Dad's 90th birthday

Miriam asked about the party—it actually went really well, smooth, hardly a hitch. I love this photo of Mom & Dad, afterward, looking through the giant mylar balloons that "spell" my Dad's age. (Yup, they can be a lot of fun sometimes.)

A lot of Dad's friends gave wonderful speeches, and as it worked out, there were a few from all different eras of his life—from folks who met Dad in the late 1930s, to someone who just met him two years ago. There were people from different countries and continents, and some friends sang a song they'd written many years ago during their work together.... It was a reminder of all the best things about him & about growing up with them....

I spoke too, talked about how grateful I am for how he encouraged my curiosity and fascination with everything in the world, and how important that has been to who I am and who I want to be... I described how many kids I meet who have had curiosity and fascination beaten out of them by parents who tell them "stop asking so many questions!". Another longtime friend of the folks also described her memories of how, whenever I had a question about anything, Dad always stopped whatever he was doing, and, starting at the very beginning, answered the WHOLE question. My Mom followed this up with a story about how, when I was four, she had jury duty, and when I asked my Dad what "jury duty" was, he answered—starting with the Magna Carta.

Loopy also spoke, actually just about the most moving speech that was given; later on the phone, my Mom told a friend, "[Loopy] reduced everyone to tears.....in a good way of course!" Loopy talked about Dad's big heart and his great sense of humor...two things that remain intact in spite of everything.

Incidentally I put a whole buncha new pix on Flickr tonight, some from this trip and some from last spring, so check 'em out if you're bored/procrastinating (of course you're bored/procrastinating; why else would you be reading this?)

There are two reasons why being w my Mom is sad.

One, in Loopy's words, "Of course you're sad. Your mother is rejecting you over and over."

It's sort of indirect. She's just so colossally self-absorbed that she repeatedly does things and says things that indicate her strong opinion that her thoughts, feelings, etc. are the only ones that are interesting, important, etc.

Mostly when you meet someone like this, it's just irritating, and you might find them a bit pathetic. But for some reason (biological or sociological I don't know), most people seem to have an expectation/hope/belief that one's parents will find one's thoughts, feelings, etc. to be interesting, important, etc. So the continual reminder that they are absolutely not, is sad.

You would think (or I would think) that after 34 years I would be used to this. Apparently not.
:-/

Two, recently I have been seeing/realizing all the ways that I am like my mother—ways that I am selfish, self-absorbed, irresponsible, etc.

(Reason #37 why I am mad at my former therapist: I would say, "I'm afraid I'm like my mom," and the therapist would say, "No, you're not like your mom." Well, how the hell did she know whether I was or not? Plus, what use is it to just shut down that train of thought instead of finding out what there was to learn from it?

But I digress).

Anyway, seeing how I'm like her is very painful. But Buddhism, Al-anon and everything else that I'm turning to in my search for Answers, tells me that honesty is a very important part of, well, everything. So I have to be honest about How I Am, even though at the same time I am trying to learn to accept myself and be kinder and more gentle to myself.

At best, I can look at her and feel compassion for her, in her own way fighting the universal struggle to get away from pain and sadness, and then feel compassion for myself for using the same un-helpful techniques to try to achieve the same unachievable goal.

But at worst I just see (and feel) how much pain she causes everyone, and realize that I am the same, I am causing pain to people and blinding myself to it with self-pity, self-absorption, dissociation, etc. etc.

Like right now. Right at this minute I am being.... well, I'll just stop it.

halfway point

"So, Loopy, what do you miss most?" I asked, as we sat through the titles for "Sex & the City" that we usually skip over. "The satellite TV with the pause button & commercial skipping? Or the dogs? Or the house? Or not having to see Mom & Dad every day? Wait, scratch that last one, that's too easy."

"You know what I miss most," said Loopy, picking irritably at the sock she's knitting. "The Ott light next to my bed. There is no fucking light in this hotel room, there's no light in Mom & Dad's apartment—I've been knitting in the dark for a week."

I just thought all you knitters would really appreciate that one.

Me, I really miss the dogs.

ah, Dad....

Dad has forgotten all about tofu and Christmas crackers—asks what they are, says he's never seen anything like that before. He's also forgotten Darth Vader and Narnia. When I get old, I wonder what I'll forget and remember.

Also, he recently introduced Loopy as....my husband! Of course, that's probably the clearest introduction he's managed since we got together....he never did know what to call her.

One time on the phone he said, "How is that husb—er—that—that—monkey of yours?" So at least he didn't introduce her as my monkey.

Tomorrow is his 90th birthday & at the last minute (two weeks ago) Mom decided to throw an enormous party. Much ado. But I think it's going to be fun. Speeches, a slide show, balloons, all kinds of stuff. Fingers crossed......

at the movies

Dad: I didn't think Narnia would be a terror movie.

Mom: That wasn't Narnia, that was Harry Potter.

Dad: What?

Mom: The movie we just saw—it was Harry Potter.

Dad: Oh, right, right.... Well, I didn't think Harry Potter would be a terror movie.

Mom: Yes, it was very bloody, wasn't it? That's why I didn't want to see Harry Potter. My favorite movies are things like Chicken Little, Walter and Grommit,* Skrek I and Skrek II*—that kind of thing.

---

*[sic]

merry christmas!

Just saw this on TV....hee hee

can't fight this feeling anymore

That awful REO Speedwagon song kept playing in my head during the 24 hours it took us to get from our house in Wisconsin to our hotel in Arizona. Yes, 24 hours.

I'm not sure why that song, particularly, but maybe it had something to do with the fact that, during the flight to Minneapolis, Loopy couldn't fight the feeling anymore that she was getting another UTI... :-(

So we went to the ER in Minneapolis (well, St. Paul actually) and after five hours in the hospital and six more in the damn airport, we ended up on a flight almost exactly twelve hours later than our intended flight.

As if that weren't bad enough, Loopy also had a terrible terrible cold, so when we were landing her ears wouldn't pop and she had those awful, awful headaches that result from that situation.

So she spent he first couple days here holed up in the hotel room drinking unsweetened cranberry juice by the gallon (ugh!), taking antibiotics and decongestants, trying to get her ears to pop and watching endless reruns of "the Waltons" alternating with "Little House on the Prairie" on the Hallmark Channel. And knitting, of course. (Since she hasn't posted I'll add, for you knitters, that she finally finished that deadly boring cable sweater and started on a sock with the lovely koigu she bought in NYC.)

Poor Loopy. Some Christmas this is turning out to be for her. She's so brave, my sweetie. What would I do without her?

and in other news

On the bright side, we got to hang out with high school friend Rie today. A bright spot indeed. So glad you're here, my friend....

I made two promises to Loopy about this trip: #1, I will try not to regress to being a bratty 14-year-old around my folks (I've only been called on this once, pretty good actually) and #2, I won't leave her alone in the room with them.

Well, I dropped the ball on #2 twice, and the second time, Mom cornered her and asked if we were going to have children. Oy vey.

OK one more post....I'm way behind... then time for bed

wry post

A few entertaining episodes:

• Dad telling people at a party that he lived in Denver for three years (???)
  
• Mom compulsively re-arranging the centerpiece every time we sit down to eat in the dining room of their "retirement community"
  
• a conversation about the Chinese zodiac (prompted by placemats in a restaurant) concluding with the statement, "ok, ok, Mom's right, Dad's a rabbit."
  
• Dad asking some people outside a restaurant if they wanted some spare children
  

Who says obsessively conrolling behavior and advancing senility can't be fun?

sad post

why is it so sad to be here? why does it make me feel so completely desperatey depressed just to stand in front of my mother and exchange logistical information about plans for the day?

and how can I think about this without falling into the maudlin self-pity that, I'm learning, is completely self-defeating?

"think about this," that isn't exactly what I want, but I want it to be better. how can I change this or heal it?

*sigh* unanswerable questions, maybe.

i don' wannaaaah!!!!

We had such a great time in New York. Now we hafta go to Tucson and I am being a big fat crybaby about it.

Well, I haven't actually cried yet, but I probably will before we actually get all the shit in the suitcases.

I feel exactly like the creature at right: scrunched-up, kicking and screaming, just miserable.

It's only two weeks. Plus one day. I know, I know, what am I whining about?

Pain, that's what. Mom will ignore us while talking to us continuously, Dad is completely out of it, it's going to suck.

But c'mon, this is ridiculous. It's not like I'm going to be subjected to the Dickhead Cheney catalogue of "enhanced interrogation techniques."

I don't know whether to berate myself for being such a baby, or just wallow in self-pity. I'm sure there's some sage advice to be found in psychological or Buddhist books that are scattered around the house, but I don't feel like getting it together enough to try to feel better. Obviously, I want to be miserable or I would be packing now instead of blogging.

What do you recommend at this time, gentle reader?

mouse about town

Loopy already described much of our happy day, including the Museum of Natural History and dinner at Souen.

A couple additions:

While Loopy was doing her thing at the god box*, I had lunch with college friend Carol K (formerly Carol M) who is pregnant, due in January. She looks really fantastic and seems very happy. She described her job (in an office at Columbia) as "mostly programming," specifically, "the database hokey-pokey: I put the data in, I take the data out, sometimes I shake it all about..." It's always nice to find that you still enjoy someone you haven't seen in forever.

The special dinosaur exhibit at the Museum of Natural History (which just for the record I find totally horrifying and offensive—in this room, African mammals; in this room, African people) was very cool. It was about new technologies being used to study dinosaur fossils, and the discoveries made thereby. If you go to the web page about it, you can actually read all the text that we saw in the museum, for free.

If you are even a little bit of a science geek, I really recommend checking out the section on theropod biomechanics, where you can learn exactly how they figured out how fast T. Rex could possibly have gone. In the museum, they had a little simulation on a computer, where you could manipulate the muscle mass, leg stance, and center of gravity to see what combination would have been most efficient for the T. Rex. Needless to say, I ate that up with a big ol' spoon.

Loopy wasn't feeling well for much of the day (that stupid flu bug has still not completely gone away), but she was a real trooper, knitting her way through the museum and managing to stay upbeat even when she looked rather green around the gills.

She did join me on the computer simulation of the apatosaurus, where she enjoyed poking him to make him wiggle and squirm until it seemed like he was doing a little dance. It was a little sadistic but quite hilarious.

Anyway, before dinner, we went to the Union Square holiday market thing, which was delightful and charming in spite of the sleet. Loopy started to feel better around that time, fortunately.

At the market, we picked up a sparkly piece of cloth from India, all embroidered with beads and sequins, which we hope to turn into a curtain for the Chicago apartment, even though it is totally the wrong size and shape. But it is so stunningly beautiful, and so exactly what I had imagined & wanted to get, that we will make it work somehow. Loopy also got a pair of shearling earmuffs which made her (and her cold ears) very happy. I took some pix of the market, which I'll post when we get home.

After dinner we went to the Strand, which is like three times as big as it was when we lived here and now boasts "18 miles of books" (useta be just 8 measly miles). It's more brightly lit and cleaner now too—less creepy. I could just move in. Especially as the sleet had turned to driving rain.

That's one thing I actually like a lot about Madison: the weather. I honestly don't mind cold as long as I'm not getting wet. But, god, rain in near-freezing temperatures... I hate that shit! But tonight, we were still in a good mood. Weird, eh? Kissing on street corners and all kinds of silliness.

Did I mention it feels like home here?

*sigh*

---

*Ad on google where I tried in vain to find out what that place is really called: "Huge selection, great deals on Box God. ebay.com"
(shouldn't that be Box Goddess?)(sorry)

airport mouse

So we arrived in NYC around 1 pm, but our hosts aren't going to be home until 5pm. What to do with all this extra time?

We were originally gonna leave our stuff by Joel and wander round the Upper West Side for a coupla hours. Then just before we landed, Loopy pointed out that this was a dumb plan. LaGuardia is already in Brooklyn--why would we want to schlepp our luggage all the way to Manhattan just to schlepp back to Brooklyn again during rush hour?

We discussed several possibilities and in the end decided to look around the airport and see if there is any pleasant place to sit for a couple hours. Indeed there is--a restaurant called "Fig's."

And so it is that we have not even left the airport and I have already eaten one of the more startling and delightful meals of my life--a flatbread pizza with feta, figs, balsamico, and crispy prosciutto. oh. my. god. Was that ever delicious! Loopy had spaghettini with a rich tomato sauce "full of delicious olive oil and garlic," she says now as she wanders off in search of something to amuse her. Plus a pepsi, an enormous beer and the freshest salad I've had in years, and it all added up to only $35 which seems like an amazing deal. Especially at an airport.

Y'know, I always kind of mystify New York before I visit, but then once I get here, it's so comfortable. It's somehow extremely ordinary.

This is such a cliche' but, it's like being home. It's like settling into your comfy beanbag chair in front of the TV...in comparison to being in Madison, which is... I don't know... like giving a lecture in front of a bunch of people, only they don't speak my language, so there's a little earphone in their ear with a translation, only the translator sucks and nothing comes out right, so they all just look at me with a slightly puzzled expression.

Of course I'm all out of practice at being here--I'm stumbling around with the wrong habits--like saying "excuse me" before accosting a stranger with a question, or talking & moving more slowly than is the norm--but everything here feels very homey, somehow, even though I'm out of step.

*sigh*

put that in your tray and freeze it

While poking around in search of good political hip hop (I love The Coup but haven't yet found other artists whose lyrics and music I find equally enjoyable), I came across this amusing item on Amazon.com:

---

The Predator [Explicit Lyrics]

~ Ice Cube

Price: $8.97

Availability: Usually ships within 24 hours.

. . .

Customers interested in Ice Cube may also be interested in

* Oxo Ice Cube Trays

Oxo Good Grips Tools ~ Chef's Resource....www.chefsresource.com

---

Maybe.

city mouse, country mouse

Been LOL for the last half hour over this blog: Overheard in New York.

A few delicious samples:

Guy #1: Hey man, do you want these chips?
Urchin boy: No.
Guy #2: I guess beggars can be choosers.

--23rd & 6th


Guy #1: You know if you went back in time and saw yourself the world would explode and collapse.
Guy #2: No way, man. Didn't you ever see Back to the Future?
Guy #1: What? That's not real!

--27th & 7th


Girl: I am dating two different guys with kids and no one will take me to see Harry Potter. Now that's fucked up.

--Eatery, 9th Avenue

---

Although I will always love New York—and will be there in four days to love it up some more, yippee!—I am also really enjoying getting to know Chicago a little.

Earlier this week we were there for three days and it was really pleasant. It's like New York in some good ways, but mellower.

The new apartment is just a couple blocks south from primo shopping on Armitage. I went a little nuts on Monday, spending like two hours in Art Effect (got Loopy a crazy sparkly pink wreath - see right - since I haven't yet found the perfect aluminum tabletop tree - yes, that's right, we're moving away from the mess & fuss of an all-natural tree, toward the delicious hideousness of the white trash christmas).

I also hit , which for those unfamiliar, is one of those trendy new chocolate places with weird flavors—like truffles flavored with red stripe beer or wasabi or curry or whatever. What can I say, I love that shit. And of course
I went by and picked up some bath ballistics for the apartment.

But it's not just the shopping. It's not even the eating—tho we did have some good food, at a great sushi place and a pub-ish sort of place, and this awesome place called Chicago Bagel Authority, where they steam your bagel sandwich and it is so good (check out the incredibly extensive menu here).



All those things are great, but more than that, it's just nice to be back in a city.

---

I was talking with some friends the other day, trying to pin down what excatly is it that is so annoying/frustrating/infuriating about Madison (not a city).

We decided that it's not just that it is so overwhelmingly white...it's that among the white people in Madison there is this incredible cultural homogeneity. It's like, not only are they all the same, but they don't really get that there are actually other ways of looking at the world.

City people can be intolerant, but they at least know that there are other perspectives that they are refusing to tolerate.

In Madison it's like, people's heads explode if they discover that you don't see everything exactly the way they do. They can't even conceive of a different worldview.

I mean, they can imagine that you might be pro-Bush or anti-Bush, pro-war or anti-war, but they assume you basically see the world the same way, you just have different opinions about it.

---

I also love being able to walk everywhere (even though Loopy accidentally sent me on a route right through Cabrini-Green on my way to State St.)(It was totally fine—as I learned a long time ago, just because a place has a reputation for being "dangerous" doesn't mean there are guns blazing continuously, and anyway it was too friggin' cold (8°F) for anybody to be out looking for trouble—but it still makes a good story). It seems really liberating to be able to walk to things, which is funny considering that cars are generally thought of as liberating.

---

On the other hand...

It is also really nice to be here, surrounded by quiet, snowy woods, with sweet-smelling air and a little flock of dark-eyed juncos in the bare lilac branches, fluffed up adorably against the cold. It's snowing again today, all day—dull skies and white world. I think briefly of Sylvia singing "Stopping by woods on a snowy evening" to the tune of Greensleeves as I watch the white flakes swirling amid the dark tree branches.

I have a feeling I'm going to love the ridiculously extravagant lifestyle of actually having a place in the city but still living in the country. This goes against everything I believe in—I'll be using up petroleum & producing greenhouse gasses traveling back & forth, not to mention using more than my fair share of housing when so many people are homeless. What the hell kind of socialist am I?

*sigh*

---

In other news, today I rewrote the Wikipedia article about Cabrini-Green, removing the ridiculously breathless sensationalism with its undertones of racism, deleting the ridiculously outdated pseudo-sociological assertions ("poverty passes from one generation to the next"), distinguishing between reputation and reality, and inserting paragraphs about residents' activism and demands during the demolition process. So that's what kind of socialist I am today... a deleter, distinguisher, and inserter.

And enjoyer of little flocks of dark-eyed juncos in the bare lilac branches.

but what does it have to do with Syria?

Saw Syriana tonight. It was okay. About 80% seemed on target based on my limited knowledge of the topics & regions covered. However, in order to underline the point about how "America is always on the wrong side," there was a "right side" (in the person of an idealistic would-be crown prince) that was a little too shiny for my taste.

Sure, idealists of this particular liberal-nationalist stripe exist—this one was none-too-covertly modeled on Mossadeq (even compared to him by one of the characters in case you didn't get the references). They genuinely believe in their causes, because their Oxford (or wherever) education has taught them well—but their causes have a down side too. The neoliberal model doesn't save them or their people.

The other thing I didn't like about it was how it failed to really explore why America is on the wrong side... it took the "bad people in powerful positions" route, which suggests that if only we had good people in power, then all would be well. A good socialist movie on the same themes would show how ordinary Americans are woven into this and become complicit because of the economic structure of the country...

Well anyway, I do recommend the movie if you're in the mood for that sort of thing. It's a refreshing change of pace, which keeps you pondering the plot for a while after leaving the theater—although it's not, as Loopy noted, what you want to go see if you're looking for some mindless entertainment.

But my question is, why is it called "Syriana"? None of it took place in Syria—I believe Damascus was mentioned once. The unidentified emirate couldn't have been Syria as Syria doesn't have a royal family anymore. Most of it that took place in an identifiable "Middle Eastern" location took place in Beirut.

Maybe they thought calling it "Lebanesana" would bring in too many young studs looking for HLA.*

Syria	Anna

---

*HLA = "hot lesbian action" - I heard that on the radio - apparently big with the youth (the acronym, that is—HLA itself is, as far as I know, big across all age demographics).

really, really covered with snow

None of the photos came out well but maybe you can see how Gracie is completely covered with snow & ice. There are even little icicles coming down from her little chin.

Loopy commented that Gracie never seems to notice that she's covered with snow. Indeed, here she just wants to know if she can have her dinner now, if I'm quite finished taking silly pictures.






Monday we're going to Chicago to furnish the apartment. Mostly it'll be cast-offs from our house & E's—tho apparently he did some shopping, and I plan to hit Anthropologie and buy a ridiculously expensive and just generally ridiculous curtain, as the one extravagance to liven up the small room allotted to Loopy (& me too periodically). I hate packing and moving so I have been a huge pain all day.


Now we're nestled all snug in our bed watching TV. We were watching Jane Eyre ("last night, I had half a mind to demand whether you had bewitched my horse: I am not sure yet...." "Are you fond of presents, Miss Eyre?" "I hardly know, sir...they are generally thought pleasant things.") but we switched to Batman Forever ("Bats aren't rodents, Dr. Meridian," "The bat signal is not a beeper, Dr. Meridian." "It's the car, isn't it. Chicks dig the car.")

This is too much for my poor brain to keep up with, and so I must bid you adieu.

"the first of december was covered with snow..."

"...and so was the nose of a collie named Gracie,
and it looked kinda silly all over her her facie,
after hours of playtime
and so many hours more to go, oh-woh-woh..."

That song (well, not that song, the actual song) used to really make me miss college days, in my cozy LoHo room, drinking tea and not working.

College memories come welling up unbidden in two flavors: incredibly beautiful sunny May days, sprawled in soft grass amid fragrant breezes, feeling just so happy and carefree; or, warm cozy winter afternoons, watching smoke drift up from the chimney at the masters' residence, listening to Amy's mellow music and feeling all cozy and content.

I have a strong suspicion that college consisted of other "flavors" besides these, and that I probably spent about ten minutes total in those blissful states, but don't disillusion me. I'm happy this way.

In other news, the lovely Loopy has been sick this past week, poor baby. Some kind of tummy bug thingy... we called it "the flulet" for a while, cuz it had flu-like symptoms but wasn't as awful as the flu.

It was plenty awful enough though. A couple days ago when she was sickest, I went shopping and brough back all the essential sick room supplies: Gatorade, apple juice, ginger tea, ginger beer, rice cakes, arrowroot cookies, white bread...



...and of course, scandalous celebrity gossip! :) So now we're all caught up on Brangelina, and Clinton's drug habit. If you want to know more about Lindsay Lohan's dating shocker, just ask.

silencio!

"No puedo creer que ya sea diciembre!"
"I can't believe it's already December!"

Shut up, Spanish-phrase-a-day Calendar.

How do you say "shut up" in Spanish?

in which I begin to personify my blog and thereby confirm suspicions of insanity

So, like, last week I supposedly had this big breakthrough, see, and I was all dedicated and doing all this work with no problem.

I finished a big piece of my unfinished work—a lesson plan on the Palestine/Israel conflict—and thought to myself, "I'll just get started on the next thing and then I'll blog about how I'm doing so great and everything!"

I was really looking forward to that post. I even had the illustrations picked out & everything.

But, somehow then things sorta slowed down...I finished that thing, oh, Saturday I guess...and somehow not much has happened since...

...and today it was back to the old pattern, where everything seemed optimistic in the morning but now it's 6:08 pm and I haven't accomplished anything, besides eating the last piece of pecan pie from Thanksgiving, and doing some impressive tricks with my magic wand. Not at the same time.

It seems like it's been a while since I blogged, but when I thought about posting, I felt like the blog itself was almost a reminder of my failure, for not being able to post that highly-anticipated "I'm doing so great!" post.

Which is ridiculous, obviously. I did finish a lesson plan, after all—a forty-seven page lesson plan.

Forty-seven pages? Gee, birdfarm, doesn't a lesson plan usually take, oh, eight or ten pages, fifteen at most? Who the hell writes forty-seven-page lesson plans?

Yeah, I know, I know, that's my whole problem, you think I don't know that?

Anyway. So since I don't have that post to post, here is a different post.

Check out the dogs in their Hallowe'en costumes! Whee!

See, Jackie is a spider. Gracie is laughing at her. But just wait... Gracie will have her turn.		Gracie is a pumpkin. She doesn't like it. We took it off after the photo. But she was very cute!

There. Ya got yer post. I hope you're satisfied.

Not you, gentle reader. The damn blog. Hmph.

what is THAT? and can it please, please go away?

One day, in elementary school band class, where I "played" the clarinet, something went seriously wrong with the piece we were mangling.

Who knows how that happens—maybe one person screwed up, maybe the whole trumpet section skipped a page (they seemed to all be boys who just liked loud noises)—but suddenly the whole band descended into total cacophony.

For some reason I felt completely liberated and just started playing notes at random, trying to somehow harmonize with the rest of the din.

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" the band teacher howled, waving his hands furiously. When we had all stopped, more or less, he looked at us all in utter disbelief. "What was THAT?"

A word to the wise—if you ask a roomful of children a question in a certain way, they will all answer at once, and we did. It's a good thing, too, or my classmates might still be mocking me for my answer, which fortunately was lost amid their own responses.

"I was improvising!" I said defensively.

I remember distinctly that I was actually mildly wounded that the teacher hadn't recognized my brilliant prowess in using that moment to liberate myself from mere sheet music and take flight into instinctive virtuosity. God, I hate students like me.

What is the point of this story? The point is that P@ner@ Bre@d has decent coffee, a variety of yummy food, and free parking mere steps from the door, but if they don't stop playing "jazz" that sounds exactly like that moment in band class,* I am going to have to start going elsewhere for my free wi-fi.

---

Yes, I have an iPod. But the offending noises are piped over the speakers loudly enough to mingle irritatingly with the music on my iPod, unless I turn the iPod up so loud that I can't concentrate. It's a no-win situation.

in which Rachmaninoff inspires me, but not in the usual manner

Today I did something that was strenuous, time-consuming, and utterly pointless. It was also fun. This will seem even more completely bizarre to you when I tell you what it was: I wrote an article for Wikipedia on Tibetan funerary practices. Here it is. Warning: it's not for the faint of heart.

The reason this came up was that my mother wrote an email to all her living relatives asking if anyone was paying the annual upkeep fee to take care of the burial plot of all her dead relatives, which is on Long Island. (She mentioned her own first cousin repeatedly and spelled her name wrong every time, but that's beside the point). At the end of this lengthy missive, she concluded with the following exhortation:

Attention to respectful burial is one of the marks of Neanderthals etc
becoming homo sapiens & civilized beings so I hope our family doesn't
abandon this civility.

To which I was forced to respond,

Since I just did a unit on ancient humans last year, I thought you
might be interested to know that this isn't quite true, in three ways.
(1) Neanderthals seem to have buried their dead, more or less—laid
them out in caves in specific positions with specific objects. (2)
Neanderthals died out, they never became homo sapiens. (3) As I'm sure
you know, not all humans bury their dead—some burn them, some grind
them to bits mix with barley and feed to the birds. But maybe you
didn't know that not everyone even does anything with their dead. Some
just leave them by the wayside.

Mom asked about the "feed them to birds" reference (noting that she wouldn't want to be the funeral director there!), so I did some fact-checking and discovered, horror of horrors, that Wikipedia had only two sentences about Tibetan funerary practices, both of which were only partially accurate. (I also discovered that yes, she would definitely not want to be the funeral director there). Five hours later, this sad state of affairs had been remedied, making the world a better place. OK, not really, but humor me. Maybe it will become a decent 3 to 5 page undergraduate paper for some future plagiarizer.

When I asked Loopy, Autumn & Shamus to guess what I had done today, Loopy immediately took all the fun out of it by suggesting that perhaps I had, on a whim, paid my 2004 taxes? Which of course is only the tip of the massive iceberg of things I haven't done.

The other day in a big chain store I picked up a five dollar CD with a Rachmaninoff piano concerto that I used to love (#2). (This may seem like a non sequitur but bear with me for a moment). So tonight in the car on the way home from seeing Harry Pothead (entertaining by the way) I listened to it and remembered why I used to turn up my nose at five dollar CDs. I also read the liner notes (not while driving) and discovered an interesting story.

Apparently Rachmaninoff experienced a horrendous critical failure in 1897 and was paralyzed by despair. He was unable to compose any more music for three years. Finally in desperation he turned to a skilled hypnotherapist who implanted the suggestion that he would soon compose a wonderful piano concerto. Then he did. Not only was it wonderful, it was much more uninhibited and confident than his previous efforts and attained a genuinely personal, unique voice that blossomed throughout his career.

In case it's not blindingly obvious, the point of this story is, maybe there's hope for me yet.

pied-à-terre

So Loopy and another grad student are both gonna be in Chicago a lot doing research this year. Loopy especially will want to be there in the evening so she can go to 12-step meetings (that's what her dissertation is about). So they decided to get an apartment to stay in and today they went down to look, look, look.

I just heard from Loopy a few minutes ago and they have selected an apartment just a few blocks from !!! That means it's also a few blocks from Vosges chocolates... yay!

Of course the dissertation research has first dibs, but I hope to get some fun out of it as well. Hopefully, you will too, depending on what they decide the "rules" will be for using it. (It's supposed to be a place for dissertation research after all!).

Anyway, don't you just love the phrase/concept "pied-à-terre"? I know, I know, it's very snotty, but c'mon.

chicago part 4: dinner at Salpicón!

I never finish what I start, including here on my blog, so I'm just gonna finish this one little thing, the Chicago travelog—even though it's now almost two weeks ago and I've been to Detroit & back in between!

So here are some pix of our incredible dinner at Salpicón in Chicago. It was one of the best I've ever eaten. And I been around the block a couple times, as you know.

First, appetizers...I think we took pix of all the appetizers, but Shamus's is the only one that actually looks appetizing in the photo. So, pictured at left you see ostiones con chipotle - which according to the website is "fresh Blue Point oysters topped with spinach and Chihuahua cheese; sauced with a chipotle cream and baked."

These were possibly the best oysters I ever tasted. Like Oysters Rockefeller but better—the cheese didn't overwhelm the luscious oyster flavor.

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Next, "platos fuertes" (I hadn't heard this term before but I like it... strong dishes!) Clockwise from upper left, again, menu descriptions from the website:

Mixiote de Borrego* - marinated lamb shank in a classic Oaxacan red mole; served with frijoles charros [ = pinto beans, bacon and rajas - a side dish - not in picture]

Pato en Salsa de Frambueza* - Grimaud Farms Muscovy duck breast grilled rare and duck leg confit served in a chipotle-raspberry sauce with butternut squash purée, diced chayote, beets and spicy walnuts

Pescado al Carbón - Fresh fillet of seasonal fish [tilapia], charcoal-grilled and served with salsa fresca (fresh tomatoes, onions, cilantro and serrano chiles); white rice [in a little pyramid!]

Chiles Doña Queta - two chiles - one poblano chile stuffed with huitlacoche (earthy corn mushrooms), fresh corn and zucchini, served in a roasted poblano cream sauce; and one ancho chile filled with potatoes, Chihuahua and cotija cheese with a sweet-spiced roasted tomato sauce [huitlacoche = an odd-looking fungus that grows on corn—sounds strange, tastes divine].

*these two were specials

I had the duck. I was ecstatic.

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Finally, the desserts.

Or, Finally! The desserts!

I couldn't find descriptions on the website, so I'll just improvise.

On the left: pineapple three ways (cake, ice cream, and cookie); berry cobbler with some kind of ice cream; and fruit crepe with goat milk caramel sauce.

On the right: you can see two desserts whose luscious centers required a "before and after" photo set. There's a chocolate thingy (I think there was espresso involved somehow as well) and a tres leches cake with some kind of scrumptious sauce. (Aren't the website descriptions better? Sorry)

The more astute and mathematically inclined among you will have noticed that there are five desserts. We told the server that the fifth one was "for Elijah."

Sometime during the dessert course I actually entered Nirvana. Seriously.

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Chicago postscript: !

While Shamus & I were at the concert, Loopy & Ang went shopping. This is the kind of thing that makes for a perfect trip—everybody gets to do what they want and nobody ends up feeling like they missed out or got dragged along.

On top of that, I scored bigtime because lovely Loopy got me all my favorite things—and then some! Apparently, now has a counter in, um, Marshall Fields is it? Anyway, here is my LOOT:

In the center is the Fairy Jasmine fairy, and left to right around her, Youkihi (already used that one! yummy!!), Blue Skies & Fluffy White Clouds, Butterball, Avobath, Waving Not Drowning, and Sex Bomb.

Get yer own stuff here!

love is four stitches to the inch on a #8

What I'm wearing today

Woke up to a brisk 10-degree morning. Bright moon in the clear dawn sky amid snowy branches...dogs' water dishes frozen solid.

I like a hard freeze because everything's so clean. I know, that's a little neurotic. But you just might develop the same neurosis if your yard was mined with various doggy surprises.

Anyway, so Loopy went to the basement to break out the heated dog dishes, while I went to the upstairs closet for the warmest-ever hat and mittens.

I don't know how Loopy felt about the dog dishes, but was sooooo happy to see my wonderful purple things.

I believe I love my hat/mitten set more than any other inanimate objects... both are knit by my lovely Loopy, from my favorite wool, Manos del Uruguay, in some of my favorite colors to match my purple coat.

Best of all, they are lined with angora (on the left you can see them inside out, revealing the lovely lining...).

Mmmmm, so soft, so warm!

When I wear them I feel all wrapped up loooooove. And when I notice/remember the various sweet, thoughtful little customized details, it's always like getting a little surprise love note in the middle of an ordinary day.

They are so warm that I was able to walk for almost two hours this morning on Picnic Point, wind howling off the lake, without my face or hands getting the slightest bit cold (other than the tip of my nose!). Before these, I have never had gloves or mittens made from any material—natural or artificial—that actually kept my hands warm.

We once wondered why such lovely items are never sold in stores...but then we figured out that the materials & labor for the hat alone would cost close to $200, so that answered that question!

In more public places (i.e. Flickr), they are modeled by Aleida Guevara....but in reality, I probably wouldn't even loan them to Che's daughter....unless she really, really needed them of course....and promised to give them back...........

ooooh, ok, you got me, what the hell kind of socialist am I if I won't part with warm winter clothes????

Dear Aleida, if you really, really, REALLY need them....maybe Loopy will knit you some in your favorite color!

war is over...

Photo by ohnothimagen

happiness is...

first snowfall of the season.

shoveling.

the sounds—the shovel scraping and sliding, the snow crunching and plopping—just make me feel happy. it seems to have the same effect on the dogs, who start jumping around and then running and playing like crazy.

it feels good to be outdoors, to laugh at the dogs, to have the cold seeping into my fingers through my gloves, to use my muscles and smell the air and see the beautiful white snow everywhere, trimming each branch.

finally a hard freeze—the end, or the beginning of the end, of the drab muddy half-alive late autumn.

must mulch the iris.

chicago part 3: lah-di-dah, I'm off to play the grand pi-ah-no

So the whole reason for the trip was that Shamus had free tix to a concert series. I seem to be the only one around here who likes "classical" music, so I went.

It was at the beautiful Chicago Symphony Center, shown below in someone else's photo:


I wasn't allowed to take photos in the concert hall, but here is a view of the rotunda (at right) and two views from the window up by our nosebleed section seats (as usual, click the photos for a larger view).

That's the Art Institute across the street—click here for the largest version of the left picture, and maybe you'll be able to make out the White Sox cap on the lion out front.

We heard a program of Debussy, Kurtág, Ravel and Schumann played by Pierre-Laurent Aimard, described by the Chicago Tribune as "the thinking-man's virtuoso," whatever that means (details on the pianist and program can be found here ). He was definitely some kind of virtuoso—these were incredibly difficult pieces. I don't know the correct musical terms but there were a lot of notes all over the keyboard in very quick succession. I was impressed that he managed not only technical perfection but beautiful expression, if that's the right term.

It's been a really, really long time since I've been to hear classical music. Not since we moved here from New York, when I had tix to a spring series at the Brooklyn Academy of Music with my friend John.

It was interesting to be back in that atmosphere. As a kid I went with my parents—they got me a season ticket to the opera from the time I was eight (The Magic Flute was my first opera), and to the symphony starting just a few years later. (Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm getting to that.)

In high school and college I had friends who were accomplished musicians, so I also went to hear their concerts and events. In college I also sometimes managed to take advantage of the immense smorgasbord of musical offerings in Boston... (hey, Ame, remember going to the Handel & Haydn society stuff with what's-his-face? remember that damn red sweater I wore to every single friggin' thing? remember the Laura Ashley dress?) I also used to listen to classical quite a lot as background music around the house or whatever.

Then there were all those fun/silly traditions in college, such as the midnight concert in Adams House, where all these incredible musicians sight-read an old war horse (Dvorak's 9th was the one I went to hear). Every spring in the courtyard of Lowell House, a random assemblage of musicians played the 1812 Overture (probably sight-reading as well), with dramatic sound effects—the bells in the bell tower were rung and balloons filled with hydrogen were torched for the cannon shots.

And, hey, kids, remember Noam the brilliant musical prodigy (http://www.math.harvard.edu/~elkies/ !!) playing Handel's messiah on the piano for a sing-along in the LoHo Masters' Residence? (While waiting for people to assemble he would amuse himself by transposing it—on the fly—into any key the audience called out).

I have really mixed feelings about all that. Of course I know now that this is all about cultural capital, oppression, elitism, etc. I know that one sort of person goes just to feel superior to others, and many sorts of person feel out of place, intimidated, excluded etc. at such events.

But I really enjoy it. And on top of that, it just feels like home to me. There are so many layers of happy memories—getting all dressed up to go out with my parents, or seeing/hearing so many beloved friends performing.

I mean, I know that's all just life, and there's nothing I can do about it. I just...I don't want to whine about privilege and all that, but I do just wish I could enjoy those memories without having it be all contaminated with knowing what that means to the rest of the world—the things I experienced that other people couldn't get access to, things that qualify me in some people's eyes for some higher status that I don't believe in, but that "comes with the package" anyway. Things I know that supposedly make me smart, that are like keys that open doors. Even though that has nothing to do with "smart" and it shouldn't be that way.

The only thing I can do about it is keep doing what I'm doing—I see my teaching as a form of dedicated treason to my class.

I have to go pick up Loopy, so I'll have to finish that thought another time.

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Check out these music jokes. They're categorized by instrument—how wonderfully geeky is that?

chicago part 2: Lincoln Park - continued

More animals...

Two pix of the mom & baby gorilla. The baby was soooooo tiny and the way it was cuddled up looked almost human.


Loopy was right. The animals were all pretty active on this pleasant fall day. The lion got up from his nap, stretched, went over to another rock, roared randomly for a bit (shown here), lay down and went back to sleep. We enjoyed the show.

Speaking of random roaring, did you see the New Yorker cartoon that showed two dogs, one saying to the other, "yeah, I had a blog for a while, but then I just went back to random, pointless barking." I thought it was hilarious even though I resent the implications.