3 months ago
Saturday, March 05, 2005
Oh may I squire you round the meads And pick you posies gay?---'Twill do no harm to take my arm.'You may, young man, you may.' *
In planning my May trip to Poland, I have been jumping around my preferred Polish sites, checking up on what people are gossiping about these days. One of my favorites is the news daily, Gazeta Wyborcza. There is a “forum” on the front page where a question is raised by a reader and others weigh in with brief answers and opinions.
Today’s forum really made me smile because I imagined how differently the thread may have proceeded had the same question appeared in a Madison paper. Let me do a translation. [Background info: in Poland, March 8th has always been celebrated as “Women’s Day,” with flowers and special recognition being given to…women. But as so many of customs and holidays have been revamped under western (aka American) influence, questions are starting to crop up as to whether the time has come to put this holiday to rest.] Here, then, is today’s little discussion (I’ve omitted some repetitive comments to save space):
Q: Each year in my mind a dilemma arises: should I give flowers or not? Will she get miffed at me? At times it’s best to forget that it’s THAT day again and at other times, dear God, you better not forget! Will someone finally settle this one?
A1: I can’t think of a single instance where a woman receiving flowers would have gotten miffed!
A2: And not only on March 8th :-)
A3: Oh, I know of some! :-))))
A4: In my opinion, give, give and give more flowers! I think that most women like getting flowers…Anyway, our culture demands that we behave well and treat this as a special day. What would we do without the beautiful gender?
A5: I’m not giving. Why? Because my sister and my women friends have already reminded me that March 8th is coming up and that’s why they’ll get nothing… I’m not going to give anything because it is expected of me. I’ll give a flower or a whole bouquet on one day, maybe everyday, but it has to be my decision.
A6: So I gather that presents and birthday wishes and holiday greetings you give out also when you feel like it, not when the calendar demands it. You should be congratulated on your good manners and self-satisfaction.
A7: What would we do without the beautiful gender? Live normally at last!
A8: Why don’t you instead give her chocolates …or a kiss…
A9: So stupid to even ponder this…Doesn’t a woman in today’s world deserve just a smidgen of gratitude? She’s supposed to only slave away at work, in the home? Unfortunately, I have never received a flower without any occasion and neither has any woman that I know of…
A10: You deserve not only a smidgen but whole lot of our gratitude. We’re just jealous. See – the men are on your side, even on the Internet!
A11: Let’s please not make an issue of this! March 8th has always been Women’s Day and we have always received flowers and presents! And it was nice! We can’t count on getting anything on other days. We go to work, we leave work, we get groceries, we cook dinner… I await March 8th!
A12: My husband doesn’t observe Women’s Day. But my work colleagues do and I get flowers from them…I take from this that I am more of a woman to strange men than to my husband. A wife is an institution – someone to do the laundry, to take care of HIS sick mother. From such small things [no flowers] begins the end of love as one as felt it on the wedding day.
A13, 14, 15, etc: (from the vast majority:) Give the flowers! We love them! Yes, please continue to give flowers, on this day, on other days! Long live March 8th!
* A.E.Housman
Today’s forum really made me smile because I imagined how differently the thread may have proceeded had the same question appeared in a Madison paper. Let me do a translation. [Background info: in Poland, March 8th has always been celebrated as “Women’s Day,” with flowers and special recognition being given to…women. But as so many of customs and holidays have been revamped under western (aka American) influence, questions are starting to crop up as to whether the time has come to put this holiday to rest.] Here, then, is today’s little discussion (I’ve omitted some repetitive comments to save space):
Q: Each year in my mind a dilemma arises: should I give flowers or not? Will she get miffed at me? At times it’s best to forget that it’s THAT day again and at other times, dear God, you better not forget! Will someone finally settle this one?
A1: I can’t think of a single instance where a woman receiving flowers would have gotten miffed!
A2: And not only on March 8th :-)
A3: Oh, I know of some! :-))))
A4: In my opinion, give, give and give more flowers! I think that most women like getting flowers…Anyway, our culture demands that we behave well and treat this as a special day. What would we do without the beautiful gender?
A5: I’m not giving. Why? Because my sister and my women friends have already reminded me that March 8th is coming up and that’s why they’ll get nothing… I’m not going to give anything because it is expected of me. I’ll give a flower or a whole bouquet on one day, maybe everyday, but it has to be my decision.
A6: So I gather that presents and birthday wishes and holiday greetings you give out also when you feel like it, not when the calendar demands it. You should be congratulated on your good manners and self-satisfaction.
A7: What would we do without the beautiful gender? Live normally at last!
A8: Why don’t you instead give her chocolates …or a kiss…
A9: So stupid to even ponder this…Doesn’t a woman in today’s world deserve just a smidgen of gratitude? She’s supposed to only slave away at work, in the home? Unfortunately, I have never received a flower without any occasion and neither has any woman that I know of…
A10: You deserve not only a smidgen but whole lot of our gratitude. We’re just jealous. See – the men are on your side, even on the Internet!
A11: Let’s please not make an issue of this! March 8th has always been Women’s Day and we have always received flowers and presents! And it was nice! We can’t count on getting anything on other days. We go to work, we leave work, we get groceries, we cook dinner… I await March 8th!
A12: My husband doesn’t observe Women’s Day. But my work colleagues do and I get flowers from them…I take from this that I am more of a woman to strange men than to my husband. A wife is an institution – someone to do the laundry, to take care of HIS sick mother. From such small things [no flowers] begins the end of love as one as felt it on the wedding day.
A13, 14, 15, etc: (from the vast majority:) Give the flowers! We love them! Yes, please continue to give flowers, on this day, on other days! Long live March 8th!
* A.E.Housman
Friday, March 04, 2005
Don’t Mess With Martha
I rushed home tonight so that I could catch the news and watch Martha Stewart reenter the real world of her $xxx million home
Why do I mention this? Because I have less than zero interest in the woman and her empire (even if I think a few of her decorating ideas, from what I’ve seen in grocery-line flipping through her magazine, are kind of pretty). And yet I thought – this will be interesting.
It wasn’t. She got out, went outside and walked around her $xxx million yard. Big deal. What was I thinking??
But I did listen to the news reporters – from WSJ columnists to major network anchors – speculating endlessly if she will use the period of her imprisonment auspiciously to boost her image and prop up her ambitious new ventures. Her walk through the garden was analyzed to death: is she smiling to purposefully ingratiate herself to the public? Was she tugging at lemons to draw attention, perhaps, to yellow-toned products? Maybe it’s because there wasn’t much of a story in her return and so we had to listen to an invented drama. Or maybe we just cannot forgive her for being so damn successful at selling an image. Why the hell can’t she trip up already? This Polish-American woman just cannot take failure, can she? One tough woman. The t-shirt says it all:
Why do I mention this? Because I have less than zero interest in the woman and her empire (even if I think a few of her decorating ideas, from what I’ve seen in grocery-line flipping through her magazine, are kind of pretty). And yet I thought – this will be interesting.
It wasn’t. She got out, went outside and walked around her $xxx million yard. Big deal. What was I thinking??
But I did listen to the news reporters – from WSJ columnists to major network anchors – speculating endlessly if she will use the period of her imprisonment auspiciously to boost her image and prop up her ambitious new ventures. Her walk through the garden was analyzed to death: is she smiling to purposefully ingratiate herself to the public? Was she tugging at lemons to draw attention, perhaps, to yellow-toned products? Maybe it’s because there wasn’t much of a story in her return and so we had to listen to an invented drama. Or maybe we just cannot forgive her for being so damn successful at selling an image. Why the hell can’t she trip up already? This Polish-American woman just cannot take failure, can she? One tough woman. The t-shirt says it all:
Where Ocean gives women invaluable dating and mating advice
Stay away from guys whose index finger is stubby and short!
I am so glad that someone has finally figured out how to assess the behaviors of a potential dating subject. Before, all we had was conversation. Sure, we could google people, even track down their criminal records, but personality-wise – clueless. Everyone knows that men (and women, but someone else can write a post on that) display their best behaviors, not at all indicative of their true nature, when hunting down their loved one.
Science comes to the rescue at last, providing invaluable information for women who are about to be swept off their feet. In the hand that opens the door for her, she will find the “key to aggression.” A recent study (described in a BBC article here) reveals that finger length will tell her a lot about the man of her sweet dreams.
Let me summarize the three findings and then you can decide for yourself if he is worth it:
The shorter the index finger is compared to the ring finger, the more boisterous he will be.
Men with more “feminine” finger lengths may be more prone to depression.
A longer ring finger may indicate that he is one fertile dude.
The researchers tell us that unfortunately, finger length tells us nothing about male neuroticism. Why they should think that this, above all else, is something we need to know at the outset is beyond me, but I’ll pass that piece of information along in case aggression, fertility and depression are irrelevant and you only care about the degree of neuroticism in your future mate. The finger studies will tell you nothing. You’re back to conversation on that one.
I am so glad that someone has finally figured out how to assess the behaviors of a potential dating subject. Before, all we had was conversation. Sure, we could google people, even track down their criminal records, but personality-wise – clueless. Everyone knows that men (and women, but someone else can write a post on that) display their best behaviors, not at all indicative of their true nature, when hunting down their loved one.
Science comes to the rescue at last, providing invaluable information for women who are about to be swept off their feet. In the hand that opens the door for her, she will find the “key to aggression.” A recent study (described in a BBC article here) reveals that finger length will tell her a lot about the man of her sweet dreams.
Let me summarize the three findings and then you can decide for yourself if he is worth it:
The shorter the index finger is compared to the ring finger, the more boisterous he will be.
Men with more “feminine” finger lengths may be more prone to depression.
A longer ring finger may indicate that he is one fertile dude.
The researchers tell us that unfortunately, finger length tells us nothing about male neuroticism. Why they should think that this, above all else, is something we need to know at the outset is beyond me, but I’ll pass that piece of information along in case aggression, fertility and depression are irrelevant and you only care about the degree of neuroticism in your future mate. The finger studies will tell you nothing. You’re back to conversation on that one.
When in Poland, chase down the Americans, of course.
In the course of my frequent travels to Poland, it had never once struck me to look up Americans living there. Sometimes, when American friends would be traveling through Europe at the same time that I was, we would meet there, which in itself was amusing. We’d not meet a heck of a lot in the States, but once in Europe, it was a must! But never have I actually sought out other Americans once I crossed the ocean. What causes me to do this now (during my forthcming May trip)? There are American bloggers living in Poland, both of them teaching English to Poles (find them on my new, fancy blogroll!). One can never say no to a blogger. It’s as if you have been meeting these people all the months of posting and reading and enjoying their written company, it follows that you would want to see them once you’re within a hundred miles of where they live.
I am working the permutations of the American and Polish descriptors to death: I know American Americans, Polish Poles, Americans with Polish heritage, Americans from Poland (me), and now I’m adding the category of Americans living in Poland with Polish spouses who will soon be residing in America. What’s missing? The person who lives in Poland having once lived in America. Oh – wait, that’s my sister! I’m covered on all fronts.
I am working the permutations of the American and Polish descriptors to death: I know American Americans, Polish Poles, Americans with Polish heritage, Americans from Poland (me), and now I’m adding the category of Americans living in Poland with Polish spouses who will soon be residing in America. What’s missing? The person who lives in Poland having once lived in America. Oh – wait, that’s my sister! I’m covered on all fronts.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Blogroll up and ...tripping
Yes, I finally posted sidebar links to favorite blogs.
No, it was not as easy as I thought it would be.
Yes, it took a lot of time.
No, it's not working perfectly.
Yes, I emailed those with troubled and troubling URL's asking what the buzz was.
No, I do not intend to fix thetwo one defective links tonight. [UPDATE: they're fixed.]
Yes, I'll add others. Please, go easy on me. This was hard enough.
No, I do not pretend to be facile with HTML. I don't even know what it stands for. Hateful Technological Manipulative Disorder? I don't care that the letters do not match.
Yes, that's all I have to say about this for now.
No, it was not as easy as I thought it would be.
Yes, it took a lot of time.
No, it's not working perfectly.
Yes, I emailed those with troubled and troubling URL's asking what the buzz was.
No, I do not intend to fix the
Yes, I'll add others. Please, go easy on me. This was hard enough.
No, I do not pretend to be facile with HTML. I don't even know what it stands for. Hateful Technological Manipulative Disorder? I don't care that the letters do not match.
Yes, that's all I have to say about this for now.
I would not be one of THEM if I did not write a comment about the hot topic of the day
There is much discussion currently in our Law School about Internet use in the classroom. I’ll permit a reasoned guess as to how the troops appear to be aligning themselves. You are correct! Most faculty (of those who have bothered to post on this) favor placing some limits on Internet use (in the name of etiquette and pedagogy) and most (though not all) students favor leaving this to their own judgment.
I am in the collegial minority – I have gobs to say about etiquette and not a whole lot on the matter of how pedagogy is affected by Internet surfing. Because, in truth, I do not know that much about pedagogy, except what I see students responding well to, as evidenced by their class participation, attendance, exam performance and course evals. I trusted them with fashioning their own learning styles before and I am ready to let them judge now how they wish to listen and learn. [My guess is that the educational professionals (the school teachers) who these days clutter school rooms with visuals, know what they’re doing. By comparison, our Law School walls are bare. Clutter on the screen may be an antidote for some students whose eyes glaze over when they have to look at just ME.]
On the matter of etiquette, I feel myself to be on firmer ground. I am an etiquette buff. Some people are fastidiously precise with putting on make up in the morning, some iron their sheets and towels, still others use actual shoe polish on their shoes instead of spitting on a rag and wiping off the mud. Me, I like etiquette. I like polite, I like courtesy, I like good manners and good behaviors. I just like all that stuff that paves the way for pleasant, cordial relations. It makes life so much easier to proceed with respect. And so, I am convinced that rules of laptop ettiquette should appear in every spot on earth where laptops are permitted (these would include no porn, no distracting visuals, nothing that may be intrusive, rude, inappropriate, etc.).
As for me, up there in the front of the room, at some point there will be a student who will come to class with an iPod in one ear and a laptop under her arm and she will take off her glasses and close her eyes and snore and the snore will flutter the newspaper where she has been doing the crossword to the floor and that, most certainly, will be a distraction for me. At that moment I say take that piece of technology and find yourself another rest station. But it hasn’t happened yet. From my vantage point, students appear to be decent and polite. Especially when they understand that they are being graded by the prof who is watching them every single minute of class time.
I am in the collegial minority – I have gobs to say about etiquette and not a whole lot on the matter of how pedagogy is affected by Internet surfing. Because, in truth, I do not know that much about pedagogy, except what I see students responding well to, as evidenced by their class participation, attendance, exam performance and course evals. I trusted them with fashioning their own learning styles before and I am ready to let them judge now how they wish to listen and learn. [My guess is that the educational professionals (the school teachers) who these days clutter school rooms with visuals, know what they’re doing. By comparison, our Law School walls are bare. Clutter on the screen may be an antidote for some students whose eyes glaze over when they have to look at just ME.]
On the matter of etiquette, I feel myself to be on firmer ground. I am an etiquette buff. Some people are fastidiously precise with putting on make up in the morning, some iron their sheets and towels, still others use actual shoe polish on their shoes instead of spitting on a rag and wiping off the mud. Me, I like etiquette. I like polite, I like courtesy, I like good manners and good behaviors. I just like all that stuff that paves the way for pleasant, cordial relations. It makes life so much easier to proceed with respect. And so, I am convinced that rules of laptop ettiquette should appear in every spot on earth where laptops are permitted (these would include no porn, no distracting visuals, nothing that may be intrusive, rude, inappropriate, etc.).
As for me, up there in the front of the room, at some point there will be a student who will come to class with an iPod in one ear and a laptop under her arm and she will take off her glasses and close her eyes and snore and the snore will flutter the newspaper where she has been doing the crossword to the floor and that, most certainly, will be a distraction for me. At that moment I say take that piece of technology and find yourself another rest station. But it hasn’t happened yet. From my vantage point, students appear to be decent and polite. Especially when they understand that they are being graded by the prof who is watching them every single minute of class time.
Bewitching
Since I have lived in this house (17 years this summer), I have never had a backyard neighbor. The house on the adjacent lot stands empty, neglected. Upon occasion one can talk oneself into seeing lights at night there, shadows on the blue snow, moving images and shapes, signs of life, but not really, because, unless one is under a martini haze, there is no life there. The house is truly deserted.
In the morning, of course, it is obvious that any noises or dancing shadows from the night were all in one’s head. Add a pinkish orange morning tint to the scene and you’ll have a house that is truly bewitching, if not bewitched. I’m looking at it now as I work away at the kitchen table. So tranquil, so pretty! So deserted.
In the morning, of course, it is obvious that any noises or dancing shadows from the night were all in one’s head. Add a pinkish orange morning tint to the scene and you’ll have a house that is truly bewitching, if not bewitched. I’m looking at it now as I work away at the kitchen table. So tranquil, so pretty! So deserted.
A Madison March morning
So, you, dear reader from a southern state, you wanted to see the way spring makes its way to our doorstep here in Wisconsin? Alright. A photo from this morning:
You never know: that person riding the subway with me in NYC? She may well be a former student of mine.
One of the fantastic things about teaching is, of course, that sooner or later, the student is done with your classes. By that I mean that they move on. I have already rhapsodized about keeping connected to those who that stay in town. Over the years, as their numbers swell, they fill the firms around Madison and you get to the point where you never know (especially if you are like me and have a problem keeping a name to a face) when you are going to be passing each other on the street. I feel like inevitably there will come a day when someone will come up to me and do one of those “Moonstruck” numbers of spitting at my feet or slapping me down for something that I said or did that irritated them back in 1989. To date, they have been more gracious than that, but you never know.
Those that go away typically are gone for good. Occasionally they will email, but that conversation usually fizzles after one round of “how’s it going?” I love the updates, but absent a more current mutual stomping ground, we simply don’t have the time to take things further than that.
Enter the world of blogs. Yesterday I heard from one of my students of many, many years back. She had discovered Ocean a while ago and, probably in the spirit of “if she can do it, it can't be that hard,” her NYCbeauty blog was born. She had always been a clever and audacious writer. She now joins the ranks of others around town and out in the world who have taken up this hobby and are producing some of the funniest, punchiest posts out there. Check out her introduction to her blog. It’ll make you chuckle for sure.
Those that go away typically are gone for good. Occasionally they will email, but that conversation usually fizzles after one round of “how’s it going?” I love the updates, but absent a more current mutual stomping ground, we simply don’t have the time to take things further than that.
Enter the world of blogs. Yesterday I heard from one of my students of many, many years back. She had discovered Ocean a while ago and, probably in the spirit of “if she can do it, it can't be that hard,” her NYCbeauty blog was born. She had always been a clever and audacious writer. She now joins the ranks of others around town and out in the world who have taken up this hobby and are producing some of the funniest, punchiest posts out there. Check out her introduction to her blog. It’ll make you chuckle for sure.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
It is unbelievably sunny and bright outside. I am absolutely thrilled to be getting back to a writing project I let slide last month. I am greatly looking forward to munching dried organic white peaches that I picked up in SF. I just booked a flight to Poland in May. Pictures of crocuses are about to make an appearance on this blog.
There. Ocean is all about balance.
There. Ocean is all about balance.
I am inviting Larry Summers to our next blogger dinner
I noted earlier that last Wednesday, a game was hatched between Bozzo and Oscar. Basically the goal was to outsmart (in a mechanical way) the ecosystem link count by mutual link-adoration. Freese joined within hours and as of yesterday, they appear to have succeeded in pushing the blogs toward link stardom. B,O,F: Are you doing some harmonic belching yet in celebration of your achievement?
And the girls? Why weren’t we playing? Some words the capture for me the spirit of their game: “silly,” “competitive and pointless” “doesn’t go to the relational aspects of blogging.” It seems clear that I refuse to play with blogs in the way that these three are doing. I can just imagine what Larry Summers would say.
And the girls? Why weren’t we playing? Some words the capture for me the spirit of their game: “silly,” “competitive and pointless” “doesn’t go to the relational aspects of blogging.” It seems clear that I refuse to play with blogs in the way that these three are doing. I can just imagine what Larry Summers would say.
A post on how Ocean inspires young attorneys to engage in the august, the exemplary, the most noble of pursuits
A wee part of me had always hoped that Ocean would entertain, yes, of course, but occasionally also maybe elevate and inspire – to travel, to learn about Poland, to be forgiving of human foibles, to write and pursue one’s artistic streak… I get all choked just writing about the possibilities.
I was, therefore, gratified to learn that one wonderful former student who has recently entered the ranks of the legal profession has taken to blogging. Moreover, he is an Ocean reader and I can tell that I have indeed inspired. Read about it here and here.
UPDATE ON BOZZO LINKS: After my earlier run in with the Maiden of Nuremburg, I did not have it in me to work on the Ocean sidebar last night. I will get to it by tomorrow, for sure!
I was, therefore, gratified to learn that one wonderful former student who has recently entered the ranks of the legal profession has taken to blogging. Moreover, he is an Ocean reader and I can tell that I have indeed inspired. Read about it here and here.
UPDATE ON BOZZO LINKS: After my earlier run in with the Maiden of Nuremburg, I did not have it in me to work on the Ocean sidebar last night. I will get to it by tomorrow, for sure!
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Is Ocean joining the ranks of Very Strange Blogs?
I noticed that the side bar with a blogroll is up and running! But….are you saying that the only blog you read is that of Bozzo?
What makes you think that?
Take a look: it’s all about Bozzo
Bozzo rules. Actually I should go ahead and change that. Bozzo & Lee rule.
Who is Lee?
Lee is in on the partnership. You know: There are two Bozzos and then two Lees in the household.
I see. How delicate.
No, you don’t understand. It’s all one family and always has been. And they rule.
Obviously they rule your blog. Again, have you looked at your sidebar lately?
Looked at it! I created it! Actually, big Bozzo created it. Hence this moment of Bozzo stardom. The blogroll is all about Bozzo. At least for the next hour or so.
Big Bozzo. Suddenly you’re writing about size. So…crude.
My eating companions tonight included a big Bozzo and a little Bozzo. And a Lee. Look – the last time I had such a roll of bad days (weeks? months?) was decades ago where I said to those within spittin’ distance (that would be my immediate family): get me out of this funk! I need to go to Canada! They knew not to tinker with that one. We went to Canada. But times have changed. Everyone’s going to Canada these (post election) days. It doesn’t provide the exotic relief it once did. All is not lost, however. So long as I have advice from afar (thank you), a reader for my text (thank you) and Bozzo, Bozzo, Lee and Lee cooking me up spaghetti and meatballs, I’ll be okay. Here, before I get to work on my Bozzo sidebar (by tomorrow, this post will totally not make sense, as all but one of the Bozzos will be erased), admire the photo of one of my Bozzo hosts for the evening:
What makes you think that?
Take a look: it’s all about Bozzo
Bozzo rules. Actually I should go ahead and change that. Bozzo & Lee rule.
Who is Lee?
Lee is in on the partnership. You know: There are two Bozzos and then two Lees in the household.
I see. How delicate.
No, you don’t understand. It’s all one family and always has been. And they rule.
Obviously they rule your blog. Again, have you looked at your sidebar lately?
Looked at it! I created it! Actually, big Bozzo created it. Hence this moment of Bozzo stardom. The blogroll is all about Bozzo. At least for the next hour or so.
Big Bozzo. Suddenly you’re writing about size. So…crude.
My eating companions tonight included a big Bozzo and a little Bozzo. And a Lee. Look – the last time I had such a roll of bad days (weeks? months?) was decades ago where I said to those within spittin’ distance (that would be my immediate family): get me out of this funk! I need to go to Canada! They knew not to tinker with that one. We went to Canada. But times have changed. Everyone’s going to Canada these (post election) days. It doesn’t provide the exotic relief it once did. All is not lost, however. So long as I have advice from afar (thank you), a reader for my text (thank you) and Bozzo, Bozzo, Lee and Lee cooking me up spaghetti and meatballs, I’ll be okay. Here, before I get to work on my Bozzo sidebar (by tomorrow, this post will totally not make sense, as all but one of the Bozzos will be erased), admire the photo of one of my Bozzo hosts for the evening:
March came in demonstrating that if things are rocky rocky at the outset, they can get even worse!
I would be remiss not to blog about the 11th hour today (it is the one that immediately follows my teaching). It could be that, if I spent a day at a spa doing total body relaxation, I may let my mind reach for memories of worse work hours, but I would be hard pressed to do so.
Hard pressed, Exactly. I would say that this hour, and therefore this day could provide nice competition in terms of evil and torture with what once was endured by a person locked in the Maiden of Nuremburg, an ancient contraption looking, to the best of my web searching efforts, something like this:
Oh, not threatening enough? The Maiden of Nuremburg is described thus (and please read it carefully because the highlighted by me phrases quite nicely replicate my 11th hour of today):
This instrument has four main features, whose wickedness … deserve to be analyzed. The inside of the sarcophagus was fitted with spikes designed to pierce different parts of the body, but miss the vital organs, so that the victim was kept alive, in an upright position. Its second feature is that the victims were kept in an extremely confined space to increase their suffering.Its third feature was that the device could be opened and closed without letting the victim, who had been pierced from the front and the back, get away. Its fourth feature was that the container was so thick that no shrieks and moaning could be heard from outside unless the doors were opened. When the sarcophagus doors were shut again, the spikes pierced exactly the same parts of the body as before, and thus no relief was ever possible.
Spiky wickedness, with targeted suffering, no chance of getting away, no relief in sight. Exactly!
Hard pressed, Exactly. I would say that this hour, and therefore this day could provide nice competition in terms of evil and torture with what once was endured by a person locked in the Maiden of Nuremburg, an ancient contraption looking, to the best of my web searching efforts, something like this:
Oh, not threatening enough? The Maiden of Nuremburg is described thus (and please read it carefully because the highlighted by me phrases quite nicely replicate my 11th hour of today):
This instrument has four main features, whose wickedness … deserve to be analyzed. The inside of the sarcophagus was fitted with spikes designed to pierce different parts of the body, but miss the vital organs, so that the victim was kept alive, in an upright position. Its second feature is that the victims were kept in an extremely confined space to increase their suffering.Its third feature was that the device could be opened and closed without letting the victim, who had been pierced from the front and the back, get away. Its fourth feature was that the container was so thick that no shrieks and moaning could be heard from outside unless the doors were opened. When the sarcophagus doors were shut again, the spikes pierced exactly the same parts of the body as before, and thus no relief was ever possible.
Spiky wickedness, with targeted suffering, no chance of getting away, no relief in sight. Exactly!
Where Ocean strives to encourage feelings of empathy among those living south of us:
March 1st:
Temp outside: 15 degrees F
Windchill: something like 5 degrees F
Snowcover: more than it was on the day I decided to forego shoveling thinking it would all melt before my eyes imminently.
Temp outside: 15 degrees F
Windchill: something like 5 degrees F
Snowcover: more than it was on the day I decided to forego shoveling thinking it would all melt before my eyes imminently.
Monday, February 28, 2005
I am sitting at a table, reading my text, waiting for the tires to be fixed…
…and I notice he is back. Have you ever seen him? He comes to the Borders Café with his computer. He gets a drink. He goes to the newspaper shelves and picks out a few fat papers from all over the country. He takes these to his table and he reads them. Then he folds them up (more or less) and proceeds to do his computer stuff. Hours later he throws the papers over to the bench, packs up and leaves.
I cannot stare him down into shame. And it really is none of my business. Borders can afford the loss of a paper or two. People (myself included) leaf through books. Why not newspapers?
Because what small pleasure remains in the reading of a paper is in the freshness of it, the smell, the neatly folded sections, corners uncurled. And he ruins it for the next person. Oblivious. It bothers me that he is so oblivious to it all.
I cannot stare him down into shame. And it really is none of my business. Borders can afford the loss of a paper or two. People (myself included) leaf through books. Why not newspapers?
Because what small pleasure remains in the reading of a paper is in the freshness of it, the smell, the neatly folded sections, corners uncurled. And he ruins it for the next person. Oblivious. It bothers me that he is so oblivious to it all.
In defense of good counting skills
Ann writes this in support of her position that Chris Rock inappropriately brought anti-Bush material to the Oscar podium last night and alienated with it a great number of viewers (bold emphasis is my own):
Actually, I think the people who voted for Kerry should be worried. But they'll have to get past their in-group enjoyment of themselves and their own imagined superiority and get some concept of how the people who didn't vote for Kerry -- AKA the majority -- respond to this sort of display.
True, the majority of the viewing public did not vote for Kerry. But nor did they vote for Bush. The crude statistics told us that 60% of eligible voters cast a vote in November. Of those, 51% voted for Bush (CNN). That would put a generous bid of 60,608,582 who may have been offended.
But wait. Current support for Bush in this country is a more relevant marker of audience disenchantment with the jokes. According to a 1/05 NYT/CBS poll , 56% say things are worse now than five years ago. Let’s give the benefit of the doubt to Ann and agree that those who believe things are the same or better might be offended. That would be 44% of the viewing American audience. So perhaps it is more accurate to say that maximally, 19,140,000 were offended (based on New Yorker stats that about 43.5 million Americans, or about 15% watch the Oscars).
Assuming that none of them had a sense of humor. Because I, for example, would have laughed at a good anti-Kerry joke last night if Kerry had been our president. I would have been so tickled at having him there that I would not have cared that Chris Rock compared him to a clerk in Gap pretending that Banana Republic had tanktops. I’d say a whooping ha ha to that! So let’s reduce the numbers by a bit – Bush supporters at this point are a somber lot so assume that only 10% can be discounted for having a sense of humor. So, we are now at 17,226,000 of Americans watching offended.
Still more: what of the rest of the world? Assume none of them cared about the budget deficit joke, so all offense has to be taken with respect to the anti- Banana Republic (targeting the war, but with no countries mentioned) humor campaign. Assume that only a percentage of the audience, perhaps corresponding to the Coalition of the Willing would take offense (though I have to say, anti-Bush sentiments are growing even in Poland these days). But I think I can safely say that the international Oscar audience does not consist of many from the Coalition of the Willing. Why? Because 1. the vast majority does not have cable access and therefore does not carry the Oscars (see New Yorker article for more accurate analysis of this) and 2. Just about every one of them do not have a Gap, nor a Banana Republic and so that what meager audience is generated from Bush-supporting (Coalition) countries, it will not get the joke, thus being spared the offense (honestly, you cannot be offended if you do not get the joke). I think that just about leaves all foreign audience (the distributors of the show put it at “several hundred” million in the international category) unoffended. Conservatively, that’s 200,000,ooo unoffended on both sides of the ocean and north and south of our borders. Okay, I’ll generously throw in 5,000,000 offended just to show I am not skewing the numbers here.
So, Ann, out of a conservative audience of 243,500,000 (international + national), 22,226,000 (17,226,000 offended American viewers and 5,000,000 generously granted international offended viewers), or fewer than 11 % may have been offended. A humoirist takes his/her chances. These are pretty good stats in favor of the joke, in my opinion.
Actually, I think the people who voted for Kerry should be worried. But they'll have to get past their in-group enjoyment of themselves and their own imagined superiority and get some concept of how the people who didn't vote for Kerry -- AKA the majority -- respond to this sort of display.
True, the majority of the viewing public did not vote for Kerry. But nor did they vote for Bush. The crude statistics told us that 60% of eligible voters cast a vote in November. Of those, 51% voted for Bush (CNN). That would put a generous bid of 60,608,582 who may have been offended.
But wait. Current support for Bush in this country is a more relevant marker of audience disenchantment with the jokes. According to a 1/05 NYT/CBS poll , 56% say things are worse now than five years ago. Let’s give the benefit of the doubt to Ann and agree that those who believe things are the same or better might be offended. That would be 44% of the viewing American audience. So perhaps it is more accurate to say that maximally, 19,140,000 were offended (based on New Yorker stats that about 43.5 million Americans, or about 15% watch the Oscars).
Assuming that none of them had a sense of humor. Because I, for example, would have laughed at a good anti-Kerry joke last night if Kerry had been our president. I would have been so tickled at having him there that I would not have cared that Chris Rock compared him to a clerk in Gap pretending that Banana Republic had tanktops. I’d say a whooping ha ha to that! So let’s reduce the numbers by a bit – Bush supporters at this point are a somber lot so assume that only 10% can be discounted for having a sense of humor. So, we are now at 17,226,000 of Americans watching offended.
Still more: what of the rest of the world? Assume none of them cared about the budget deficit joke, so all offense has to be taken with respect to the anti- Banana Republic (targeting the war, but with no countries mentioned) humor campaign. Assume that only a percentage of the audience, perhaps corresponding to the Coalition of the Willing would take offense (though I have to say, anti-Bush sentiments are growing even in Poland these days). But I think I can safely say that the international Oscar audience does not consist of many from the Coalition of the Willing. Why? Because 1. the vast majority does not have cable access and therefore does not carry the Oscars (see New Yorker article for more accurate analysis of this) and 2. Just about every one of them do not have a Gap, nor a Banana Republic and so that what meager audience is generated from Bush-supporting (Coalition) countries, it will not get the joke, thus being spared the offense (honestly, you cannot be offended if you do not get the joke). I think that just about leaves all foreign audience (the distributors of the show put it at “several hundred” million in the international category) unoffended. Conservatively, that’s 200,000,ooo unoffended on both sides of the ocean and north and south of our borders. Okay, I’ll generously throw in 5,000,000 offended just to show I am not skewing the numbers here.
So, Ann, out of a conservative audience of 243,500,000 (international + national), 22,226,000 (17,226,000 offended American viewers and 5,000,000 generously granted international offended viewers), or fewer than 11 % may have been offended. A humoirist takes his/her chances. These are pretty good stats in favor of the joke, in my opinion.
Blame it on your agent. Or maybe your lawyer?
Thanks to jwz for the link to the other awards: the Razzies (given by the Golden Raspberry Award Foundation on the night before the Oscars), where Halle Berry was named worst actress of the year for her appearance in Catwoman.
Showing up for the award, she offered this:
"I want to thank Warner Brothers for casting me in this piece of shit," she said as she dragged her agent on stage and warned him "next time read the script first."
Other winners: George W. Bush picked up a Razzie as worst actor of the year for his performance as president in Fahrenheit 9/11. I'm not sure who accepted the award on his behalf (given his need for a rest after his travels to Europe last week, I'm certain he had to send his personal regrets).
Showing up for the award, she offered this:
"I want to thank Warner Brothers for casting me in this piece of shit," she said as she dragged her agent on stage and warned him "next time read the script first."
Other winners: George W. Bush picked up a Razzie as worst actor of the year for his performance as president in Fahrenheit 9/11. I'm not sure who accepted the award on his behalf (given his need for a rest after his travels to Europe last week, I'm certain he had to send his personal regrets).
Good Monday morning to you, too
Starting the day with two flat tires is a good indication of where this week is heading.
Sunday, February 27, 2005
What will you say when the clock is ticking and you have only ten seconds of breath left?
If you are Hillary Swank (on stage at the Oscars and the trumpets are sounding), you’ll say --- wait! wait! I have been saving Clint Eastwood for last, don’t cut me off. Oh, but let me just say this: I want to thank the lawyers...
You're welcome.
You're welcome.
Surviving, though not thriving...
A little one said this once and I drag it out on evenings like this one. I will be glad when the Oscars are over. Blogging about them proved impossible for a million reasons. This is as simul- as I get tonight.
To a better week!
To a better week!
This place is littered with good souls
A trashy day (weekend? winter?) made better by people sitting behind computer screens – you know who you are! But so that this does not become an inside story, let me acknowledge some of you in turn. Thank you so much for these messages today:
[On the subject of the Oscars, in response to this, from me: I am, however, dragging these days and so I'm guessing that I'll be reluctant to leave the house, let alone the neighborhood:] You should do whatever you prefer, whatever is more comfortable or fun…
[In response to my tattoo idea:] Anyway, if you weren't exaggerating for comic effect, I'd probably be compelled to drive over there and throw myself under the wheels of your van until the impulse passed.
[In response to my threat to come visit a certain blogger couple living in the Polish highlands this May and blog away from their family b&b:] Na pewno cos wykombinujemy. W najgorszym wypadku w moim starym pokoiku mozna sie podlaczyc do gniazdka przez modem. Czekamy na dalsze wiesci.
[And finally, the succinctly perfect one, in response to my own email saying this: I'm still up for a walk, but you may change your mind after you hear that I am not a little sullen all week-end, make that all week, make that all month:] I still want to go. Sullen's alright.
[On the subject of the Oscars, in response to this, from me: I am, however, dragging these days and so I'm guessing that I'll be reluctant to leave the house, let alone the neighborhood:] You should do whatever you prefer, whatever is more comfortable or fun…
[In response to my tattoo idea:] Anyway, if you weren't exaggerating for comic effect, I'd probably be compelled to drive over there and throw myself under the wheels of your van until the impulse passed.
[In response to my threat to come visit a certain blogger couple living in the Polish highlands this May and blog away from their family b&b:] Na pewno cos wykombinujemy. W najgorszym wypadku w moim starym pokoiku mozna sie podlaczyc do gniazdka przez modem. Czekamy na dalsze wiesci.
[And finally, the succinctly perfect one, in response to my own email saying this: I'm still up for a walk, but you may change your mind after you hear that I am not a little sullen all week-end, make that all week, make that all month:] I still want to go. Sullen's alright.
In answer to the emails that ensued, after my tossed around idea about a tattoo (see post below):
Here’s why it wont happen: I would never be able to decide what piece of “art” I would not regret carrying with me for the rest of my life. Surely the choices are limited and snakes and dragons and astrological signs just do not do it for me. Now, if there was a Monet water lily, I may cave, but unless they got the colors precisely right, I’m afraid it’s a no go. If I am fussy about getting a blogroll set up exactly right, you can well imagine that I would be fussy about the creamy yellow tones to the petals of that lily. Body part hosting the tattoo? That’s easy: something perpetually covered up. Back of an earlobe maybe?
Promises, promises…
Okay, blogroll is in production but production has been stalled for reasons having to do with the technical incompetence of the production team (me). I will prevail. I WILL PREVAIL, but the project is on hold until I bribe someone to help me do this in the complicated way I want to do it. Ocean is fussy. It has to look minimalist and cool. Your patience is deeply appreciated.
[You can laugh at me behind my back if it makes you feel better.]
[You can laugh at me behind my back if it makes you feel better.]
On this day, I should do something significant, like announce a major move or go get a tattoo or roll in the snow in my pajamas at midnight
Oscar night. So many things to so many people. I dare say, no one could treat this event more seriously than I do. It’s not the awards per se, it’s the evening of watching them being handed out, like gifts bestowed to nobility, jewels and crowns and promises of undying loyalty.
If life is one capricious frolic and tumble, then mine certainly can be said to have been given a jumpstart the day that Rocky walked off with the Best Picture/Director award and Faye Dunaway and Peter Finch hauled it in for their acting in Network.
It was the year of Great Changes for me and each Oscar night is a reminder of that, a celebration of sorts, except each year, it is a quieter celebration.
And finally comes 2005 – the quietest of them all. Tonight, I’m staying home. I would love to spend the evening with my friend and her son – they are as knowledgeable about the industry as people who were in the room with me watching back in 1976. They will open the door for me gladly, they’ll even let me watch and write, too. Or, I could simply go across the street to my sweet sweet neighbors who are also movie nuts, in addition to having hearts of marzipan and dark chocolate and gold.
I wont do either. It’s one of those things. It’s my time to descend into quietness.
Or, I may get a tattoo. Body piercing is out of the question and the snow looks solidly iced-over. A move? I could, I suppose, conjure up an announcement of a major move, without necessarily committing to a physical relocation. Day is young. Possibilities are numerous.
If life is one capricious frolic and tumble, then mine certainly can be said to have been given a jumpstart the day that Rocky walked off with the Best Picture/Director award and Faye Dunaway and Peter Finch hauled it in for their acting in Network.
It was the year of Great Changes for me and each Oscar night is a reminder of that, a celebration of sorts, except each year, it is a quieter celebration.
And finally comes 2005 – the quietest of them all. Tonight, I’m staying home. I would love to spend the evening with my friend and her son – they are as knowledgeable about the industry as people who were in the room with me watching back in 1976. They will open the door for me gladly, they’ll even let me watch and write, too. Or, I could simply go across the street to my sweet sweet neighbors who are also movie nuts, in addition to having hearts of marzipan and dark chocolate and gold.
I wont do either. It’s one of those things. It’s my time to descend into quietness.
Or, I may get a tattoo. Body piercing is out of the question and the snow looks solidly iced-over. A move? I could, I suppose, conjure up an announcement of a major move, without necessarily committing to a physical relocation. Day is young. Possibilities are numerous.
Saturday, February 26, 2005
What can you say about an ostensibly close to you person who tells you the following on the phone?
You are home on a Saturday evening?
Yes, I have some writing to do. You know, work stuff.
You work at home??
Yes, I very often work at home.
Really? Like what kind of work?
[I pause and cosider the very real possibility that this person doesn't actually know what my job is.] Work work.
I’m surprised. Anyway, I just talked to [a young person, known to the two of us; in fact, a relative].
And?
I enjoyed it. Unlike [a not too oblique reference to two grown women residing an ocean apart], he actually listens to me, is interested in what I have to say.
I mean, it’s a conversation stopper, isn’t it? Not to mention that I distinctly remember having like a ten hour spell of listening just a few days back.
Yes, I have some writing to do. You know, work stuff.
You work at home??
Yes, I very often work at home.
Really? Like what kind of work?
[I pause and cosider the very real possibility that this person doesn't actually know what my job is.] Work work.
I’m surprised. Anyway, I just talked to [a young person, known to the two of us; in fact, a relative].
And?
I enjoyed it. Unlike [a not too oblique reference to two grown women residing an ocean apart], he actually listens to me, is interested in what I have to say.
I mean, it’s a conversation stopper, isn’t it? Not to mention that I distinctly remember having like a ten hour spell of listening just a few days back.
More on tracking the size of an audience
Just remember, when they say tomorrow that more than a billion are watching the Oscars, it's not really true.
A post where Ocean takes on both the mysteries of the universe and jokes about garlic breath
As the health of the Pope makes headlines on an almost daily basis, stories about religion and Catholicism are trickling into blogs and bookstore lines.
For example, this Thursday I was standing in line at the University Bookstore downtown and a man was telling a quite funny joke about a Pope who needed a heart transplant (it’s about feathers and unwilling donors and garlic breath in Italy; really a nice little chuckle). A small group gathered and we had ourselves an impromptu discussion as to how Pontiffs get elected. I’d forgotten how long it’s been since there has been a change in the Vatican. Most students weren’t even born at the time of the last Papal inauguration (1978).
In the meantime, matchingtracksuits is posting about how difficult it is to admit to atheism in Poland (citing my comment on that blog about there being no reward for keeping an open mind to possibility of an absence of a God). I’d always felt that a lack of tolerance toward atheism should be especially pronounced in deeply Catholic countries. But is that really true? It is an accepted truth that an atheist would have no chance at political success in the States. The same cannot be said for Poland. Moreover, as matchingtracksuits points out, a Pole’s response to atheism is typically one of pity (“I cannot imagine living without God”). In the States, I think it breeds distrust (“So what else don’t you believe in? Democracy? Freedom? The American Way?”).
On the other hand, no one standing in a line in Poland would have thought the joke about a Pope’s heart transplant was funny. Rather than lingering, I would have looked for the nearest exit. It’s not safe to be in the midst of an angry mob.
For example, this Thursday I was standing in line at the University Bookstore downtown and a man was telling a quite funny joke about a Pope who needed a heart transplant (it’s about feathers and unwilling donors and garlic breath in Italy; really a nice little chuckle). A small group gathered and we had ourselves an impromptu discussion as to how Pontiffs get elected. I’d forgotten how long it’s been since there has been a change in the Vatican. Most students weren’t even born at the time of the last Papal inauguration (1978).
In the meantime, matchingtracksuits is posting about how difficult it is to admit to atheism in Poland (citing my comment on that blog about there being no reward for keeping an open mind to possibility of an absence of a God). I’d always felt that a lack of tolerance toward atheism should be especially pronounced in deeply Catholic countries. But is that really true? It is an accepted truth that an atheist would have no chance at political success in the States. The same cannot be said for Poland. Moreover, as matchingtracksuits points out, a Pole’s response to atheism is typically one of pity (“I cannot imagine living without God”). In the States, I think it breeds distrust (“So what else don’t you believe in? Democracy? Freedom? The American Way?”).
On the other hand, no one standing in a line in Poland would have thought the joke about a Pope’s heart transplant was funny. Rather than lingering, I would have looked for the nearest exit. It’s not safe to be in the midst of an angry mob.
Rolling around the blog, linking games and traffic updates
At the Wednesday blogger dinner, Bozzo and Oscar* cooked up a linking game, whereby they increase the number of links to each other, so that their blogs reach an elevated status in the ecosystem rankings, where such things count.
But count for what? If you reach a higher level for a day, for a week, forever, as a result of machinations and manipulations, what have you actually demonstrated except that your game was a success (which we already know will be the case)?
Again, the question has been raised as to why numbers – of links and readers – do not fascinate me as much. And it really is quite simple. Once I knew I had readers (and I do know, from emails that people write, which I absolutely treasure) I felt that I have an obligation to write for them, these real people who are already connected to me. Who cares if there are 100 or 500? What possible difference does it make?
Much as I like fashioning my own rules and sticking to my own way of doing things on Ocean, I will, however, give in to one recurring request: that I list the blogs I read on a regular basis. That will be my project for this week-end. And I want it to be an inclusive list, so if you have included Ocean on your blogroll and want to be mentioned here, please send me an email. Since I am not a checker, chances are I do not know about Ocean’s appearance elsewhere, if indeed it does appear elsewhere.
*Why am I on a first name basis with Oscar but not Bozzo in my references to them here? Because tradition has it that we’ve used last names in posting about blogger dinner attendees. Oscar muddled things up by giving himself the last name of Madison. It is too odd to refer to him as Madison. It’s as if I am writing about my home town. Thus – he shall be Oscar, while the rest of us will suffer away with our authentically honest last names.
But count for what? If you reach a higher level for a day, for a week, forever, as a result of machinations and manipulations, what have you actually demonstrated except that your game was a success (which we already know will be the case)?
Again, the question has been raised as to why numbers – of links and readers – do not fascinate me as much. And it really is quite simple. Once I knew I had readers (and I do know, from emails that people write, which I absolutely treasure) I felt that I have an obligation to write for them, these real people who are already connected to me. Who cares if there are 100 or 500? What possible difference does it make?
Much as I like fashioning my own rules and sticking to my own way of doing things on Ocean, I will, however, give in to one recurring request: that I list the blogs I read on a regular basis. That will be my project for this week-end. And I want it to be an inclusive list, so if you have included Ocean on your blogroll and want to be mentioned here, please send me an email. Since I am not a checker, chances are I do not know about Ocean’s appearance elsewhere, if indeed it does appear elsewhere.
*Why am I on a first name basis with Oscar but not Bozzo in my references to them here? Because tradition has it that we’ve used last names in posting about blogger dinner attendees. Oscar muddled things up by giving himself the last name of Madison. It is too odd to refer to him as Madison. It’s as if I am writing about my home town. Thus – he shall be Oscar, while the rest of us will suffer away with our authentically honest last names.
Friday, February 25, 2005
Lattes and juniper berries
Some days are out of control. We all have them. They begin early, finish late, and you wonder what it is that took up all of that middle part.
I happen to (sometimes) capture the essence of things by having my trusty non-rusty camera throughout. This is what I came up with:
I happen to (sometimes) capture the essence of things by having my trusty non-rusty camera throughout. This is what I came up with:
Watching snow melt
Back from California on Tuesday. Found lots of snow on the ground. Nice neighbor had shoveled sidewalk. Driveway and walkway remain covered. Was lazy. Remain lazy. Decide not to shovel any of it. It is February 25. How long can it last? Will watch it melt. Will report when the last trace is gone. Neighbors realize my lazy streak. Probably feel sorry for me. Snow is awfully deep. Ah well.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Differences
Tonight, as I sipped and ate dinner downtown with two attorneys (former students of mine) who do not mind being blogged about, habits and all, it struck me how different the world of the law prof is (the average one, or at least me, I am not intending to generalize, so do not tell me that this is not your experience) from that of, say, the social science prof with respect to our conversations with students (for the most part, I know that there are exceptions, do not write and note for me the exceptions, yes yes, you are unique, I am not writing about you, only about me). In graduate school, the profs are fixtures for an extended period of time in the life and professional development of the grad student (six years? more?). As students slowly progress toward faculty status, the divisional lines starts to blur. And in anticipation of that, they actually blur quite early. Students wont admit this – they tend to distinguish between THEM and us (remember, I was once one of you, I speak from experience) – but all this is a pretence, because in reality, grades and letters of recommendation notwithstanding, boundaries are not clearly defined, in the domain of social interaction, between THEM and us.
In Law School, they are. I have to say this: no matter how stern my demeanor on the first day of class, the law student will quickly figure out (google and find the blog, for one thing) that I am one of the more approachable law profs around. Some call me “Nina” from day one (you could not do that to everyone). I understand. I like the prof title, but I shrug with indifference at those who choose to bypass it. Yet, in spite of thes degrees of informality, I know better. For example, bonded as I am to my small classes (we tell stories on break, we comment on each other’s eating habits – yes you, I am talking about the macaroni pizza you munch on each Wednesday, which makes us jealous and wistful), we would not, I don't think, go out to karaoke together. Somehow doing this with law students seems wrong (even though I did, smoke my one and only cigarette in the last 25 years with you guys out on the balcony this fall).
BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT
… then comes graduation. And my wonderful students become lawyers. And they write to me and call me and we have dinners and drinks and they report on the professional shenanigans out there and most of all (and this is so different from grad students), so many of them stay in town. I watch them surpass me in their ability to quickly provide a service and I AM SO PROUD! I ask them questions and even though they are half my age (just about, really!), they are my friends, suddenly, unequivocally.
God, I love my job.
In Law School, they are. I have to say this: no matter how stern my demeanor on the first day of class, the law student will quickly figure out (google and find the blog, for one thing) that I am one of the more approachable law profs around. Some call me “Nina” from day one (you could not do that to everyone). I understand. I like the prof title, but I shrug with indifference at those who choose to bypass it. Yet, in spite of thes degrees of informality, I know better. For example, bonded as I am to my small classes (we tell stories on break, we comment on each other’s eating habits – yes you, I am talking about the macaroni pizza you munch on each Wednesday, which makes us jealous and wistful), we would not, I don't think, go out to karaoke together. Somehow doing this with law students seems wrong (even though I did, smoke my one and only cigarette in the last 25 years with you guys out on the balcony this fall).
BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT
… then comes graduation. And my wonderful students become lawyers. And they write to me and call me and we have dinners and drinks and they report on the professional shenanigans out there and most of all (and this is so different from grad students), so many of them stay in town. I watch them surpass me in their ability to quickly provide a service and I AM SO PROUD! I ask them questions and even though they are half my age (just about, really!), they are my friends, suddenly, unequivocally.
God, I love my job.
Teaching on a roll
Sometimes I come into class and I have my materials set before me and my lecture notes and texts marked with post-its. My seating chart is ready, my first page of notes is underlined properly, drawing attention to the important points that need to be emphasized before the day is done. And then a student offers an interesting (and provocative) observation and the notes suddenly seem redundant, unimportant, because the burning issue has just been framed in exactly the way you want it to be framed and the discussion takes off. And it is a worthwhile discussion because there are strong arguments to be made on both sides and suddenly I hear students making them. And they continue to make them after class.
Today was such a day.
Today was such a day.
Blogger dinner: tying up loose ends
[Posts below explain cast of bloggers]
It wasn’t billed as a karaoke night, but if you put Brito and Freese in the same room for more than five minutes, one of them will mention singing. And the other will surely oblige.
Oscar and I complained bitterly about the absence of cool music, but in the end we could not resist a moment on stage. Oscar even played the guitar (though he could have been playing row row row your boat continuously and no one would have noticed; occasionally when someone would look up, he’d mumble something about the guitar being grossly out of tune). Bozzo’s humming turned into out-loud singing. The “I’m going to go along with the whole odd lot of you” moment belonged to Althouse, who tried hard to Get Stuff Done in spite of the noise (I cannot call all that we belted into the mike singing). Oh, and a door prize to Brito who enticed me to dance along in the moments when I wasn’t the back-up girl to their music. Ooooo, weee, dooo dah DAH!
Thank you, Brito, for the dinner. It was a supremely wonderful meal. Each work day should end like this.
It wasn’t billed as a karaoke night, but if you put Brito and Freese in the same room for more than five minutes, one of them will mention singing. And the other will surely oblige.
Oscar and I complained bitterly about the absence of cool music, but in the end we could not resist a moment on stage. Oscar even played the guitar (though he could have been playing row row row your boat continuously and no one would have noticed; occasionally when someone would look up, he’d mumble something about the guitar being grossly out of tune). Bozzo’s humming turned into out-loud singing. The “I’m going to go along with the whole odd lot of you” moment belonged to Althouse, who tried hard to Get Stuff Done in spite of the noise (I cannot call all that we belted into the mike singing). Oh, and a door prize to Brito who enticed me to dance along in the moments when I wasn’t the back-up girl to their music. Ooooo, weee, dooo dah DAH!
Thank you, Brito, for the dinner. It was a supremely wonderful meal. Each work day should end like this.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Blogger dinner, continued
Why am I not a fastidious simul-blogger? Why have I not risen to the challenge? Because I think these fellow bloggers are all wonderful nuts – like the type you purchase in a specialty store for no good reason, except that they are a pleasure in life.
Brito is singing right now. Oscar is trying to appear at ease. Althouse is sweating her MSNBC post. Freese is absolutely relaxed – this is his forté after all. Bozzo is cool and willing to hum along. Me, I am just loving the relaxededness of it all. I can't quite follow the lyrics about it being hot in here and taking off all your clothes, but maybe it's just my age. Oh oh, Freese is picking up the mike. So far it is absolutely for visual effect only. The two of them look ...cool. Now Freese is complaining that HIS MIKE DOESNT WORK (and yet he claims that he can PROJECT). Yes, assuredly he can. Yes. He can. Oh my. He can. Brito keeps repeating "..so hot.. take my clothes off.." but she doesn't mean it.
The water. It's all in the Madison water.
Brito is singing right now. Oscar is trying to appear at ease. Althouse is sweating her MSNBC post. Freese is absolutely relaxed – this is his forté after all. Bozzo is cool and willing to hum along. Me, I am just loving the relaxededness of it all. I can't quite follow the lyrics about it being hot in here and taking off all your clothes, but maybe it's just my age. Oh oh, Freese is picking up the mike. So far it is absolutely for visual effect only. The two of them look ...cool. Now Freese is complaining that HIS MIKE DOESNT WORK (and yet he claims that he can PROJECT). Yes, assuredly he can. Yes. He can. Oh my. He can. Brito keeps repeating "..so hot.. take my clothes off.." but she doesn't mean it.
The water. It's all in the Madison water.
Let them eat blogs
I know I have new readers who are possibly unfamiliar with the idea of a blogger dinner. Then there are those living far away who have read accounts in the past and have wondered what substance ran through the water pipes of the city to make us act in this rather bizarre way.
It’s simple, really. A year ago, a handful of blogging law and soc profs came together, perhaps to counter aspersions that blogging promotes solitude. Faces and personalities were matched with blog pages (you’d be surprised at how much the blogging persona may not fully represent the wonderful complexity of any given blogger). Eventually we moved from restaurants to a home setting and the inevitable happened. Someone brought their computer. So did the others. Simul-blogging the dinner itself was born (where all participants write about the event simultaneously, as it is unfolding).
Now, thus far I have always hosted the at-home blogger dinners. Therefore, I have never participated in simul-blogging. I have been too busy filling plates to ever bring a computer into my kitchen. Perhaps as a result of my abstinence, some pretty shady-shifty aspersion were cast, as I endured the jokes of those who knew that retaliation was not about to take place.
Tonight I have my moment. The blogger dinner has moved to Brito’s. I am simul-blogging alright. In attendance: Althouse, Bozzo, Brito, Freese, and a newcomer – Oscar. I’m sharpening my fingers in anticipation. No more “Camic is burning the crostini!” or “Camic has turned up the heat to a hellish 130 degrees!” None of that. Sweet, sweet revenge, about to happen. Tonight.
It’s simple, really. A year ago, a handful of blogging law and soc profs came together, perhaps to counter aspersions that blogging promotes solitude. Faces and personalities were matched with blog pages (you’d be surprised at how much the blogging persona may not fully represent the wonderful complexity of any given blogger). Eventually we moved from restaurants to a home setting and the inevitable happened. Someone brought their computer. So did the others. Simul-blogging the dinner itself was born (where all participants write about the event simultaneously, as it is unfolding).
Now, thus far I have always hosted the at-home blogger dinners. Therefore, I have never participated in simul-blogging. I have been too busy filling plates to ever bring a computer into my kitchen. Perhaps as a result of my abstinence, some pretty shady-shifty aspersion were cast, as I endured the jokes of those who knew that retaliation was not about to take place.
Tonight I have my moment. The blogger dinner has moved to Brito’s. I am simul-blogging alright. In attendance: Althouse, Bozzo, Brito, Freese, and a newcomer – Oscar. I’m sharpening my fingers in anticipation. No more “Camic is burning the crostini!” or “Camic has turned up the heat to a hellish 130 degrees!” None of that. Sweet, sweet revenge, about to happen. Tonight.
Putting the good spin on being back home, at work, in the middle of a cold spell
Things that Madison has that Californians can only dream about:
* Clear skies and sunshine in February, strong enough to melt 12% of the snow that accumulated in my driveway during my California absence (thank you, neighbor, for clearing my sidewalk and sparing me the ticket that the snow cops hand out at this time of the year);
I’ll add to the list as soon as another idea strikes me.
In the meantime, the wet hills and fields of flowers in the Wine Country left an indelible mark on me. And the people: northern Californians mix and match in ways that are refreshing! Age-wise, politics-wise, otherwise – the groups that I hung out with were at ease in these various configurations. And the honest teasing about differences was completely enlivening.
Wait, I’m straying into California-adoration. I’m in Madison now. It’s good to be home. Yeah, it’s good to immerse myself in work, to catch myself (how pathetic) rereading my own posts about California ramblings.
And it’s great to hear from Mary, issuing an invitation for the next trek out west. There’s Anderson Valley to visit, the North Beach to walk through, a spa morning at Cinta, a MoMA afternoon... she writes.
I wonder if my Berkeley mother needs another visit from me. I’m sure she does. Take heed, all you adult readers with aging parents! Ocean is going on record in its support and encouragement of intergenerational family visists. How lucky that for once, for once, someone in my family has kindly chosen a place to live that is intensely exciting to explore.
* Clear skies and sunshine in February, strong enough to melt 12% of the snow that accumulated in my driveway during my California absence (thank you, neighbor, for clearing my sidewalk and sparing me the ticket that the snow cops hand out at this time of the year);
I’ll add to the list as soon as another idea strikes me.
In the meantime, the wet hills and fields of flowers in the Wine Country left an indelible mark on me. And the people: northern Californians mix and match in ways that are refreshing! Age-wise, politics-wise, otherwise – the groups that I hung out with were at ease in these various configurations. And the honest teasing about differences was completely enlivening.
Wait, I’m straying into California-adoration. I’m in Madison now. It’s good to be home. Yeah, it’s good to immerse myself in work, to catch myself (how pathetic) rereading my own posts about California ramblings.
And it’s great to hear from Mary, issuing an invitation for the next trek out west. There’s Anderson Valley to visit, the North Beach to walk through, a spa morning at Cinta, a MoMA afternoon... she writes.
I wonder if my Berkeley mother needs another visit from me. I’m sure she does. Take heed, all you adult readers with aging parents! Ocean is going on record in its support and encouragement of intergenerational family visists. How lucky that for once, for once, someone in my family has kindly chosen a place to live that is intensely exciting to explore.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
A Romantic Comedy
Some people (me for example) like watching romantic comedies. I frequently hear this: when I go to a movie, I like to forget about the reality waiting for me back home. I want to be happy along with the couple on the screen.
It struck me that increasingly, this blog is turning into one romantic comedy. Like the movie form, it is not especially funny, but it stumbles along hoping to entertain – myself if not the reader.
Anyone who knows me, knows also that this has been a rather tough winter for me. I’ve a lot going on at work and just about at every front and I find most of it very trying and unamusing. Ocean goes through phases and it has definitely hit a level of inconsequentiality that is astonishing to a reader who may have logged on prior to the elections, for example.
This morning, at the Denver airport, I wrote tentatively a post on a more serious topic – having to do with the EU. I used to love writing about things having to do with the EU. Not anymore. I read my own post and deleted it. It struck me as wrong for the here and now.
I know there is a danger: one of these days I will slide into writing about something so trivial that it may as well appear as a blank page on the computer screen: it will say absolutely nothing.
For now, I am running with my own inclination. Martinis, truck stops, hair color, barnyard manure if I come across any that strikes me as amusing. Nothing serious. Not this month or next, for sure.
P.S. to the kind reader (click onto his cool new blog here) who suggested that perhaps I should have purchased the whoopass t-shirt (see last night’s post here) and worn it to class this week, let me assure you, the students may have laughed, but some of my senior colleagues would not have been amused.
It struck me that increasingly, this blog is turning into one romantic comedy. Like the movie form, it is not especially funny, but it stumbles along hoping to entertain – myself if not the reader.
Anyone who knows me, knows also that this has been a rather tough winter for me. I’ve a lot going on at work and just about at every front and I find most of it very trying and unamusing. Ocean goes through phases and it has definitely hit a level of inconsequentiality that is astonishing to a reader who may have logged on prior to the elections, for example.
This morning, at the Denver airport, I wrote tentatively a post on a more serious topic – having to do with the EU. I used to love writing about things having to do with the EU. Not anymore. I read my own post and deleted it. It struck me as wrong for the here and now.
I know there is a danger: one of these days I will slide into writing about something so trivial that it may as well appear as a blank page on the computer screen: it will say absolutely nothing.
For now, I am running with my own inclination. Martinis, truck stops, hair color, barnyard manure if I come across any that strikes me as amusing. Nothing serious. Not this month or next, for sure.
P.S. to the kind reader (click onto his cool new blog here) who suggested that perhaps I should have purchased the whoopass t-shirt (see last night’s post here) and worn it to class this week, let me assure you, the students may have laughed, but some of my senior colleagues would not have been amused.
Where I announced to a full flight of people that I add color to my hair
Though we are a noisy nation (no problem picking out Americans abroad – they talk ten notches louder than everyone else; it is a vast country that we inhabit and we have trained ourselves to shout in order to be heard from Maine to California), on planes, people for the most part tend to be quiet.
They were quiet when we were settling into our seats. And very quiet when I took out my cell for a quick call to my man Jason who was to work on my hair this afternoon were it not for my complicated layovers and missed return connections. And they were super quiet when I said to the Salon receptionist: what do you mean you cannot find Jason?? I need to beg him on my knees to take me this week. I cannot stand the color of my hair another minute! He’ll do this for me, I know he will! Please go find him!
And they continued to be quiet as I said, while getting up to disembark, right into my reconnected cell: well if you cannot find him go search for Robyn, his assistant. You do not understand, this is a color emergency!
Everyone heard, everyone smiled with understanding (after all, they had full view of my head of hair). But I had to do it anyway. I was past being embarrassed. I needed action.
[BTW, have I said this before? 70% of women past 40 color their hair and 17% of men do. Just keep that in mind as you next scan the heads of people in an audience or an airplane.]
They were quiet when we were settling into our seats. And very quiet when I took out my cell for a quick call to my man Jason who was to work on my hair this afternoon were it not for my complicated layovers and missed return connections. And they were super quiet when I said to the Salon receptionist: what do you mean you cannot find Jason?? I need to beg him on my knees to take me this week. I cannot stand the color of my hair another minute! He’ll do this for me, I know he will! Please go find him!
And they continued to be quiet as I said, while getting up to disembark, right into my reconnected cell: well if you cannot find him go search for Robyn, his assistant. You do not understand, this is a color emergency!
Everyone heard, everyone smiled with understanding (after all, they had full view of my head of hair). But I had to do it anyway. I was past being embarrassed. I needed action.
[BTW, have I said this before? 70% of women past 40 color their hair and 17% of men do. Just keep that in mind as you next scan the heads of people in an audience or an airplane.]
Denver Airport: I used to laugh at people like me
There was a time when passengers, overloaded with carryons, brought out a little secret smirk in me. I would embark smugly on a nine-hour flight with a novel in hand and a dainty purse swinging from the shoulder and that would be it. Crazy people, those who think they need every piece of entertainment on board, or who load themselves down with souvenirs and travel purchases. Plain nutty.
That was then. This trip is reason enough to feel regret at my past smugness. I am loaded down by projects I want to work on but don’t have time for back home. I am burdened by a computer that was purchased when lightweight was not an option. Burnt by too many instances of lost luggage, I have all important items stuffed into the computer bag. My handbag has life’s essentials, which, as of this morning, appear to include a lifetime supply of tictacs and my growing collection of coffee cards. And on this leg of the journey, I also have a little crate of wine purchased in Sonoma and Napa. Oh, and the gorgeous pear apple vinegar from Sebastiani.
The United cart, the one that transports elderly and disabled travelers, stopped and asked if I would like assistance. I accepted. During the ride I made all sorts of promises to myself about dainty purses and novels for the future. The very distant future.
That was then. This trip is reason enough to feel regret at my past smugness. I am loaded down by projects I want to work on but don’t have time for back home. I am burdened by a computer that was purchased when lightweight was not an option. Burnt by too many instances of lost luggage, I have all important items stuffed into the computer bag. My handbag has life’s essentials, which, as of this morning, appear to include a lifetime supply of tictacs and my growing collection of coffee cards. And on this leg of the journey, I also have a little crate of wine purchased in Sonoma and Napa. Oh, and the gorgeous pear apple vinegar from Sebastiani.
The United cart, the one that transports elderly and disabled travelers, stopped and asked if I would like assistance. I accepted. During the ride I made all sorts of promises to myself about dainty purses and novels for the future. The very distant future.
In Aurora, Colorado: good morning! breakfast is now being served
A treat from United (the airline that is making this little Colorado getaway possible, as explained in the post below): I have two breakfast options: a full, warm breakfast at the Crystal Inn, or the use of a $4 coupon for breakfast anywhere at the airport.
Which would you choose?
True, the Crystal Inn breakfast has its advantages: the shuttle bus driver could not praise it enough: and they give you warmed up sausage patties or bacon with your cereal and toast! But then, this was the same guy who highly recommended the frozen sandwiches at the truck stop, easily reheated at the communal Crystal Inn microwave.
But a $4 coupon? A latte alone is $3.65. What a snob, you’re thinking, she has to have a latte while the rest of America struggles with watery coffee. And there’s your answer: the rest of America struggles with watery coffee. Go ahead and struggle. I prefer to shock myself into existence in the early hours of a day.
The decision is made: I’m heading for the airport.
Which would you choose?
True, the Crystal Inn breakfast has its advantages: the shuttle bus driver could not praise it enough: and they give you warmed up sausage patties or bacon with your cereal and toast! But then, this was the same guy who highly recommended the frozen sandwiches at the truck stop, easily reheated at the communal Crystal Inn microwave.
But a $4 coupon? A latte alone is $3.65. What a snob, you’re thinking, she has to have a latte while the rest of America struggles with watery coffee. And there’s your answer: the rest of America struggles with watery coffee. Go ahead and struggle. I prefer to shock myself into existence in the early hours of a day.
The decision is made: I’m heading for the airport.
Monday, February 21, 2005
In Aurora, Colorado: what can I say about a late night dinner of iceberg lettuce and BBQ sauce “purchased” at a truck stop?
This post is dedicated to Mary in SF, to an old man staying in a trailer at a truck stop in Colorado, and to United Airlines, the best care in the air (but not on the ground).
Say what? Are you home or not?
Not.
What happened??
Long story. Bottom line – the cheese made me do it.
A nice morning. Mary and I went grocery shopping outside Palo Alto. She swore I could fit in a half bottle of Murphy-Goode Reserve Fumé into my suitcase. We eat California rolls for lunch at her place. So California! She takes me to the Oakland airport. A hug and I am on my way.
Oops – a two hour delay in departure to Denver. United rep asks: would you like to chance it? The Madison-bound flight may be late as well. I know better. The Madison connection is never late when I need it to be late and always late when I need it to be on time. Besides, I have this aritisanal Monterey Jack cheese that Mary thought I should take back home. Eh, just assume that I cannot make the connection and put me up in Denver. Ship my suitcase there as well – it’s got a cheese that requires refrigeration. And after all, YOU, my dear United, are paying (the cause of the delay: the crew did not toddle in on time on the arriving flight).
Yay! You got a free overnight in Denver and probably a yummy meal too?
Correction: I got an overnight at the Crystal Inn at Aurora, Colorado, which is as good as it sounds. Meaning – it’s in the middle of nowhere.
…And the meal?
Yes, the meal. I got a $9 coupon from United to buy myself a dinner at the adjacent truck stop. This in itself deserved a glass of wine or at least a beer to make it all go down, don’t you think?
So you had your beer or wine.
It was a close one. I asked at the lovely Crystal Inn (where you can book a Romantic Getaway Package for two…DON’T!) if a glass of wine was within reach. Answer: no. Okay, I have my own supplies. Many a passenger on the delayed Oakland flight coveted my box of wines picked up at Sonoma and Napa. Do you have a corkscrew? No, but maybe you can purchase one at the truck stop, where you can also pick up $9 worth of free dinner, courtesy of United.
There you go! A solution, right at hand!
Not really. At the truck stop shop they had the following items available for purchase:
Say what? Are you home or not?
Not.
What happened??
Long story. Bottom line – the cheese made me do it.
A nice morning. Mary and I went grocery shopping outside Palo Alto. She swore I could fit in a half bottle of Murphy-Goode Reserve Fumé into my suitcase. We eat California rolls for lunch at her place. So California! She takes me to the Oakland airport. A hug and I am on my way.
Oops – a two hour delay in departure to Denver. United rep asks: would you like to chance it? The Madison-bound flight may be late as well. I know better. The Madison connection is never late when I need it to be late and always late when I need it to be on time. Besides, I have this aritisanal Monterey Jack cheese that Mary thought I should take back home. Eh, just assume that I cannot make the connection and put me up in Denver. Ship my suitcase there as well – it’s got a cheese that requires refrigeration. And after all, YOU, my dear United, are paying (the cause of the delay: the crew did not toddle in on time on the arriving flight).
Yay! You got a free overnight in Denver and probably a yummy meal too?
Correction: I got an overnight at the Crystal Inn at Aurora, Colorado, which is as good as it sounds. Meaning – it’s in the middle of nowhere.
…And the meal?
Yes, the meal. I got a $9 coupon from United to buy myself a dinner at the adjacent truck stop. This in itself deserved a glass of wine or at least a beer to make it all go down, don’t you think?
So you had your beer or wine.
It was a close one. I asked at the lovely Crystal Inn (where you can book a Romantic Getaway Package for two…DON’T!) if a glass of wine was within reach. Answer: no. Okay, I have my own supplies. Many a passenger on the delayed Oakland flight coveted my box of wines picked up at Sonoma and Napa. Do you have a corkscrew? No, but maybe you can purchase one at the truck stop, where you can also pick up $9 worth of free dinner, courtesy of United.
There you go! A solution, right at hand!
Not really. At the truck stop shop they had the following items available for purchase:
…And decided I should chance it on the salad with BBQed something or other (I cannot say it, it makes me feel ill). Total price of said dish: exactly $9 (it was one of their splurges).
When it was ready, the astute cashier shouted: Crystal Inn order ready, charge it to room #406! Great. Let every trucker know that a helpless older damsel is staying by herself at the Crystal Inn, room 406. Robbery about to happen.
But then I ask again – I really cannot borrow a corkscrew for even a minute?
Answer: no.
A grizzly-looking dude comes up and says: I got one in my trailer. You can have it.
QUESTION FOR THE AUDIENCE: Would you follow a stranger to his trailer just because he offered you a corkscrew?
ANSWER: Of course not!
Still, this was safe. He explained about having just come from California with his wife and how they had to purchase a corkscrew because their friends gave them wine… and besides, he was parked right outside the store.
And so that is how I find myself typing away in Aurora, Colorado, with a disgusting dinner, locked in a Styrofoam box (unmentionable content inside), sipping away at a wonderful Sauvignon Blanc from a half-bottle picked out by Mary, opened by the fanciest, plushest Kitchen Aid corkscrew.
When it was ready, the astute cashier shouted: Crystal Inn order ready, charge it to room #406! Great. Let every trucker know that a helpless older damsel is staying by herself at the Crystal Inn, room 406. Robbery about to happen.
But then I ask again – I really cannot borrow a corkscrew for even a minute?
Answer: no.
A grizzly-looking dude comes up and says: I got one in my trailer. You can have it.
QUESTION FOR THE AUDIENCE: Would you follow a stranger to his trailer just because he offered you a corkscrew?
ANSWER: Of course not!
Still, this was safe. He explained about having just come from California with his wife and how they had to purchase a corkscrew because their friends gave them wine… and besides, he was parked right outside the store.
And so that is how I find myself typing away in Aurora, Colorado, with a disgusting dinner, locked in a Styrofoam box (unmentionable content inside), sipping away at a wonderful Sauvignon Blanc from a half-bottle picked out by Mary, opened by the fanciest, plushest Kitchen Aid corkscrew.
In California: Sonoma, Napa – it’s all a blur of hills and vines, misty skies and mustard greens
It’s not like it once was, they told me. The big S is blasted out of Sebastiani and it’s all about quality now. The producers care. The vines are getting older, the yield is smaller and the wines are magnificent.
Yeah, sure. Show me.
And they did. Winding through the Silverado Trail I thought maybe we were transported. In California’s brief green season (it lasts two months), the countryside looks vibrant and refreshed.
They also corrected me about Sideways (as did a number of readers who, unlike me, actually saw the film): that movie is about south of SF, not north, where Napa and Sonoma rule.
It helped to see the Wine Country in brooding weather, almost as if it wanted to mock the ancient stereotypes. I compare the wines of Sebastiani with those of the smaller Robert Sinskey Winery. I’m impressed.
A visit to Copia in Napa is a must. Copia is a nonprofit, established to further our understanding of foods and wines. Julia Child was a primary instigator here and we ate at Julia’s Kitchen, then walked through a garden filled with already burgeoning veggies and herbs. In an exhibit on “What the world eats” we could compare the eating habits of some two dozen countries around the world. Predictably, the French spend the most on food, followed by Japan and then the United States. Oh, and here’s another LKF (little known fact): did you know that 92% of all wine is consumed within 2 hours of its purchase?
We ended the day at St Helena, eating the hours away at a Napa cuisine classic, Tra Vigne. I was indulged. Mary and Tom treated me to the in-season Dungeness crab. You want to see pigishness? Imagine me digging into the monstrous plate of food shown at the bottom of the photo run.
Tomorrow (make that today, I’m posting Monday morning) I return to Madison. I have tons on my plate there and none is as lip-smackin’ as the crab dish. But the tight grip of people who care and who keep me steady is always there. I appreciate it so much, at every turn.
Yeah, sure. Show me.
And they did. Winding through the Silverado Trail I thought maybe we were transported. In California’s brief green season (it lasts two months), the countryside looks vibrant and refreshed.
They also corrected me about Sideways (as did a number of readers who, unlike me, actually saw the film): that movie is about south of SF, not north, where Napa and Sonoma rule.
It helped to see the Wine Country in brooding weather, almost as if it wanted to mock the ancient stereotypes. I compare the wines of Sebastiani with those of the smaller Robert Sinskey Winery. I’m impressed.
A visit to Copia in Napa is a must. Copia is a nonprofit, established to further our understanding of foods and wines. Julia Child was a primary instigator here and we ate at Julia’s Kitchen, then walked through a garden filled with already burgeoning veggies and herbs. In an exhibit on “What the world eats” we could compare the eating habits of some two dozen countries around the world. Predictably, the French spend the most on food, followed by Japan and then the United States. Oh, and here’s another LKF (little known fact): did you know that 92% of all wine is consumed within 2 hours of its purchase?
We ended the day at St Helena, eating the hours away at a Napa cuisine classic, Tra Vigne. I was indulged. Mary and Tom treated me to the in-season Dungeness crab. You want to see pigishness? Imagine me digging into the monstrous plate of food shown at the bottom of the photo run.
Tomorrow (make that today, I’m posting Monday morning) I return to Madison. I have tons on my plate there and none is as lip-smackin’ as the crab dish. But the tight grip of people who care and who keep me steady is always there. I appreciate it so much, at every turn.
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