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.