Thirty Days of Songs, Day Four: A Song that Makes you Sad

There are many songs that make me cry tears of sentimentality. I don't think that's what this question wants us to ponder.

Harriet's post about her (now deceased) friend from college I think may be the best I've seen on this topic. I've lost family and friends, far too early and far too soon, but no one with whom I ever so strongly associated any piece of music.

Many moons ago, my mother took me on a trip to Washington, D.C. The Vietnam Memorial was still new, and was among the places we visited. My mother went straight to the part of the wall that she knew would have the names of her high school classmates.

I have seen my mother cry. I have seen my mother sob.

My mother put her hand on the panel with the names and wept, the first and only time I have ever seen her do this. She ran her fingers over the name of every man she knew in high school who didn't make it back home. She stood, very still, and stared at the names, and then made rubbings of the names for their parents, people she hadn't seen in twenty-five years, but she knew that the rubbings would bring comfort when she mailed them to parents, keeping alive the memories, knowing that their names were not lost, would make a difference, that this recognition had been accorded to them in death.

I already knew the song "Goodnight Saigon" by Billy Joel, but it's had a deeper significance ever since seeing my mother, on that sunny day, weeping.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j6gZefW4yEA

I didn't plan this (I'm not good with schedules) but as this is Memorial Day, thank you to the men and women who left this country to fight for the protection of what is good, and a particular thanks to the families of the ones who didn't make it home.

At eighteen one might be physically fittest, but that doesn't mean that you have the maturity to handle all that war entails. I felt pretty clueless at eighteen (and nineteen, for that matter) and my biggest challenge was getting to class on time. Faced with jungle, with a war no one seems to have understood, with an enemy not always visible... these men (and some brave women!) "clung to each other/ like brother to brother" and they did their jobs, they did their duty, they tried to do the best, even when it wasn't clear what "best" might be.

I like the opening of this song more than the conclusion - the opening suggests a man who is very much trying to find his feet, to know what to do, how to do it. The end of the song suggestions resignation, knowing that one will die, and however hard life might be, I refuse to give up.

As a slightly older person than I was when standing with Mom at the Vietnam Memorial, what grabs me now is thinking about this song in the context of World War I. I think about the charge at Gallipolis, and the men who left behind their personal possessions and wedding rings, knowing that they were about to die.

Day #3 - A Song That Makes you Happy

Again, I just get to pick one? Sheesh. :-)

When I was a junior in college I ended up in a dormitory with the best shower ever. I want to emphasize this point. Fantastic shower. Plenty of hot water, plenty of room for your shampoo, conditioner, soap, etc. - and this shower stall just cried out for you to sing in it. I probably annoyed the heck out of everyone else on my floor, but I sang in that shower every day, all year. This shower might have been the reason that I actually passed my biology class.

I am definitely NOT a morning person, but that shower got me up and moving six days a week. (Hey, Saturdays are for sleeping in, right?)

In my sophomore year, my college did a production of Gilbert & Sullivan's The Gondoliers. A year later, I was still singing this song http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LgJSIKhqHGE in the shower. It's been (cough) years and I still sing it in the shower. I refuse to sing it in public, (let alone while dry) but it's an awful lot of fun.

Day Two - Your Least Favorite Song

Again, there are many possible answers.

My first choice would be "Jesus is the Rock and He Rolls My Blues Away," a song I only sang because I was a camp counselor and was being paid to be chipper. This song is even more horrible than the title suggests.

It goes on for five verses. Five.

Harriet chose "And We Danced" by the Hooters for her answer to this question. This startled me. It might be a moral failing on my part, but the same part of me that hates the above mentioned song like a bit of mindless fluff to which one can dance. I liked the Hooters' MTV videos. I wish their music turned up on the radio. The funny sounding mouth organ-type instruments make me grin.

Second choice would be anything by Paul McCartney, with "Silly Love Songs" pretty high in the pantheon. He's trying too hard. He's better than all of us. Mock him if you will (and I will) but he's far above the rest of us. I will go grovel in shame and misery at the sheer thought of this song.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AK9QVN0bpa4

Thirty Days of Songs - Day One

Day One: Your Favorite Song:

OK, I'll start by saying that this meme will probably take me sixty days, rather than thirty. I don't blog every day, I'm going to be out of town for a week, I tend to procrastinate... but enough apologies. I've been challenged, so I'll jump in.

As has been said by so many, it's hard to pick just one song. There's a lot of music that is part of my soul, and that I will probably still be singing in the shower long after I have forgotten much else. I could list endless hymns, random anthems, and any number of lullabies.

I confess to having a weakness for Sondheim, so in the end I went with the song that always makes me cry and makes me feel brave - "Sunday" from Sunday in the Park With George.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eVO9rN5Bk1A

grocery runs

I did the usual Monday morning run to the mega-grocery store today - bread, milk, pizza, pickles, all lemming staples - and noticed, yet again, just how many of the shoppers alongside me were Dads with toddlers. Said Dads obviously had not woken up, realized that today they had to bring snacks to pre-school and panicked, but had shopping lists and obviously planned to get everything their family needed for the week.

I'm all in favor of stay-at-home dads, but we all know that the economy has generated quite a few dads who now stay at home without ever having planned on doing so.

What really struck me this morning was how many of the dads were laughing and joking with their toddlers. None of the kids had a screaming fit when told they couldn't have fruit snacks, all wore clean clothes and most of the girls had ponytails, braids or other hair accessories. Some of the older children tried to make out letters on the grocery lists.

OK, I confess - I spent much more time people watching than finding pickles; it just struck me as a wonderful bit of humanity at a hard time in our history.

Lord, what fools these mortals be

Two people whom I know slightly seem to be headed toward a court battle. I've tried to clap on my "historian research hat" (sorry, Necromancy, but no feathers) in being aware of the situation, steering a clear path of being involved... but I admit that the part of me that loves People Magazine is fascinated by the mutual mess. Here are the lessons I have observed - already knew, but am now reminded of, yet again:

1) Always always always have a thoroughly legal contract. Do not trust anyone at their word. Write it all down, get it signed and witnessed.

2) For the love of pete, keep your mutual friends and acquaintances out of it.

3) Hanging up on people is immature and only exacerbates the situation. Take a deep breath, be adult enough to say that perhaps you two are misunderstanding each other, and try again.

Had these two people followed these three basic steps, their lives would be a lot less messy, and their legal bills much less expensive, than they are right now.

None of this involves me personally, and I'm hardly cut up about it - I'm just fascinated that three steps which, to me, seem like basic common sense, got so badly over-looked.

bravery

Sometimes you just have to square your shoulders and keep on going.

shoes

I am not a shoe person. One of the sopranos has a shoe collection to rival Imelda Marcos. I tend to buy one pair of black dress shoes and then wear them until they fall apart and buy another.

Yesterday, the choir did a concert. I realized within about five minutes that I needed different shoes; by the end of the concert, I could not feel my feet. The Imelda Marcos lady, wearing four inch heels, still had high notes and could dance. Clearly, I am missing something...

what do you need?

Years and years ago, I was at a women only gathering where we had to write down answers to a series of open-ended questions. I don't remember all of them, but one was, "which appliance do you need the most?"

I confess that I chose the hot water heater over the coffee maker. I can always go out for coffee, but cold showers, yuck.

On Sunday, a tree in the neighbors' yard fell down and knocked out a chunk of the fence and the Internet connection at lemming headquarters. With the Internet connected again, I'm trying to decide between hot water and the Internet...

plumbing

The ATC (Alarmingly Tall Contractor) who put a new roof on lemming headquarters back in May of 2009 is due today to fix my upstairs toilet. Why is it that the bathroom is cleaner for him than for my mother?

Meanwhile, I cannot keep remembering the line from "Poor Judd is Daid" in Oklahoma! "His fingernails have never been so clean."

more on Seduction of Water

I've heard from a few of the book club people that you found Seduction entertaining, but that the strings of coincidences seemed a bit too implausible.

I agree that there are quite a few of these strings. Maybe it's because I have watched too many episodes of Doctor Who but I'm all right with suspending a little disbelief now and again. More likely, I think that I'm not bothered because I have experienced just enough random moments in life that I find such moments plausible. For example, running into my seventh grade English teacher a thousand miles from home and fifteen years later sounds completely impossible, but it happened. My honorary aunt running into my father at Westminster Abbey sounds beyond impossible, but it happened. Maybe it's the whole "believe three impossible things before breakfast" aspect of Alice in Wonderland/ Through the Looking Glass at work in my life...

Speaking of Doctor Who, the former writer for the show, Russell T. Davies, has remarked that he thinks that the relationship between mothers and daughters can be very complex and fascinating to explore. I am very grateful that my mother is still alive, and that I've had a chance to know her as adult to adult. Iris' struggle to know a mother she lost while still a child really intrigued me somehow...

Plus, I'm a history teacher, so I love reading about research and the headaches one gets from microfilm!

another death

Word just reached me of the death of a high school English teacher. Reading between the lines, I'm guessing heart attack.

Hindsight, as is so often said, is 20/ 20. I have a hunch that the year I had this teacher, he suffered from a very deep divorce-induced depression, and was very slowly putting his life back together. He taught us well, though not brilliantly, but I'm struck by the occasional flashes of amazing insight into Dickens and Wordsworth that stick with me several years later. A year or two earlier, a year or two later - I can only imagine what he must have been like. Beware the quiet and understated teachers who give you clever assignments...

I regret not having told him that I still quote some of the big classroom mantras years later to my own students. I really need to compile a list of great teachers and tell them now while I still can.

book club update

I've heard from a few of you and I am much relieved to learn that you have liked the book thus far. :-) As I reread Water one of the pieces that strikes me is how well, IMHO, Goodman sets up descriptions of places, dresses, etc. that don't necessarily carry deep importance to the overall plot, but do give you an imaginary landscape within which to place the characters.

I'm a mystery addict - not necessarily murder mysteries, any kind of mystery - which is probably also why Iris' search to better understand her roots appeals to me; as a history teacher, I am all in favor of knowing and searching for one's roots, but the mysterious aspect behind Iris' background appeals to me as well. I like how Goodman teases them out, throwing in clues, but also some red herrings.

As we get closer to our March 15 "meeting" I'd be curious to know what all of you think about the minor characters; I think Goodman does a great job at filling in just enough details for each of their back stories to keep the reader following them even as they think about Iris.

a death

I didn't know L well. She was a senior, I was a freshman, and the only reason I knew her at all was that we had mutual friends.

I am eternally grateful to L for rescuing me from one of those nasty, "ack, someone is hitting on me and I don't know how to react" situations.

The latest issue of the alumni magazine contains her obit - she was forty-two. No, I don't know what happened, though it sounds like she led a happy life. I hope so, at least. Strange to think of someone my age as dead.

cars and Water

1) Cars - my car, aka "Phil" is a very reliable Honda. When the "maintenance required" light came on (which it never does) I patted Phil's dashboard and made an appointment to bring him in today. It's been six hours and there's no word from the mechanics. I am beginning to worry...

2) Water For those of you in the book club, or simply playing along at home, here's an opening:

I have a weakness for quirky libraries. (I cannot believe that I'm the only one!) Years ago I used to frequent a small branch of a much larger library system which, though a bit dark and cramped, always had amazing displays of the "you didn't know about this book but you need to read it" variety. (This is how I discovered John Bellairs, but that's another topic for another book club.)

Currently, my local library is quirky mostly in that the staff knows they are balancing several different reading audiences. Vampires hold little appeal for me, and I'm not much for the latest tome by a politician or political commentator. At the same time, the staff are pretty good about putting up interesting memoirs and novels.

This is how I came upon The Seduction of Water. In all seriousness, I picked it up because I liked the cover. I scanned the first page, sat down to read the second, and after fifty pages, read in the library, realized that I should probably take it home.

More on the actual book later. :-)

blogging again

Yes, I'm back to blogging again - after Sam died, I lost a lost of heart for it, as so many of my posts were about him.

Sam died a very peaceful death after a long and well lived, well loved life, which is not too shabby for a dog whom someone dumped in an area where he really shouldn't have survived. I finally sat down and read through some of the posts I did about him, and that was quite a help.

So, updates: I've joined an on-line book group, and (gulp) my choice is the first one up. I'll post some thoughts about it soon, though I know some of you have already read the entire thing. The book is by Carol Goodman and is titled The Seduction of Water. I found it very compelling and thought provoking.

traumas

I know exactly where I was when I heard about Challenger blowing up - I can tell you exactly which desk in which room, the color of the walls, what I was supposed to be doing but wasn't... (I learned how to french braid my hair in study hall that year.)

I remember watching the replays on television over and over and over before lunch and then we were supposed to go on with our academic day.

Listening to the NPR coverage of it being 25 years (how did I get to be so old?!) there was a reference to the shuttle explosion later on. That's vivid, but for different reasons- I was trapped in a traffic jam, desperate to get home, and turned on the radio for a distraction. Certainly a distraction...

My heart breaks for the families of these brave men and women, and I do not say that lightly. RIP.

hot cocoa

There's a very nice woman in my neighborhood, about my age, who also works from home. She does something with scrap-booking as a profession and as I do not have the arts & crafts gene, I'm not entirely sure that I understand it.

We've been casual friends for a few years now - always a wave and a smile when we pass by, she noticed that Sam wasn't in the yard and sent her condolences, I watched her kids once - but it took us until this summer to actually sit down and have lunch together.

There's plenty that we don't have in common, but quite a lot that we do. Yesterday we spent some time just having cocoa together and having girl talk. I need to remember to do that again.

woof woof woof

A neighbor (whom I do not know well at all) took her dog for a walk and forgot her keys. To cut a long story short, no one had a spare key to her house, her husband was away and wouldn't be back until after midnight and it's cold in Indiana at this time of year.

I apologized for the condition of lemming headquarters (it was laundry day) but said I'd be more than happy to put her and the dog up until husband got home. I'd already planned on pizza for supper - pizza crusts were one of Sam's favorite treats - and it was great to have a dog in the kitchen, sitting, patiently, who quickly figured out that in this house, as in his own, pizza crusts definitely belonged to dogs, not humans.

Dakota (the dog) quickly mellowed out and had a few "really, I'm vigilant, you just think I'm napping" moments. I had to work, but tried to pop out every half hour or so to socialize... the petting and scratching of a dog's ears were, of course, purely circumstantial. Dakota even spent time barking at the squirrels in the backyard (Sam's nemesis) so we're safe for a day or so.

I miss being owned by a dog.

almost done - sort of

One fifteen page essay stands between me and being officially on break for a few days.

It's a good essay. It's from a good student. I gave him a two week extension because his wife went into premature labor. He sent me pictures from the NICU and everything... OK, I am a softie for new daddies.

Is it wrong that I plan to read six pages and then have some cocoa, take a nap, sing a lot of descants and then read the other six pages? I hope not....

'tis the season

Well, it's crunch time. The exams start in less than thirty-six hours. So far I've not received any foolish questions (good) and had more than a few ask what I would be teaching next semester (also good) so I am feeling fairly hopeful. Well, OK, there is one student who has earned As on all of her assignments, but since she missed the mid-term and the make-up, it's going to hurt to assign that final grade.

I think fall semester is infinitely harder than spring. The break is shorter, it comes later, and somehow I have to cram in that last dash of grading while Christmas shopping, rehearsing with the choir, lighting candles, enjoying the change of seasons and generally feeling the Christmas spirit. Every year I fully intend to find some of the Advent reflection that sounds so glorious, but seem to have so little time in which to do it outside of church.

It's so strange to look at people for whom the year is not divided by semesters. It's normal, right? It's how most of this world goes about their lives. Odd concept, that.

courage

I confess that I really admire the courage of the Jehovah's Witnesses and the Mormons. They always seem to show up when I am having a crazy morning and often when I have the 'flu. The gentlemen who turned up today were very kind, understood that this was not a good day, handed me some literature and left.

I know that the men and women who come door to door do it out of deep belief, and I know that they get countless doors slammed in their faces, plenty of invective and more than a few people who play mind games with them. They do it anyway.

Anthony Lane, Part II

Number two on the list of best-sellers read by Anthony Lane was Forever Amber by Katharine Windsor. This may be the guiltiest pleasure novel I have read in years, possibly decades. It's only the second book I've ever read (a biography of Emma Goldman was the first) in which I needed to keep a running guide of the names of the lovers in order tp keep track of the plot.

Is it great literature? No. Is it deliciously of its time? Oh my yes.

funniest prose all year

Anthony Lane, reviewing Earth and High Heaven by Gwethalyn Graham, a best-seller from 1945

And so to no. 9. I have a problem with No. 9. I cannot read it. God knows, I have tried. I have downed three straight whiskeys and then tried to read it. I have leapt clean and sober from a cold shower, grabbed the book, and, standing upright, started to read it out loud. But the same thing always happened: I buckled like a puppet and fell asleep.

from Nobody's Perfect pages 394-395

words have no meaning

I've just read a student's paper and I am struggling to find words with which to comment. She doesn't realize that she has just voiced a very unpleasant stereotype. I'm not sure which is harder, pointing out the stereotype, or pointing out her ignorance.

She's not young and this isn't intentional. She will be mortified when she reads my comments. Still breaks my heart.

squirrels on steroids

When the alarmingly tall contractor and his crew put on a new roof this summer, they tore off not one but three old roofs. I don't entirely understand why this is supposed to make it cheaper to heat lemming headquarters, but I accept it as one of the mysteries of life. Doubtless I would understand if I had taken Physics in high school instead of Women's History.

One unforeseen after-effect of now only having one layer of roof is that I can hear the prancing and pawing of each tiny hoof, er, paw of each squirrel who scampers across. I'm not yet so used to the noise that I tune it out, but I at least know what it is.

So, having consumed quite a bit of caffeine, I sat down at the computer, prepared to draw intelligent comparisons between Sarah Palin and Eliza Pickney. (Really. You have no idea how thrilled I am that John McCain chose Palin. Teaching Women's History has just become infinitely more entertaining.)

Hypothetically and in theory, several squirrels could make the noises which began overhead. These would need to be squirrels even more coordinated than the vast liberal socialist conspiracy, which seems unlikely in suburban Indianapolis. The organized squirrels then began throwing large branches off of the new roof... and turned on leaf blowers.

I'm grateful to my neighbors for cleaning off my new roof, but they did give me quite a shock.

over-heard at church

Coincidence is God's way of working anonymously."

update!

Today's reference librarian at least looked up some answers to my question, though failed to understand the context for it. I can't decide if a 90% answer counts as complete satisfaction or not. Then again, the answer was free!

simple pleasures

I stumped a reference librarian today.

I plan to try again later.

Sometimes it's the little moments in life that power us (well, me) through Tuesdays.

book meme

Harriet tagged me for this meme about books about two weeks ago. I've been busy with that usual middle-of-October chaos, so this is rather late. I envy Harriet her eighty words a minute sometimes.

Anyway, the drill is to answer the questions, then tag some people – I haven't, as everyone I would tag has already responded, in one fashion or another – and when you’ve done it you email beanphoto at mail@beanphoto.co.uk and tell him you did it so he can go and collect it. And ask the bloggers you tag to do the same.

1. Most memorable place/experience reading a book?

So many possibilities for this answer - certainly the golden and glorious afternoon in which I devoured Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban for the first time, the incredible frustration of trying to plow through Alison Weir's Mary, Queen of Scots and the Murder of Lord Darnley while on a gorgeous location, any of a number of Jane Austen novels reread while while crossing the Atlantic, the pure joy when I finally laid hands on a copy of A Candle in Her Room after thirty years and found that not only did I still love it, but that I appreciated the author's brilliance a lot more than I once did - and I note that the first titles which came to mind were all penned by women, which may or may not be significant.

If pinned down, perhaps because of the season, I'd have to give the nod to House of the Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne. I took a senior seminar on Hawthorne - I don't know if we read all of the man's work, but we came awfully close. Gables is fairly creepy on its own, but after reading so many of NH's short stories, my mind already dashed off to dark corners and spooky setting before I read the first page.

I finally found sanctuary in the common room of my dormitory. With the low murmur of the television and chatter from other students to ground a corner of my subconcious in reality, I curled up in a corner and read the book in one sitting. I still found the book creepy, but I no longer feared that I'd make too much noise by turning the page.

2. Most unusual place/experience reading a book?

Studying for qualifying exams - I went a week without glasses or contacts but had to go on reading. I still feel great affection for Born For Liberty by Sara Evans because it had unusually large print.

3. Most dangerous place/experience reading a book?



I've snuck in coffee to a few libraries where beverages were banned, does that count?

Occasionally I've felt unsafe in the stacks at large university libraries - the sight lines are, obviously, dreadful, and it wouldn't be hard to hide a crime (or other naughty activity, such as coffee drinking) behind a pillar.

4. Most luxurious place/experience reading a book?

The weekend before the US AP exam I stayed at the home of a friend who lived on the Atlantic Ocean. I reread all of my notes and both textbooks sitting on a bay window's window seat, watching the waves roll in.

5. Funniest place/experience reading a book? Or, add a reading-place/experience description of your own.

Hmmm... lots of times when I have agonized over trying to remember a title, only to discover the book right next to me... Sharyn McCrumb's Killing Susan made me laugh so long and so often that I reread it three times in as many days.

Weir's Mary, Queen of Scots reduced me to frequently grumbling aloud to friends and family, "just kill the man, already!" - does that count?

The old saw about "not judging a book by its cover" proved, just once, to be entirely accurate; at a small local library branch, I spotted a John Bellairs book propped on top of a bookcase. I'd never heard of Bellairs, but the cover picture screamed out, "I was drawn by Edward Gorey." What further recommendation could I ask; Gorey and a librarian? All true: Bellairs' books (and the follow-ups by Brad Strickland) are wonderful.

one sided conversation

Mistress!
What is it, dog?
Mistress!
Yes, dog?
Mistress!!!
What do you want, Sam?
Mistress!!!

So it has gone, for three hours. He doesn't need to go outside,it's not the traditional hour for the walking of the dog, he's been fed and his sofa is free of clutter. It's hard enough to focus upon the most boring assignment of teh entire class, but this is not helping.

Mistress!!!

I miss the days when I could simply walk him by the front door of the lady dog of mature years and he would then sleep with a happy grin for an hour or so.

Obama puts a ring on it

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4SEZEyAuSP8

Just watch it - you know you need a good solid belly laugh on a Friday Morning.

I still believe.

the rain is full of ghosts

Nearly everyone in the mid-west seemed dazed by this week of rain. It's gray and dreary enough to be late fall, yet it's warm and the leaves, at least in Indianapolis, have yet to turn. There's something wonderfully comforting about waking up in the early morning to the sound of the rain and even better to know that I don't have to get up early to teach or mark papers, and so can go back to sleep.

The weather has been hard on Sam - the extra humidity brings out his arthritis, and without his daily walks, he has cabin fever... though not enough cabin fever to consent to walk in the rain. It looks like matters may be dry for a few minutes so perhaps I can get him twice around the block this afternoon.

I had a frustrating conversation with a student, made all the more frustrating because of the rain. I could barely hear her words, and the rain had better diction. I truly and deeply admire the students who take a class not in their native language to study history not their own, for which they have no cultural context to hand. People like her bring out my most altruistic & enthusiastic "please, I want so much to help you!" teaching impulse in my soul - but truth be told, I'm really not sure what she wanted to know. The words that came out of my mouth seemed to reassure her, though, so I'll chalk that up as a small victory.

monday, Monday

The neighbors threw a big party on Saturday - it started at about 10:00 AM and lasted until midnight. Sam and I counted about twenty cars at one point parked outside. It sounded and looked like rather a lot of fun, though I wish that they had knocked off the singing before 11:00 PM.

They had the right weather for it - yesterday and today have been gray and wet, though mercifully still warm enough to have the windows open and some amount of fresh air circulating. The party included several dogs, who barked madly at am every time he went outside. He found this behavior quite baffling; I honestly think he's pining for his lady love.

Status: grading like mad.

status update

If I had a facebook account, which I do not, my current status would be, "lemming is unable to correctly type the word "conquer" tonight, and is reluctant to ponder the potential significance of this fact."

I got it wrong again in the typing of this post.

in company

Due to circumstances beyond my control, lemming headquarters has moved again. This week I have been grading essays not only away from Sam's watchful eye, but in a very full office. Oh, I've had office-mates before this, but never before have I enjoyed their company so much. While teaching is a social activity, grading is usually a solitary activity, of necessity, really.

By the way, today is the birthday of Colin Firth.

a denial

I, Sam, would like to offer a blanket statement to the effect that the mistress is up to no good. In fact, she is trying to smear the good name of a perfectly respectable lady dog of mature years by insinuating that she and I would possibly have any sort of feelings for each other beyond a mutual distrust of rabbits.

Dangerous, blood-thirsty rabbits, I should add, ones who traipse across our yard - I mean my yard, and the mature lady dog assists me in the barking and chasing...

The mistress claims that I sit outside the door of the lady dog's domicile and wait for her. This is untrue. I simply happen to be walking by very slowly and prepared to greet her should she by chance emerge. It's pure happenstance that I insisted upon going outside at 11:30 last night just as the mature lady dog also happened to be taking a stroll.

a moment of pause and a moment of joy

Sam approves of our move, as is patently obvious from his entire demeanor.

At the same time, I need to prepare myself: Sam is also winding down. Twice in two months he has very gently but firmly turned down a walk, on a day when he had yet to do more than head outside, raise a leg, then return inside to snooze on the sofa. He's not in pain, he still makes his feelings known (sofa = good) but I have to accept that the naps more than outweigh the constant alertness.

He's had a good life. We've made a great team. I don't doubt that we still have a few innings left... but I need to remember that we're counting down.

Now to joy: el Presidente has a little sister. Hurrah!

a guest post

The mistress is busy, something about grocery shopping because she is out of diet coke. No matter. I, Sam, shall blog in her stead.

The new headquarters is a good place. I do not have to climb stairs, and it is much easier to keep constant watch over the mistress's actions. A young and flighty young thing lives on one side of us; she lacks dignity, but is pleasant enough. On the other side we have another dignified dog, a female of mature years, one who understands the need to maintain constant watchfulness. However, I suspect that she enjoys that mysterious activity known as swimming, so I shall have to carefully monitor our conversations for clues.

The mistress has opened many boxes, but has been kind enough to leave my sofa uncovered. It is unusual for her not to bring me along when she leaves in the morning; I am glad that she has at last come to understand the importance of keeping me along at all times.

Now, if you will excuse me, I have Proust to read.

dancing on the sofa

Mistress!
Yes, Sam, I know.
Mistress!!!!!
It's all right, Sam.
Mistress! Mistress!

Sam's sofa is in a U-Haul somewhere between here and the new lemming headquarters. He keeps checking the spot where it (the sofa) should be and isn't, just in case it (the sofa) has reappeared. Then he attempts to call my attention to this loss. Hell hath no fury like a border collie thwarted in his stare.

Sam and it (he sofa) will be together again in a few days. Meanwhile, I have more boxes to fill. John Adams (or was it John Quincy Adams?) once observed that he had all his life had a passion for books, one whose folly he only felt when moving...

in my place

The alarmingly tall contractor came in with a final bill exactly @25 over budget. If anyone needs a roofer, let me know.

ATC tells me that everyone on his crew has at least 15 years of experience and is out of work because of the recession. I couldn't afford the new roof, not even remotely, but my insurance company funded purchase means that four families can eat this month. That's humbling.

a day for a good book

It's raining today, so no roofers. By this time tomorrow, my headache may have dissipated, just in time for them to start work on the garage.

Rob asks just how tall the alarmingly tall contractor might be - I don't have a number, but I can tell you that he is so tall that he has to duck to walk through my front door. he doesn't do the "tall person stoop" when he talks to you, which I admire.

I've been reading Linda H. Davis' biography of the cartoonist Charles Addams, as in the Addams Family. I have a weakness for biographies of the people who lived and thrived in the early years of the New Yorker. Occasionally they reach the point of smarmy intellectualistic elitism that offends even my ego, but this one is terrific. Much like the most recent biography of Charles Schultz, Davis intersperses plenty of Addams' cartoons in the text and she's clearly having fun with her subject, even while bringing the right professional tone. Addams comes across as a dedicated man with a sense of fun who enjoyed teh macabre atmosphere around him.

I'd rather be reading about Addams, but right now I have essays to grade. I am convinced that they reproduce in the night...

up on the roof

The chaps showed up bright and early at 7:00 AM to start the joyous process of tearing off the old roof here at lemming headquarters and installing a new one. The head contractor (the most alarmingly tall person I have ever met) warned that they "might make a lot of noise." I rather assumed that they would, which is why I apologized to most of the neighbors about it last week, though not to the man who likes to run his chain-saw at 6:30 AM on Saturdays.

lemming headquarters desperately needs said new roof; I sincerely doubt that the old one would have lasted another winter, and with all of the thunderstorms we've had in the last few weeks, I've had my worries about the old one lasting until the new one could go on. I'm pleased that the alarmingly tall person assured me that they would do all of the house today and then all of the garage "when it's dry" rather than leaving me with a sheet of plastic to keep out the storms which are due for the rest of the week.

Sam's deafness saddens me from time to time, but today it is a blessing. Had he working ears, Sam would be barking at full-on red alert, between the simple existence of several strange men here at th territorial headquarters which he is sworn to protect and defend, the oddness of their location (said roof) and the very odd noises that stripping off old shingles makes. Instead he's snoring away on the sofa, oblivious to the drama above his floppy ears.

on we go

Yes, the hell-spawn devil's-imp did survive my time away. Precocious neighborhood child found him quite a handful. He left gigantic clumps of fur around his various scratching posts, though with no noticeable difference to his coat. He seems vaguely pleasd to have me back, probably simply for my mere existence.

I did read a glorious murder mystery while on vacation, which I'll have to write baout, as soon as I get through all of these e-mails.

time for a vacation

I'm going away for a few days, just a quiet trip to share some peace with Sam. Precocious neighborhood child will be very well paid to look after the good cats and even the hell spawn demon imp. I fear what will occur when I am gone, but it will be great to leave the state for a while.

Meanwhile, let the bureaucrats deal with the problems - I'm going to sleep in.

subversive children's literature

"Scalia," Sunny said. She meant something like, "It doesn't seem like the literal interpretation makes any sense," but her siblings did not think it was wise to translate.

-The Penultimate Peril by Lemony Snickett, page 268

Roses and Pandas

Jeanne has rewarded me for commenting on her blog. It feels rather odd, still, to comment on her blog, when I think back to her commenting upon my papers all these years ago, but no matter. My thanks for the honor.

I'm in the usual seasonal dash to read the long papers, plow through the exams, battle between my conscience and the result calculated by a spreadsheet, knowing how clearly I remember every grade on my own college transcript. Perhaps it's all of these academic battles that have me realizing how befuddled I am by the Lancaster arm of English history, so I have been trying to straighten out some of my confusion. (Jeanne, have you read In a Dark Wood Wandering?) I think reading that in March is where it all got started.

For obvious reasons, what I am teaching these days has nothing at all to do with the House of Lancaster, which may explain my attraction to it. I dislike the assigned textbook I've been reading for the next round of classes (it is a textbook only because it is assigned and is a book, it's not a textbook per say) so the Lancastrians are a palate cleanser. I've been digging about for a suitable Victoria Holt novel from the period to fill the need to brush up on history while relax at the end of the day.


For the record, the hell-spawn devil's imp feline made two attempts in less than thirty-six hours to escape and has been returned to safety, despite my fleeting hopes for his speedy demise. Well, not hopes... truly, I don't wish him ill, just declawed.

pop culture still lives

On Friday night, April 17, 2009, I heard Michael Jackson's "Thriller" all the way through for the first time.

I wouldn't have known that it was "Thriller" had I not been told - not some of his clearest diction...

academics are goofy creatures

"I mean, I just don't understand these people who strengthen their self-identification through listing their accomplishments. 2.5 kids, house in the suburbs, who cares? that's not who you really are."

"Oh, I don't know - when you introduced yourself it was with your name, degrees, institutions and latest publication. What's the intellectual difference? You've just offered me a self-definition through a particular sub-set of academic qualifications and accomplishments, and you asked for mine."

What I really should have done was to start competing on the grounds of the extent of our student loan debt. (laughter)

first post for April

It's snowing outside. Snowing, I tell you. People will be grumbling about global warming as fallacy and conspiracy today; best to stay inside.

Speaking of conspiracies - documentation to prove that Paris was liberated in 1944 by white troops has been released. There's a reason by colonialism's shadow still looms large on teh International Stage.

The Voyeur was attracted by my skirt as it swished by and drew blood on my leg with his claws. After I learned that declawing a cat means removing the feline equivalent of a knuckle, I changed my ideas about it, but the Voyeur is, well, maybe he's a special case.

of cats and men

The Voyeur should consider himself lucky if he survives the week. I do not pretend that my furniture is anything special, but he's doing quite a number on it. This is a battle of wills between me and a creature who does not contribute financially to the household. I marvel at the patience shown by you veteran cat co-habitators.

The historian John Hope Franklin has died, after nearly a century of making the field look easy. Plenty of obituaries and rememberences have already been recorded, and I'm sure that the OAH and AHA will get their in (and plenty of follow-ups) over the weeks, months and years to come. (Historians are not always prompt.) What impressed and impresses me most about Franklin is his willingness, nay, enthusiasm, t be a teacher and to give his students every possible assistance. The ivory tower pays lip service to the importance of good teaching, of being a mentor, of genuinely cultivating the next generation, but the true investment is not often made. Franklin invested and, unlike AIG, his dividends will only increase in value.

a quiet peace

The son of Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes Nicholas Hughes has taken his own life.

It's often said that children of celebrities bear additional burdens simply by virtue of their DNA; here that DNA presents a double whammy. Plath is an icon to so many - and so many are still angry at Ted Hughes for the breakdown of their marriage. Their children have carried such a challenge through life, and seem to have managed it in quiet and with dignity.

Hughes must have known that in ending his own life that the comparisons with and commentary on his mother would increase. Even in misery and death, the poor man isn't "Nicholas;" he's the son of poets with emotional problems and an aura of literary celebrity.

Is - now was.

advice requested

The Voyeur is an adult male cat, neutered, and the alpha of his pack. he's established that Sam is not a threat, but that the dog still outranks him.

I can handle the late night concerts and the tendency to be underfoot, but he deliberately pees in inappropriate locations, particularly when I am watching. Shoes I can wash and carpets can be cleaned, but he's attacking library books.

Any ideas?

(Is it felicide to murder a cat?)

a multi-tasking holiday

Quoting Mass Moments eMoment :

...in 1901, the City of Boston officially celebrated Evacuation Day for the first time. In early March of 1776, Continental troops managed to move heavy cannon to the top of Dorchester Heights. When the British realized what had happened, they knew they could no longer hold the capital. The lowly Continental Army forced the British to evacuate Boston. One hundred and twenty-five years later, the Mayor proclaimed March 17th, St. Patrick's Day, a legal holiday. The city could commemorate an important historical event — George Washington's first victory in the American Revolution — and celebrate its place as "the capital of Irish America." Even today, schools and government offices are closed on March 17th in Boston and Suffolk County.

(c)2009 Massachusetts Foundation for the Humanities. All rights reserved.

http://www.massmoments.org/index.cfm

Monday monday

As of noon, March will be half-over, thank goodness.

The Voyeur has taken to indoor dumpster diving, i.e. digging through the trash can. When Sam does this it is to express his displeasure at being left alone too many time too often. The Voyeur does this because it is his right. The Voyeur is wearing his welcome and my patience thin.

The Vampire still avoid me and the Enigma quietly examines her surroundings. Only when I take corned beef out of the refrigerator does she react. Perhaps she's Irish?

Thought for the day: Three o'clock is always too late or too early for anything you want to do. - Jean-Paul Satre

back and better

Long time no blog. Again.

I have a theory that much of the nation spent December and January in a state of anticipation, holding on by our very fingernails until the presidential hand-off. Then the hangover hit and we realized that matters went from dreadful to - well, what's worse than dreadful? - and we all spent February in dreadful moods.

Anyway, I didn't want to do yet another post about how tired I am of winter, so I've been quiet and tried to take life on its own terms.

Thanks to all who asked after Sam; though his deafness is official, the meds are keeping him spry and very active. Last night something did not please either his eyes or his nose and he gave the fence line a long, hard bark. It's been a good long while since he did this, so I let him bark his heart out.

Lemming headquarters has been temporarily augmented by the addition of three cats. Sam has adapted quite well, though he is baffled that they leave food in their dishes after meals and that I won't allow him to eat it. "The Vampire" seems content to stay out of my way. He mostly emerges from his cave after I go to bed, so we have very little contact. "The Voyeur" is a constant source of trouble. I am accustomed to a dog, one who knows better than to jump on countertops and who does not relieve himself on household items to express his inner feelings. The third one, whom I think has the most personality, spent three days thoroughly examining headquarters, only to decide that the windows provide far better options for entertainment than watching me grade essays.

As research for my new lifestyle, I have been rereading mysteries from the Cat Who series. One of these years I need to read all twenty-two books in order, as skipping about means that I lose track of who is now dead, who has gone insane, who has switched jobs, etc.

One aspect to Lilian Jackson Braun's books that I do admire is that she sneaks in the occasional vocabulary word, foreign language phrase or food term that forces me to the dictionary. As economizing means less fancy dining, it is fun to drool over her menus of fish, crab, beef with mushrooms, cheeses...

Excuse me.

snowy snowy day

Indianapolis is snowed in. All of the schools are closed, even the die-hard private places. Most businesses are closed, which is why my wonderful next door neighbor was on hand to snow blow my driveway.

This does bring me to the question of why - yes, I always seem to find a why. According to the radio, all sorts of accidents took place this morning, hardly surprising - but who are these people? In my version of the universe, the only people who should have to work today are people at hospitals, police officers, etc. Why on earth should the rest of the universe have to go to work today on roads that are not safe? What is so vital to the world that office workers risk the unplowed roads just so that the office can say that they were open?

Easy for me to say, I have the day off.

Founding Mothers

I just wanted to inject a moment of reality into all of our Obama afterglow (tm) and I include myself in that glow.

Yes, it is terrific and outstanding that we have an African-American president, whose extended family looks even more like America than ever seemed possible. (Oh, no, wait, don't the Bushes have one or two Hispanic in-laws? Not quite the same thing.) Obviously I am thrilled to bits that many Americans voted for the man based upon his principles, not upon his skin, but the end result is all the more amazing.

Here's my note - Obama's father wasn't exactly an engaged father figure. Obama was raised by a white mother and a white grandmother, sometimes with the help of a step-father and extended family. I'd like to take a moment to remember them, if I might - the woman from Kansas, who fell for an exchange student, the grandmother who was not perfect but gave her grandson enduring and unending love -

they too are our American story. I honor the goat-herder's son who is now our president, but I also honor the son of a single mother, raised by a grandmother, who now seeks to give his own children a nuclear family.

just staying in touch

Sam is not happy about the drop in temperature. He's confined himself to frequent short trips outside. He would obviously like to spend more time peeing at the fence-line with the dog next door, but I can see him shaking from the cold.

Sorry, I didn't mean this blog to turn into some kind of obsession with my dog, but seeing how much he has aged in the past year has been hard to accept.

Meanwhile, life continues. I seem to have a good crop of students at the moment, which after last spring semester's mess is a definite plus. Some of them even like my jokes and have said so, openly!

just four minutes

Long time no blog. I've been busy, sick, all of the usual cranky winter complaints.

One of the perks to December is that people send Christmas cards. (Well, some people. A pox upon people who say that they'll send a card and then don't, year after year. You're not going to do it, we both know it, don't tell lies.) I love reading people's Christmas letters and seeing pictures of their kids, I really do - even of dogs or cats. Just knowing that people think of me and others at least once a year is gladdening to my cynic's heart.

Alas now it is January and now begins the slog toward spring.

blast from the past

I got "one of those" e-mails last night. I want to emphasize that although it came from a man, I never slept with him or anything like that. He's just, well, complicated. He was a student, a very good student, but also someone I know that I know I was a life-changing person and pushed him and did good things and that's a kind of strange and heavy piece to carry sometimes.

He's not sentimental, so I don't hear from him often. When I do, I always want to push push push - what are you doing? How are you doing? Married? kids? I know this man and I know that pushing him in that direction is a surefire way to make sure I learn nothing. He may be the only man who has ever gotten me to play by his rules.

We exchanged e-mails last night - I don't think that any of them was longer than 20 words. I know that he is alive and employed. (At a conservative estimate, he makes 100 times more than I make.) I don't think there's any way to make it fully clear to him how much that means to me.

accessories

I did not own a purse until I was thirty-(delicate cough)

There are a variety of reasons why - there's no point to having a purse when you're already hefting around a book-bag filled with ungraded student essays, library books, notes from the latest grad student coloq, three different kinds of pain killer, datebook, empty coffee cup attached to the shoulder strap, etc.

Then I slowly crept toward pretending to be an adult and accepted that I probably should own one. Truthfully, I'd rather have accepted the need for a speculum, but you don't bring implements to job interviews. I asked a family member with good taste to get me one for Christmas. Said family member (a man, I would note) came through it spades. My one purse is simple, easy to carry, easy to stow inside the inevitable book bag and so far immune to my destructive powers. Jeanne commented that some books fit into the hand or purse, etc. better than others, and that this affects when and how we read them. To my incredible delight, almost all books fit into my purse - big hardcovers are out, but I can still squeeze in almost everything else.

Waiting in line on Friday I read through 25+ pages of a mystery I tucked in there a week ago - The Cat Who Sniffed Glue if you must know. It passed the time and made me far less annoyed - all hail my reluctant purse.

desperate, desperate, desperate

Sen. Obama isn't a citizen?

Snopes link

I had no idea that this issue was wending its way through the various courts.

Last night I went looking for a book and remembered that I had fought a long and hard recall war over it many years ago. I had it checked out for a time and it was recalled from me. I turned it in, but put in a hold - when the other person had their two weeks, I really needed it back. Well, the other person (whom I subsequently learned was faculty) put in a hold on me, and so it went. I basked in the myopic notion that as an impoverished graduate student, someone with health insurance could afford to shell out $50 for their own copy. The recall war went on and on and on - but the book has been on my shelf for, well, several years now. Am I just desperate to defeat the full timers? Or did the mysterious faculty member finish the project? Either way, I won.

Sam has been herding me all day. I had planned to catch up on some journal reading in bed this morning with breakfast; no go, it was imperative that I do it at my desk, which is far less comfy. I'd thought of taking a coffee break outside; no go, he wanted me inside. So it has gone all day. People laugh at me for allowing Sam to have such control over my daily life; they have obviously never been at the receiving end of a border collie stare. Even at the back of the skull, it's fierce.

Maybe I've read too any Internet postings, but I suppose I feel an obligation to him - Sam asks very little, truly, of me as his human. What matters most is that I maintain a routine. Heaven knows I probably function better with a routine anyway, which may be why I am such a pushover. Anyway, I am desperate for five minutes in which Sam lets me deviate from the norm!

another meme

Harriet offered this meme and I liked it.

Where is your cell phone? on top of the bread flour container
Your hair color? brown - the highlights have grown out
Your mother? well-intentioned
Your father? well-intentioned, but clueless
Your favorite thing? primary documents from an individual's personal history... (insert recognition of personal geekiness, doubtless requiring professional help)
Your dream last night? hot tub had been installed in my backyard and there was bubble bath and I admired the stars and then kids started playing kickball in the yard next door

Your goal? to have done my best
The room you’re in? my cave
Your hobby? my dog, with reading murder mysteries while curled up with my dog a close second
Your fear? Just one?
Where do you want to be in six years? employed
Where were you last night? grading essays
What you’re not? well-rested
One of your wish-list items? Now that I think about it, a hot tub.
Where you grew up? I was born in a small town/ and I can breathe in a small town/ used to day dream in a small town" which is why I now live in the suburbs

The last thing you did? wash dishes
What are you wearing? warm socks
Your TV? ancient (circa 1995)
Your pet(s)? warm and furry
Your computer? Macintosh - goes by Beatrice
Your mood? lethargic
Missing someone? not at the moment
Your car? named Phil
Something you’re not wearing? a toupee
Favorite store? any place that sells books
Your summer? warm
Love someone? lots
Your favorite color? purple
When is the last time you laughed? yesterday
Last time you cried? this morning
Tagging: anyone

December

Busy days here at lemming headquarters, trying to keep up with the marathon race that is getting everything done and processed so that the December graduations can go forward. After the pure luxury of sleeping in at Thanksgiving and having nothing more onerous to do than help wash a few dishes, I had grown quite spoiled.

The period between Thanksgiving and Christmas is such a funny muddle, isn't it? Constant carols every where, but it's only the first week of Advent and Hanukkah doesn't start for quite a while yet. (Yes, yes, Hanukkah isn't a Jewish Christmas, but it's part of the month.) Everyone seems to be in a holding pattern - we're all waiting for George's W.'s reign to end anyway, but the waiting just goes with the month.

Today is the birthday of Rose Wilder Lane, the "Ghost in the Little House" - did she ghostwrite her mother's books? Help with editing? Collaboration? More mysteries and process of waiting.

opposible thumbs

Mistress! You are in imminent danger! I must go outside and bark!

Mistress!! You are in imminent danger! I must com inside and stare at you!

Mistress! You are in imminent danger! I must go outside and bark!

All those years of college and graduate school - so that I can open doors for a border collie who is having a bad day.

(laughter)

In all seriousness, this has actually been a nice day - I know that the meds are working because Sam's neurotic tendencies are coming back.

(more laughter)

food!

This is a local plea, but please, if you are local, offer ideas.

I have been given a large check - and I mean a really, really, jaw-dropping size check - to go out to dinner and let a reviewer know what I thought.

Did I mention that it's a really big check?

Anyway, I'm taking suggestions.

I was born in a small town

There's a John Mellencamp song called "Small Town" which I firmly believe should be played at least four times every day by NPR and even more often by other radio stations, including whatever network it is that employs Howard Stern.

is it great art? Well... the line "I cannot forget where it is that I come from" - how can you deny that it's perfect?

well, all right, you could, but only if you didn't spend your formative years in the same small town - if you had you would still think that the phrase a bit garbled, but you'd get the sentiment. Wait, that makes it sound like I grew up in Seymour, Indiana. I didn't. I just spent all of my childhood in the same small town.

Anyway, as Mellencamp says, I was born in a small town. A friend was scouting around on Facebook and found one of those "Top 20 Reasons" lists, in this case, ways that you know that you are from my small town. In just a few lines, it brought back so many memories... and then I started thinking about what the writer listed, and realized that he or she must be about ten years younger than I am (ulp) but how funny it is that I can date that based upon the names of stores on Main Street.

Anyway, I raise my cup of orange juice (need to go buy more) to "the place that I come from" - I have no desire to move back there, but it is beautiful and despite everything, I still love it.

Happy Birthday!!

This is the birthday of Abigail Smith Adams - call her the first feminist or just a really neat lady, it doesn't matter. She's a cultural ancestor - please to raise a coffee mug, water bottle or wine glass in her honor.

just an observation

My goodness but the Obamas are tall people.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/us_elections_2008/7720137.stm

we made history

I was wrong. Alleluia, I was wrong.

Not only that, but Indiana went blue. Indiana??!! Blue??!! Alleluia.

Cissy, dinner is on me.

I'm reading the Prayers of the People on Sunday - I can't wait to say the name of our president-elect.

Alleluia.

Election 2008

I would just like to point out that I know more about Sarah Palin than the Republican poll watcher at my district.

Apparently mine is the only district with disinterested voters/ people voting at other times. I had no line and was in and out in under five minutes. (Sorry Joe - I brought a book and an umbrella and snacks and everything, I was prepared!) Every other polling place has lines. This thrills me beyond belief, beyond anything I have words to articulate. Whatever the outcome (and I still think McCain will swing the Electoral College) I am so proud to be an American on this day.

Wishing us all grace as we vote and a return to peace.

come home! All is forgiven!

You don't realize how much you value an appliance until you lose it.

I have learned that I can live without a microwave. Oh, sure, it's handy, but not essential. On the other hand, a week without a hot water heater seven years ago means that I still breathe a quiet prayer of relief each time my shower is warm.

At the moment, I have no computer. This is the second time in less than two weeks that I have brought it into the shop (I'm at the library)and been told to wait. Oh, sure, blogs are fun and I like the easy access to the BBC, but I hadn't realized just how much I have come to rely upon e-mail. Wow.

Anyway, the library has Internet access, but I appear to be the only person who is typing. I'm waiting to be asked to be more quiet.

Monday morning

The Chicago Tribune endorsed Obama, their first Democratic candidate ever endorsed for the presidency. The Indianapolis Star editorial board split 4-4 and so didn't endorse anyone. I'm pleased, but I still think McCain will prevail.

At least the election hasn't been dull.

Sam continues to thrive on his meds. He and the terrier next door (confusingly enough, he's names Sammie)spent a good ten minutes racing each other along the sides of the fence this morning, with occasional pauses for competitive peeing. I haven't laughed so hard in ages.

It's a stay at home day for me, so I have opted to wear mis-matched socks. Consider it my moment of rebellion against the conformities of the world... such as letter grades. I've noticed that deans take a dim view of writing "student read the book but obviously did so at 3 AM after doing tequila shots" instead of "C."

a prediction

Prediction: Obama will carry the popular vote. McCain will carry the Electoral College. Violence will follow.

I'm not saying that I like this prediction, just that too many of my friends, even in liberal bastions such as Massachusetts, adore Palin and think Omaba will look out for "his race" before the rest of us.

On a happier note, only two more weeks and then the election will be over and I can comfortably shoe-horn it into my life as a historical event rather than as a day to day situation. So much easier to bury something unpleasant....

The Electoral College was designed to prevent Americans from being swayed by a personality and to ensure that cooler, leveler, more educated, more affluent white men would be the final voice in choosing a president. Somehow I'm not sure that Alexander Hamilton and Benjamin Franklin had this in mind at teh time.

saw this coming

Joe the oft-referenced plumber owes back taxes and doesn't, technically, have a valid state license to be a plumber. Please tell me that the election is almost over -

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/us_elections_2008/7673170.stm

left or right?

A friend has the impression that McCain and Obama are both left-handed. I had to admit that I don't have any idea. Can anyone out there in the blog world confirm or deny?

banned books

Pulled this from Harriet's blog - I always feel somehow derelict that I haven't read more banned books.

As I will be spending the afternoon working in the library, here is a meme in honor of the end of Banned Books Week. According to the American Library Association, this is the list of the 100 most frequently banned and/or challenged books for 1990-2000. The instructions are easy: bold the ones you’ve read (it doesn’t have to be recently – a lot of these are children’s books) and pass the meme along. If you are reading, TAG – you’re it.

Heather has Two Mommies is actually a very beautiful book.

Scary Stories (Series) by Alvin Schwartz
Daddy’s Roommate by Michael Willhoite
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou
The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain

I think English profs keep assigning this book solely because it is so often banned...

Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
Harry Potter (Series) by J.K. Rowling
Forever by Judy Blume
Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson
Alice(Series) by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor
Heather Has Two Mommies by Leslea Newman
My Brother Sam is Dead by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier
The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
The Giver by Lois Lowry
It’s Perfectly Normal by Robie Harris
Goosebumps (Series) by R.L. Stine
A Day No Pigs Would Die by Robert Newton Peck
The Color Purple by Alice Walker
Sex by Madonna
Earth’s Children (Series) by Jean M. Auel
The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine Paterson
A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle
Go Ask Alice by Anonymous
Fallen Angels by Walter Dean Myers
In the Night Kitchen by Maurice Sendak
The Stupids (Series) by Harry Allard
The Witches by Roald Dahl
The New Joy of Gay Sex by Charles Silverstein
Anastasia Krupnik (Series) by Lois Lowry
The Goats by Brock Cole
Kaffir Boyby Mark Mathabane
Blubber by Judy Blume
Killing Mr. Griffin by Lois Duncan
Halloween ABC by Eve Merriam
We All Fall Down by Robert Cormier
Final Exit by Derek Humphry
The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood
Julie of the Wolves by Jean Craighead George
The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
A Growing-Up Guide for Parents & Daughtersby Lynda Madaras
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Beloved by Toni Morrison
The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton
The Pigman by Paul Zindel
Bumps in the Night by Harry Allard
Deenie by Judy Blume
Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes
Annie on my Mind by Nancy Garden
The Boy Who Lost His Face by Louis Sachar
Cross Your Fingers, Spit in Your Hat by Alvin Schwartz
A Light in the Attic by Shel Silverstein
Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
Sleeping Beauty Trilogy by A.N. Roquelaure (Anne Rice)
Asking About Sex and Growing Up by Joanna Cole
Cujo by Stephen King
James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl

Why on earth would this book be banned?

The Anarchist Cookbook by William Powell
Boys and Sex by Wardell Pomeroy
Ordinary People by Judith Guest
American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis
What’s Happening to my Body? Book for Boys: A Growing-Up Guide for Parents & Sonsby Lynda Madaras
Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret by Judy Blume
Crazy Lady by Jane Conly
Athletic Shortsby Chris Crutcher
Fade by Robert Cormier
Guess What?by Mem Fox
The House of Spirits by Isabel Allende
The Face on the Milk Carton by Caroline Cooney
Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut
Lord of the Flies by William Golding
Native Son by Richard Wright
Women on Top: How Real Life Has Changed Women’s Fantasies by Nancy Friday
Curses, Hexes and Spells by Daniel Cohen
Jack by A.M. Homes
Bless Me, Ultima by Rudolfo A. Anaya
Where Did I Come From? by Peter Mayle
Carrie by Stephen King
Tiger Eyes by Judy Blume
On My Honor by Marion Dane Bauer
Arizona Kid by Ron Koertge
Family Secrets by Norma Klein
Mommy Laid An Egg by Babette Cole
The Dead Zone by Stephen King
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain

Again, another English teacher book...

Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison
Always Running by Luis Rodriguez
Private Parts by Howard Stern
Where’s Waldo? by Martin Hanford

Again, eh? How is Waldo ban-worthy?

Summer of My German Soldier by Bette Greene
Little Black Sambo by Helen Bannerman
Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett
Running Loose by Chris Crutcher
Sex Education by Jenny Davis
The Drowning of Stephen Jones by Bette Greene
Girls and Sex by Wardell Pomeroy
How to Eat Fried Worms by Thomas Rockwell
View from the Cherry Tree by Willo Davis Roberts
The Headless Cupid by Zilpha Keatley Snyder
The Terrorist by Caroline Cooney
Jump Ship to Freedom by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier

Here’s the list of the 10 most banned/challenged books for 2007:
And Tango Makes Three, by Justin Richardson/Peter Parnell
The Chocolate War, by Robert Cormier
Olive’s Ocean, by Kevin Henkes
The Golden Compass, by Philip Pullman
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain
The Color Purple, by Alice Walker
TTYL,by Lauren Myracle
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, by Maya Angelou
It’s Perfectly Normal, by Robie Harris
The Perks of Being A Wallflower, by Stephen Chbosky

musings on the debate

9:16 PM Palin is kicking Biden. She has studied her 3'5 index cards, and has nailed the folksy charm. If the debate were a drinking game, and I had to drink every time she said "darn" I'd be deeply intoxicated by now.

Biden knows McCain's record better than Palin. She's still nailing him to the wall.

a quick fantasy

(phone rings)

"Prof lemming! It's PBS - this is an emergency, we need a history teacher! Gwen needs some quick questions to start off the debate tonight and you're the best!"

OK, enough of my fantasies. 10 History Questions I wish would be asked tonight:

1) What rights does the ninth amendment protect?

2) Who served as president before James Buchanen?

3) What were the causes and effects of the Spanish-American War?

4) Was it legal to be a Baptist and live in Virginia in the 1700s?

5) What happened during the Oklahoma Land Rush?

6) Why did Nixon go to China?

7) Who ran the country when Woodrow Wilson had a stroke?

8) Why did the United States boycott the 1980 Olympics?

9) Which happened first, the Boston Massacre or the Boston Tea Party?

10) Why is Alexander Hamilton on the $10 bill?


Despite what I think of McCain's choice of Palin, tonight is historic and I honor it.

1992 vs 2008

I've been thinking a lot about the 1992 election of late. Probably everyone who knows me has heard this story - that November night (I'd voted via absentee ballot days before) a friend of mine threw a big party. About fifty of us crammed into a dorm room that might have comfortably fit ten. The host (who could afford it) had a keg of Corona in the shower. We watched the election returns in a spirit of immense jubilation that had nothing to do with the beer - we believed that this was right, this was good, and that we were headed into a golden age.

What strikes me now is that while none of us (at least openly) had supported George H.W. Bush, none of us doubted that he would give 110% to running the country, down to the very last moments, regardless of what happened. I'd argue that he did. It's od to be sentimental about the GHWB days -

I do not have the same faith in GWB. I think he's been treading water for a while now, and I firmly believe that the nation, in large part, has let him get away with it.

Not for the first time, I am struck by my next door neighbors. They are good, kind, decent, caring people, and they genuinely believe that GWB is and has been doing a terrific job. Yesterday one of them said he's even better than Reagan. It might be easier to understand them if I still had a bit of that Corona, but I've got to try. To borrow a line from 1776 "Either we all walk together, or together we stay where we are."

Enough of politics.

P.S. I confess to having blown off a paper so that I could attend that party, but I did stay up late and I did get it in, and I did earn an A, and it actually stands up as not too bad to my teacher eyes years later. Was it the Corona? Clinton? Panic? I'll never know.

will you won't you, will you won't you, will you come and join the dance?

I decided a few months back to skip the debates. Four years ago I just about made it through by removing heavy objects from the room so that I would only be tempted to throw pillows and such at the television. (Yes, I did end up throwing a pillow at one point, but that's another saga for another post.) Whether I switched on a rerun of Scrubs or just went to bed early, I really hadn't decided, but I wanted no part of anything having to do with the debates.

McCain has now done the impossible. By adding the "will he/ won't he" element to simply showing up (!!!) I'm now actually interested in the debate tonight.

A good friend treats presidential debates on a points system. In 2004, points were awarded for everything from having the better tie to making a stronger point, and deducted for every time the candidate mentioned their family's sufferings and their personal relationship with you know who. Every candidate, and the moderator, always started off with 50 points for simply having shown up. I am intrigued to see how this year shapes up.

brave warrior (no, not Trig)

While on break yesterday, I stretched out on the sofa. A light breeze blew in through the window (yes, it was open at the time), the sun shone - and then I heard a squirrel make a noise the likes of which I have never heard any squirrel make before - any animal make before, for that matter.

Drawing on my skills as a liberal arts major, I looked out the window. The squirrel in question had tensed every muscle and devoted its whole body to this sound. Seconds later, a second squirrel dashed across the yard, praying that it would make its tree. Hot on the tail of the second squirrel? A hawk.

Sam barreled out the door, full speed, full defense bark, full alert and the hawk decided to go elsewhere for lunch.

Probably Sam had chosen to protect me, but I prefer to think that he charged out to protect his squirrels.

there's a time and a place for jargon

I've begun to fantasize about forcing Economists and economic experts interviewed to be forced to use words of three syllables or less at all times. By now it should be obvious to them that the American people, in the main, simply do not understand why various areas of the economy have fallen apart and must (or must not) be resurrected by our tax dollars. Listening to a call-in program yesterday, three people asked roughly the same question in the same way, and callers #2 and #3 indicated that they had heard the previous explanation and did not understand it.

This might make the economists feel demeaned or belittled. Tough. Most academics are forced to perform intellectually demeaning tasks on a regular basis. It wouldn't kill the economists to break matters down into short bits. Perhaps, it would encourage them to make better decisions in future.

Then, of course, force the various folks who will make money out of the bail-outs to justify their actions in very small words...

There's a time and a place for jargon. I can confidently use plenty of it, and fake teh use of still more. Graduate School certainly does a good job at teaching us how to pretend we know all sorts of long words - but we use them with each other. I would no more tell a freshman in college that the Twentieth century of American history "represents the declension of the Protestant hegemony" than I would expect them to perform brain surgery on a llama.

Sam leaped into the car this morning in a single bound, and became thoroughly excited when we got to the park. As I keep saying, hurrah for drugs!

mediocre meme

Harriet has tagged me. According to her, this meme is to celebrate five utterly mediocre aspects of yourself. Since Harriet almost certainly has blackmail-worthy material on me stored away somewhere, I dare not disregard her tag.

This actually strikes me as kind of funny - I strongly suspect that my five mediocre aspects would be highly interesting to someone else, and boring to another. Anyway, here goes -

1) As Harriet once observed, very kindly, I cannot read music. I wish that I could.

2) I go out of my way to avoid using pink post-it notes.

3) Without post-it notes, I would never get anything done.

4) I really hate it when people use "it's" thinking that it's the possessive tense. "Its" is possessive and "it's" means "it is."

5) Purple is my favorite color.

of dogs and lipstick

I want to thank everyone who has expressed concern about Sam - it has meant a lot to me that people understand how much he means to me and what joy I take in his return to "being himself." When my previous dog was hit by a car, a couple of people said, "oh, get over it, he was just a dog." I now know that the meds have really kicked in, because Sam is back to taking up 90% of any surface upon which I try to sleep.

I am slowly reconciling myself to the great likelihood that Sarah Palin will be the factor which pushes McCain over the top and into the White House. Being a liberal in Indiana means a certain amount of steeling yourself every time you enter the voting booth, and I have always known that my Obama vote would not be enough for him to carry this state. I had hoped that the rest of the nation would correct for this.

P.S. There's nothing like losing electricity for 36 hours to make me really grateful for it. Then I think of Galveston and Houston and I feel like a coward.

if only...

I've been thinking a lot today about the three year girl who was on the first plane to crash into the Twin Towers. She died with her parents, which must have been both agonizing and comforting for the whole family.

Who was she? I mean, almost all three year olds are cute, even the ones with horrible manners who bully their playmates. Did she have Downs' Syndrome? Autism? Did she long to be a ballerina or Disney Princess, or was she a tomboy who wanted nothing more than to climb trees and chase frogs?

I know that the 9/11 hijackers wanted to kill as many Americans as possible, but what went through their minds when they saw a small child, traveling with her parents? Glee? Or did they have a moment in which they needed to steel themselves?

With all of the politicking and contradictions which have surrounded the post-9/11 world, I do think we've lost track of the fact that everyone - the passengers, the fire-fighters, the people at the Pentagon - they were all people.

Speaking of people - Track Palin deploys today along with I cannot imagine how many other sons, daughters, sisters, brothers, wives and husbands. He is a celebrity, but they are all people.

hurrah for modern meds!

Sam is rolling away in the backyard. This is probably the only undignified activity he is capable of performing. He's rolling around, paws waving in the air - then he stops, rests for a moment on his stomach, gazing about, soaking up the sun, then flings himself back onto his back and abandoning himself to another good long wriggle.

It's been a long, long time since he has gone for a long roll in the sun.

yesterday

Mistress - mistress, I do not like this place. We will now leave the room, get back in the car and go home.
Good dog, Sam, good dog.
Mistress, you're not paying attention. We will now leave the room, get in the car and go home.
Good dog, Sam, good dog.

Mistress, you do not seem to understand who that lady is. We will now leave this room, get in the car and go home.
I think Sam may have arthritis - could you give him an exam and see if we can help him?
Mistress, do you see what she's doing? Ouch! Ouch! Hey, don't touch me there! Mistress! Do something!
You'd like me to leave the room while you draw some blood? OK.
Mistress! Take me with you! We can get in the car and -

Official diagnosis of arthritis - and the very kind vet assured me that everything else looks good, so pain meds may be all that Sam needs to continue herding squirrels and protecting me from the vicious cat next door. I started Sam on his pills last night and as soon as his bloodwork comes back, the vet will send me a three month supply. Thus far he's taking the pills without problems: fingers crossed. Now to see if they help.

laughter

Favorite line thus far of the Republican National Convention:

In discussing the pregnancy of Sarah Palin's daughter, a delegate observed, "of course, abstinence-only sex education is the only kind that should be offered, but, kids will be kids!

I enjoy waking up with a belly laugh.

just a casual little dinner

Unless one dines exclusively at little bistros, or only at places where the staff know you by name, everyone occasionally goes through the wonderful process of trying to find the person whom you've arranged to meet for a meal.

This dinner meeting lends new meaning to the idea of meeting for drinks and a quick bite - and it's a lovely story.

Sam stopped halfway through his breakfast on Friday and employed his "stare of death" out the window. I opened the door and he went barreling out across the yard, all the way to the far corner of the fence at top speed. The threat merited only one bark, but required a good ten minutes of solid staring before he came back in to finish breakfast. Terrific to see him barrel again - it's been a while.

ouch, ouch, ouch

A friend is in training to be some sort of massage therapist. He needs people upon whom to practice and my back was a bit sore, so I volunteered.

The technique was a new one to me, but not unpleasant - it has something to so with muscle layers and activating muscles which aren't doing their job. Most of it was fine and actually quite interesting - until we got to my ribs. Something about moving the muscles in the ribs made my knees feel terrific and I could feel my lower back relaxing... and then he got to rib #9. OUCH!

I often go months without thinking about my ribs - but two days later, rib #9 aches and aches and aches. If ever I volunteer again, rib #9 is strictly off limits. On the other hand, my back and knees still feel terrific.

I did finally knuckle under and make the phone call to the vet. The technician with whom I spoke asked all sorts of questions about why I thought Sam might have arthritis (good) and about his daily activities. I've been keeping a casual log of his activities and limitations, which helped. At the end, the tech warned me that X-Rays and blood-work would be required, and was I prepared for the additional expense? Damn straight I am; this is Sam we're talking about.

A Sam update

It's been a long, hot summer, so Sam hasn't taken many trips in the car. Like most dogs, he loves the movement and scenery. Sam has never been one to hang his head out the window, but he does love to watch the world go by. Add to that Sam's obligation to supervise the mistress at all times, and my car's interior is generally covered with a protective layer of fur.

He was excited about taking a short ride to the bank - but I had to boost him in and out of the car; he simply couldn't handle the leap. I think the time has come to talk to the vet about an appointment and some pain management. His quality of life is still high; I am safe from the backyard squirrels and Sam is still more than capable of casting a disdainful glance at the terrier next door.

wise words

In the spirit of "what I wish I'd written" - Harriet has written a terrific post about why college and encouraging a "life of the mind" matters. The whole post is terrific, but I've stolen (sorry, H!) the bit that I thought most wonderful.


This morning, I came across an editorial Charles Murray wrote a couple of days ago in the Wall Street Journal about how college is a waste of most people’s time. In terms of quickly moving people into the work force, Murray is probably right. But it seems to me that he has missed the point of college altogether. Maybe the humanities do not train you for specific job skills, but the study of arts and culture and history have other effects on both the way we think and problem-solve and also on the way we view the world and others in it. And then there are the intangibles of the experience of being a college student, being away from home and finding your way in the world in a sort of halfway-house for adulthood. I had a sheaf of report cards with stellar grades and loads of A papers that I could have saved. But those are nowhere to be found. Instead there are pictures of the people and activities that meant most to me, the detritus of my existence then, all serving to conjure up the parts of me that stem from that time and place. A poet friend of mine used the phrase “this carrying life” to describe the way our lives are encoded in the smallest fiber of our being. These are the paper remains of my carrying life, reminders of that which I carry with me everywhere. And sometimes it takes an old friend to remind you of how you came to be.

more on Sam

Sam is still moving stiffly, but now that the weather has (thankfully!) cooled off, he's a bit more spry. A couple of friends have recommended some pain killers, so I'll need to start looking for them. The challenge will be getting pain killers into Sam.

The heartworm pill is easy, as it looks and (apparently, I haven't tried this personally) tastes like kibble. Getting other meds into Sam has always been a challenge. He's never been one for having pills coaxed down his throat, and when mixed with peanut butter, he simply licks up the peanut butter. (NO fool, my dog.) The only approach that seems to work is to grind up the pill and mix it with applesauce. Given that I am generally only about 25% awake when I give Sam his breakfast, this could pose certain difficulties for me.

Meanwhile - I'm cynical about Edwards and his affair, addicted to late-night Olympics and highly amused by the student who complained to the dean about me. I'm "unreasonable" because I deducted points from her essay because she didn't proof-read. The dean was much amused too, and told her so.

beloved dog

Alison once observed that some people blog about specific topics, while others of us simply blog about whatever is on our minds. I'm afraid that I fall very much into the second category; blogging gives me a chance to write down whatever is most on my mind.

However, that having been said, I strongly suspect that a certain topic is going to come to dominate my posts over the next chunk of time.

I live with a dog. I don't know, and probably never will, if Sam picked me out at the animal shelter or if I picked him. There are times when he drives me bonkers. There are times when he finds me frustrating. I am probably closer to him than most of the human beings I know - he is my friend, my pal, my hot water bottle, my alarm clock, the source of most of what needs to be vacuumed up each week...

In the last few months I've been confronted with the reality that Sam is not only no longer young (maybe 12?) but that his arthritis is starting to slow him down and to restrict his activities. He still feels entitles to his spot on the sofa, but I need to help him up and down. He still protects me from the squirrels in the yard, but he needs to go outside late at night or else we both regret it...

Sam may yet have years of defending me from wildlife - but it's hard to accept that my companion is slowing down. Anyway, I'll probably be blogging more about this as time goes by.

food, food, food

I grew up with The New Yorker in every bathroom. Like many kids, I started by skipping the articles and just looking at the cartoons. Eventually I discovered the articles and fell in love with Anthony Lane.

My favorite bit though, hands down, are the restaurant reviews. "Tables For Two" looks at places I will never visit, and not just because i hate New York City, and is always witty. Furthermore, the critics mention food I've never heard of, prepared in ways I cannot imagine - it's such a wonderful flight of fancy. "Vacherin with coconut, mango marmalade and passion fruit emulsion" - I have no idea what this might be, but it does sound interesting, no?

a monday ramble

Busy weekend on the Internet - lots of student questions, problems, concerns. One of my college professors referred to her job as being "in loco parentis" which (I think) is Latin for "I'm away from my parents and you're a stand-in, so please help me by listening to what's going on and be a kind ear."

I keep a cheat sheet on this - OK, check with A to see how the broken leg is doing, has S's father gotten out of the hospital, don't mention boyfriends to N, did D lose his house, etc. I don't know if I help at all, but we all need a good vent now and then.

I'm struck by how quickly the "sandwich generation" has passed down the age line. I assumed that one started grappling with children and aging parents maybe in the late forties or fifties, but what with my aging students, the economy, and job loss, more and more of them are writing essays about American history as they try to feed children and not strangle the parent who is now living in their basement.

The Great Depression brought out the worst in many people, but the best in others. People learned frugality, mutual responsibility and not to be too proud. Can Americans do this again? Can we set aside our SUVs and plasma tvs to sav our credit card balances?

Enough profundity.

point of view?

I woke up in the middle of the night and simply couldn't get back to sleep. After a while I gave up and turned on the radio. Indianapolis NPR plays BBC World Service at night and it's generally 1) interesting (oh, that Colin Firth interview!) and #2 eventually soothes me back to my pillow's charms.

I came in halfway through the piece, so I have only a hazy understanding of what precipitated the narration, but the story involved two scientists and the reporter roaming around on an island, studying various kinds of amphibians to see how many of them had become infected by a fungus. All animals collected were swabbed in a variety of, er, personal areas as well as the stomach, and then released. At one point they found a certain kind of newt (salamander? are they the same?) and in my drowsy state, I started to wonder how it felt in that moment.

"OK, here I am, minding my own business, looking for a meal - oops, I've been picked up by a large creature, all right, better prepare to be someone else's meal - wait, what's going on? What on earth - ew! Hey! If I'm not going to be your next lunch, don't touch me there! Oo! Oo! That tickles!"

As The Wrench Does Not Turn

One of my cherished childhood books (still one I regard with great affection) is a copy of Babar and His Castle. Did I mention that it's entirely in French? When it comes to foreign languages in general, not just French, I do reasonably well with learning nouns and adjectives and the verb bases, but I fall to pieces when matters get more complicated. This probably has a lot to do with the fact that I never learned to diagram sentences, but no matter.

I have read and reread this book I don't know how many times. I know enough French that I get the jist of the story (the pictures help) but as to specifics I'm a bit vague. I just look through it, enjoy the ambiance and smile.

This is how I feel about the NPR show Car Talk. (Sorry, no link, I'm lazy.) I know just enough about cars to get a general notion of what's going on, I enjoy the banter and silliness and when I don't understand a term, I can just blip on by. I'm a fairly faithful listener, even when the topic under discussion is hopelessly over my head... kind of like the plu-perfect tense.

Thus I was very excited about watching the first episode of the PBS series "As the Wrench Turns", a cartoon supposedly about the wacky adventures of the Car Talk hosts. I ended a truly wonderfully funny phone chat so that I could watch it. I poured myself a glass of perfectly good wine, called the dog over, and prepared....

My time would have been better spent digging out my old verb flashcards from grad school.

The concept of spoofing PBS fund drives was sound enough, and the guys' voices as as amusing as ever... but the execution was dull, the supporting cast extraneous and in my humble opinion, the show is a dismal failure. There wasn't even enough promise to it that I would be willing to give it a second chance. (sigh) This is too bad.

Now I must return to the moral qualms about whether or not I can watch the new episodes of "Dog the Bounty Hunter" in good conscience.