My colleague is about to become a millionaire and it was my idea!

Ann of Althouse blog fame has posted (here) that she will now accept donations to her blog, given how much time and effort she devotes on a daily (hourly?) basis to the project. She notes that in the last several days her readership has been higher than high and perhaps some would now like to show financial appreciation for her work (example of a sacrifice made: toting her computer to a dinner party last Thursday, to loyally continue her simul-blogging of the convention). Imagine, if one tenth of the current 250,000 gave even a dollar, she’d be able to upgrade her little VW to a sporty car with one more letter thrown in (BMW).

Here’s the thing: I got her started. Really. She admits this. Without my words of encouragement, she may still be sketching faces during Law School faculty meetings rather than blogging for bucks. I think it is not unreasonable to remind her of various ways people have been compensated in the past for jumpstarting a business venture. Maybe 10% of the first million and after that it’s all hers? Fair, isn’t it?

The question may arise if you should dole out a buck to Althouse rather than to a political campaign of your choice this year (the Democrats are the needy ones, so let’s even it out a little, shall we?). There is something to be said for supporting our champ of pundits, the self-proclaimed moderate and shrine to the entrepreneurial spirit of success who even as I type is launching a patriotic campaign to make “Closer to Free” the Wisconsin state rock song.

If you’re a Republican and you slip her the greenback, it wont make you or break you and it wont make or break the Republican campaign either. I am certain you’ve written that with ten zeros after it in the last month alone. If you are a Democrat, you MUST support her so that she understands that you are reading her as well and that your hard-earned pennies are being handed over to ensure that she pays equal attention to your electoral needs.

I say go right ahead then: write the checks and include a note stating that at least part of the donation is to be targeted to the one who poured the concrete onto the Althouse foundation.

P.S. “Ocean” remains free. Donations honoring its content can be made to any number of worthy places. Just as an example, lately I have become fascinated with the Save the Goat Campaign. I’m full of ideas.

What are you, a New Yorker? A Virginian? What?

Last night, during a congenial after-dinner chat, I reiterated my idea (from an earlier post here) that perhaps the way you choose the place with which you identify is by looking to where you had your first serious crush. Mine, having been a wallop of a crush, was definitely in Warsaw and so even though I lived an equally large number of years in NY, I still consider myself more of a Varsovian and not really a New Yorker. Several points were made in response to this and I am posting them here because they offer us a chance to look critically at our younger years:

* Most report having strong crushes at very young ages and they view this as a poor marker of identification with a community. It was suggested that the better phrase may be “had a serious crush and could act upon it in a significant way.” But what does that mean? Kissing? Hair-pulling? Hand-holding? Or are we talking about an out and out act of physical errrr… embrace?

* One person said that even though he moved early on from NY to Virginia, his parents were such New Yorkers to the core (hey, New Yorkers always see themselves as “to the core”) that it was without a doubt a family identity that got passed on to the kids.

* Another said that if you lived your entire childhood years in one community then EVERYONE who came in later (moved there and joined the school in fourth grade, for example) was an outsider. They may CALL themselves a Yonkers dude, but they WEREN’T perceived as such by TRUE Yonkers-types.

* To which someone added that they are ashamed of themselves for the treatment they bestowed on true outsiders. This person, whom I would regard as pretty high on the kindness continuum, admitted to circulating a petition to “get [newcomers] X & Y out of the school NOW!” She reports being relieved to note during a recent high school reunion that this did not appear to leave any permanent scars on either X nor Y who, it seems, are among the more successful of the lot [yeah, sure, after years of therapy…].

* And then everyone tripped over each other in their recollections of real "formative years" behaviors: the unintentional (and admissions were made of intentional as well) hurts bestowed upon other classmates, all arising out of bending to “peer pressure.” It was said that if you cannot recall a single incident of (not necessarily deliberate) unkindness perpetrated by you during your school years then you are not being honest with yourself.

So am I a Varsovian because it is there that I offered no protest or defense of poor Fela during the birthday party prank of looking for bugs to put in her hair? Is the true place of affinity that, where you made a menace of yourself? Somehow I like my “fell in love with someone” dimension better.

Post scriptum

I received some pretty inspired and inspiring comments from readers responding to my European Dream post of yesterday. Rather than quoting them all here, let me just say thank you, in the “European” way – globally. And let me add a plea: save the tone of hope and approbation for your sons and daughters too, please. Do NOT tell them that you think they have lead trivial lives, no matter how much, deep down, you view them as life’s losers. One reader wrote “I believe that each person is of infinite value.” Is it too obvious to also add that measures of value are infinitely and wonderfully diverse?

Jeez, it could be that by one measure (possibly my mom’s?), I already peaked, perhaps in 7th grade (I had a great year then). Yet I still may expect of myself a life’s commitment to finding new and unique paths toward providing some small iota of good stuff to the community in which I find myself. I am hereby giving a loud hoorah for all our ongoing efforts at providing value, until the last nail is pounded into each of our coffins! [That’s a lot more optimistic than it sounds at first blush.]

Feeding the mind and body

Two separate (and at first glance insignificant) articles in the NYT caused me to sit back and reflect this morning: the back-page essay of the Travel Section (on reading multiple books during vacations) and the Food piece in the Magazine. What do they have in common? Both pieces hit below my guilt belt.

The first describes a family that travels everywhere with a suitcase full of books. I have to admit that I am the opposite – I read the least number of novels when I am on a trip. A day begins early for me – almost always at sunrise – and it ends with a late late dinner. True, in recent months I have traveled with my computer and I have found time to blog often late into the night, but by then, typically I am in a dazed stupor brought on by a bursting-at-the-seams day of walking, viewing and eating. It’s not a conducive state for picking up a Russian tragedy, for example. [The Hartmanns – the family that is the subject of the NYT article – must have a lackluster sightseeing agenda and certainly they cannot be drinking wine with dinner or they’d be equally zonked at the end of the day. It is not possible to pick up Anna Karenina after a three hour Italian dinner that ends at midnight.]

Do I at least read on long flights? Rarely. Most people regard this as somewhat bizarre, but during periods of time suspended in the air I frequently just sit and think. Only during solitary walks do I ever have such beautiful chunks of thinking time. On my last overseas flight, the passenger next to me was nearing the end of his copy of Ulysses. I, on the other hand, was on page 50 of a rather good novel that I had begun on the outbound flight, but I quickly put it down because I realized it was cutting into my thinking time.

This explanation for my poor reading habits during travel does not diminish pangs of guilt for being so illiterate during periods of what is essentially “free time.” I think I should be plowing through a book or two per day, just like the NYT Hartmann family.

As to the article on food – specifically on creating one’s own version of the French Salade Composee (which is a salad that is good enough to serve as a meal) – I am impressed. I have been struggling to come up with ideas on how to make terrific meals this year without resorting to the frozen foods section of the local grocery store and here I have it: bingo! An artfully created salad with yummy tuna, good quality olive oil, and a number of compatible, seasonal vegetables. Why didn’t I think of that myself?

Oh the merits of reading the Sunday Times! In a creative year of “accomplishing something” (see post below), I am certainly keen on the idea of moving around town (though not on a trip to distant places – never then) with a suitcase full of books (you never know when a moment to read will arise) and ending each day with a salade composee.

[I also have a few projects in mind for the year, but these will not be revealed until (unless?) they are accomplished.]

What you might pick up at Madison’s Farmers Market

At the market this morning (while fulfilling my foraging duties for L’Etoile) friends and farmers answered my call for advice on how to embark on a “worthwhile” endeavor this year. I was told yesterday that this was my “last chance” (see post below) to do anything remarkable. Bereft of ideas that would be worthy of labels such as “great” and “worthwhile,” I turned to those around me for suggestions on what direction I should follow. [Nota bene, the farmers at the Saturday Market are always more than willing to talk and lest you think they have little to contribute to lofty discussions, let me just say that Dane County has the most degree-laden agricultural community in the nation, a fact which, though not dispositive of loftiness, certainly speaks to a willingness to engage in speculative discussions of this nature.]

Here are some reactions:

“Read a book!” [Okay, I did take this to be a bit of an insult: I have a year to reach for great heights. I should read a book?]

“Write a book!” [Better. I had, not too many years ago, begun work on a novel. Don’t we all have author pretensions at some point in our lives? After months of agony and miniscule progress I switched to short stories. I do enjoy writing short stories, but maybe I should contemplate a novel again? Is one year enough for one’s first (and necessarily ‘great’ or else it doesn’t count) novel?]

“Join a few book clubs!” [I belong to two. How "great" is that though? In any case, I am a poor team player – if I don’t like the book, I just read the first and last chapters.]

“Do you have a TV?” nc: yes… “Unplug it.” [Yes, okay, and then what?]

“Learn a language!” [Whatever my other deficiencies, knowing too few languages is not one of them. Though I suppose if I learned Greek or something reasonably esoteric, I might be proud of myself. I don’t think it would mean beans to my mother though. Still, I am only in part pandering to her directive.]

“Start a salon.” Now, this peaked my interest. It sounds pretentious and not at all something my mother would rally behind, but still, it is intriguing. nc: How do you start a salon? “First, get a subscription to UTNE Magazine.” nc: Salon thoughts are put aside for a while. A digression follows:

UTNE and the European Dream

During blogger dinner on Thursday, one of the attendees asked me: “Do you like living in America?” To my knowledge, I have never complained about living here. Indeed, I CHOSE to live here. Most of my family, including my sister and father, still live in Poland. I do not. Moreover, I did not come here for political or economic reasons. I came because I wanted to attend the university here. I stayed for personal reasons.

However, there are aspects of life that I find personally excruciatingly difficult to adjust to. I have mentioned these in the course of blogging, but to fully understand my ambivalence (and I have to immediately underscore this: ambivalence means exactly that. It does not mean disfavor or antipathy. It means ambivalence and mine is founded on certain premises that I understand are part of the American reality), one could look to an article recently appearing in UTNE. It’s the best thing I’ve read in recent times that pieces together the fragments of my own personal ambivalence and my frequent longing to find or recreate here what I think lies at the core of my own European experience. Read it here if you wish, or at least consider the excerpts posted below.

The author, Jeremy Rifkin, wonders if one can still speak of the “American Dream” and if most living here still subscribe to its premises. Further into the article he juxtaposes it to the emerging “European Dream.” [If you read the article to its conclusion, you will understand that the mere existence of the European Dream does not guarantee its future success. Its potency lies in its core elements and the author is quick to point out that the European personality, unlike the riddled-with-optimism American archetype, has perhaps too many depressingly pessimistic strains to allow for sustained commitment to something that is difficult to attain (a dream by definition is a dream, an aspiration – not by any means a reality).]

Rifkin writes this about what makes Americans and Europeans so different in their life's aspirations (I added emphases):

“That difference is reflected in the American and European Dreams, which at their core are about two diametrically opposed ideas about freedom and security. For Americans, freedom has long been associated with autonomy. An autonomous person is not dependent on others or vulnerable to circumstances beyond his or her control. To be autonomous one needs to be propertied. The more wealth one amasses, the more independent one is in the world. One is free by becoming self-reliant and an island unto oneself. With wealth comes exclusivity, and with exclusivity comes security.

The new European Dream is based on different assumptions about what constitutes freedom and security. For Europeans, freedom is found not in autonomy but in embeddedness. To be free is to have access to many interdependent relationships. The more communities one has access to, the more options one has for living a full and meaningful life. It is inclusivity that brings security -- belonging, not belongings.

The American Dream emphasizes economic growth, personal wealth, and independence. The new European Dream focuses more on sustainable development, quality of life, and interdependence. The American Dream pays homage to the work ethic. The European Dream is more attuned to leisure and "deep play." The American Dream is inseparable from the country's religious heritage and deep spiritual faith. The European Dream is secular to the core. … The American Dream is wedded to love of country and patriotism. The European Dream is more cosmopolitan and less territorial.

Americans are more willing to employ military force to protect what we perceive to be our vital self-interests. Europeans are more reluctant to use military force and instead favor diplomacy, economic assistance, and aid to avert conflict and favor peacekeeping operations to maintain order. Americans tend to think locally while Europeans' loyalties are more divided and stretch from the local to the global.”


How does this affect quality of life?

“When it comes to wealth distribution -- a crucial measure of a country's ability to deliver on the promise of prosperity -- the United States ranks 24th among the industrial nations. All 18 of the most developed European countries have less income inequality between rich and poor. There are now more poor people living in America than in the 16 European nations for which data are available…

Europeans often remark that Americans "live to work," while Europeans "work to live." The average paid vacation time in Europe is now six weeks a year. By contrast, Americans, on average, receive only two weeks. Most Americans would also be shocked to learn that the average commute to work in Europe is less than 19 minutes. When one considers what makes a people great and what constitutes a better way of life, Europe is beginning to surpass America.”

And let me just make a quick reference to the emerging European Constitution. Does it not give you hope? Again, from the perspective of a person living here, the answer is no. Rifkin writes:

“Much of that 265-page document probably would not be acceptable to most Americans. Although many passages are cribbed largely from our own Declaration of Independence and the U.S. Constitution's Bill of Rights, there are other ideas and notions that are so alien to the contemporary American psyche that they might be considered with suspicion or even thought of as somewhat bizarre.

To begin with, there is not a single reference to God and only a veiled reference to Europe's "religious inheritance." Strange, on a continent where great cathedrals grace the central plazas of most cities and small churches and chapels appear around every corner. Many Europeans no longer believe in God. While 82 percent of Americans say that God is very important to them, less than 20 percent of Europeans express similar religious convictions. God is not the only consideration to be given short shift. There is only one reference to private property tucked deep inside the document, and barely a passing mention of free markets and trade.

Just as striking is what the constitution does emphasize. The EU objectives include a clear commitment to "sustainable development . . . based on balanced economic growth," a "social market economy," and "protection and improvement of the quality of the environment." The constitution would also "promote peace . . . combat social exclusion and discrimination . . . promote social justice and protection, equality between men and women, solidarity between generations, and protection of children's rights."

The constitution's Charter of Fundamental Rights goes far beyond our own Bill of Rights and subsequent constitutional amendments. For example, it promises everyone preventive health care, daily and weekly rest periods, an annual period of paid leave, maternity and parental leave, social and housing assistance, and environmental protection.

The EU Constitution is something new in human history. Though it is not as eloquent as the French and U.S. constitutions, it is the first governing document of its kind to expand the human franchise to the level of global consciousness. The language throughout the draft constitution speaks of universalism, making it clear that its focus is not a people, or a territory, or a nation, but rather the human race and the planet we inhabit."

Okay, if I reprint anything more, I’ll probably expose myself to copyright infringement.
Still, the short answer is that my formative years were spent in a climate where personal autonomy was not at the top of the heap of human values.

Was this post about the Farmers Market? Indeed, yes. Just a few photos now to offset the large amount of text. If you read this far, you must be having a really slow day! Thank you, though. In so far as this blog ever gets personal, it did so today.

the colors of late summer (or early fall?) 

apples take over the market 

brilliant & alive 

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