what I wrote

apatheticliberaldepressingpostmodernevangelicalrednecktechnowombatapocalypse

back to the present

24 December 2006, in which I shake but do not stir.

22 December 2006, in which I reflect.

15 December 2006, in which I repeat myself.

13 December 2006, in which I observe hump day.

4 December 2006, in which I try to make Ogden Nash turn over. And cry.

1 December 2006, in which I smoke.

27 November 2006, in which verse for the season.

24 November 2006, in which science solves a mystery.

23 November 2006, in which I show off.

20 November 2006, in which I comment from a distance.

19 November 2006, in which I post out of some sense of duty.

5 November 2006, in which I invite controversy.

31 October 2006, in which I play a little game.

24 October 2006, in which I drink religiously.

16 October 2006, in which I link.

4 October 2006, in which I read.

1 October 2006, in which fall happens.

not even a mouse

National news: Der Governator broke his leg skiing today. Local news: There is no snow in Knoxville. Brain food for today: "LA's most successful export is not Hollywood but Pentecostalism."

24 December 2006 ~

the year in review

I worked a half-day today (Friday) in the pre-Christmas mud and then came home to vacuum, dust, do laundry, and plan this weekend's assault on the gastronomical organs. Coffee, Fruitcake, Gajar Halwa, and Pancakes will likely suffer heavy casualties.

One year ago I had not: listened to Sufjan Stevens; listened to Imogen Heap (knowingly, anyways); fathered a child; hiked the Appalachian Trail through the Great Smoky Mountains National Park; gotten drunk in Denver at Bronco's Stadium; gone to work naked; or read the eerie tale of Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell.

22 December 2006 ~

my christmas wish list

is shamelessly plagiarized from last year's. Only this time you can comment on it and add all those items that I obviously forgot, such as a proof that pi is rational, or the ever-popular wish for Whirled Peas. Just stick to the theme, okay? If you're good I'll pull you out of the comments and give you a numbered spot in the list. It'll be like having your own parking space in the Garage of the Deluded.

All I want for Christmas is:

1. A stainless steel / brushed aluminum / titanium insulated beverage device that's microwave-safe.

2. A signed copy of Shakespeare's First Folio.

3. A tree. In a subdivision. Older than the houses.

15 December 2006 ~

more problems for the tsa

Consider this a sequel to last week's verse. We never did this when I was working for the airlines (although there was one guy who ate out of the trashcans, but I blame that on his wife). More the pity. But I now know something that camels are good for.

13 December 2006 ~

songs to kill animals by

 		Twinkle, twinkle little fly;
		like a firework you die.
		Lingered on the cake crumbs first,
		at the downstroke came your burst.
		Fused with lattice-work you lie
		till I flick you through the sky.

		Twinkle, twinkle little rat;
		peanut butter spreads you flat.
		Gone all creamy round the neck
		like the Jiff my knife rejects.
		Twinkle, twinkle lucky cat
		yowling from the welcome mat.

4 December 2006 ~

around the campfire

The picture pretty much says whatever you want it to say about our post-Thanksgiving state of mind, but I would like to point out that I got the fire going with damp wood, leaves, and two matches. And that it was cold. Tim (to my right) is from Cote D'Ivoire, a Fulbright scholar studying some sort of interaction between DNA and HIV; Gene teaches math to bad kids in Nashville and called home earlier that evening to make sure that his daughters remembered to tape his Portuguese soap opera.

1 December 2006 ~

the dedicated

		Some must employ the scythe
		Upon the grasses,
		That the walks be smooth
		For the feet of the angel.
		Some keep in repair 
		The locks, that the visitor
		Unhindered passes
		To the innermost chamber.
		
		Some have for endeavour
		To sign away life
		As lover to lover,
		Or a bird using its wings
		To fly to the fowler's compass,
		Not out of willingness,
		But being aware of 
		Eternal requirings.
		
		And if they have leave
		To pray, it is for contentment
		If the feet of the dove
		Perch on the scythe's handle, 
		Perch once, and then depart
		Their knowledge. After, they wait
		Only the colder advent,
		The quenching of candles.
		
					—Philip Larkin

in the bleak 27 November 2006 ~

where have all the teaspoons gone?

New research on the link between dark matter and office thievery. I though that I was pretty good at keeping my teaspoons to my chest, but just yesterday noticed one was missing. Perhaps it ran off to join a star.

24 November 2006 ~

ta da!

This website redesign (which probably breaks in the archives, not that anyone ever goes there) is brought to your courtesy of Thanksgiving dinner and a couple of shareware apps. I'm full, but my hard drive isn't, even though it has given me back all my digital photos. (It's not even suffering from all those Weird Al songs I stashed on it, which is odd.) If you have nothing better to do, play with the width of your browser window a bit to experience the full geeky goodness. Bigger. Smaller. Ooh.

Thanksgiving dinner was an ordeal all its own. We decided at the last minute (Sunday afternoon, actually) that we'd cook a ham and maybe invite a few people over. Ha! It turned into a fully-loaded feast for seven by the next day, which was fine because I was working until well after dark Monday-Wesdnesday under threat of having to work Friday "if things don't get done." (Now the bosses believe that torture is effective and warranted, so next week should be just dandy.) Anyhow, we did all the shopping Wednesday night after I got back, and then baked three pies & fixed up as many of the casserole-type dishes as possible before midnight. The smell of hunger convinced me to get up again this morning and finish cooking it all. My brother & uncle, & a Chinese couple from the university came over and we made substantial progress towards finishing a six-pound ham. Played some cards, had some dessert, and have spent three hours digesting.

The photo? Oh, the photo is of Snowy Peak 15 at the head of the Baspa-Sangla valley. I think there's a link to other photos from that trip somewhere around here...

23 November 2006 ~

re: hail to the victors

It was indeed a great game--tough & close to the end.

To make January fortunes interesting, the latest BCS standings leave Michigan (barely) at #2. I think a rematch would be another great game.

I'm not sure who ought to be playing Ohio State come January, though. #4 Florida and #6 Arkansas will likely meet for the SEC championship as 1-loss teams, and a good victory could make either team jump in the rankings. To be honest, though, the winner of #5 Notre Dame vs. #3 USC next week will probably get the nod.

[And why is it that the media hate the Catholic Church but love Catholic Football? Both are male-only contact sports with historied tradition, hallowed rituals, gold vestments, and cathedrals.]

20 November 2006 ~

blah

Not much happening here. Went to the library today and collected a stack for the upcoming long weekend. And also picked up three Blackadder tapes from McKays Used Books. One to go before I have the whole set and can display them together on a shelf of geekiness.

It's (possibly) going to snow here tonight, which would be nice, except that I have to work tomorrow, weather or not. I'd rather be inside drinking hot chocolate.

In more-upbeat news, we can now buy Bluebell Ice Cream at Kroger here. I think I can limit myself to one half-gallon a week.

19 November 2006 ~

flog a dead horse to Banbury Cross

Thursday evenings I teach an ESL reading class, if 'teach' is the right verb for the panicked combination of incompetence and last-minute preparation. The students laugh a lot, though, so it's all okay.

We've mainly been reading fables and folktales because it's hard to find more serious writing that uses basic, everyday words. I tried using an article from BBC News a few weeks ago, which started what I thought was a good discussion, and found out afterwards that half of the class was totally lost, meaning that any plans of moving on to The Economist had been thwarted. So, for now, we're sticking with folklore, with a digression into redneck jokes this coming week.

One of the difficulties with reading in another language is determining the tone of the writing: the question I get asked every time is, "Is this a real story?" Usually I attempt to answer with renewed scrutiny on those outlandish phrases or bizarre devices of the tale that give it away. But I hate giving a straight answer to that question; the implication that fables are less valuable than real stories makes me feel vulnerable. It's so difficult to tell a simple story well. I've botched many good stories in the process of recounting them to someone who wasn't there to hear the original.

A recent discussion has kept me mindful of the line, however solid or broken, between realistic and fabulous fictions. I've been trained by novels to expect that the first principle of a written story is over-arching fidelity to real life. Novelists accept that events comply with time. But there are stories that are true, and there are stories that we want to be true. In folktales, the persistence of the story takes precedence over proper consequences. However strangely they were told, and retold, with plot errors and meanderings flaws and sudden conclusions, nonetheless the capricious, flighty fables took root in successive imaginations.

Somewhere between or before or beside Shakespeare and Chaucer, before novels came along on their Socratic mission to corrupt the morals of the youth, there were no red pens, and stories didn't have the advantage of written editing. What I read the anything-goes chaos of folktales for is not for the realistic truth of their story, as much as the skill of the storyteller. I flatter myself that I could make them better written stories—novels, in fact—by adding realism, political relevance, and serious explosions, but I know I'd go back to listen the impossibility of the originals just on the chance, just for the chance that they turn true.

5 November 2006 ~

let's try this again

So, I just finished reading Zam-Zammah by Rikki-Tikki-Tavi.

31 October 2006 ~

Hebrew

Pomegranate and kosher, too: OT Beer (courtesy of Ship-of-Fools).

24 October 2004 ~

craigslist & gas

Some cold love for the Steelers. At least they won this Sunday (and by won I mean stomped KC).

And you all were thinking that lower gas prices were some sort of White House / Republican plot to win the election. Hah!. It's the evil hedge funds, and they're all based in Connecticut, and Connecticut is a Democratic state, so it's a liberal plot to make everybody think everything is okay and that it's safe enough to vote for weasels. I like weasels, so I might.

16 October 2006 ~

hottel and restrant

The hotel of the provincial town ... was one of those provincial hotels which are constructed on the newest model of modern improvements , with the best intentions of cleanliness, comfort, and even elegance, but owing to the public that patronizes them, are with astounding rapidity transformed into filthy taverns with a pretension of modern improvement that only makes them worse than the old-fashioned, honestly filthy hotels. This hotel had already reached that stage ... the sort of modern up-to-date self-complacent railway uneasiness ....

Anna Karenina

4 October 2006 ~

getting colder etc

I decided to celebrate the new season by banging my right knee on a staircase.

One of my favorite writers mentioned one of my favorite books. A Pattern Language is a book that would appeal to Dr. Ryken and to hippies of all stripes. Or so I think. It's a very adorable little book.

P.S. If you know anything about cowboys, Quentin Tarantino films, cocktails, British bands, Japan, or automobiles, Nate & I would welcome your help with Funny Farm.

1 October 2006 ~

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