Monday, December 29, 2008

Wanted

For Little Gidding: An Aunt Jamesina to cook, keep house, and make the Little Giddingites into more disciplined and respectable ladies. We would affectionately call her, "Aunt Jimsie" and would listen to her advice if she were really wise.

Sunday, December 28, 2008

On "Fashion"


I was arguing last week that I'm not an eccentric dresser. I think I take that back: Hoss's appropriate boots, Henna-looking gloves, and now, my grandmother's winter hat (and jacket, but because it isn't spring, that's beside the point) (Diana--it would've looked perfect with the lovely white coat that I didn't buy!). But it's all Ilana approved, which says something (although when the approval is "It's you!," it's unclear how much of a consolation that is.

Saturday, December 27, 2008

Not That I'm Humble...














I don't like these. I'm fairly sure they violate all of my moral convictions. And yet, because Ilana recommended them to me without skipping a beat when I asked what about myself I could improve, I am suffering through them.

A) They make me gag. B) The gel that is left in your mouth afterward is gross. C) They are vain. D) They prevent you from properly speaking when you have them in. This is, perhaps, the most irritating part to me.

Thursday, December 25, 2008

For Ilana and Stearns (To Sisters)



On Shopping (-ish)






"I'm really mad at you because you won't post anything on my blog and you manipulate everyone into sledding with you." --Emily to Stearns

"Don't say hate." (distractedly, while reading the ads for sales tomorrow) --Mama Leopard

What Stearns should have posted is the lament of Gypsy, Stearns and I this Christmas season: the closing of the extraordinarily wonderful store, B. Moss. I had my heart set on a B. Moss coat on clearance after Christmas. What sales they had! What does this show about the state of our nation? Our taste in clothing must be entirely out of control for this reasonable, simple, sophisticated style to be out of demand.

Wendell Berry Wrote a Children's Book!

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

From My Delightful Polish Correspondent

Heidelberg--it is a amazing place in the World. The city lays in deep valley and in the middle, between this hills overall--there is so beautiful river--Necker. The Old City is also imposing with it's architectural style. It's the typical style of south Germany. Houses are not too big, there are many of complicate streets, alleys. The view from the hills is very rare--the roofs, chimneys, the towers and facades gives you very convoluted picture in which you find the voice of the ages, hundreds of ages ... In the city, overall there is a specific atmosphere, the people say--"the soul of the place." It is something like Krakow. You know what does it mean after our living in the Dominican Monastery.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

On Book Stuffing

Bacon? Really? The only thing I've ever left in books are thoughts too personal for my journal (goodness gracious, I almost wrote diary!). This makes me much more nervous about lending my books than I would otherwise have been.

Saturday, December 20, 2008

Kanye West - RoboCop

Okay, so I don't like the "okay, okay, okay, okay" line at all. That is really weird (although sort of funny). And the end of this song is annoying. But other than those things, I really do like this song (although my siblings tell me that Kanye can't sing).

Friday, December 19, 2008

On Poetry and Practical Politics

From a New Yorker article on the poetry reading planned for the inauguration:

"Is it too late to convince the President-elect not to have a poem written for and read at his Inauguration? The event will be a great moment in the nation’s history. Three million people will be listening on the Mall. Many of them will be thinking of another great moment that took place forty-five years ago, at their backs, when Martin Luther King stood in front of the Lincoln Memorial. Such grandeur would seem to call for poetry. But in fact the opposite is true.

For many decades American poetry has been a private activity, written by few people and read by few people, lacking the language, rhythm, emotion, and thought that could move large numbers of people in large public settings."

...

"On all these occasions, the incoming President seemed to be claiming more for his arrival than he deserved, and to be doing it by pretending that poetry means more in American life than, alas, it does."

...

"Obama’s Inauguration needs no heightening. It’ll be its own history, its own poetry."

Goodness gracious--so poetry has disintegrated from a public to a private activity and now we will be denigrating things to include poetry there? I mean, how exactly do we seek to make poetry more public again except by including it at public events? Do we take things like music away from the inauguration, since it "needs no heightening"? Granted, I would be very surprised if the poet composed something very great for the inauguration. Which is all the more reason to choose a great poem from the past, as opposed to feeling absolutely compelled to compose something new (an anecdote in the article about Frost reinforces this point).

Thursday, December 18, 2008

Cancer and Sleep

There is a well documented link between these things (okay, fine--there is a speculative link between these things):

Sleep 'could help fight cancer'

Disrupted sleep link to skin cancer

Putting cancer to sleep

Song for a Winter's Night

I listened to this song non-stop during winter finals my junior year of college. It was the year I saw the Northern Lights and was roomming with Parker. It is one of my favorite songs for this time of year. (I don't know exactly what's up with the video, alas.)

Advent Prayers (Broadly Understood)

"Your light will come, Jerusalem; the Lord will dawn on you in radiant beauty." (Christ's birth as the morning; this is very nice.)

"I shall wait for my Lord and Savior and point him out when he is near, alleluia." (This reminds me of Anna and Simeon, who are two of my favorite people in the Bible [I really like Elizabeth, as well]. I like this job--it sounds simple: wait for the Lord and point Him out when He is near. Plus, pointing him out when He's in unexpected places could be quite fun.)

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

On Hooking Up

The college hook-up culture is endlessly intriguing to me. This article attributes it to "the collapse of advanced planning, lopsided gender ratios on campus, delaying marriage, relaxing values and sheer momentum." The collapse of advance planning makes sense to me--with cell phones everything is immediate and spontaneous--no need to make a dinner date, just call your friends as you're walking into the dining hall. Delaying marriage makes sense to me--we are getting married later at least than we were in recent history, from what I've heard (Mary was 13 or 14, right?). Relaxing values, sure, whatever (at least relaxing social mores). But what's this about momentum? And what are the lopsided gender ratios? I know nothing about this as (not kidding) my esteemed (although not as esteemed as some) undergrad institution accepted students according to a strict 50-50 ratio (the better for marrying you off, my dear).

Rochester Garbage Plate


During my recent visit to Rochester, I was enjoyed one of the things that is, evidently, unique to Rochester: the garbage plate. My hosts and I ate the cheeseburger garbage plate, which consisted of two cheeseburgers, potatoes, macaroni salad, meat sauce, and mustard. This reminded me of a Primanti Brother's sandwich, a Pittsburgh sandwich that is well loved as far as Williamsport. (A Primanti Brother's sandwich has something like sausage on bread, with the coleslaw and fries added on top of the sandwich.) It seems to me that men get excited by combining foods like this more than women do (the place where we ate our garbage plate was staffed by four tattooed men). I'm going to put this definitely into the masculine category.

Monday, December 15, 2008

Sunday, December 14, 2008

Busman's Honeymoon


What a joy it is to have friends who recommend wonderful books (thanks Myrrh)! Busman's Honeymoon is delightful--it has everything a book needs: romance, smoking and elegance. And Sayers even lets us into Bunter's mind, which is a rare treat(although I was utterly ashamed that I do not live up to Harriet Vane's refraining from lipstick in order to not smudge the cigarettes).

This Whole Poem is Quite Nice (Abridged Here for Ilana)


From Elizabeth Bishop's translation of the poem, "Family Portrait":

Twenty years is a long time.
It can form any image. If one face starts to wither,
Another presents itself, smiling.
...
Family features remain
lost in the play of bodies.
But there's enough to suggest
that a body is full of surprises.

The frame of this portrait
holds its personages in vain.
They're there voluntarily,
They'd know how--if need be--too fly.
...
I don't distinguish those
that went way from those
that stay. I only perceive
the strange idea of family

travelling through the flesh.

This poem captures the continuity and change that are inherent in families. Furthermore (and it is more striking when the poem is read as a whole, which is really the only way to read a poem), it breaks down, with more and more enjambment at the end of the poem, paralleling the possibility of leaving.

There Will Be Blood



Such a film! The critique of capitalism as leading to a competitiveness that destroys even familial love and friendship was interesting. On the other hand, the son had at least entrepreneurial aspirations that did not require revolt from his father (although that revolt and separation from his father did occur).


The portrayal of religion was very interesting. It is unclear whether Eli really believes what he preaches or not: On the one hand, he is committed to raising money for his church and not for himself. On the other hand, he seems to enjoy far too much the power to manipulate the church members and put on a show. The fact that he is willing to do anything to get money for his church, including denying God, makes you think, again, that he is in it for power rather than for God. The fact that Eli has no real connections to people at all, even his family, makes Daniel look better than him in some ways.



The mirroring in the film was beautiful--the relationship between the father and the son was touching (Emily, snarkily, when someone talked at the wrong moment [as if I don't talk during movies...]: "This is a very touching scene, you know!"). When the man adopts the child, he feeds him milk mixed with a little whisky (clever, I know!); later, when the child goes deaf, he mixes whisky into his glass of milk to help him sleep, and then tilts the glass as if it's a bottle for his son to drink. The relationship between Daniel (the father) and the preacher is also a power struggle in which the power repeatedly changes hands, each time accompanied by slapping and each causing the other to repudiate his beliefs and loudly profess the other's.

Monsignor Quixote on Faith.2 (Plus a Little Marx)





Monsignor Quixote: "Oh, I know what you think. You think my God is an illusion like the windmills. But He exists, I tell you, I don't just believe in Him. I touch Him."
Sancho: "Is he soft or hard?"
Father Quixote began to raise himself in wrath from the grass.
"No, no, father. I'm sorry. I didn't men to joke. I respect your belief as you respect mine. Only there's a difference. I know that Marx and Lenin existed. You only believe."
"I tell you it's not question of belief. I touch Him."



Monsignor Quixote: "I believe what I told her," he told himself as he went to find the Mayor, "I believe it of course, but how is it that when I speak of belief, I become aware always of a shadow, the shadow of disbelief haunting my belief?"

Sancho: "Perhaps we shall even conquer death with transplants."
"God forbid," Father Quixote said. "Then he would be living in a desert without end. No doubt. No faith. I would preder him to have what we call a happy death."
"What do you mean by happy death?"
"I mean the hope of something further."
"The beatific vision and all tht nonsense? Believing in some life eternal?"
"No. Not necessarily believing. We can't always believe. Just having faith. Like you have, Sancho. OSancho, Sancho, it's an awful thing not to have doubts. Suppose all Marx wrote was proved to be absolute truth, and Lenin's works too."
"I'd be glad, of course."
"I wonder."

Friday, December 12, 2008

The BBC

This article is wonderful in many ways:

The title: "Kiss of Deaf"?! What a morbid pun!

The subtitle: "A young Chinese woman was left partially deaf following a passionate kiss from her boyfriend"--it's good that they mentioned it was her boyfriend, at least we know they were in a committed relationship (really--why do I care about this story at all, not to mention that particular fact?).

The first line: "The 20-something from Zhuhai in Guangdong province..."--this line varies between vagueness and overly specific detail.

Second line: really?!, there were local media warnings about the dangers of excessive kissing?! I really wish that they'd translated some of these ads!

Third line: at least they acknowledged that kissing is normally quite safe.

The rest of the article: some rather gross explanation of what happened to her ear.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

What Makes Man Different from Animals.8

"[Man's] creation, in practice, of an objective world, his working upon inorganic nature, is the proof that man is a conscious species-being, that is a being which is related to the species as its own essence or to itself as a species-being. To be sure, animals also produce. They build themselves nests, dwelling places, as the bees, beavers, ants, etc. do. But the animal produces directly what it needs for itself or its young. It produces one-sidedly, while man produces universally. It produces under the domination of direct physical need while man produces even when he is free from physical need and produces truly, indeed, only in freedom from such need. The animal produces only itself, while man reproduces the whole of nature. The animal's product is directly part of its physical body, while man steps out freely to confront his product. The animal builds only according to the standard and the need of the species to which it belongs, while man knows how to produce according to the standard of every species and always knows how to apply the intrinsic standard to the object. Man, therefore, creates according to the laws of beauty."

Marx, "Alienated Labor"

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

I Love Baltimore.4













Designed by Benjamin Latrobe, who also designed the U.S. Capitol, the Baltimore Basilica is actually less exciting to me (from what I've heard recent renovations are closer to the original look, but lose some of the built up layers--it really looked all too shiny and new and clean to me for my taste) than the crypt, which is lovely with rows and rows of brick arches. It is also notable for four inverse arches under the upstairs dome. This is unusual, as far as I know, and very lovely.





Tuesday, December 9, 2008

I Love Baltimore.3



















Okay, so the Lexington Market says on the outside of it in gigantic letters, "Worldfamous Lexington Market Since 1782," and, as Lawrence used to say and I took to heart, "If you have to say it, it isn't." Because really, if the marked were world famous, would it need to exclaim it in large letters?

That said, Lexington Market is one of the bigger and more bustling markets I've been to. Also, it seems to me that real people (as opposed to tourist types) eat and buy food there, which is preferable.

Monday, December 8, 2008

I Love Baltimore.2




















Baltimore's Walters Art Museum is delightful, in part because "art" is broadly understood--it's more just a collection of beautiful things. There is a moose head and an armadillo (and other strange animals, one of which contributed to a later nightmare, I think) in the same room with a painting of a wedding feast by Pieter Brueghel the Younger. Everything is just packed into these rooms, which means that some of the art is displayed in a European fashion--covering the whole wall (as opposed to the way we typically do it in America--a couple of pictures on one wall, all at the same height). And then there was a jewelry exhibit! And a room full of vases and clocks and a Faberge egg (for some reason I've had a fascination with Faberge eggs since I learned about them from the tour guide on a bus during my first visit to New York City--remember that doubledecker bus with an open top in the rain and grating over the window in the bottom, Diana? And your father's window getting stuck down on the way home? And Ellis Island and Emma Lazarus?).


Sunday, December 7, 2008

I Love Baltimore


"I went to a fencing match in Baltimore." --Warren, upon my declaration of my new but deep affection for Baltimore. This statement was made more amusing by the combination of nonchalance with which Warren told me about his fencing match in Baltimore and the fact that it was his only fencing match.

This is the Peabody Library.

Also, I find it interesting that I go around spouting agrarian things and really, really adore cities.

Thursday, December 4, 2008

Gone For the Weekend (Sorry Ilana!)




Another Project for You, Sterns

This is a beautiful blanket. (Christmas is coming!) (ht: Ten Thousand Places) Plus, it's sort of like a giant doiley.

The Art of Losing.2

I also briefly lost my car today. This happens from time to time in Georgetown--there are so many streets, and I've parked on most of them at one time or another. Usually it's fine because I'm alone, and it eventually comes to me. When I'm with others, the problem becomes more acute. For one thing, I'm too busy talking to concentrate properly on where I left my car. For another, there is more pressure to remember quickly and not take your time about remembering.

S: "Where'd you park?"

Emily: "I have no idea. P Street."

JBL [as we walk down P Street and my car isn't there]: "One of those was a lie. I think it was the second one."

Emily: "I wouldn't call it a lie, exactly: I didn't intend an untruth. [Revelation:] I parked on O! I'm positive!"

S [unbelieving]: "Let's drive around in my car to find your car."

Emily: "But does the key fob [which unlocks the door and flashes the headlights, modern, modern car that I have!, with such a clever way of allowing you to find it] work from inside another car?"

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

The End of the Semester.2

On the way to my very last discussion section, my preferred discussion section, I ran into an old professor of mine, who is teaching a different section of the class that I TA for.

Emily: "Professor Bluerd, it's good to see you! I'm actually on my way to my very last discussion section."

PB: "You know, I just this very minute got done teaching my last class of the semester!"

Emily [with a sigh]: "Aren't you sad?"

PB [giving me a rather confused, confused look]: "Well, I guess it's sort of bittersweet." (I think he meant to say, "What sort of wet-behind-the-ears teacher are you to be sad about the end of the semester?")

So, I proceeded to my last discussion section of the semester, which was fortunate (not the fact that I proceeded there, but that it was my last of the semester) because I have been losing control of my Wednesday section since my return from Spain (lest you judge too harshly my ability to manage a classroom, which are, as you, my dear, generous reader shall see, in fact, limited, it's only been three discussion sections).

Well, today was the most lost control of. I won't say the worst, because it actually increases my enjoyment of class. Anyway, this class, I couldn't, for the life of me, get them to focus on Marx (which wasn't a strictly necessary, actually, since we'd [the half of the class that didn't leave early for Thanksgiving break] talked about him last class, and two discussions may be just too much Marx). At one point, I went off on, and I mean really got fired up about, Marx's use of stages, which other thinkers we've read this semester didn't employ. I was emotional on this point, but just as I was reaching the culmination of my rant, I realized I had no idea what it all related to. So I finished calmly with, "I don't really know where I was going with that."

One of my students, who, as I found out tonight, is a fan of mine, we shall call her, "C," said, "No! That was really interesting." And proceeded to explain why. She followed her explanation with a declaration of how much she liked me as a TA and how the boys in the class better not try to make any moves on me.

One final point: I once again reflected on the absurdity of picking out three words to describe your TA on the TA evaluation form. So when I returned to the room when they were [mostly] finished filling out the forms, I wrote on the board:

intelligent
articulate
beautiful

and told them that those three words were, in fact, the proper answer to that question on the form. I guess I forgot "clever."
I feel that I've won: A friend of mine referred to my state today as "Pentecostal Pennsylvania."

Also, he (JVS, a little old man at 81-ish) told me a story about being on a train on the way to his nephews and trying to get a water bottle from his bag. The bag, however, had slipped and was wedged down into the rack. The little old woman who was next to him (he described her as more than a hundred years old) asked him if she could help him. He said that he now knows that he's "gone over" when someone older offers to help him--and a woman at that!

The End of the Semester

Giving class evaluations is surprisingly stressful--stepping outside of the room while the students are all chatting happily away. Plus, the fact that the evaluations requested that the students figure out three words that describe me. This just seems absurd. One of my friends, who I a Polish-British (I don't know if they hyphenate there) said that her students inevitably describe her as "British." One even said, "British, yet Polish." Anyway, the students suggested that it would have been better if I'd brought them chocolate for while they filled out evals. I told them that one of my friends had recommended that, but that I'd had a moral dilemma with my chocolate before class--I wanted to bring it to them, but that meant that I wouldn't be able to eat it.

I won. It was Reese's Christmas bells. How ridiculous we are--Christmas bells?


Oh my goodness, is this not the prettiest dress you've ever seen? Sterns--learn how to make this!

As always, I'm in awe of The Sartorialist, except for the girl's bag, which I'm not crazy about, although I do like the shoes.

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Lullabies

"I Kissed a Girl" as lullaby? I'm a little distressed; my fascination with pop music may be ending (replaced, of course, with Christmas music).

When Did My Brother Become So Clever?

From now on you will all refer to me as the Head Athletic Director of the Sigma Pi Omega Housing Group (HADSPOHG)


Love,
Silmarillion (HADSPOGH)



Actually, I do remember precisely when it was that he became so cute/manly:

Yo...so we have to keep some form of communication going between us. How about each person has provide one interesting fact (about themselves or someone we know), a joke, a picture, or something else everyday. It might be easier to use email...whatever.

My interesting fact is that i sat through 2 firework displays on two consecutive days while sitting with the same girl last week.

The Globalization of Prayer

In response to this, I want to suggest a return to agrarian forms of prayer, such as, like, praying for people you know, including, but not limited to, your family.

Monday, December 1, 2008

Little Lent


Somehow, to me poetry seems particularly appropriate to advent (not that it is inappropriate at any other time--like chocolate [or, according to Myrrh, bacon and feta]). Anyhow, here is Christina Rossetti's "Advent" (with apologies to Ilana, who does not like it when I post long poems, nor when I'm gone, as I'm less likely to post):


This Advent moon shines cold and clear,
These Advent nights are long;
Our lamps have burned year after year,
And still their flame is strong.
“Watchman, what of the night?” we cry,
Heart-sick with hope deferred:
“No speaking signs are in the sky,”
Is still the watchman’s word.

The Porter watches at the gate,
The servants watch within;
The watch is long betimes and late,
The prize is slow to win.
“Watchman, what of the night?” but still
His answer sounds the same:
“No daybreak tops the utmost hill,
Nor pale our lamps of flame.”

One to another hear them speak,
The patient virgins wise:
“Surely He is not far to seek,”—
“All night we watch and rise.”
“The days are evil looking back,
The coming days are dim;
Yet count we not His promise slack,
But watch and wait for Him.”

One with another, soul with soul,
They kindle fire from fire:
“Friends watch us who have touched the goal.”
“They urge us, come up higher.”
“With them shall rest our waysore feet,
With them is built our home,
With Christ.” “They sweet, but He most sweet,
Sweeter than honeycomb.”

There no more parting, no more pain,
The distant ones brought near,
The lost so long are found again,
Long lost but longer dear:
Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard,
Nor heart conceived that rest,
With them our good things long deferred,
With Jesus Christ our Best.

We weep because the night is long,
We laugh, for day shall rise,
We sing a slow contented song
And knock at Paradise.
Weeping we hold Him fast Who wept
For us,—we hold Him fast;
And will not let Him go except
He bless us first or last.

Weeping we hold Him fast to-night;
We will not let Him go
Till daybreak smite our wearied sight,
And summer smite the snow:
Then figs shall bud, and dove with dove
Shall coo the livelong day;
Then He shall say, “Arise, My love,
My fair one, come away.”

In Defense of Christmas Music




















A) There is a jackhammer outside of my window. It is 8:30 p.m. This is curious. I refuse to believe that whatever activity is involved is legitimate.


B) My favorite story from Thanksgiving (okay, after the one where the boy [a boy who joined my gracious hosts for Thanksgiving] decided to quiet the next door dog, which kept barking. He quieted the dog and returned. When asked how he did it, he said, "It was just as I thought! The dog had gotten himself stuck in the yard--he went in and the door closed behind him." His friend questioned this: "Are you sure that the neighbors didn't lock their own dog in their own yard?" They spent the next half an hour hunting down that dog.) was when we went to Concord (pronounced Con-curd; delightful town!) and were seeking the Authors' Ridge in the Sleepy Hollow Graveyard (this is where Alcott, Hawthorne [I love him], Emerson, etc. are buried). Since it was dark and we had no flashlight, the odds were not good of us finding it. We were there with Myrrh's sister, Little Bean, who was a bit confused about our desire to traipse around a graveyard after dusk. In honor of that fact, I started to tell her scary stories about the night we slept on the trampoline and were scared to think of our crazy neighbor who once killed the goat of one of our other neighbors. We found ourselves quickly at the top of a ridge, which I decided was most likely the proper ridge.


Me: "Frances Coleridge. That sounds famous."
Myrrh: "Coolidge or Coleridge?"
Me: "I don't know; I've forgotten."
Myrrh: "Here's a gravestone that says Hosmer; that's just like Homer."


C) W. (a sibling of the Frankinscence and Myrrh's, as part of a more than 10-hour car ride): "The funny thing is that people do not believe that I make funny sounds when I'm alone."

[Percy agrees; I proceed to make them demonstrate such sounds, which include funny voices, beat boxing (I'd never heard this term before), humming guitar solos in a high-pitched voice, and something that is suspiciously like talking to themselves (although they denied this).]

Percy: "The nice part of talking to yourself is that you can leave large parts of the sentence unspoken."

D) As far as I can tell, the majority of people I've been around for the first few days do not appreciate radio Christmas music. Gasp! I know--this is very surprising. And, combined with the inability of my old radio in my room (which must have grown accustomed to only the main pop and country radio stations) to pick up any Christmas music stations except when combined with a classical music station, is very disheartening. There is something to be said about Christmas music--first of all, it is a reason to look forward to Thanksgiving. Second, listening to it makes you happy because you remember listening to it while decorating the house and tree, which are wonderful activities. (This makes me think of that angel with a large silver skirt that turned around and played some beautiful song, and that pair of pink poodles that were a holiday ornament only because of the holly at their throats, and that glass nativity scene of which you broke two, Sterns, and claimed the third for yourself.) Third, it makes you think about snow, which is a delightful thought in December. Fourth, I love roommates who bring me chocolate. That is all.