Saturday, July 30, 2011

Williamsport Farmer's Market


Diana, who blogs at offshore cpa, is back visiting for the first time since she left with her husband for the Cayman Islands 10 months ago (she came back for her little brother's wedding, which was wonderful!). We spent this morning together at Williamsport's farmers market, taking pictures and chatting with the people we ran into. And, of course, enjoying the food. What fun to run around with a friend who likes taking pictures of every random thing as much as I do!


Friday, July 29, 2011

The Bachelors

Muriel Spark's The Bachelors is an exploration of the legitimacy of bachelorhood and the relationship between spiritualism and Catholicism, all focused around the most sympathetic and thoughtful character, Ronald, an epileptic and a bachelor.

While the book is called, The Bachelors, it is not, as you might expect, without its women. The women in the book, like the men, are all single--windows and unmarried women, one pregnant. The women are, without exception, taken in by the men--Elsie is taken in by a priest she admires who turns out to be a fraud; Alice is taken in by a real spiritualist who defrauds widows; Mrs. Flowers is taken in by Alice's spiritualist. And the list goes on.

The end of the novel is a twist. Spark sets you up for one thing and gives you another at the very end. She sets you up to approve of bachelorhood, but at the end suggests, instead, marriage: Ronald calls bachelors (including himself) "fruitless souls, crumbling tinder." He writes of bachelors: "it is all demonology and to do with creatures of the air, and there are others besides ourselves, he thought, who lie in their beds like happy countries that have no history. Others ferment in prison; some rot, maimed; some lean over the banisters of presbyteries to see if anyone is going to answer the telephone."

Here, Ronald is comparing bachelors to the spiritualists, whom he contrasts to Catholics. He sees spiritualists as eschewing the body and Catholicism as embracing it. Bachelors, like spiritualists, are disconnected creatures of the air. In fact, Ronald's epileptic fits act as a neat parallel to the trances of the spiritualists.

However, this apparent turn at the end of the book is not the whole truth--throughout the novel, Spark maintains that both spiritualism and Catholicism contain some truth. She points out the errors of spiritualism, but affirms the truth of the trances and of the communications from the other world. In the same way, in Ronald, we see bachelorhood as a legitimate vocation, as long as it is celibate bachelorhood (we see many examples throughout the novel of non-celibate bachelors). Here is a conversation between Ronald and his friend, Matthew, in which Ronald chastens Matthew's idealism:

"'It's the duty of us all to marry,' Matthew said. 'Isn't it? There are two callings, Holy Orders and Holy Matrimony, and one must choose.'
'Must one? Ronald said. 'It seems evident to me that there's no compulsion to make a choice. You are talking about life. It isn't a play.'
'I'm only repeating the teaching of the Church,' Matthew said.
'It isn't official doctrine,' Ronald said. 'There's no moral law against being simply a bachelor. Don't be so excessive.'
'One can't go on sleeping with girls and going to confession.'
'That's a different question,' Ronald said. 'That's sex: we were talking of marriage. You want your sex and you don't want to marry. You never get all you want in life.'"

Ronald's bachelorhood, like his epilepsy, isn't exactly something he chose, but something that was forced on him, and which he accepted. For instance, Ronald was interested in the priesthood, but his epilepsy prevented this. Spark writes from Ronald's perspective:

"The priesthood: closed to me. Yes, said his friends, that's out; and, said his theological counselors, it never would have been any good in any case, you never had a vocation.
'How do you know?'
'Because, in the event, you can't be a priest.'
'That's the sort of retrospective logic that makes us Catholics distrusted.'
'A vocation to the priesthood is the will of God. Nothing can change God's will. You are an epileptic. No epileptic can be a priest. Ergo you never had a vocation. But you can do something else.'"

And, finally, another great exchange (and quite gutsy, I'd say, coming as it did from a recent convert to Catholicism):

Matthew: "Well, as a Catholic how do you feel about--'
Ronald turned on him in a huge attack of irritation. 'As a Catholic I loathe all other Catholics.'
'I can well understand it. Don't shout, for goodness' sake--' Matthew said.
'And I can't bear the Irish.'
'I won't stand for that,' Matthew said.
'Don't ask me,' Ronald shouted, 'how I feel about things as a Catholic. To me, being a Catholic is part of my human existence. I don't feel one way as a human being and another as a Catholic.'"


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Thursday, July 28, 2011

Manassas


In the wake of Drew Faust's lecture, I went out this weekend to a reenactment to commemorate the 150th battle of Bull Run at Manassas. Faust maintains that reenactments separate the fighting from the political issues and so don't remember war, as they purport to do, but rather separate war from its context, and so are a pernicious form of "memory."

I didn't realize this before, but one of the reenactors told us that there are reenactments of many different wars, including World War II. He is soon going to start reenacting for the German side. This seems to me like it would raise tons of ethical issues. That is to say, there have to be boundaries--you wouldn't reenact, for instance, concentration camps with the atrocities committed there.

On the other hand, it seemed, at least from a couple of reenactors that I talked to, that it is sometimes a concern with learning history accurately that drives reenactors to reenact. One man I spoke to had done a lot of reading in the era and the issues surrounding the Civil War (he certainly put together a narrative that Faust wouldn't have liked, but she couldn't fault him for not having a narrative). Even though he reenacted for the North, he had Southern sympathies (this was something that fascinated me--how the reenactors picked the side that they did--it didn't seem to strictly conform to their geography). That same man maintained that many of the reenactors are conservatives.



I attended the battle as a freelance photographer. Here I am at work. (Photo credit for this and the above battle picture to Francisco; the others are mine.)



Above is a young couple awkwardly (and happily!) flirting with each other. You really can't keep love and war apart, even at reenactments--I met another girl who was at the battle (acting as a refugee who followed the soldiers) with her boyfriend and her father ("Your dad's still lying on the field, but I'm ready to go"). There was a ball one evening as part of the reenactment!

In general, the reenactments seem to be a family affair--we also talked to a father/son pair who started reenacting when the son was 10, before he went off to Iraq as a paratrooper. That brings up another typical reenactor--the veteran, or man (or woman--they do let women reenact, dressed either as a man or as a woman) who couldn't make it into the military for whatever reason.



I was, of course, most fascinated by the girls in puffy dresses. I would totally dress up like this (um ... okay, I already have ...), except on these super hot, 100 + degree days.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Homeless

I've fussed a lot lately about my homelessness over the upcoming year. It's rather uncomfortable. Especially because I hate change and the next year will be full of it.

On the other hand, the fact that I have loads of generous friends and relatives sticks out now more than ever--I actually, at this moment, have the keys to five different houses and apartments in my purse. And offers to crash for various lengths of time at at least five more.

As Edge and I were discussing at NSS (my favorite coffee shop) yesterday, friendship is the thing that saves us in the crazy rootless modern world.

I Can See That This Is Trash But I Like It

Okay, so I wouldn't say exactly that I like it, but I am glued to it as if it's a giant faux pas that I can't look away from--something like the Texas women with their giant teased blond hair and their snakeskin cowboy boots. I just stare.

The World According to Paris--

What I'm most amazed about is that all of her friends (and her boyfriend and her mother and her friend Brooke [who used to be married to Charlie Sheen]'s therapist) all agree to be filmed rather constantly.* I'm curious about how much of the script is drafted and how much is just the things that they say normally. I mean, if it's drafted, then it's super crappy. If it's just the things that they say normally, then they're unbelievably dramatic and overblown.

Honestly, Paris's mom seems like a wise lady. She teaches Paris a lot of important lessons (although most of the lessons, including forgiving your friends when they mess up, should have been learned between 6 and 7 years old, not at 30).

I think that the show is misnamed--it should be Paris' World--it isn't clear that the world that she lives in is anything like the rest of the world. For instance, in one episode, she's gained a little weight, so the media asks if she's pregnant. This causes her to wonder if she is pregnant. That seems to me like a strange reaction to rumors floating around. Also: She sees herself as a business woman (she keeps talking about building an empire). Also: At one point one of her friends says that Paris "belongs to the world." It's like she sees herself as royalty. I'm still not 100 percent sure how she's famous at all (her becoming famous was before the time that I had any awareness of pop culture).

Funny: She has an app in which you take a picture with your iPhone and then, BOOM, there is Paris in your picture. Hilarious!


*Incidentally, her the therapist doesn't say one useful thing. She doesn't actually say many things period. She just gently asks obvious questions. I think I might would like to be a therapist. But probably not a celebrity therapist.


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Tuesday, July 26, 2011

On Amy Winehouse

"In an industry of factory-produced icons and committee-born sounds, she stood out as the real thing. She was dark and weird, sad and bawdy—a modern hotchpotch with some richly anachronistic ingredients. And her voice—that voice—was the robust stuff of anthem ballads and velvet growls. ... Winehouse's voice sounded like aged whisky left in a juice glass overnight. It was excellent, then it was muffled, and now it is gone."

--this was the best I could find you (from an Economist blog)

It turns out that the other obituary that I thought was good was in a tabloid, so I won't link to that here. In general, I've been disappointed by the writing about Amy Winehouse. By and large, it doesn't go deeper than drugs and alcohol. Many writers seem to just turn articles into D.A.R.E. advertisements. Also--a pet peeve--over and over people and writers say, "What a waste" regarding Winehouse. As if those people have some claim over Winehouse's talent. Or as if the amount of art produced is the best measure.

H Street Again

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Capitol Hill


Please note the books in the bottom of the window.

Back to Black


Amy Winehouse died earlier today in London at 27. I had no idea that she was my age; I always assumed that she was older.

I remember Whigwam introducing me to her in the form of her song, "Rehab" (which, incidentally, confused me--I couldn't imagine that it wasn't factitious).

I love Amy Winehouse's voice--low, a little raspy, strong, with an edge of anger. I love Amy Winehouse's presentation--the eyeliner, the hair, the tattoos. It was over-the-top, but it was a mix no one else had. Her music is vulnerable and openly treats her struggles. It makes the rest of pop music seem saccharine and silly.

A friend of mine described her death as perhaps inevitable. In one sense, yes--everyone's death is inevitable. In another sense, no: I think that the point of Christianity is that nothing is inevitable; it's that we have to keep fighting and struggling against what we called in the Pentecostal church where I was raised our "easily besetting sins." It's that there's hope.


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Friday, July 22, 2011

Economist Obituary

I love first ladies. (What a great picture, huh?) Also: here's to saying all the things on your mind!

Unrelatedly: I cannot express to you, gentle reader, how little I care about anyone named Murdoch. We need some new news!

Thursday, July 21, 2011

LRB Personals

So I'm out of fiction for this trip (gasp!); I don't really know what happened, but my packing skills are hit and miss, to say the least. That and overused.

Anyway, I was feeling super sad about this, but stumbled on the London Review of Books personals sections. How had I never known about this before? Better than fiction!

Here you go:

Body of Joan, brains of Peggy. F, 24, London, seeks equally confused Roger/Pete cross.

Decadent ageing London woman seeks plainish man.

(Editor's note: Add an age! You're never going to get a response with that ad--for crying outloud, you could be 100.)

London philosopher, 53, seeks lady of leisure, aged around L to LX, for lazy lounging.

Female, 50, fit and active, lively, seeks fit and active male who reads, thinks, and notices stuff. SE Wales.

London lawyer seeks feminine counterpart with a love of Italy and travel for lifelong adventures. ... YOU will be: warm, relationship-minded, open, with an optimistic sunny personality, romantic, very feminine, FUN but sensible when needed, open to marriage and a family. Perhaps a brunette, slim, 5'6"+, 30-40, with an adventurous spirit, yet homely and family orientated. Certainly not a cool, academic, career type. (Editor's note: Whoa!!! I get that you have very specific, paradox-filled ideas of what you're looking for in a woman, but really, no need to insult academic, career types! Also: this ad screams a man hurt from lots of bad past relationships. Also: OH MY GOODNESS! Does "homely" mean something different in the UK than it does in the US? Or does he want an ugly woman? )

All that to say, if all else fails, I know where I'll be posting my personals ad! Of course, it will probably just say Jimmy McNulty: I'm your Beadie Russell. Of course, I'm actually stuck in the 4th season and in Wikipediaing the spelling of "Beadie," I just discovered that that might not be the cleverist tact.

Mill and Women

These days it's all John Stuart Mill for me. I didn't develop any crush on him like I did on Hannah Arendt, and like I was born with on Alexis de Tocqueville. I mean who knows?, there's still time.

I am liking two things about JSM at the moment: First, he emphasizes marital friendship (it's questionable whether or not it's to the detriment of romance in marriage). Second, he has this sort of chastened complementarity (one of my professors described him as not particularly original, but a great unifier of other theories)--this isn't an essentialist notion of what a woman is and what a man is, but rather a praise of both reason and poetry or intuition, although not confining those things strictly to one sex/gender or the other.


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Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Visits with my Aunt (and Uncle)

Every morning I get a little note, at least one that says, "Have a good day!"

That takes me back to the notes that my mother sometimes put in my lunchbox--first the pink square lunch box with I'm not sure what decoration on it, but I think it had to do with princesses, and later, the soft, foldable purple lunch bag.

A Big Storm Knocked it Over


I promise: Laurie Colwin has written only a finite amount of books that I'll bother you with my ravings of (ravings about?). We're over halfway through! Two books of fiction and two books of cooking essays to go.

A Big Storm Knocked it Over is Colwin's last novel. Like Happy All the Time, it is about two couples who are best friends with each other. The main character is Jane Louise, whose married to Teddy. Jane Louise explores in her relationship with Teddy how unknowable other people are--even one's own husband (an insight, also, of The Cocktail Party).

Jane Louise seeks stability and permanence. She feels herself to be an outsider, never settled,* and envies Teddy and the fact that he has lifelong friends and places that he belongs to. She longs for the connections through blood that he has. Teddy, though, is mystified, as his relations have done nothing but make him claustrophobic (he was the site as a child of a battle between divorced parents over his attention).

Their marriage is really all each of them has. Which gets Jane Louise back to the mystery of loving another person and knowing him better than anyone else does, but still having him be a mystery to her.

Marriage is all each has, that is, until they have a child. The end of the novel is an ode to motherhood. It's something that really cements Jane Louise's relationship to the community. It is the attachment that she seeks.

Colwin's portrayal of motherhood in her fiction that I've read is beautiful and transformative--I've really never read anything more adoring of being a mother than Colwin. It's an existential experience, full of meaning. It's also very much a mother/child relationship (there's very little about fatherhood there; even her relationship with her husband, Teddy, seems to fade into the background). Jane Louise at one point notes (in response to a man at the office who sleeps around with a vengeance and has plenty of his own children) that women are responsible for children in a way that men aren't.

This leads to Jane Louise's own anxiety. She's an anxious person: for instance, she's scared of thunderstorms. I can identify with her anxiety and with her fear of thunderstorms (that's where the title comes in). Once again, Colwin has created such a believable character, loaded with insecurities. Although for once, there isn't a smidgen of adultery (which isn't to say that Jane Louise isn't tempted).


*This has loads of overlap with Arendt's notion of a pariah. At the very basic level, Jane Louise is also Jewish. More substantially, her place as an outsider gives her a close relationship to other characters who face some sort of rejection. However, Jane Louise does not embrace her role as a pariah exactly, but rather fights to fit into her husband's world.


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Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Logan Circle/U Street


Talk about political murals! (Some of the machine guns in the soldiers' arms say, "U.S. made."



Monday, July 18, 2011

The Renwick

I visited the Renwick Gallery this weekend. The building itself--which housed Washington DC's first art gallery--is my favorite style, Second Empire:


The museum now bills itself as housing American crafts and decorative arts. While this is usually one of my favorite parts of any museum, I wasn't impressed with the Renwick's collection. There was a big room full of American paintings, displayed in the European style--all stacked on top of each other. Then there was a lot of contemporary conceptual art, stuck in with arts and crafts, I guess, since it wasn't painting; one was a grandfather clock covered with a white blanket and titled, "Ghost Clock." Then there was some super contemporary arts and crafts--some stained glass that, whatever its technical merit, had figures that looked like scary cartoons, and some tableware that looked like it was trying to disguise its real use.


But I did like the flatware, although the spoons above remind me of pizza cutters.


Here, unrelatedly, are some pictures of a pretty monument I encountered:

Link

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Sunday, July 17, 2011

Serendipity and the Internet

emily hale pajama concert--This is what we're going to have when I turn 35, and T.S. Eliot's letters to her are released, and I coerce my friends (Percy??) to set them to music, and we all wear pajamas to listen to the music.

literature of cheese--Clearly mentions of cheese in literature are undertheorized. I would say that to comprehensive
ly treat this topic that one would need to consider not only mentions of cheese in classic literature, but also in music and films. Let's start with this, from Stephen Crane's The Open Boat:

"If I am going to be drowned--if I am going to be drowned--if I am going to be drowned, why, in the name of the seven mad gods who rule the sea, was I allowed to come thus far and contemplate sand and trees? Was I brought here merely to have my nose dragged away as I was about to nibble the sacred cheese of life?"

canadian drug dealers philanthropy--While a study of the different amounts of philanthropy among different drug dealers by nation would be groundbreakingly interesting, it would also, for obvious reasons, be super hard to conduct.

white elbow patches--I've very rarely met an elbow patch I didn't like. However, Alex P. Keaton's long rectangular Family Ties elbow patches were pushing it for me. I think white elbow patches would be stunning on a kelly green cardigan.

leopard s letter--You can have your choice!














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picture, picture, picture)

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Another Marvelous Thing

I remember now why I put myself on a temporary Colwin moratorium: I work better when she isn't around. Another Marvelous Thing is supposedly a collection of eight short stories. I disagree--it's clearly much closer to a novel. Stories stand alone; these stories give insight into each other. All of the short stories deal with Frank and Billy, a couple having an affair, each married to other people. Each short story approaches the affair from a slightly different angle, with certain things running consistently through the stories--Billy's lack of taste in clothes, for instance. Frank is thrilled with the affair; Billy struggles with it and detests it. Some of the stories follow Billy's post-affair pregnancy and motherhood and a brief meeting with Frank after her baby is born.

Okay, so, there are loads of affairs in Colwin's fiction. It's a bit much. On the other hand, my defense of her treatment: Colwin always takes love seriously, in all of its incarnations. Her characters never attempt to pretend it didn't happen.

For instance, Billy and her best friend have a conversation about Billy's affair:

"'You'll get over it,' said Penny.
'That doesn't seem to matter,' Billy said. 'Maybe I will and maybe I won't. But now it's part of me. It's history. It's my own historical event. In some way it doesn't matter what I feel. It's what I remember.'"

And in another story, Billy says, "The water doesn't close over your head. I mean, it doesn't close over mine. I realize that no matter what happens Francis is indelible. He's part of my experience--like seeing Stonehenge or traveling in India."

However, Colwin also portrays the extra-marital affair as something isolating, something that you can't ever really own (she compares this to her premature baby being stuck in the hospital--she feels like a childless mother). It is telling when Billy quotes William Blake: "Love seeketh only self to please."

Elsewhere Colwin writes, "And where, Billy wondered as she walked, did Francis fit into this? The fact was, he didn't. He had never fit in at all. He and Billy had nothing in common and were as different as two people can be. Yet there was no denying they had fallen in love, a process as mysterious as creating a child out of two cells. A love affair was another amazing product of human ingeniousness, like art, like scholarship, like architecture. It was a created thing with rules, languages, and reference. When it was finished it lived on in its artifacts: a million memories and gestures."


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Friday, July 15, 2011

Of Gods and Men

Goodness--I took too long to write about this and that means it's a little foggy in my memory already. So we watched a bootlegged version of this off the internet, which was ironic, to say the least (it was the period in which it was neither in theaters nor out on dvd).

The film is incredibly moving--it follows a small group of Trappist monks in Algeria who must decide whether they will stay in their community or will leave when the area becomes unstable, due to fundamentalist terrorism.

I didn't love the way that the story was told--it begins with a bunch of little examples all plastered together of the way that the monks interact with their village. These vignettes show their service and connection to the village. I don't really like not knowing what's going on, so I felt like I was asking more questions than usual (and I usually ask a lot of questions). This is just one example of the minimalism and subtlety of the film--it was largely a quiet film (with a couple of exceptions), full of conversations. On the positive side, this subtlety meant that much of the story was conveyed through the actions of the monks and the liturgy that they participate in (we even get to hear some of their lunch readings).

There are a couple of particularly striking scenes: In one the monks gather joyfully, on the verge of laughter to drink a glass of wine together; within moments, however, the mood becomes sober as they realize that their lives are very vulnerable. It's a sort of Last Supper scene. I was confused in the middle of it because of the massive change that happens in just a couple of seconds. The end of the film, in which the men walk off into the snow is also striking, possibly because it's such a contrast with the low light of the rest of the film (or perhaps it was just my bootlegged copy that was dark).

The film did a great job of separating Islam from Islamic fundamentalism--the monks' relationship with the religious people in their community was quite good. There was also a democratic theme to the film: the community contests its elected leader's attempt to decide whether they stay or go. Rather, the monks want to decide together. In the end, even those who didn't want to stay decide to. How powerful it is that each man comes to the decision himself. In addition, there is a conversation between one of the priests and one of the girls in the town about falling in love--the monk values falling in love over arranged marriages.

The film ends with this letter written by one of the brothers:

"Should it ever befall me, and it could happen today, to be a victim of the terrorism swallowing up all foreigners here, I would like my community, my church, my family, to remember that my life was given to God and to this country. That the Unique Master of all life was no stranger to this brutal departure. And that my death is the same as so many other violent ones, consigned to the apathy of oblivion. I've lived enough to know, I am complicit in the evil that, alas, prevails over the world and the evil that will smite me blindly.

I could never desire such a death. I could never feel gladdened that these people I love be accused randomly of my murder. I know the contempt felt for the people here, indiscriminately. And I know how Islam is distorted by a certain Islamism.

This country, and Islam, for me are something different. They're a body and a soul.

My death, of course, will quickly vindicate those who call me naïve or idealistic, but they must know that I will be freed of a burning curiosity and, God willing, will immerse my gaze in the Father's and contemplate with him his children of Islam as he sees them. This thank you which encompasses my entire life includes you, of course, friends of yesterday and today, and you too, friend of last minute, who knew not what you were doing. Yes, to you as well I address this thank you and this farewell which you envisaged. May we meet again, happy thieves in Paradise, if it pleases God the Father of us both. Amen. Insha'Allah."

What humility!--"happy thieves in Paradise." And "friend of last minute" definitely makes me cry!


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Thursday, July 14, 2011

Bill Cosby - Chicken Heart (2)

Bill Cosby- Chicken Heart (1)



My father used to tell us this story and it's one of my favorites in the whole world.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Fish Market, DC


A picture can't capture all of the slowly moving claws of a pile of live crabs!


The market resides in a number of barges, just off of the street, so you look way down to see the food. I didn't really understand this while we were walking around--I kept thinking, "Why is the seafood at foot level?"






Here are a couple pictures, too, from H Street:



While there, we visited a great cocktail bar called Church and State, possibly the most awesome bar ever, complete with pews and a confessional in the back.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Botanical Gardens, DC







These flowers make me think of paper flowers.



I've been bad about blogging! Alas! Well, Diana has asked me where I am, so I'll tell you: I'm on an abbreviated trip to DC (or at least we can say, the length of this trip is unclear). But here are some pictures from a trip to the botanical gardens. And from my other summer activity: drinking rose with an accent mark. I also got to meet Myrrh and Warren's baby! He has red hair! And I, embarrassingly, didn't take any pictures of him. But I will tell you: he's cuter than all of these flowers.