Nice talkin’ to you

So, a perceptive reader may have noted that since the beginning of the semester, evenings (with the exception of last night) have been … quiet, of the type where you listen to the clock for an hour and then finally, in resignation, turn on the TV, even though you have no intention of actually watching anything. Just for the sound of the human voice. [nb, thanks to KF and KO for dragging me out for walks to ease the transition to “quiet-dom.”]

Tonight I broke down and called my mother. I owed her a call. What with all those periods of travel, I had “missed” talking with her since the beginning of August.

I wont go into details of her Great Unhappiness – something that she has been toting for I think about 4 – 5 decades – but I do want to offer for speculation her parting words. After an hour of idle moroseness, she tells me “good bye and use the time to do something great and worthwhile; it’s your last chance.”

Now, I do understand that my own mother doesn’t believe that anything I have done or continue to do on a daily basis is worthwhile. Indeed, were she to miraculously discover my blog (God, tell me that she hasn’t sprung forth this miracle!) and read yesterday’s post, one could give her some credit for intuiting my lack of “worthwhile” endeavors.

But assume she hasn’t read it. What now? How might I not disappoint her? Here I was, trudging along, thinking that my trilogy of work, family and friends is indeed worth singing grateful songs about – I love all three, after all. I may even add to that pile things that truly keep me bubbling away in a state of near-euphoria (most of the time).

But are any worthwhile?

Perhaps not. And so I am again asking for email suggestions. What might I do to satisfy that maternal desire (on her part) to see a daughter pull it off in life? It seems I haven’t struck gold yet. Any ideas where I may next channel my efforts?

BTW, happy anniversary to me.

How is it that this word has become so metro-golden?

I am sitting at Borders sipping a coffee, paying bills, snarling at myself for having missed the deadline for my Visa card payment (you get a reprieve if you call customer service, but only once; alright, so I used my freebie last month; both times I have an excuse – I was AWAY, darn it! Can’t you tell by the locations from which bills were being charged??), when I heard it again, at the table next to mine – “he’s soooo, metrosexual!”

It’s as if the word was waiting to be born and having arisen from some quirky etymological roots it now stands triumphant, ready to be dished out to all those deserving men who thus far had nowhere to turn to, remaining stuck in some multi-word characterization, such as “he dresses and cares for himself as if he were gay and had a queer eye, but really he is directing it onto his own most likely straight self” which certainly was a clunker. Not anymore, suddenly, all sorts are labeled “metrosexual.”

Now, I think we’re being carried away by word-euphoria here. I even checked wordspy.com to make sure I was correct in my understanding of who was indeed a true metrosexual and I think I can say with a straight face that most men labeled as metros are maybe accurately depicted on the sexual front but certainly there is nothing that would lead me to believe that they look, for example, like this.

And then there are others who are likely to be slumping off into the depths of depression, realizing that they themsleves could never be subsumed into this devilishly cliquey group (ah yes, I’m thinking of you!).

So here’s a plea: let’s not get carried away with these terms. Metrosexual-schmexual. I DON’T want to hear it ten times within each twenty-four-hour period. There are NOT that many well-kempt types around, let alone ones who are obsessive about it. Really.

The morning after

The blogger dinner ended without so much as an incident. All (for an enumeration of who came and links to sites, see Jeremy’s post below; pay no heed to his comments on the consumption of cognac – indeed, everyone sipped with great responsibility, which I have found almost always to be the case when you serve large amounts of food – people thankfully stay sober, a fact that is especially nice if you are the cook and want everyone to take note of what has been prepared) blogged and ate and some even sang.

Now, if the house would be thus filled with people every evening, I would be happy.

[My one complaint: the great blogger dinner must necessarily be followed by the great clean up; I am restraining myself from posting a photo of the disarray in the kitchen, but I am keeping this post short so that I can get to the tidying before the working day -- gulp -- officially kicks in.]

The writer over at Althouse, contemplating the dinner, the great blogging experiment, the convention and life itself 

Procrastination Central author expressing herself through music 

the author of JFW could not believe what he was witnessing (for a detailed account, check out his blog, linked in the post below) 

pinch-hitting for nina...

This is Jeremy. I'm posting for the first time on NinaNet because she is busy drinking cognac. The whole time she was rushing around cooking, it wasn't a big deal that there was no update to her blog, but now that she's kicked back and guzzling alcohol, she believes her blog has to be updated NOW. Note that this is our great experiment in simulblogging at our monthly Blogger Dinner--see Ann's and Tonya's and mine here.

Update, 10:10: For whatever reason, Nina insists that I post an update to her blog. "Whatever you want, just update it," she says. And so, um, okay, here.

An interesting day

Two law classes this morning, one faculty meeting and a blogger dinner. No ennui issues today.

Notes from my first class (family law):
* In the room next my class, the instructor chose to show fragments of Gone With the Wind (their course: Real Estate. The connection to the movie? Oh, I can imagine…). Introducing Family Law to the strains of GWTW theme music was peculiar;

* The class, conflicting with typically hot second year courses – evidence, con law II, tax, real estate – is smaller than usual with 99% 3rd-year students. My December grading arm is grateful already.

Notes from my second class (torts):
* Although my primary area of interest has been family law for years (the intellectual challenge of developing legal processes that will help determine the optimal placement for a child in a split family household is fantastic: basically there is no good solution and all you can do is poke holes in the existing legislative and judicial models that keep replacing each other every few years), I do LOVE teaching first semester law students (ergo: torts). Something happens to them during winter break following the first semester so that they become… well, like the rest of us. But in the Fall, they are ON BOARD and the project of studying the law is like one big hike into some stellar mountain range – absolutely thrilling.

Notes from my faculty meeting:
* A colleague sitting next to me played this game of pointing out to me the times when the presenter (whomever was up there, in command) went to the trouble of repeating almost exactly what had just been professed by someone from the floor. It was amusing. The repetition and rephrasing also ensured that the meeting would go on forever. I left after 90 minutes. I don’t think they were even half done and there wasn’t much on the agenda. Lawyers!

Notes from the blogger dinner:
* In addition to piling on info earlier in the week about what my lustrous bloggers would not eat, a heated email discussion ensued as to the appropriateness of bringing laptops to my house and to the table (two for, one against, one neutral – you guess which of the four – Ann, Tonya, Jeremy, myself – voted which way). I am hoping the bitterness, rage and disappointments have abated and no hidden resentments spring forth after the wine is poured (it usually takes a glass to unleash these kinds of things). You may want to check in later tonight. Or maybe not, depending on your tolerance for melodrama.

Second evening at home

So, how successful is my second end-of-day back home? The night’s young, but I’m sitting thinking that perhaps a life’s change, in the nature of packing up and moving permanently across the ocean to some community that is not split between the TV and work each evening is a terrific idea.

I am heading out for a walk now, but after that, I fear that I will start surfing airfares, just for the heck of it.

P.S. Thanks to the reader who offered this suggestion for tomorrow’s dinner menu: “let then eat cake” she writes. Indeed. I once had a guest for dinner who said she ate everything except for butter and milk products Suddenly, in my review of menu possibilities, everything, EVERYTHING I wanted to make had either butter or milk and most often both. So, too, all my ideas for tomorrow’s dessert bring forth recipes with huge amounts of the forbidden coffee. Really.

Ennui and anomie

My first six hours back in Madison were spent:

* Cooking an elaborate meal for myself in an effort to counter the notion that women only like to cook for others. However, the meal had no natural ending. I kept adding courses. Dessert was particularly long lasting. [resolve: beginning September 1st, I will get up and leave the kitchen after consuming what seems appropriate for one sitting – perhaps one tenth of what I ate last night.]

* Watching the Republican Convention on public television (it could not have been more boring) from beginning to the end. [resolve: beginning September 1st, the kitchen TV is being unplugged and the CD player is going to have a revolving stack of classy music playing non-stop from the moment I enter the house.]

* Writing emails to random service providers complaining about inadequate service. [For instance, at the Detroit Airport yesterday, the Internet connection was intermittent. As a result, a blog post that should have been written in 15 minutes took much longer, as it kept getting lost. In the end I never finished putting up the post and boarded the Madison-bound plane 3 minutes before take off, much to the disgruntlement of EVERYONE on board the full flight. The Internet provider got a long email detailing my issues. I did get a lengthy response this morning. Perhaps we have the beginnings of a stimulating email correspondence.]

* Calling/writing people and asking what they ate for dinner. [resolve: I wont call or email anymore; too pathetic. I will use the evening hours to learn a new language.]

It is hard going from months of having many willing conversationalists around you (in and out of the house) to being stripped of the opportunities to talk. Had I been, say, in Italy last night, you would have found me at the local piazza, sharing a meal and catching up with the locals. Here, the locals are all behind their locked doors, themselves watching the Republican Convention or doing who knows what. Every part of me rebels against this mode of being at the same time that I realize I am fighting a losing battle. Still, it is the first of the month. Surely I will hatch a plan that will transform this frozen universe into something more sociable and friendly. Surely.

New York – my second home for the year

[This was written on the flight out of NY this afternoon]

Today, I checked out the place where I’ll be spending not a small number of days this year. I have no complaints – it’s a nice contrast to the slower-paced, quiet neighborhood in Madison.

Recently, someone pointed out to me that I should consider myself more of a New Yorker than a Varsovian, since I have lived an equal number of years in both, but with some of those Warsaw years being awfully young ones, thus hardly memorable. Nonetheless, I am hesitant. How can I say that I am of hardy peasant stock and a New Yorker at the same time? And my adolescence – that was completely spent in Warsaw. You are from the place of your first great adolescent love, aren’t you? Mine resided in Warsaw.

Okay, so I’m not a New Yorker. But I do like the city and I especially like that in my new ‘home’ I can look out and see this:

patio view 

…and I can walk out of the high rise…

home, one-third way up 

...and see this:

each one unique... 

And around one corner, I can look down this avenue (Okay New Yorkers, go to it and guess which one!):

a quick photo, before the on-coming cars kill me 

...and on the other side of the block there is this:

around the corner from my new, part-time home