rather than a failure to catch up with its more industrious competitors because of faltering productivity growth, Europe's more modest income level mainly reflects a series of policy choices that have tended to put a premium on leisure and equality at the expense of greater wealth.
…But for all the bad press the European economy receives, it is so far not performing that poorly.
…Contrary to conventional wisdom, West European productivity growth actually outpaced that of the United States over the past 30 years… Some countries, including France, now have productivity levels exceeding those in the United States.
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If Europeans are still poorer than their American counterparts, it is because fewer of them hold jobs, and those who do have gradually reduced the time they spend at work … Americans have been much more hesitant to work fewer hours, keeping the tally virtually unchanged over the past 10 years despite strong growth. The result: They [Americans] work 18 percent more hours than Europeans.
The Atlantic, it seems, separates two radically different philosophies of life.
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Polls show that Europeans are by and large happy to pay high taxes in return for social services, and anecdotal evidence suggests that the concept of well-being in Europe is less linked to material wealth than it is in America.
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"It's a different mentality," said Kenneth Rogoff, an economist at Harvard University and former chief economist of the International Monetary Fund.
…Giuseppe Roma, who conducts society studies at the Rome-based research group Censis, said European shoppers were increasingly turning away from status-quo purchases to spend their money on lifestyle products. The new attitude, he said, is to care about the "real quality of life," meaning, I may not buy Prada, but I will buy organic olive oil.
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…According to surveys conducted by the World Database of Happiness, which is run by Ruut Veenhoven, a professor at Erasmus University in Rotterdam, citizens in many European nations are more satisfied with their lives than Americans and other more hard-working nations, like Japan, where people have been clocking up even more hours than in the United States. More significant, happiness in the United States and Japan has been flat over the past 30 years but has risen in most West European countries.
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…"The main difference with the U.S. is that we spend more time enjoying life," he said.
I go back to this idea over and over again. When I came to the US as an adult I was stunned to learn that many Americans did not really take a vacation. I remember talking to a friend early on who told me that out of two weeks paid leave time (two weeks??) she would use one week to catch up with chores around the house; the rest would be spread to lengthen a week-end here and there. This seemed unreal to me.
And the guilt! When I hear people bemoan time wasted here, it is always a complaint that runs in the vein of "I didn't get enough work done." Here, the word "procrastination" is thrown around as an admission of sinful behavior whereby one is working less than the amount of waking hours in a day. As friends and colleagues in Europe stretch time spent on the pursuit of leisure, here, "leisure time" appears to be a quaint notion, associated perhaps with the rich and idle. Sometimes I truly think that in the States, there are only three categories of time: work time, chore time and wasted time.
Because we hide our desire to indulge in leisure, it is not a concept that deserves review or open discussion. Thus, rather than having a creative engagement in the structuring of leisure, we snatch hours of it here and there, feeling guilty and doing little to extend it into something truly magnificent.
Yes, this article is a reminder to me that not all habits of one's adopted country can easily become one's own. The denigration of leisure time is something that will always feel foreign to me. And I'm happy that this is so.
Sunday, July 18, 2004
Signs
Unlike most campus bulletin boards, the one at Borders is a model of orderliness. The signs and ads are neatly tacked, they are organized by whether they offer services or announce performances. But of course, the quality of the notice itself depends on the author. Here, I am fascinated by these, right at my elbow:
ROOM FOR RENT IN A PRIVATE HOME
Located in the fabulous Hilldale Community, this spacious room provides you with your own private entrance. There is space for a semiprivate bedroom and a TV room with your own spacious bathroom.
[nc: so, you can move in with your own rooms, but if you bring in a bedroom, you have to share? And there’s space to haul in a spare TV room plus bathroom? Fabulous neighborhood, fabulous room rental!]
Or, here’s another:
ENERGY MANAGEMENT THROUGHT BREATH
Would you like increased vitality, better concentration, and more health, harmony, and happiness in your life? Through the practice of breathing techniques, sounds, gestures, and body positions you will learn how you can find relief...
[nc: well now, that’s misleading. I thought “breath” is all you need. But there are gestures and sounds to master as well? Ah well, if all this will lead to better health, harmony and happiness, we should all sign up.]
There are also announcements that, while not wrong, are still slightly off. For example:
MEN NEEDED FOR VOICE RESEARCH
Let us record your speech for 15 minutes and get paid $15!
We are looking for healthy people to participate in our studies of how neurological disorders sucha s ALS, Parkinson's Disease, MS, storkes, traumatic brain injuries affect how people are able to speak and communicate.
[nc: is it that you could participate if you are healthy but have a neurological disorder? Or healthy in all ways? Or are these examples of trivial little abnormalities, not rising to the level of “unhealthy?”]
Of course, as I sit here mocking people's gallant efforts at posting announcements, I am probably committing significant errors at a rate of ten per blogging minute. Oh well, I'm sure I give readers plenty to laugh at.
ROOM FOR RENT IN A PRIVATE HOME
Located in the fabulous Hilldale Community, this spacious room provides you with your own private entrance. There is space for a semiprivate bedroom and a TV room with your own spacious bathroom.
[nc: so, you can move in with your own rooms, but if you bring in a bedroom, you have to share? And there’s space to haul in a spare TV room plus bathroom? Fabulous neighborhood, fabulous room rental!]
Or, here’s another:
ENERGY MANAGEMENT THROUGHT BREATH
Would you like increased vitality, better concentration, and more health, harmony, and happiness in your life? Through the practice of breathing techniques, sounds, gestures, and body positions you will learn how you can find relief...
[nc: well now, that’s misleading. I thought “breath” is all you need. But there are gestures and sounds to master as well? Ah well, if all this will lead to better health, harmony and happiness, we should all sign up.]
There are also announcements that, while not wrong, are still slightly off. For example:
MEN NEEDED FOR VOICE RESEARCH
Let us record your speech for 15 minutes and get paid $15!
We are looking for healthy people to participate in our studies of how neurological disorders sucha s ALS, Parkinson's Disease, MS, storkes, traumatic brain injuries affect how people are able to speak and communicate.
[nc: is it that you could participate if you are healthy but have a neurological disorder? Or healthy in all ways? Or are these examples of trivial little abnormalities, not rising to the level of “unhealthy?”]
Of course, as I sit here mocking people's gallant efforts at posting announcements, I am probably committing significant errors at a rate of ten per blogging minute. Oh well, I'm sure I give readers plenty to laugh at.
It’s none of my business but…
If a parent beats a child repeatedly for misbehaving in a grocery store, would you say anything? Even though many would consider this to be egregiously offensive conduct, most (and I don’t know that I am different in this) would say nothing. (Offered justifications: it wouldn’t help, they may only hit harder, they may in fact hit YOU, it’s not our child, etc.)
Lighter offenses, however, inspire me to frown at the offender. And lighter still gets me to speak up.
I’m sitting at Borders and watching a fellow café patron read through the Sunday paper. Many have grunted already about people (for example this guy) who sit at cafés without ordering something. That’s just irritating – though in a bookstore, I suppose the idea is that these tables are also places to sit at and leaf through books (and not blog on laptops perhaps?). My tolerance thus should be greater.
But watching this patron pick from the stacks clean Sunday editions of various newspapers, take them apart, read them, put them back together, replace them, then move to the next paper and the next just hits at the gut. He gets my evil glare for his efforts.
Mostly, though, one wants to be helpful. A time to interfere is when a woman gets up and walks out the door forgetting her purse. The desire to chase her down outside is overwhelming. The reward? Why, it’s the feeling of doing a good deed (a tame good deed, but good nonetheless). Or, is it that you finally get to slide into the now unoccupied spot at the table?
Lighter offenses, however, inspire me to frown at the offender. And lighter still gets me to speak up.
I’m sitting at Borders and watching a fellow café patron read through the Sunday paper. Many have grunted already about people (for example this guy) who sit at cafés without ordering something. That’s just irritating – though in a bookstore, I suppose the idea is that these tables are also places to sit at and leaf through books (and not blog on laptops perhaps?). My tolerance thus should be greater.
But watching this patron pick from the stacks clean Sunday editions of various newspapers, take them apart, read them, put them back together, replace them, then move to the next paper and the next just hits at the gut. He gets my evil glare for his efforts.
Mostly, though, one wants to be helpful. A time to interfere is when a woman gets up and walks out the door forgetting her purse. The desire to chase her down outside is overwhelming. The reward? Why, it’s the feeling of doing a good deed (a tame good deed, but good nonetheless). Or, is it that you finally get to slide into the now unoccupied spot at the table?
Saturday, July 17, 2004
BEFORE and AFTER, redux
The peak of the blueberry season. Fresh berries are so phenomenal in a tart: a flaky crust, a thin layer of crème patisserie, a heaping mound of berries, currant jelly and toasted almonds. It’s really a perfect midsummer dessert. And so I made it.
Eventually it had to go back in the refrigerator.
Except that it took a detour. Sadly, it can’t be mended. The bright side? It slipped out of my hand after the first tasting. And, the dog had a field day with the gloppy floor.
Eventually it had to go back in the refrigerator.
Except that it took a detour. Sadly, it can’t be mended. The bright side? It slipped out of my hand after the first tasting. And, the dog had a field day with the gloppy floor.
Running on niceness
Market notes:
* To Bill of Snug Haven for discounting my 6 pounds of tomatoes by 75% and, so that she wouldn’t feel less loved, for discounting the next customer’s tomatoes 75% as well;
* To blogger pal Dorotha, who looks just like her blog, for taking the time to chat at the Market and for introducing me to her friend [it is always surprising and disheartening when you are not offered this basic courtesy, as if a rude absence of introductions is supposed to be an inconsequential act of forgetfulness – which it almost never is];
* To the photographer who followed me around the Market today, for knowing how to give instructions without insult, and for showing me the wonders of his fantastic camera;
* To Artesian Trout, not only for the whopper discount, but for being willing to float me the sum until next week, just so I wouldn’t have to walk to the other side of the Square (for my tenth orbit today!) to use an ATM;
* To Bill again, for letting me write a check in excess of the amount so that I could pay back the nice seller at Artesian Trout;
* To Felix of Capri cheese for making a small amount of espresso ice cream each week because he knows I like it (he doesn’t typically sell it, but if you ask, he’ll save you some);
* To Ruth of blueberry fame who waited and waited (after she’d already finished selling her very last berry) until I had a moment to run back and get the correct checkbook to pay her for the flats of fruit [Ruth is a schoolteacher who supplements her income by growing and selling blueberries; she tells me that this is what teachers do these days – she was not surprised to find a colleague filling cars at their local gas station];
* To the bakers who prepared for me a box of croissants and spice girls to take home;
Thank you all. It means so much to have this much niceness charge my early Saturdays.
* To Bill of Snug Haven for discounting my 6 pounds of tomatoes by 75% and, so that she wouldn’t feel less loved, for discounting the next customer’s tomatoes 75% as well;
* To blogger pal Dorotha, who looks just like her blog, for taking the time to chat at the Market and for introducing me to her friend [it is always surprising and disheartening when you are not offered this basic courtesy, as if a rude absence of introductions is supposed to be an inconsequential act of forgetfulness – which it almost never is];
* To the photographer who followed me around the Market today, for knowing how to give instructions without insult, and for showing me the wonders of his fantastic camera;
* To Artesian Trout, not only for the whopper discount, but for being willing to float me the sum until next week, just so I wouldn’t have to walk to the other side of the Square (for my tenth orbit today!) to use an ATM;
* To Bill again, for letting me write a check in excess of the amount so that I could pay back the nice seller at Artesian Trout;
* To Felix of Capri cheese for making a small amount of espresso ice cream each week because he knows I like it (he doesn’t typically sell it, but if you ask, he’ll save you some);
* To Ruth of blueberry fame who waited and waited (after she’d already finished selling her very last berry) until I had a moment to run back and get the correct checkbook to pay her for the flats of fruit [Ruth is a schoolteacher who supplements her income by growing and selling blueberries; she tells me that this is what teachers do these days – she was not surprised to find a colleague filling cars at their local gas station];
* To the bakers who prepared for me a box of croissants and spice girls to take home;
Thank you all. It means so much to have this much niceness charge my early Saturdays.
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