See what I mean?
1 day ago
Monday, January 10, 2005
Blogophobic companies or loud-mouthed employees?
The debate about bloggers’ rights continues. Read about the conflict between the employer who doesn’t like being publicly discussed in an employee blog and the employees who feel unfairly treated for their blogging behaviors here.
The link lists organizations who have "fired, threatened, disciplined, fined or not hired people because of their blogs." Still, it is a partial story, as you’re left to imagine the transgression leading to the swift dismissal or disciplinary action. Without a doubt, some companies have taken a hard line with bloggers who publish their work stories on the Net. But is it really a revelation that employers tend to treat less-than-loyal employees harshly and at times unfairly? The more interesting (and pernicious) “discrimination” against bloggers, I think, is the more subtle reaction of co-workers or supervisors who are seeing a potential, yet to be realized threat, as if blogging opens the door for possible future negative rants against the organization, even though none have been posted thus far.
The link lists organizations who have "fired, threatened, disciplined, fined or not hired people because of their blogs." Still, it is a partial story, as you’re left to imagine the transgression leading to the swift dismissal or disciplinary action. Without a doubt, some companies have taken a hard line with bloggers who publish their work stories on the Net. But is it really a revelation that employers tend to treat less-than-loyal employees harshly and at times unfairly? The more interesting (and pernicious) “discrimination” against bloggers, I think, is the more subtle reaction of co-workers or supervisors who are seeing a potential, yet to be realized threat, as if blogging opens the door for possible future negative rants against the organization, even though none have been posted thus far.
Sunday, January 09, 2005
There are some people who just make you laugh and laugh
It’s important to understand that life is not all about laughter. Witty and clever exchanges, tease and banter – these are mere chocolate sprinkles in the cake of life (?!). Yet sometimes you wish for nothing more.
Thanks to the exquisite Althouse and the Tonya Show authors for this extraordinary day in Chicago.
[For the distantly positioned souls who do not understand the rhapsodizing about a trip down to Chicago, I want to explain that Madison is a great place to live in, but like every home base, it’s good to occasionally get the heck away from it, just to remember that the world has a long and varied perimeter.]
Oh, to preempt the questions about “what we did in Chicago” I just want to say that the trip was intense to the last minute. For example, I purchased two stools. One could argue that I did not need two law professors to help me in stool selection, but on the other hand, having their wise counsel made it oh so easy to pick exactly the right piece of wood to rest your derriere on.
Thanks to the exquisite Althouse and the Tonya Show authors for this extraordinary day in Chicago.
[For the distantly positioned souls who do not understand the rhapsodizing about a trip down to Chicago, I want to explain that Madison is a great place to live in, but like every home base, it’s good to occasionally get the heck away from it, just to remember that the world has a long and varied perimeter.]
Oh, to preempt the questions about “what we did in Chicago” I just want to say that the trip was intense to the last minute. For example, I purchased two stools. One could argue that I did not need two law professors to help me in stool selection, but on the other hand, having their wise counsel made it oh so easy to pick exactly the right piece of wood to rest your derriere on.
What’s cookin’ with the guy who first proposed marriage to me?
I blogged about him a while back, noting that when I saw him last year, he bore a remarkable resemblance to Omar Sharif (I posted a photo of the happy couple at the age of proposal -- Janek was 7, I was 6 -- here).
My ever-attuned-to-these-things sister (who lives in Poland) sent me the web address to his newest venture: an authentic restaurant-pub that he built in the mountains of Poland (there is an apartment for rent as well – rustic, but quite lovely). What makes it especially interesting is that it is very very close to the hauntingly beautiful *Alpine* valley of Rynias, about which I blogged just last month.
Here’s the link to Janek’s Szymkowka (I know, a mouthful for English speaking types) and just one photo from his site. We’re going to get on him to put up an English translation, but if you browse around, and find the photo "galeria," you’ll get a good idea of what it’s like.
To think this could have been my life…
Saturday, January 08, 2005
What happens when an American travels to Poland, falls in love and marries a Polish woman?
For one thing, he inherits a Polish mother-in-law.
Oftentimes here at Ocean, you get to read about Poland as it is described to you by a Pole living in the States. How are things for an American living in Poland? Read the absolutely delightful observations of one such person here.
And note that in this post he describes the burning of gingersnaps by his mother-in-law, who seemed unaware of the fact that you can actually quite easily halt the burning process in a microwave once something starts spitting fire and smoke (for example: unplug the darn thing). Given that I have been twice this year alone accused of burning things for guests, I’d like to suggest that it appears to be in my Polish genes to set fire to food (unintentionally, of course).
[Thanks to my sister for the link.]
Oftentimes here at Ocean, you get to read about Poland as it is described to you by a Pole living in the States. How are things for an American living in Poland? Read the absolutely delightful observations of one such person here.
And note that in this post he describes the burning of gingersnaps by his mother-in-law, who seemed unaware of the fact that you can actually quite easily halt the burning process in a microwave once something starts spitting fire and smoke (for example: unplug the darn thing). Given that I have been twice this year alone accused of burning things for guests, I’d like to suggest that it appears to be in my Polish genes to set fire to food (unintentionally, of course).
[Thanks to my sister for the link.]
Where is the sex?? Where are the dead animals??
An emailer thought the philosophers’ quiz I linked to earlier today was tame and he wrote to tell me that any hopes of finding questions about weird sex or dead animals were soon squelched, since both topics were sorely missing from the 19 ho hum boring little Qs.
I went back and searched for the quiz that I remembered finding yesterday and indeed he is right. How many dang blasted philosophers’ magazine morality quizzes are there online anyway? Turns out more than one.
If you have the guts and the stamina, you can find the one with the, errrr, potentially offensive Qs here. It’s Saturday, it’s dreary outside, what, you have something better to do?
I went back and searched for the quiz that I remembered finding yesterday and indeed he is right. How many dang blasted philosophers’ magazine morality quizzes are there online anyway? Turns out more than one.
If you have the guts and the stamina, you can find the one with the, errrr, potentially offensive Qs here. It’s Saturday, it’s dreary outside, what, you have something better to do?
WERN is not getting any pledges out of me this year
…You’re just too dismal over there in Public Radio land. I gave you another chance this afternoon. I am dragging here today and I expect help from friends like you. Some pal you turn out to be. I, too, think Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet is lovely, but understand: I was in no mood for the Death of Juliet scene – a tear jerker even without the haunting melody, so why did you pick exactly that segment to play today at noon? Something chipper and bold like the Dance with the Mandolins would have worked, but no, you went for the drama.
Well you’re on your own now. I can’t deal with your perpetual grief music. And no, it did not help to run errands to the strains of Verdi’s Othello. [Yes indeed, I’m in the car, it’s 1 pm, and there it is: “Venga la morte! E mi colga nell’estasi Di quest’amplesso…” Let death come! Let it take me in the ecstasy of this embrace…]
Well you’re on your own now. I can’t deal with your perpetual grief music. And no, it did not help to run errands to the strains of Verdi’s Othello. [Yes indeed, I’m in the car, it’s 1 pm, and there it is: “Venga la morte! E mi colga nell’estasi Di quest’amplesso…” Let death come! Let it take me in the ecstasy of this embrace…]
WERN delivers
Don’t think that I didn’t appreciate the music selection on Public Radio this morning. Especially Chopin’s Sonata no. 2, third movement (“the Funeral March”). It really was just The Thing for the long drive from the airport home.
Snapshots without a camera, and a philosopher's perspective
I often think people have an intersting view of Madisonians. No, more: I think we have a skewed impression of ourselves. They think, we think we have it all figured out. The Madison way is the decent, the tolerant, the correct, the just way. We are a town of high principles.
Occasionally, street scenes can stump us though. Yesterday, on the median strip at University Ave and Shorewood Blvd, a man sat down and played in the snow. Oh, he tried to get up, but his shopping bag seemed to get the better of him, so he opted to stay put and toss snow around in the air. Some people slowed their cars down, thinking – he needs help, doesn’t he? But what kind of help? The choices were limited (thankfully?), because there is no place to stop at that particular intersection. That’s okay, we all have cell phones and so we can unburden our conscience and call someone else to provide assistance.
Or, take Basset Street (downtown). Driving there yesterday was a challenge as the street was littered with beer bottles. Maybe someone just missed the garbage can and threw their year’s supply too far to the right. Nonetheless, I have had five flat tires in the last two weeks (no kidding). Clean it up, people!—I thought. Or, should have I pulled over and picked them up myself maybe?
I could go on with these vignettes from my day, but posts need to be short, so I’ll let it go with those two little moments from one short drive downtown.
Now, over at bernalchemist, the author speculates about the implications of the BBC quiz on reasoning and gender from an earlier Ocean post. If you’re having issues with that little test, try the Philosophers’ Magazine quiz on morality here. It’ll take ten minutes and the graphing of the outcomes is a bit odd, but the analysis, especially comparing your score with the average, is provocative.
So much talk of morality these days! Go ahead and answer the questions [warning: if you’re going to be grossed out about matters of weird sex, or dead animals, or both, don’t bother. Oh, I know, that statement merely tantalized 90% of Ocean readers. I’m only providing a disclaimer for the 10% who think this to be a gentle kind of blog.] and let me know what you think. Madisoninans – don’t cheat! There are no “right” answers!
Occasionally, street scenes can stump us though. Yesterday, on the median strip at University Ave and Shorewood Blvd, a man sat down and played in the snow. Oh, he tried to get up, but his shopping bag seemed to get the better of him, so he opted to stay put and toss snow around in the air. Some people slowed their cars down, thinking – he needs help, doesn’t he? But what kind of help? The choices were limited (thankfully?), because there is no place to stop at that particular intersection. That’s okay, we all have cell phones and so we can unburden our conscience and call someone else to provide assistance.
Or, take Basset Street (downtown). Driving there yesterday was a challenge as the street was littered with beer bottles. Maybe someone just missed the garbage can and threw their year’s supply too far to the right. Nonetheless, I have had five flat tires in the last two weeks (no kidding). Clean it up, people!—I thought. Or, should have I pulled over and picked them up myself maybe?
I could go on with these vignettes from my day, but posts need to be short, so I’ll let it go with those two little moments from one short drive downtown.
Now, over at bernalchemist, the author speculates about the implications of the BBC quiz on reasoning and gender from an earlier Ocean post. If you’re having issues with that little test, try the Philosophers’ Magazine quiz on morality here. It’ll take ten minutes and the graphing of the outcomes is a bit odd, but the analysis, especially comparing your score with the average, is provocative.
So much talk of morality these days! Go ahead and answer the questions [warning: if you’re going to be grossed out about matters of weird sex, or dead animals, or both, don’t bother. Oh, I know, that statement merely tantalized 90% of Ocean readers. I’m only providing a disclaimer for the 10% who think this to be a gentle kind of blog.] and let me know what you think. Madisoninans – don’t cheat! There are no “right” answers!
Friday, January 07, 2005
Gray skies, gray moods
The thing about living in Madison is that when you’re in need of a boost, you can go have a bowl of mussels for lunch at the Marigold Kitchen. Then you can go home and sleep and call it a day.
How to make a singer out of a musically-challenged type
[UPDATE to the paragraph below: In answer to the Q about the general quality of singing at the Kid – it is quite high. Rare is the bird who’ll go to a karaoke event knowing that s/he cannot carry a tune. For him/her, there is now hope.]
I have gone (as a tag-along) to two or three karaoke events organized by the Sociology gang in Madison. I’ve not gone the last couple of times. I did not think I swore off because of the quality of the singing of *some* of the participants. Still, the following article in the WashPost intrigued me. Maybe I should make an anonymous gift of the described device to the person most in need of a vocal boost? At the very least, let me provide a link (carryatune.com) and maybe chance will have it that someone will read about it, invest in it and we will see a new era in karaoke at the Kid. [Karaoke participants: please send emails expressing gratitude to my above address.]
I have gone (as a tag-along) to two or three karaoke events organized by the Sociology gang in Madison. I’ve not gone the last couple of times. I did not think I swore off because of the quality of the singing of *some* of the participants. Still, the following article in the WashPost intrigued me. Maybe I should make an anonymous gift of the described device to the person most in need of a vocal boost? At the very least, let me provide a link (carryatune.com) and maybe chance will have it that someone will read about it, invest in it and we will see a new era in karaoke at the Kid. [Karaoke participants: please send emails expressing gratitude to my above address.]
Positively pretty
Early morning mist, cold temperatures, backyard pines. And I don’t even have to leave the bedroom to enjoy it all. What a deal.
Return to sender: address unknown
When you are up at 2 a.m. mulling things over, unwilling to call it a day, what better activity is there to fill the empty minutes than leafing through the newspaper from your “home country?”
One lead story today from the Polish Gazeta Wyborcza *addresses* the issue of undeliverable mail. Not just any mail, but specifically – letters written to God. It appears that such letters all make their way to a postal station that processes undeliverable mail. Here, mail to God is sorted into two piles: “return to sender,” or “place in trash can.” Even where there is an address (typically: “heaven”), the postal service ignores it.
Is this fair? Mr. Nawrocki, the postmaster of this particular station, *believes* that it's not. He notes that letters to Saint Nicholas are forwarded to a place in Finland (have we really established that this is where Santa vegges in the off season?). He is suggesting that perhaps some organization should take on the task of dealing with God’s mail and provide answers to some of the questions posed by the writers.
Now wait a minute. I’m not sure if the NYT Ethicist would pat Mr. Nawrocki on the back for that idea. I mean, if I were to write something to a God, I’d want it to go to a God, and if no such Holy Body claimed my letter, a substitute NGO would not do. Of course, being technologically on top of things, I’d first get the correct address. Googling hasn’t gotten me one thus far, but I haven’t bothered going beyond the first screen. [A preliminary search also revealed that God does not have email, but then, the posting on this is ten years old. Things may have changed.]
I wonder, btw, what the postal rates should be – international overseas? Domestic? Free of charge? These are difficult questions. I am not surprised that the newspaper ran it as one of the lead stories for the day.
One lead story today from the Polish Gazeta Wyborcza *addresses* the issue of undeliverable mail. Not just any mail, but specifically – letters written to God. It appears that such letters all make their way to a postal station that processes undeliverable mail. Here, mail to God is sorted into two piles: “return to sender,” or “place in trash can.” Even where there is an address (typically: “heaven”), the postal service ignores it.
Is this fair? Mr. Nawrocki, the postmaster of this particular station, *believes* that it's not. He notes that letters to Saint Nicholas are forwarded to a place in Finland (have we really established that this is where Santa vegges in the off season?). He is suggesting that perhaps some organization should take on the task of dealing with God’s mail and provide answers to some of the questions posed by the writers.
Now wait a minute. I’m not sure if the NYT Ethicist would pat Mr. Nawrocki on the back for that idea. I mean, if I were to write something to a God, I’d want it to go to a God, and if no such Holy Body claimed my letter, a substitute NGO would not do. Of course, being technologically on top of things, I’d first get the correct address. Googling hasn’t gotten me one thus far, but I haven’t bothered going beyond the first screen. [A preliminary search also revealed that God does not have email, but then, the posting on this is ten years old. Things may have changed.]
I wonder, btw, what the postal rates should be – international overseas? Domestic? Free of charge? These are difficult questions. I am not surprised that the newspaper ran it as one of the lead stories for the day.
Thursday, January 06, 2005
Help me out, dear readers!
I spent much of the afternoon playing with expedia.com. I have a bunch of trips coming up and I was trying to book good fares for all of them. This of course, required careful planning and so I took out my calendar to fit things in neatly and conveniently.
In opening the pages of my date book, I came across this note to self for February 8th:
--> yeah! 03.
I have no idea what this means and I have no recollection of writing it. Is it someone’s birthday? Anniversary? Did I commit to a wedding? A party? It seems festive and spirited, but what is it?? And does it block the week, the day? What's with that arrow? Am I coming home from somewhere? If so, where will I have traveled to? There isn't a departure noted in the days preceding that.
Write and tell me if you know or have any clue as to why February 8th should be in any way significant. You will get such a prize for your efforts! Far better than any old Virtual Kewpie Doll.
In opening the pages of my date book, I came across this note to self for February 8th:
--> yeah! 03.
I have no idea what this means and I have no recollection of writing it. Is it someone’s birthday? Anniversary? Did I commit to a wedding? A party? It seems festive and spirited, but what is it?? And does it block the week, the day? What's with that arrow? Am I coming home from somewhere? If so, where will I have traveled to? There isn't a departure noted in the days preceding that.
Write and tell me if you know or have any clue as to why February 8th should be in any way significant. You will get such a prize for your efforts! Far better than any old Virtual Kewpie Doll.
Ode to the little one who is leaving all too soon and who went for a hike through the Arboretum with me this morning
(she sings this so beautifully, but this one is for her)
...For you, the sun will be shining,
...For you, the sun will be shining,
Only one person on this planet would keep me company when I asked for it, during a two-week midnight marathon of gymming
…and not make fun of my lesser endurance (which is quite lesser)
…and talk to me when I felt like talking (which was often)
…and let me watch the food channel when I felt like watching the food channel (sorry, it was so interesting!)
…and leave when I was ready to leave (you would have stayed)
…and return the next day, and the next, and the next (no matter how late).
Only one – you know who you are. I wont be able to continue this marathon. It would be too lonely now that you’re off and away. I’ll have to take up fencing or skateboarding or something.
But I’ve loved these days…
…and talk to me when I felt like talking (which was often)
…and let me watch the food channel when I felt like watching the food channel (sorry, it was so interesting!)
…and leave when I was ready to leave (you would have stayed)
…and return the next day, and the next, and the next (no matter how late).
Only one – you know who you are. I wont be able to continue this marathon. It would be too lonely now that you’re off and away. I’ll have to take up fencing or skateboarding or something.
But I’ve loved these days…
Get a load of that snow!
Years of conditioning had me out of bed before dawn to check on school closings. As so many times in the past, all schools reported closings except for Madison’s public schools. There are arguments to be made on both sides of the issue, but they no longer concern me. It was merely a point of curiosity. And I was anxious to play the role of the benevolent neighbor, the one without kids needing to rush to make it to school and without my own pressing time issues. I wanted to repay past favors and shovel sidewalks of proximate kind souls.
[Blogger ethics are nothing compared to intricate shoveling ethics: you absolutely are the rudest person if you stop at your property line and do not shovel up to the neighbor’s driveway – like my neighbors to the south who are considered utter pariahs for their selfish property-guided shoveling practices. And, if you have time, you shovel your neighbor’s walk. If you are feeling so generous that your heart is bursting at the seams, you may, every two winter seasons or so, do the walkway up to their door as well. But you are never ever obligated to touch their driveway, unless they are elderly or feeble or incapacitated. Otherwise, shoveling someone’s driveway is an embarrassment of riches – you’re overstepping the boundaries of camaraderie.]
I was too late. The sun had not yet risen, but the shovelers were out there already and so we shoveled en masse, with jocular shouts to each other, in the way guys talk when they are trying to be friendly. Yes, that’s right, guys. For shoveling has remained a task for men. Guys grill and guys shovel. That’s just the way it is in America. [Before I get barraged with emails telling me I am grossly exaggerating, let me just say that I am simply reporting what happens around me: absolutely no woman shovels on our long block if there is a guy in the house. This is true even though in three households we have stay-at-home (or work at home) dads and in most households both the man and woman work.]
[Blogger ethics are nothing compared to intricate shoveling ethics: you absolutely are the rudest person if you stop at your property line and do not shovel up to the neighbor’s driveway – like my neighbors to the south who are considered utter pariahs for their selfish property-guided shoveling practices. And, if you have time, you shovel your neighbor’s walk. If you are feeling so generous that your heart is bursting at the seams, you may, every two winter seasons or so, do the walkway up to their door as well. But you are never ever obligated to touch their driveway, unless they are elderly or feeble or incapacitated. Otherwise, shoveling someone’s driveway is an embarrassment of riches – you’re overstepping the boundaries of camaraderie.]
I was too late. The sun had not yet risen, but the shovelers were out there already and so we shoveled en masse, with jocular shouts to each other, in the way guys talk when they are trying to be friendly. Yes, that’s right, guys. For shoveling has remained a task for men. Guys grill and guys shovel. That’s just the way it is in America. [Before I get barraged with emails telling me I am grossly exaggerating, let me just say that I am simply reporting what happens around me: absolutely no woman shovels on our long block if there is a guy in the house. This is true even though in three households we have stay-at-home (or work at home) dads and in most households both the man and woman work.]
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
Into the void
It is nothing short of eerie to sled at night when snow and clouds swirl in the blackness around you. Luckily I had a couple of innocents with me who were willing to chance everything and be sucked into the void along with me. We all survived, but just barely.
And in the meantime, what are folks up to in Crystal, Minnesota?
In Crookston, Minnesota, they’re shivering (see post below). In Crystal, they’re creatively fighting boredom. Here’s the finished product, all made out of post-its (via boingboing and gprime.net):
Give generously, continuously, in many ways, to many places
A story appeared in Le Monde today announcing that Médecins Sans Frontières is putting a stop to any more donations for tsunami victims (the organization is overwhelmed by the magnitude of donations thus far). MSF is also reminding the public that sudden and profound disasters of this nature ought not take attention away from ongoing disasters elsewhere (“les victims des conflicts oubliés, ” victims of the forgotten conflicts). Europhobia suggests that if you feel moved to donate to tsunami relief, you may consider splitting your gift between victims of that catastrophe and those currently starving in Africa. Not a bad idea.
Shoes and socks we need not wear, Hey la dee ay dee ho!
Rumor has it that you went to the grocery store in mere gym shorts and a sweatshirt, even though we are in the middle of a winter storm. Is this true?
Yes.
And is it true that you just shoveled your driveway in similar attire?
Yes.
…and that you have been going in and out of public places dressed in such fashion?
Yes.
Do you know that it is currently 17 degrees F in Madison?
Yes.
How do you explain yourself?
Hearty Polish peasant stock.
Yes.
And is it true that you just shoveled your driveway in similar attire?
Yes.
…and that you have been going in and out of public places dressed in such fashion?
Yes.
Do you know that it is currently 17 degrees F in Madison?
Yes.
How do you explain yourself?
Hearty Polish peasant stock.
Winter gardens revisited
For all my complaints about winter gardens, am I not moved by the prettiness outside as the snow falls and promises to accumulate into beautiful pristine drifts of white fluff?
I do love snow. Here is me, in the snow, back in the fifties, in the Old Country:
But it is all so temporary. Checking wunderground.com I read for next Tuesday:
Mostly cloudy with a 30 percent chance of rain. Highs in the lower 40s.
Mud and puddles, coming your way, followed by a burst of the Wisconsin special: an Arctic chill over a barren, snowless landscape.
Like I said, forget the disguise, the white blanket that hides the truth. Winter gardens = ugly.
Mostly cloudy with a 30 percent chance of rain. Highs in the lower 40s.
Mud and puddles, coming your way, followed by a burst of the Wisconsin special: an Arctic chill over a barren, snowless landscape.
Like I said, forget the disguise, the white blanket that hides the truth. Winter gardens = ugly.
You again?
Having lived in this town now for 25 years (yikes!) and having moved two kids through the public school system from grades one through twelve, I feel like there are a fair number of people here that I know. Indeed, I have been told (shouted at, in fact): you know more people in Madison than you know in Warsaw, Poland, your *beloved homeland,* don’t you? DON’T YOU?? I’ll at least say that it’s a tie.
So two days ago I ran into a former neighborhood friend whom I haven’t seen for a long long time (she’d moved to another neighborhood). We stood between the grind-your-own- peanut butter and the pick-your-own-dried-herbs sections of Whole Foods and chatted for a long while.
But then, lo and behold, I was waiting at Brocach for my dinner companions to arrive and there she was again – sitting next to the only other free table in the room. Do I go up and awkwardly catch up on the last two days? Do I tell the maitre d’ to please seat me anywhere but close to her? What’s the right and proper thing to do? God, I hate these socially awkward situations!
So two days ago I ran into a former neighborhood friend whom I haven’t seen for a long long time (she’d moved to another neighborhood). We stood between the grind-your-own- peanut butter and the pick-your-own-dried-herbs sections of Whole Foods and chatted for a long while.
But then, lo and behold, I was waiting at Brocach for my dinner companions to arrive and there she was again – sitting next to the only other free table in the room. Do I go up and awkwardly catch up on the last two days? Do I tell the maitre d’ to please seat me anywhere but close to her? What’s the right and proper thing to do? God, I hate these socially awkward situations!
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
And what sex is YOUR brain?
God, it's awful grading all those exams. Today I got so bogged down with a bluebook that I began to question my innate ability to process some of the text that is presented to me for evauation. To reassure myself that I am still a thinking individual, I went to the BBC website, to see what updates they had on human intellignece.
Of course, I got distracted by little digressions and eventually I clicked on to this little gem:
Go ahead and take the test (courtesy of the Science Museum in London), but remember that it is a timed test so don't ponder your answers for too long. Then write and tell me if the gender of your brain matches that of your reproductive system.
Of course, I got distracted by little digressions and eventually I clicked on to this little gem:
Go ahead and take the test (courtesy of the Science Museum in London), but remember that it is a timed test so don't ponder your answers for too long. Then write and tell me if the gender of your brain matches that of your reproductive system.
Illusions, delusions and other such nonsense
When I work hard at them, my flower beds look stunning in the summer. All that color, texture, shape – splendid.
Gardening experts have said that after the flowers wilt, dry up and eventually shrivel into gray heaps of dead leaves and ghostly seed pods, you can let them alone and admire them in their skeletal form – they will delight you all winter long in their interesting “winter garden” presentation.
Oh, how good we are at talking ourselves into liking what is before us!
I suppose it’s like having your backyard look out on a cemetery. You can tell yourself that you really enjoy all that history, all the crosses and tombstones, right there, so inviting, so unique.
For me, a “winter garden” is more like a tableau of what life would be like after a nuclear explosion: brittle, burnt, lifeless. [Is this what would be referred to as naked art?]
My winter garden exists for two reasons only. First, I haven’t the time nor inclination to take a hatchet to it and clear it completely of debris before the frost comes. Secondly, once snow falls, the dead plants keep the ground temp steady, especially during early spring with all that Wisconsin weather merry-go-round as the days go from cold to warm, to cold again.
In other words, I save my illusions and delusions for other areas of my life, where I imagine that I am seeing continuity and beauty and never-ending potential. My garden, on the other hand, is not beautiful in the winter. I’m with the one honest farmer who tells it like it is: it is an ugly garden. It’s over and done with and will not look good again until next April when the first buds break ground again.
Gardening experts have said that after the flowers wilt, dry up and eventually shrivel into gray heaps of dead leaves and ghostly seed pods, you can let them alone and admire them in their skeletal form – they will delight you all winter long in their interesting “winter garden” presentation.
Oh, how good we are at talking ourselves into liking what is before us!
I suppose it’s like having your backyard look out on a cemetery. You can tell yourself that you really enjoy all that history, all the crosses and tombstones, right there, so inviting, so unique.
For me, a “winter garden” is more like a tableau of what life would be like after a nuclear explosion: brittle, burnt, lifeless. [Is this what would be referred to as naked art?]
My winter garden exists for two reasons only. First, I haven’t the time nor inclination to take a hatchet to it and clear it completely of debris before the frost comes. Secondly, once snow falls, the dead plants keep the ground temp steady, especially during early spring with all that Wisconsin weather merry-go-round as the days go from cold to warm, to cold again.
In other words, I save my illusions and delusions for other areas of my life, where I imagine that I am seeing continuity and beauty and never-ending potential. My garden, on the other hand, is not beautiful in the winter. I’m with the one honest farmer who tells it like it is: it is an ugly garden. It’s over and done with and will not look good again until next April when the first buds break ground again.
Monday, January 03, 2005
How old are you?
Fifty-one.
Carving figure eights with a car key seems like something my little sister would do. She’s five.
Yes, well she and I have this in common.
Whom are you skating with?
Alone. I like to skate alone. I don’t do it very often, but sometimes the urge strikes and so here I am, just me and the ducks and you. Pretty empty out here, isn’t it?Why not skate with someone?Because when you skate alone you can speed! Like, go really fast! And when you get tired, you can stop.
Don’t you fall when you go really fast?
No, I never fall.
What a smug attitude! Even Olympic champions fall.
I am not an Olympic champion. If I fell, it would hurt, so I don’t fall. The day I start falling, I’ll stop skating. It’s like driving on ice: you figure out how fast you can go to stay within the margins of safety so that you do not crash. I try not to crash in cars, nor fall on skates.
Speaking of figures, can you do fancy stuff on the ice?
I can do a mean imitation of an Olympic contestant coming out onto the ice to begin a performance. You know how they lift a foot in sort of a curtsey? Yeah, I can do that well. And I can do a half-leap in an inconsequential way that lands me back on ice but resembles nothing anyone has ever done in a professional skating capacity.
Oh. Was it cold today?
Well, I had these terrific Polish wool mittens, except they were joined together with a string and I could not rip it apart so for a while I skated as if I was praying, like this (imagine the other hand in the mitten -- the one that is out at the moment taking the photo and getting frostbite all for the sake of The Blog):
Fifty-one.
Carving figure eights with a car key seems like something my little sister would do. She’s five.
Yes, well she and I have this in common.
Whom are you skating with?
Alone. I like to skate alone. I don’t do it very often, but sometimes the urge strikes and so here I am, just me and the ducks and you. Pretty empty out here, isn’t it?Why not skate with someone?Because when you skate alone you can speed! Like, go really fast! And when you get tired, you can stop.
Don’t you fall when you go really fast?
No, I never fall.
What a smug attitude! Even Olympic champions fall.
I am not an Olympic champion. If I fell, it would hurt, so I don’t fall. The day I start falling, I’ll stop skating. It’s like driving on ice: you figure out how fast you can go to stay within the margins of safety so that you do not crash. I try not to crash in cars, nor fall on skates.
Speaking of figures, can you do fancy stuff on the ice?
I can do a mean imitation of an Olympic contestant coming out onto the ice to begin a performance. You know how they lift a foot in sort of a curtsey? Yeah, I can do that well. And I can do a half-leap in an inconsequential way that lands me back on ice but resembles nothing anyone has ever done in a professional skating capacity.
Oh. Was it cold today?
Well, I had these terrific Polish wool mittens, except they were joined together with a string and I could not rip it apart so for a while I skated as if I was praying, like this (imagine the other hand in the mitten -- the one that is out at the moment taking the photo and getting frostbite all for the sake of The Blog):
Otherwise, I was fine. Skating like a person possessed. Hans Brinker one minute, Irena Tatyanova Illyanovich (or some such Russian skater name) the next. You can let your mind wander out there on the ice.
Then what?
Then I went to Whole Foods and shopped for dinner. Skating was just an impulsive detour on the way to the store.
Then what?
Then I went to Whole Foods and shopped for dinner. Skating was just an impulsive detour on the way to the store.
Dear readers: Ocean does not bite the karmic weenie
Fortune magazine’s long article on Why There’s No Escaping the Blog (linked to via boingboing – thanks) describes the impact blogs have on business. It’s tough to lie when bloggers are there to quickly spread the story of your inconsistencies and untruths (emphases are mine):
True, we are reminded that “these are still the early days of blogging, and the form is still morphing.” But if these are the early days, where will we be two years from now? Technorati claims that 23,000 new blogs are born every day. Fortune predicts that blogs will replace email very quickly:
"If you fudge or lie on a blog, you are biting the karmic weenie," says Steve Hayden, vice chairman of advertising giant Ogilvy & Mather, which creates blogs for clients. "The negative reaction will be so great that, whatever your intention was, it will be overwhelmed and crushed like a bug."Okay, not always. But it is at least slightly amusing that blogs, fabricated at the whim and fancy of people who may or may not themselves speak truthfully have the power to discredit someone else’s phony statements.
True, we are reminded that “these are still the early days of blogging, and the form is still morphing.” But if these are the early days, where will we be two years from now? Technorati claims that 23,000 new blogs are born every day. Fortune predicts that blogs will replace email very quickly:
Says Bill Gates, who claims he'd like to start a blog but doesn't have the time: "As blogging software gets easier to use, the boundaries between, say, writing e-mail and writing a blog will start to blur. This will fundamentally change how we document our lives."It’s hard to believe that email is on its way out even as I sit here bemoaning the lost art of letter-writing. But then, has anyone apart from me noticed how hard it is to actually manually write things down these days? The hand is no longer positioned to hold a pen most of the time. I can see it now – a sort of revolution in our evolution as our hands become permanently curved into menacing shapes with calluses at our finger tips. All because of blogs.
Freeze is off, Freese is on
In case you haven’t noticed, the blog that continues to dazzle and chirp with wit and humor (and includes the nicest ever anniversary wishes for Ocean) has awakened from a month’s repose.
But the idea of hibernating in cyberspace has me thinking: should every blog be required to take a mandatory vacation, to invigorate, refresh and inspire anew its author? Is blogging year-round without a day’s break so commendable that I want to brag about it? Look at me! Weeeeee! I never stopped for a minute, EVEN WHEN I HAD NOTHING TO SAY! I continued, I wrote, I posted! And the band played on.
In fact, I am not ready for a blog vacation. I wrote to a friend back in December – stay tuned, I may take a break from blogging after I reach my first anniversary on January 2nd. Here I am on January 3rd, posting about it. And worse, I have to admit that my very favorite blog posting is done when I am ON vacation. My number three* job choice would be to go places and be paid to blog about them.
So, no freeze for me, not for a while anyway. If I could blog through the obstacles placed squarely in Ocean’s lap in the year 2004 (two tense times come to mind: one in Nagano, Japan where I could only post through dial up via a faulty connection to Wisconsin at hundreds of yen per minute and the other in the farmhouse in Todi, Italy where there was not even a phone to hook into, forcing me to walk the streets with my laptop under my arm and beg strangers to let me use their phone lines), I surely would not pause now when I am wired and not even tired (yet) of the entire adventure.
Enough celebrating. Time to get down to the business of grading and visualizing (as a reminder I am acquiescing to the idea that I must see myself as a writer in order to actually come closer to achieving any writing goals). Here is today’s image, fresh from a … well, you can guess:
* Number one job choice: the job I have, of course (Dean, are you reading this?). Number two job choice: leave that one for another blog post in the distant future. It’s nothing racy or original, believe me.
Sunday, January 02, 2005
Looking for upbeat news from Poland in the New Year?
Here’s the headline today from the leading (liberal) Gazeta Wyborcza. The first paragraph (in bold) reads (in Polish, translation my own):
Warsaw – symbol of freedom and the promised land of free market in books and films of the new generation is changing into a hell of loneliness and unemployment. The city’s icon is no longer the Palace of Culture, but instead, the palace of capitalism.
Do I really want to identify with this? Call it my homeland? Maybe I should have been a product of…maybe Estonia? Let me read up on it:
TALLINN – Freedom House, a U.S.-based NGO that monitors freedom and democracy around the world, wrote in its latest annual survey that Estonia ranks among countries that provide maximum political rights and civil liberties to their citizens.
Jump ship now while the going’s good. Nina from Estonia. Sounds okay, doesn't it?Birthday brunch
Is it blog-indulgent to invite people over to celebrate your blogg-iversary? No no, not at all. It is, after all, only an excuse. Just like blogging is an excuse to step back from your daily life and put forth something more spontaneous and even at times oddball-ish about yourself for the world to read.
I was greatly indulged this morning-afternoon. Of the original A B C & F blogging crowd, only one slipped off the planet into a sickroom and could not make it. My family patiently tolerated the event and we ate and drank -- they all think it was to the birthday of Ocean. But really it was to all our blogs in the New Year. May they shine. May they make us and the world about which we write just a little happier, wiser, saner.
P.S. I burned batch no. 1 of the bacon. I always burn crostini bread for dinners and bacon for brunch. It has become a pattern and Althouse refers to this curiosity in her blog. Let me say this: it will be a sad day when I do not burn the crostini or the bacon. It will mean that the company or I have become so boring that I keep track of baking minutes instead of our conversation.
I was greatly indulged this morning-afternoon. Of the original A B C & F blogging crowd, only one slipped off the planet into a sickroom and could not make it. My family patiently tolerated the event and we ate and drank -- they all think it was to the birthday of Ocean. But really it was to all our blogs in the New Year. May they shine. May they make us and the world about which we write just a little happier, wiser, saner.
P.S. I burned batch no. 1 of the bacon. I always burn crostini bread for dinners and bacon for brunch. It has become a pattern and Althouse refers to this curiosity in her blog. Let me say this: it will be a sad day when I do not burn the crostini or the bacon. It will mean that the company or I have become so boring that I keep track of baking minutes instead of our conversation.
Could it be that we are on the second day of January and I’m still posting about resolutions?
…It’s just that I received an email from a reader – someone whom I respect significantly (ergo a writer, because as I said earlier in the blog, few people give me goosebumps in the way that writers do) – who wrote that one New Year’s resolution he’s considering is not googling himself so much (there was a reason, but it would identify the person and so I’ll not state it here – but it was a funny reason, leading me to believe he was being somewhat waggish).
Why do I mention this? Well of course, it lead me right away to google myself – something that I haven’t remembered to do for a while. Since the better part of my legal career has been in the world of clinical legal education, I need not ever worry that I’ll bring up endless legal references. My down-and-out clients – mostly parents who allegedly abused or neglected their children – would not be writing about me nor I about them.
What I did bring up were obscure references to Ocean as well as notes and comments I made on the blogs of others. Comment, people, google brings up the comments function (occasionally)!
So it’s back to placing the post-it in front of my nose with a slight modification: I must remember not to write impulsive emails and post disgruntled comments on people’s blogs. Both will come back to haunt me.
Why do I mention this? Well of course, it lead me right away to google myself – something that I haven’t remembered to do for a while. Since the better part of my legal career has been in the world of clinical legal education, I need not ever worry that I’ll bring up endless legal references. My down-and-out clients – mostly parents who allegedly abused or neglected their children – would not be writing about me nor I about them.
What I did bring up were obscure references to Ocean as well as notes and comments I made on the blogs of others. Comment, people, google brings up the comments function (occasionally)!
So it’s back to placing the post-it in front of my nose with a slight modification: I must remember not to write impulsive emails and post disgruntled comments on people’s blogs. Both will come back to haunt me.
Happy Birthday, dear Ocean…
A year ago today someone tapped me on the shoulder, as I sat reading my first small cache of blogs and said – you should write one… Someone else said sure, other side of the ocean sounds exactly you. Ocean was born.
Why is it that our blogs come to have their own personalities? Aren’t Ocean and NLC one and the same? (Hint: no, not entirely.)
Regardless, I want to say thank you, in a big way, for giving me the honor of your attention (sounds so stiff, but it is meant with such sincerity). And for writing to me. And for linking to me – in good ways and in colorful *other* ways.
I am deliriously happy to have had this chance to blog non-stop for an entire 365 days. It’s been a dream (sometimes a nightmare). Thank you, thank you for indulging me in this wild hobby. And a note toward the future: I’m hoping that with practice, things will grow and prosper (rather than shrink and deteriorate) here at Ocean. Not in the numbers it attracts, but in what it offers to those who do click on. Keep checking, and let me know when things rub you the right or wrong way.
Saturday, January 01, 2005
Post-resolution questions
If practically every source tells me that the vast majority of NYEve resolutions are about eating well, drinking less and exercising more (noble but boring, all of it), why was the gym so empty this afternoon?
If it’s because people were nursing hangovers on NYDay and therefore couldn’t be peeled off the living room couch enough to make it to the gym, doesn’t that suggest that they’d already broken with a resolution to maintain healthier habits?
If the gym was empty (oh so empty) because the roads were covered with ripples of ice (pretty, in a grim-reaper sort of way) because of daylong sleet squalls, shouldn’t Borders be equally deserted? [It was not.]
Where is day one of the visualization program I said I’d indulge for 30 days in order to “embrace the new me” (see yesterday’s post on Optimum Performance and my resolution to write more)?
Here, from just this minute. I am at my computer. I am seriously writing. Pages and pages.
If it’s because people were nursing hangovers on NYDay and therefore couldn’t be peeled off the living room couch enough to make it to the gym, doesn’t that suggest that they’d already broken with a resolution to maintain healthier habits?
If the gym was empty (oh so empty) because the roads were covered with ripples of ice (pretty, in a grim-reaper sort of way) because of daylong sleet squalls, shouldn’t Borders be equally deserted? [It was not.]
Where is day one of the visualization program I said I’d indulge for 30 days in order to “embrace the new me” (see yesterday’s post on Optimum Performance and my resolution to write more)?
Here, from just this minute. I am at my computer. I am seriously writing. Pages and pages.
A Happy Happy New Year to all Ocean readers!
My sister writes that Poles have taken to fireworks with great vim and vigor, so that Warsaw is one explosion of noise on December 31st.
And what happens in Madison? Fireworks! Only, they hit the skies two hours before midnight. A true commitment to celebrating along with those who are one time zone away from the shore of the Atlantic Ocean, or a deference to the sleepy eyes of children?
And what did I do to celebrate (in addition to standing in the middle of Pinckney, clicking away in a light little winter dress and a billowing but inadequately-warm scarf)? I ate well. Of course. So predictable.
And what happens in Madison? Fireworks! Only, they hit the skies two hours before midnight. A true commitment to celebrating along with those who are one time zone away from the shore of the Atlantic Ocean, or a deference to the sleepy eyes of children?
And what did I do to celebrate (in addition to standing in the middle of Pinckney, clicking away in a light little winter dress and a billowing but inadequately-warm scarf)? I ate well. Of course. So predictable.
Friday, December 31, 2004
Should auld acquaintance be forgot…
Yes! I have an acquaintance that everyone would agree should be forgot. But why is this song so sad? It played at home minutes ago and one could only think: funeral time!
Looking forward with zip and enthusiasm to 2005, shouldn’t we pick something more up-tempo for a NYEve ballad? Hey Ya! – someone here just suggested it as a replacement. I’m in agreement. Bring out the strobe lights and the champagne! I wanna see y’all on y’all baddest behavior! [In other words, to translate for the older set: Hell with New Year’s Resolutions, they suck!]
Okay, just a thought.
Looking forward with zip and enthusiasm to 2005, shouldn’t we pick something more up-tempo for a NYEve ballad? Hey Ya! – someone here just suggested it as a replacement. I’m in agreement. Bring out the strobe lights and the champagne! I wanna see y’all on y’all baddest behavior! [In other words, to translate for the older set: Hell with New Year’s Resolutions, they suck!]
Okay, just a thought.
I guess the fat lady hasn’t sung yet…
…because the topic of resolutions appears to be not quite ready for the refuse pile.
First, I’m getting email “lack of progress” reports from certain writers over at Professor Barnhardt’s Journal. That’s what I call getting punched in the noggin: I struggle to articulate something reasonable, something possible, something worthwhile to set as a 2005 target, and I get a little reminder that my goals are likely to go the way of the toilet paper – flushed in the weeks immediately following January 1st. Resolutions are made to be broken.
And leave it to academics to point out yet another problem with this whole resolution mess. Over at U of Minnesota, a psych prof notes:
Others tell me that’s not enough. Forget writing things down. The reason we break our resolutions is that we do not recondition our brains to think in new ways! An optimum performance expert says this:
First, I’m getting email “lack of progress” reports from certain writers over at Professor Barnhardt’s Journal. That’s what I call getting punched in the noggin: I struggle to articulate something reasonable, something possible, something worthwhile to set as a 2005 target, and I get a little reminder that my goals are likely to go the way of the toilet paper – flushed in the weeks immediately following January 1st. Resolutions are made to be broken.
And leave it to academics to point out yet another problem with this whole resolution mess. Over at U of Minnesota, a psych prof notes:
But research shows that six weeks after people make their New Year's resolutions, 80 percent have either broken them or couldn't remember what they were.Oh my God, this is written directly to me, isn’t it? You deliberately forget every small and large task that lies before you: write it down already!
Write down your resolution at the top of a sheet of paper--in big, bold letters!
Others tell me that’s not enough. Forget writing things down. The reason we break our resolutions is that we do not recondition our brains to think in new ways! An optimum performance expert says this:
“People don’t understand how their brain functions and therefore renege on their resolutions 99% of the time within very short order. Using will power is absolutely the worst way to achieve your new goals because it is controlled by your conscious mind, which is only responsible for one sixth of your abilities.You mean I don’t need will power?? So what is it that I have to do (remember – I just want to write more; I don’t want to lose weight, drink less, make new friends, I just want to write!)?? Our performance guru has this advice:
It takes about 30 days of everyday mental training to re-train the brain if you want long lasting and permanent weight loss or if you want to earn more money. By doing a few simple visualization exercises seeing yourself at your perfect weight or career, you start to recondition your internal image and you begin to erase the old image. The more you do this the faster you’ll see results...
Another simple technique you can use is a written positive affirmation declaring,“I now weigh xxxx. My body fat is xxxxx. I feel and look great and I am at my ideal and perfect weight now."
I’m into trying new things. Let me give it a whirl. Beginning tomorrow, I will post pictures of me writing with declarative sentences to this effect “I am now writing excessively. I am at my ideal writing performance level now. At this very minute, I have more pages of text than I can possibly deal with. My works are flooding the shelves of every literate person on both sides of the ocean...”
But let me not get ahead of myself. That is tomorrow’s post.Today I am just a slovenly, still-in-my-pajamas law prof with a stack of unread exams, spending too much time at the computer, producing worthless dribble.
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