The last of Ike ripped through here Sunday, and we can count ourselves among the fortunate - no trees down and just a brief power blip. The cell tower that we draw service from was apparently having problems, so we found ourselves pacing around the first floor playing Hot and Cold with the phones, but that wasn't a terrible inconvenience. Cable was knocked out, but I have stacks and stacks of books to read and was happy to just be able to go to bed early and read.
The only problem? The loss of Internet access. I was completely undone. Not only could I not find out what was going on in the world, how bad the damage was, etc., but I couldn't help wondering what would happen if I wanted to know something. What if I needed to know what the largest city in Qinghai Province is? What if I wanted to see what the interior of a '59 Chevy looks like? How could I find out the average temperature in May in Minnesota? A thousand times a day, it seems, I satisfy my curiosity about something - the subject of a Charles Russell painting, the anatomy of a cat's jaw, restoring and repairing doors. Lately, I've looked up Parabolon magic lanterns, the hull dimensions of the HMS Erebus, and the history of the Pablo Allard buffalo herd. I've also looked up Clean House episodes, Nanci Griffith song lyrics and pictures of English bulldog puppies, just in case you thought I was over here overdosing on Wikipedia.
I was nervous until Monday morning when Google finally loaded again. Eliminating uncertainty, even if it's about small, esoteric topics, is a comfort, maybe even more so since everything in the world seems so uncertain. If small questions have answers, maybe big ones do too.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Monday, September 8, 2008
Excuses and Big Pointy Teeth
Honestly, I can find an excuse for reading and doing nothing all year long. In the winter, it's too cold and too nasty to go out, and in the summer, it's too hot and too nasty to go out. I don't need excuses in fall and spring, though, because it really feels like reading is what I'm supposed to be doing.
Actually, we've been doing work around the house, which gives me enough of a sense of productivity that I can lie around for hours afterwards reading without feeling guilty. We've been in the midst of a mechanical nightmare over here, I think. Last week, I took the washer apart to retrieve 30 cents from the valves of the drain motor. I was trying to get a nickel out and was struggling with a flutter valve that actually turned out to be a quarter, so.... Soapy water all over the floor and soggy underwear, blech.
And then the car wouldn't start on Wednesday, thanks to an ungrateful squirrel who sheered off two of my spark plug wires! It looked like the little maverick had taken a hacksaw to them. I had some stale pistachio nuts that I was holding onto until colder weather, but now I'm thinking of giving them to the raccoons. Or thinking of sitting on the deck and lobbing them at him. Wonder how effective a slingshot with a leftover broccoli band would be....
Actually, we've been doing work around the house, which gives me enough of a sense of productivity that I can lie around for hours afterwards reading without feeling guilty. We've been in the midst of a mechanical nightmare over here, I think. Last week, I took the washer apart to retrieve 30 cents from the valves of the drain motor. I was trying to get a nickel out and was struggling with a flutter valve that actually turned out to be a quarter, so.... Soapy water all over the floor and soggy underwear, blech.
And then the car wouldn't start on Wednesday, thanks to an ungrateful squirrel who sheered off two of my spark plug wires! It looked like the little maverick had taken a hacksaw to them. I had some stale pistachio nuts that I was holding onto until colder weather, but now I'm thinking of giving them to the raccoons. Or thinking of sitting on the deck and lobbing them at him. Wonder how effective a slingshot with a leftover broccoli band would be....
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Reading Overdose
I have been chewing through books lately, and not keeping up with notes. I polished off three Martha Grimes novels - Hotel Paradise, Cold Flat Junction, and Belle Ruin. In all fairness, billing them as mysteries is a bit deceptive, because the mystery is only a fraction of the plot and the suspense is non-existent. There was something appealing about them, though - some writers move slowly through their material and you feel as though you're swimming through molasses - you just want to read the last ten pages and be done with it all already. Some writers move slowly through their material and you feel as though you're lounging around in an innertube on a lazy river - you know you're going somewhere, but the ride is so nice that you're in no hurry. I can't articulate why this works for some people and not for others, but I can say that it certainly works for me and Martha Grimes. Once I accepted the mystery misnomer, I was happy to just loll along with the plots.
Before vacation I also finished The 19th Wife by David Ebershoff, and I can't say enough good things about it. It's a model of what historical fiction should be. By anchoring his modern-day story with the history of the Mormon Church and the built-in mystery of Ann Eliza Young's fate, David Ebershoff makes you want to dig around for more historical dirt and more stories that are just waiting to be told. I'm sure many Mormons aren't thrilled with the story, as his "dressed-up" retelling of Ann Eliza's story doesn't always deify Brigham Young, but he manages to handle polygamy in a non-National Enquirer fashion. By the end of the novel, I was convinced that truth is so individual that there really is no truth. Personal truth becomes a burden when you feel that part of that truth is the need to hang it on others. A number of good novels leave me thinking about the characters, but few left me mulling over philosophical issues the way The 19th Wife did.
On vacation, I tore through Douglas Preston's The Monster of Florence, written in connection with journalist Mario Spezi. It was better than run-of-the-mill true crime, well-written and reading like a travelogue with quirky bits of information about the history and personality of Florence, although I have to say my heightened awareness of the Italian legal system has made me wary of travel. Truly, after finishing it, I found myself dwelling less on the unsolved horrific nature of the case and more on horrific lack of basic rights that we erroneously assume are part of all advanced nations.
After that was Charlatan by Pope Brock, a odd tale of the growth of the American Medical Association and the fame of quack doctor John Brinkley. Brinkley made a fortune from a number of questionable ventures, but none more questionable than his transplants of goat glands into humans, complete with promises of renewed youth, vitality and longer life. Medicine has come a long way in an amazingly short time, apparently, and so has common sense.
Oh, and Tana French's The Likeness. She's an amazing writer. Story is conveyed through plot, setting, character and language, and so many modern writers get by without the full package. (In fact, any number seem to get by on just one of the four, but that's not what we're here to talk about.) Language is sadly so neglected, and to be honest, many writers known to be gifted with the use of language never make the transition from "literary" to "popular," simply because they fail to create a compelling plot. Tana French is one of the few writers who shapes an addictive story, but uses language in such a way that I'm jolted with an awareness of it that occasionally overpowers my interest in her plot, her setting or her characters. In the Woods, her first novel, got a bad rap, because the publisher needed to pigeonhole it to market it, and it got stuck in the "mystery/suspense/police procedural" category. It is those things, but it presents two mysteries, and only solves one (the less intriguing one, you could argue). I'd read enough raging reviews to align my expectations before starting it. The Likeness is just as compelling, but more traditional - one mystery, one solution, and I'm already waiting for her next book.
Before vacation I also finished The 19th Wife by David Ebershoff, and I can't say enough good things about it. It's a model of what historical fiction should be. By anchoring his modern-day story with the history of the Mormon Church and the built-in mystery of Ann Eliza Young's fate, David Ebershoff makes you want to dig around for more historical dirt and more stories that are just waiting to be told. I'm sure many Mormons aren't thrilled with the story, as his "dressed-up" retelling of Ann Eliza's story doesn't always deify Brigham Young, but he manages to handle polygamy in a non-National Enquirer fashion. By the end of the novel, I was convinced that truth is so individual that there really is no truth. Personal truth becomes a burden when you feel that part of that truth is the need to hang it on others. A number of good novels leave me thinking about the characters, but few left me mulling over philosophical issues the way The 19th Wife did.
On vacation, I tore through Douglas Preston's The Monster of Florence, written in connection with journalist Mario Spezi. It was better than run-of-the-mill true crime, well-written and reading like a travelogue with quirky bits of information about the history and personality of Florence, although I have to say my heightened awareness of the Italian legal system has made me wary of travel. Truly, after finishing it, I found myself dwelling less on the unsolved horrific nature of the case and more on horrific lack of basic rights that we erroneously assume are part of all advanced nations.
After that was Charlatan by Pope Brock, a odd tale of the growth of the American Medical Association and the fame of quack doctor John Brinkley. Brinkley made a fortune from a number of questionable ventures, but none more questionable than his transplants of goat glands into humans, complete with promises of renewed youth, vitality and longer life. Medicine has come a long way in an amazingly short time, apparently, and so has common sense.
Oh, and Tana French's The Likeness. She's an amazing writer. Story is conveyed through plot, setting, character and language, and so many modern writers get by without the full package. (In fact, any number seem to get by on just one of the four, but that's not what we're here to talk about.) Language is sadly so neglected, and to be honest, many writers known to be gifted with the use of language never make the transition from "literary" to "popular," simply because they fail to create a compelling plot. Tana French is one of the few writers who shapes an addictive story, but uses language in such a way that I'm jolted with an awareness of it that occasionally overpowers my interest in her plot, her setting or her characters. In the Woods, her first novel, got a bad rap, because the publisher needed to pigeonhole it to market it, and it got stuck in the "mystery/suspense/police procedural" category. It is those things, but it presents two mysteries, and only solves one (the less intriguing one, you could argue). I'd read enough raging reviews to align my expectations before starting it. The Likeness is just as compelling, but more traditional - one mystery, one solution, and I'm already waiting for her next book.
The Dangers of Sentiment
Also known as Family Vacation. It always seems like a good idea, right up until the moment that it doesn't, but will magically seem like a good idea again by the time a vacation deposit is due. I've no idea how that happens. It's like my friends describe childbirth - nature intentionally allows you to develop amnesia, probably because family (like children?) is a necessary evil. Nostalgia and sentiment are always painted in folksy sepia tones, but those of us ensnared by them know otherwise!
Actually, vacation was okay. It was SO hot, with the heat index reaching 100+ nearly every day, but as with all things vacation, this has only served to make being home, where it is a comfy 80 degrees, delightful. We ate well, although a little morosely, as vegetarians. Fresh seafood was a powerful temptation, but we managed. We read lots. Lay about like beanbags, snoozing in the air-conditioning when the heat was too much. Found hundreds of shark teeth. Corrupted a small child as much as possible. Avoided my 15-year high school reunion. All in all, a success.
Cats and tomato plants are happy we're home. Both have been sprawling about in a disreputable, disorganized fashion in our absence, and I'm now whipping things back into shape. Am obviously having more luck with tomato plants than cats, but perhaps I should try binding them up with twine as well....
Actually, vacation was okay. It was SO hot, with the heat index reaching 100+ nearly every day, but as with all things vacation, this has only served to make being home, where it is a comfy 80 degrees, delightful. We ate well, although a little morosely, as vegetarians. Fresh seafood was a powerful temptation, but we managed. We read lots. Lay about like beanbags, snoozing in the air-conditioning when the heat was too much. Found hundreds of shark teeth. Corrupted a small child as much as possible. Avoided my 15-year high school reunion. All in all, a success.
Cats and tomato plants are happy we're home. Both have been sprawling about in a disreputable, disorganized fashion in our absence, and I'm now whipping things back into shape. Am obviously having more luck with tomato plants than cats, but perhaps I should try binding them up with twine as well....
Monday, July 28, 2008
Futon Jenga
Well, actually it's Reverse Futon Jenga. Instead of removing parts, we're putting things in. That's the game we're playing at the moment. After five years, the wood frame on our Walmart-composition-board-came-in-a-box-for-$200 futon is starting to crack. Our solution? Stick a book in there! After some ominously cracking last night, the futon is beginning to visibly sprout books. Some people throw money at a problem, we apparently throw books at it. This futon does not know who it's dealing with! We have thousands of books - it's only got four so far, and some of those were just reading copies!
Friday, July 18, 2008
Strapless
After reading this, I want to go back to the Met and stand in front of Sargent's portrait of Amélie again. I have the distinct impression that if the gallery ever got quiet enough, you'd be able to hear scandalized whispers wafting all the way from 19th-century France. In 1884, John Singer Sargent submitted to the Paris Salon his portrait of Amélie Gautreau, a woman widely considered to be the most beautiful woman in Paris, a woman whose beauty made her the kind of celebrity that people filled the streets to see, and unwittingly, crushed his hopes of a career in Paris and her social standing.
Deborah Davis tells the story as a journalist, not as an academic, so it's more accessible than most books in the art history section. Occasionally, she takes a crack at being academic, and it's a bit jarring; I was happiest when she stuck to the E! News version of the story. As is always the case with sexual politics, Sargent eventually got a clean slate, starting fresh with wealthy clientele in Newport, while Amélie became a recluse. I was happy to discover that she did at least become a melodramatic recluse - banishing all mirrors from the house and walking on the beach only at night and swathed in white. Nothing tacky like hiding away in a hotel suite in your chemise, surrounded by empty liquor bottles and old newspapers!
It's hard to imagine Parisians being shocked by a wayward shoulder strap, with affairs, mistresses, and scandals readily accepted, but somehow everything unraveled from there. I thought of Willa Cather, O, Pioneers, I think: "There are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never happened before." What happened was really just small decisions and unforeseen huge consequences, and it sort of makes even the most unadventurous life seem risky. Answer an email, take a part-time job, leave early, stay late and change your life. Reclusiveness starts to seem much more practical!
Deborah Davis tells the story as a journalist, not as an academic, so it's more accessible than most books in the art history section. Occasionally, she takes a crack at being academic, and it's a bit jarring; I was happiest when she stuck to the E! News version of the story. As is always the case with sexual politics, Sargent eventually got a clean slate, starting fresh with wealthy clientele in Newport, while Amélie became a recluse. I was happy to discover that she did at least become a melodramatic recluse - banishing all mirrors from the house and walking on the beach only at night and swathed in white. Nothing tacky like hiding away in a hotel suite in your chemise, surrounded by empty liquor bottles and old newspapers!
It's hard to imagine Parisians being shocked by a wayward shoulder strap, with affairs, mistresses, and scandals readily accepted, but somehow everything unraveled from there. I thought of Willa Cather, O, Pioneers, I think: "There are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never happened before." What happened was really just small decisions and unforeseen huge consequences, and it sort of makes even the most unadventurous life seem risky. Answer an email, take a part-time job, leave early, stay late and change your life. Reclusiveness starts to seem much more practical!
Charlie and the Water Fountain
Charlie, as I've mentioned, has a very tense relationship with the water fountain. He's not afraid of it exactly, just suspicious, and it clearly has a front and back in his mind, because he's decided that sneaking up "behind" it is the way to go. So, he tends to perch on the top and lean over to drink.
He looks a little spooky here, but is much cuter when sleeping in his basket, where he tends to fall asleep on his face.
I also need to post some pictures of the yard. The folks came up last weekend and in less than 4 hours cut down and disposed of three trees, including a 16'+ pine, trimmed a fourth tree back and cleaned out the porch gutters, put an outlet in our well pit (no more bailing! no more swampy dead spider bog water!), removed two large tree stumps/fence posts, and tore out about 8' feet of fence and attendant weeds. It's amazing what you can do with a chainsaw, a 4x4 pickup and some chain. Thanks again!
He looks a little spooky here, but is much cuter when sleeping in his basket, where he tends to fall asleep on his face.
I also need to post some pictures of the yard. The folks came up last weekend and in less than 4 hours cut down and disposed of three trees, including a 16'+ pine, trimmed a fourth tree back and cleaned out the porch gutters, put an outlet in our well pit (no more bailing! no more swampy dead spider bog water!), removed two large tree stumps/fence posts, and tore out about 8' feet of fence and attendant weeds. It's amazing what you can do with a chainsaw, a 4x4 pickup and some chain. Thanks again!
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