Lost Horizon by James Hilton

At lunch today we caught coverage of the torch being carried through London. One of the Save Tibet protesters had attempted to grab the torch from a woman who used to present on Blue Peter--one of the best known kids' shows in Britain. Later someone from the protest group tried to put out the torch with a fire extinguisher. Both plots failed, protest went on peacefully, and torch progressed through the streets of Llundain without too much more ado. We watched as Gordon Brown greeted the torch (but importantly did not touch or hold it) in front of 10 Downing Street as it was transferred from to a man in a wheelchair; we watched as protesters were arrested in proximity of the torch in Trafalgar Square.

And the discussion in the house here on hollywood road was about Tibet. and the protests. and symbolism and politics, and what, exactly, the Free Tibet phenomenon was about.

This morning I finished reading Lost Horizon, published in 1933 and made into a film in 1937. It made popular and ubiquitous the term 'Shangri-la', which it (naturally) stole from Chinese narrative history. [interesting side note: Camp David was initially named Shangri-la by Roosevelt in 1942, such was the influence of this book and film. Eisenhower renamed the place after his son. Shangri-la is so much better, yes?] It is also the source of a lot of our ideas about Tibet.

One of the things we discussed over lunch was the incongruity between the 'Free Tibet' argument—which seems to be rooted in an argument for the sovereignty of Tibet as a nation grounded in some sort of adherence to an ethnic/linguistic/cultural essence—and a 'China should clean up its human rights' argument—which seems to start from an assumption that Tibet is part of China, and therefore the Chinese should clean up their human rights record there. And everywhere. I think that the alliance/elision between these two arguments is part of the fluidity of protest movements that often need to ally with groups not always in agreement with the motivating issue for others. But the unproblematic acceptance of the idea that one can put Free Tibet and human rights abuses in the same basket of protest, go down to Bloomsbury Square, and protest the torch being paraded through London (itself several steps removed from the Chinese government: London--relay--torch--Olympics--Beijing--China) seems a bit incongruous. Or at least ripe for unpacking. Toss in the guy who commandeered the BBC camera for 5 seconds to say something (he was cut off) about Cyprus, and you're off to the races.

And then we discussed the 'why Tibet' argument: why Tibet and not the Uyghurs in Xinxiang or the Naxi in Yunnan/Sichuan? Why Tibet and not the Chechens or the Basques? And this brings me back to Lost Horizon. Because the book is indeed the answer to 'why Tibet' in some ways. While Tibet romanticisations preceeded this text (it is built on them), it popularised an equation between not just hidden paradises and Tibet, but spiritual retreats of wisdom where westerners can find their humanity and Tibet.

In 1959 the Dalai Lama ran from Tibet into exile in India with many of his followers. The timing could not have been better--the Beat movement had peaked and was still active, the 'free love' sixties were on the horizon, and Asia rose as a place of spiritual haven, ganja, and finding oneself. Add in a downtrodden Buddhist leader (actually a Buddha) and you've got a cause behind which well-meaning Westerners can throw their support. They are exiled, but they're peaceful (Buddhists) and intellectual (monks) and they're from paradise (Lost Horizon)! We must save them. And suddenly we're back, not in Orientalism (which we are in of course) but in colonialism: the drive to save the east from itself.

I find the cultural genocide happening in Tibet (and other places listed above) to be horrifying and in need of some solution. I'm not sure divvying up territory along constructed ethnic/linguistic/cultural/religious lines is the answer, as history has on several occasions shown that path to be not so great in terms of lives lost and torn apart. And I know that activists rarely are able to articulate their causes (even to themselves) in coherent ways that take on board critical analyses of the international system as it stands now. So I agree that something needs to be done to deal with China's imperialism and imposition of a uniform culture on various parts (all?) of its sovereignty. And China is not alone in this. But perhaps figuring out how to live productively and politically in a multiethnic, multicultural world would be a better path? I know. crazy pie in the sky leftie thinking.

Oh, and you should read Lost Horizon. Because like all good Orientalist books, it provides an excellent picture of British and American culture and worries in the 1930s. It's quite funny ('Americans, Conway reflected, had the knack of being able to say patronising things without being offensive'. 27). Its core philosophy involves slowing down, embracing your inner lazy, and resignifying 'slacker' as a positive descriptor. And guess what. Shangri-la is multicultural. They've got folks from all over living there, in harmony, under the leadership of a lama who is not Tibetan. The world, after WWI, is going to pieces, just like Conway, the protagonist. Will he find his Shangri-la in the valley of the Blue Moon?

3 papers in March

Crazy crazy crazy. Three crazies. I'm a bit tired, I must admit, after all of the paper giving in March, somewhat accidental: I transformed from roundtable participant to paper giver in one panel and then from chair/organiser into paper giver in another. No excuse, though. Too many papers in March. And of course (of course!) on three different topics. 19th c. painting, contemporary film, and mid-20th c. architecture. But it's all good. Met some interesting people and got thinking on some new paths. But I still wonder how 'real people' seem to do this sort of thing all of the time without utter exhaustion. I suppose that's why they also drink RedBull and smoke like chimneys. Ah those real people.

But: two chapters in February, 3 papers in March--now it's on to 4 somethings in April--four relaxing day-trips? Four spa days? Ah yes. Frozen Four. What was I thinking? Sadly the Gophers are not in it this year, but some great teams are. If you are in Denver (and some of you indeed might be), you should check it out. I bet tickets outside the arena at gametime will be cheap and plentiful. Plus, college hockey rocks.

Lord Jim by Joseph Conrad

This is a librivox recording. All librivox recordings are in the public domain. This reading by Stewart Wills. Lord Jim, by Joseph Conrad. Chapters 34 and 35.

The envelope text for each mp3 file, chapter by chapter, all 45 of them, all 14 and a half hours of them. The entire thing is read by Wills, who, over the course of those 14 hours, becomes a meta-Marlow, narrating the internally narrated tale for you (or me, in this case), seemingly in the middle of my head as I, appropriately, row down the imaginary river.

Wills' reading was amazing. I will report on other readers and whether they are as good/professional/engaging, but having just finished Persuasion read by a professional actress, this was equally good. He didn't try too much for accents, but instead provided a change in the quality of his voice for certain characters, with a bit of accent thrown in--the key was that he was consistent: you knew you were hearing the German captain of the Patna, the Australian ne'er-do-well, the Malay deck hand. The book relates the story of Jim through the voice of Marlow, so we have multiple narrators: Conrad, describing Marlow's narration, Marlow, narrating the story of Jim to various audiences, and Jim, usually in conversation with Marlow. Wills changed his tone for each narrator such that the transition was seamless. He became the meta-Marlow.

Book-wise, I can recommend Lord Jim: it's a fascinating insight into the small world that was seafaring around the Indian Ocean in the late 19th century. It's got a heart-of-darkness theme (remember how we all only really have one idea and we repeat it--that's definitely true here, although it's repeated in an entertaining and fascinating way). It also talks about people falling into the 'one of us' category: Marlow helps Jim throughout the novel, but feels torn about it. He falls back on the 'he's (obviously) one of us' framework to justify it, which calls into question those who are not of 'us' and why they are not. It's about class primarily, but it's also about the fact that no matter how much Jim separates himself from his own past (class, family, actions), for Marlow he is always 'one of us' and will never shake that.

The novel does suffer occasionally from a feeling that Conrad was getting paid by the word and, well, needed to stretch things out a bit. But those passages also feel like short stories along the way in a larger narrative about the Indian Ocean, and so it maintains its entertaining edge even when the larger story isn't carried forward for a few chapters. The book also, like much Conrad, provides a counter-narrative to the imperialist understanding of colonialism: here we are on the ground with the unworthy and disorganised coloniser, seeing the scrabbling for just a bit more money, a bit more adventure, a bit more profit. And the successful ones (like Marlow) are those who are, frankly, a bit bored by it all, who remain aloof, not reaching for adventure but treating the world like the world. Of course, the world is one in which Europeans who are of the 'us' enjoy privilege of connection and birth. But Conrad lets you see that about Marlow too, and thereby provides a critical edge to his narrative about the seas. Recommended for rowers, those intrigued by port culture, colonialism, heroism, honesty, and butterflies.

something from nothing. or the other way around.

Easter: big day. day of disappearances, resurrections, caves left empty.

creation is the other way around, although there is some resurrection in creation--rewriting in writing. I sent off two chapters of a 'book' this week to a publisher for review. in rewriting and rethinking the words in the chapters it struck me--and struck me hard--that this was simply words. flimsy words, put up as some frail representation of ideas, ideas that don't really exist, or certainly didn't before the words. and then the words go together, and they form this thing called 'book'. but the weird thing is this: 'book' seems solid. it seems real. it seems whole and good and you put it in italics in a bibliography entry. words are thin little things. tiny. insignificant. and once, not too long ago, there weren't any of them. and yet we depend on them quite a lot. a lot a lot.

I am sure I'm not being clear. here it is: emptiness....words....book. but the book is really just emptiness. much like the cave. strange. and awesome.

or: tidy.

the dog knows a coda

Whilst at a supper dance at the golf club on Dewi Sant day (St. David's, 1 March), we sat next to a lovely couple who, it turned out, were fanatical dog people. In the sense that they love dogs and, finding us of like mind, regaled us with stories of past dogs (she was a good one, that) and present dogs (so I had to adopt him, mind--you understand! what could I do!). One of their dogs-of-yore was a collie who, according to the gentleman in question, could count. He taught her to count painstakingly with 'chocolate buttons', and eventually the dog could count to 10 with barks. How many fingers, pooch? 'bark bark bark' good girl!

I believe this to be entirely true. Dogs are smart (some of them) and can learn, particularly when there is chocolate involved. (Oddly like humans in that way, if I recall the persuasive graham cracker and chocolate milk combo of kindergarten days.) And so we reflected: could we teach our dog to count? Probably, but did we have the patience? No.

But we will say that our dog can do it one better: he understands the narrative structure of the television drama (and by extension, most dramatic forms). Specifically, he knows his codas. DS9, for all of its genius, follows the normal pattern of intro, [opening credits] three acts, and a coda with some regularity. And usually, after we are done watching said programme in the evening, we let Luke out for a final trip to the loo and then go to bed. After assiduous training through seven seasons of DS9, Luke can now anticipate this. He'll be dead asleep (for those who know, this is the upside-down, neck curled back, forearm in the air, chasing the squirrel type asleep) and we won't move or say anything, but something in the narrative arc of the show will change. A completion of the story's main narrative, followed by a palpable shift in the music, or the tone of the dialogue, or the sound of 'space'. Who knows--Luke can sense it. At the start of the coda, he wakes from sleep, stretches, and walks to the back door. We sometimes have to tell him to wait if the coda goes on for more than the usual minute or so, or if there are two codas (rare, but it happens).

Nothing like having a dog with an intimate understanding of narrative structure.

We believe that he will now shift to train his ear/body for the bass notes of the Wire's closing credits. Or our utterances of 'damn' at the end of each episode. One of the two. Not that we're creatures of habit at all. Not us.

Speaking of Television and Colonialism

Every one of should definitely check out the latest issue of Slayage: The International Journal of Buffy Studies. There is always some top quality stuff in Slayage, but for my money, this issue on Firefly/Serenity hold a particular gem.

Go take a look.

A vote for Hillary is a vote for Kai Winn

Folks, it's time to watch DS9 again. If you haven't seen it since it aired, obviously, it's way past time. And I'm not talking a few eps here and there. I'm talking the entire 7-season run. Because we learn a lot about power, colonialism, imperialism, resistance, and--perhaps most intriguing of them all--terrorism. DS9 was criticised by trekkies when it aired because it dared to set the entire show on a relatively stationary space station rather than a ship that zoomed around the galaxy. But this very fact allowed it to explore the aftermath of colonialism (and the repercussions of resistance movements), the role of religion in politics, and the valorisation of terrorist tactics--without ever losing sight of the human costs that come with torture, killing civilians, and sleeping with the enemy.

Kira Narys' character serves as a tactical adviser throughout the show--precisely because she has experience working within a resistance/terrorist-type organisation, one organised into autonomous cells and fighting with guerilla tactics, often taking civilians down with the rest. 'Collaboration', a theme examined to great effect on Battlestar as well, is sometimes articulated in the 'if you're not with us...' formulation, but is usually then explored to greater subtlety with the characters involved, specifically Kira's partner in the final season, Odo, who worked for the Cardassians during the occupation. Terrorism, and being a terrorist, and what it means to be a 'good' terrorist (including a great episode where Kira berates her Cardassian nemesis Ducat for not being a good terrorist) are themes that run throughout the series. I don't think these lines could even be thought today, nor put into the mouths of the characters who are consistently placed within the camp of 'the good guys' and certainly always in the camp of the 'us'.

Power plays complex and interesting roles within the series: the problems with seeking it, its relation to transcendent identities or god-like status, its repercussions once you have lost control, the power gained in giving up one's body/life to a cause, the assimilatory power of neo-liberalism. And so my title for this post. Kai Winn, the 'kai' or religious leader of Bajor, is consumed by her drive to have the love, loyalty, and respect of the Bajorans. But Capt. Sisko's anointing as 'the emissary' has thwarted her, and despite devoting her whole life to the religion, she has not been spoken to by the prophets, whereas many others have (Kira was even possessed by one of them, in addition to seeing them; Sisko sees them all the time it seems). She is a complex character: one who wants desperately to be a part of the prophet-seeing club, one who believes in the prophets, but one who, all along, does not really have faith. She is also politically savvy--throughout the series she often gets Sisko and others to do what she wants through maneuvering, and while on the one hand she truly truly desperately wants to have faith, that very desire preempts her ability to indeed put her faith in the prophets. Kai Winn's character demonstrates how desire cannot produce visions, and how desire in fact bars us from being able to speak to the prophets--those who can guide us on our path. Sisko does not desire and indeed tries to reject his role as the chosen one, the emissary, but in a few seasons he has embraced the role, and begun to have faith, even to the extent of ignoring his duties to (the almighty) Starfleet because of that faith. Kai Wynn, when presented with the option of stepping down as Kai in order to follow 'the path that the prophets have laid out' rejects this option in favour of, in the end, following the pah wraiths (the prophets' godly enemies) so as to secure her power.

I have not exhausted the complexities of Kai Winn's character--and this is no simple analogy I propose. This is why it's time to watch DS9 again. Because its complexity helps us to understand the problems we face right now, and the show reveals to us how limited we have become in the range of questions and answers we can voice today.

Book update: N. Ireland, gender, and persuasion

I haven't done the book-a-week thus far; my February writing got in the way a bit, but I'm close. So an update on some of the books I've finished over the past few weeks.

Persuasion, Jane Austen, on the ipod (audible)
I can recommend 'reading' the 'classics' such as this one on audiobook. Rather than a daunting, thick tome, you're faced with a file that has a delimited time (8 hours in this case). Plus, for books like those of the Austen variety, it's nice to rely on an actor to interpret the tone of various banal statements such that you easily and seamlessly understand snootiness, sarcasm, 'well I declare' naivete, and gruff embarrassment. Persuasion itself is an interesting book in terms of its depiction of the tiny spaces women have to maneuver within, whether they are persuaders or persuadees. It is a book about how to convince others and oneself of the proper path to take through sometimes treacherous social interrelations. On one level it's about relations among women, whether an aunt-like mentor, an older confidante, a sister, a cousin, or a rival. And it's about the emotional and physical harm done in the minutiae of social interactions. I find it very much like the original psychological novel: The Tale of Genji. Everything happens with one phrase, one note, one letter. Lives are saved or shattered on the backs of these tiny turns. I recommend reading it on audio book--it makes these nuances easier to absorb.

Northern Ireland: A Very Short Introduction, Marc Mulholland, OUP, in the loo
This book was demoted (promoted?) from 'plane reading' to 'loo reading' and as a result I actually got through the thing. 150 pages of utter lack of persuasion, wrapped up in terrible writing and capped by the assumption that the reader already knows everything about northern Ireland. Which is unfortunate for a book with its subtitle. The author takes no clear path through the confusing material, instead assuming we're following him: mentioning Stormont several pages before he actually explains what it is, casually noting the killing of 10 people on a bus on one page and then three pages later labelling it a 'massacre', failing utterly to define terms or provide necessary background for understanding party affiliations. I realise these little books are often tossed together in a week or two. And perhaps they should merely remain what the marketing seems to wish for them: books you buy as gifts at the checkout with no expectation the recipient will read them. If you would like to understand the northern Ireland conflict, do not read this book. It did, however, make me feel better about my own writing ability. Read it if you need that kind of contrast.

Written on the Body, Jeannette Winterson, on the sofa (link)
Omigod is this book soooo 1992. In a good way. But it made me realise how literature comes out of a particular context, and that by 'particular' we mean 'the 23rd week of 1992'. This is my first Winterson, and may be my last; I find it a bit too clever in the lack of gendered identification of the narrator, which is intellectually interesting but I'm not sure how much it adds to the overarching point of the narrative. That is, interesting trick, but what does it bring to the story? I enjoy the anti-cliche attitude of the text, and the writing is compelling, evocative and expressive. But I wasn't sure I liked being in the head of the narrator, not because of the a-gendered quality of the narration but because I wanted different perspectives. In that sense, the book succeeds in producing a feeling of being inside a body and wanting out, or wanting to connect--the interiority of the narration produces that extremely well. But I was reminded of heady days in grad school reading Butler and out-there lesbian/transgender literature, and it made me crave the coffee and whole-grain vegan cookies at Dunn Brothers across from Macalester. Perhaps not the kind of craving Winterson was going for!

Other books read recently:
Anthony Smith, The Ethnic Origins of Nations
Christopher Pinney, Camera Indica
Lisa Trivedi, Clothing Gandhi's Nation
Rabindranath Tagore, Fireflies

my secret weapon

Really it's not me writing all those words. Luke is not only an excellent writer, but as you can tell, clearly enjoys his work. All he needs is a cuppa and he's good to go.

I'm sure someone else notices this....

Just last night we watched the pre-primary Daily Show in which he interviews Hilary (one day delay for US to UK, a second day for it being DVR'ed). I didn't take notice at first, so my tally only includes the last 2/3 of the interview, but in that very brief time HRC said 'you know' at least 18 times. Seriously. 18 times.

Does this not bother anyone else but me?

Honestly, I think I'd rather listen to GWB speak. Yes, he mangles the English language some times, but I swear he beats Hilary handily when it comes to dead-air-filling verbal ticks.

Oh, and one other thing: can Hilary not see the performative contradiction involved in giving a speech about the the hollowness of speeches?

the google dance

I'm happy to report that it is 29 Feb and I have finished two (unbelievably rough) chapters! huzzah. Now to the real work: rewriting.

I have discovered in my process this month a new way of googling (which is I'm sure old news to many of my 4 readers) in which you can limit your search to a particular 'site' using this difficult-to-remember command: 'site:' This came in handy when I was trying to find the records for certain archives on the Cambridge Centre of South Asia webpages. They don't have a universal search feature, and the navigation is a bit haphazard, so it's unclear from the surface of the site exactly how much info is on there. Putting my search term next to the 'site:[URL]' was genius at finding either what I needed or that it wasn't on the site.

Google has been (for a while) a very powerful search tool. With the expansion of Google scholar beyond its initial science-focused framework and with Google Books, it's almost like cheating. No more struggling through notes to try to find that full reference. No more running back to the bookshelf or library to check the exact quote. No more guessing by title and subject heading whether that book is really the one you want to buy or check out of the library or ILL. I find it to be a huge help, and a lot of fun, for I am a complete geek.

But like all tools it is on some level just a very good tool. My students can't seem to use it to find anything beyond wikipedia. Not because they don't use the interwebs, but because they don't have any idea that 'research' is not a treasure hunt in which one has clues and there will always be a treasure at the end, but instead an on-going, never-ending, semi-choreographed dance. While they follow the dance steps chalked out on the floor and thereby think they are actually doing the rhumba, the rest of us are, at the risk of overestimating my talents--and certainly at the risk of overextending the analogy--performing convincing interpretive modern dance with some of the best companies in the world. I'm not saying I'm the principle in the company. Far from it. I'm just saying that it's an art. And it's one that must be practised and performed regularly. And one that is helped by better lighting, a lovely theatre, advances in synthetic fabrics, and sometimes even props. But those props and lycra ain't doin' nothin' for my students. Except giving them two left feet.

Drink up: coca-cola or motor oil?

In my youths, I used to imbibe beverages that come in cans and are called 'cola' or 'pop' or 'soda' depending on the region of the US you are from (and 'soft drink' here in the UK which seems so refined and high-falutin' in a way). I realised sometime in late high school/college that those pains in my stomach seemed, fascinatingly, to be correlated to the aftermath of drinking said beverages. I kept on drinking them for a bit and then just stopped. Weirdly, the pain went away. huh.

Fast forward to 2003: we move. I find in move's aftermath that I own a rather rusted-out cast iron skillet. I google to find out whether I can resuscitate it. The answer: yes (for it is google and people in the world have too much time on their hands). The solution: Coca-cola. Soak rusty cast iron skillet in Coke overnight and voilà: clean as a whistle. Sure, I'd heard about the dissolving penny/nail trick, so while this is, er, disgusting, especially when pondering the amount of such beverages myself and those I know consumed/still consume. But I was happy, I had cast iron skillet, I cured it (thanks to google) and was on my way.

Fast forward to this week: F buys a putter on e-bay. Seems the putter has a factory coating on it to protect the head and face (I have another post about the anatomical metaphors related to golf and their weirdness, but that's for later). This particular type is also prone to a bit of spotty light rust. There are two solutions to this.

One: follow method above used for cast iron pan. This works, but the Coke takes the rust and the coating, which isn't optimal.
Two: soak head of putter in motor oil. Much milder than the Coke, it only takes the rust and leaves the coating behind! Wonderful!

Stoat: You're not really taking into consideration the toxicity of the motor oil, chemical properties that might effect humans more than putters, and really, why don't you ease up? Coke's the national drink! Get over yourself!

Me: er, what are you doing here?

Stoat: voice of reason my friend. voice of reason.

So, we conclude: patriotic duty. But please, drink motor oil. Much milder.

A Virtual Tie?

The Press's presentation of polling data along with the popular understanding of what poll results actually mean are both so awful that I place them into that category of things about which I consistently resist ranting. But this morning I seem to have lost my self-control, when I read this:

50 percent of likely Democratic primary voters support Clinton as their choice for the party's nominee, with 48 percent backing Obama.But taking into account the poll's sampling error of plus or minus 4½ percentage points for Democratic respondents, the race is a virtual tie.

First of all, I'm going to put aside the fact that if the sampling and polling techniques are not done properly than any poll tells us absolutely nothing (since it conveys information only about the sample and not about the entire population). Anyone who knows anything about polls knows this, of course. But the press never mentions it at all, and over the years I have discovered through my students that many readers of press coverage on polls therefore have no idea that a poll could ever be more wrong that the sampling error. (OK, I didn't put aside that fact.)

Let's assume, however, that this poll was properly conducted. Does it tell us that Obama and Clnton are tied? What, for that matter, is a virtual tie? Read straightforwardly the poll tells us that Clinton's support lies somewhere in the range between 45.5% and 54.5%; Obama's support lies somewhere in the range between 43.5% and 52.5%. Therefore, it is true that they could be tied. It is also true that either one could be ahead of the other slightly. Moreover:

• Clinton might be ahead by 11 points
  
• Obama might be ahead by 7 points
  

Is that a tie, or a virtual tie? No.

I think what the reporter means to say is that the poll cannot indicate clearly whether either candidate is ahead. Saying that they are in a virtual tie is like... (this analogy took me a while to come up with, and may not work, so bear with me)...the following:
The score in the football game is 7 to 10.
I hear a news report that one team has just scored, but I don't know which team.
So, assuming no safeties or missed extra points, the score could be

• 14 to 10
  
• 10 to 10
  
• 7 to 13
  
• 7 to 17
  

Whatever we want to call this situation, 'virtual tie' is the wrong choice.

Let me just close in noting that this is a ridiculous subject for me to blog about. I'm guessing there are about 5 readers of SecondAmericano: 3 of them know far more about politics and polling than I do, and one of them knows far more about statistics than I do. Still, if you can't preach to the choir, then what good is preaching (and besides, if I screwed something up here, I'm sure to be quickly informed). 

not enough words

You are witnessing procrastination in action. Perhaps not 'live' as such, but nonetheless, the words here represent a small sum of energy that I should currently devote to writing the next chapter of the book I'm working on.

Two chapters in February. Why does its shortness matter so much? two days isn't really a lot of time, but psychologically it feels like half a month, right?

Others are busy composing albums this month; in November many people write entire novels...I'm shooting for 1000 words per day. This is working more or less. One chapter is drafted (roughly) and the next has begun (3000 words and counting). I do find myself dreaming in sections of about 1000 words, or the dream-unit equivalent thereof.

I must get back to it. Writing is difficult.

[133 words]

Out of Touch (Out of Time*)

Wow - THIS is how out of touch I am. It never even occurred to me that 'I'm John Locke' would be anything other than the result of a 'What political philosopher are you?' quiz.

It also shows me how out of touch my subject matter is to the world out there. I mean, they wouldn't name a character on a TV show William Shakespeare or Charles Darwin, would they? Because people have, like, you know, HEARD of those people. But the name of probably the most important thinker of the principles at the heart of the American revolution and founding? Nah, why would anybody have heard of that guy - let's make him the bald character!!

I don't watch LOST, but I wonder if they have this character sneak in references to the importance of protecting 'life, liberty, and property'?

*Words in parentheses are nothing to do with the content of the post - just a gratuitous and paraphrased Hall and Oates reference.

Bullet point update

• a bird shat on my shoulder this morning. gross. ill boding for the semester that started today? hm.


• the bird we ate last night (a chicken) fell apart like it had done yoga all its life. may it be reborn as a calm asana guru. or perhaps the bird this morning was karma for the bird last night. hm.


• 5 workouts a week. not 6. 6 too hard. me lazy. 5 plenty.


• gave in to Peets promotion for Yemeni village coffee. was it the 1,001 nights Orientalism? or the cute village-y pic? or the fact that they called them 'micro-lots'? I'll never know.


• books: Winterson's Written on the Body in-progress.


• books: Martin Amis is a bit (lot?) of an arse and it kinda shows in his prose. not a huge fan after House of Meetings.


• film: Waitress: should be cute and yet its cuteness makes light of rape within marriage. I think: not okay. not okay. not okay.

here endeth the list.

10 Things I've done that you probably haven't

Got the idea from Stonesthrow, so here goes:

1. Organised and led an sleep-over in the Natural History Museum in Denver. For 500 Girl Scouts. With live snakes.
   
2. Been vigorously scrubbed (while naked) by an elderly Japanese woman at a public bath in Kyoto, having demonstrated my utter incompetence in the practice of public bathing.
   
3. Seen a dead body at the side of the Jumna river behind the Taj Mahal. Good times.
   
4. Been introduced as an honoured guest to a conference in Bangladesh. with the PM in the room. in Bangla. ick on many levels.
   
5. Seen the Sistine ceiling at 1 foot distance. (Refrained from touching it, sadly.)
   
6. Mounted this 19th century shadow puppet on plexiglass and carefully coloured each tiny thread to match the object.
   
7. Met Hiroshi Hara and heard him discuss this project of his before it was completed, and asked a question. Was invited to return any time.
   
8. Wrote lyrics to 'And then I Read Foucault', as well as several other political theorist anthems.
   
9. Sang solo at Boettcher Concert Hall.
   
10. Drove on the 10 from Santa Monica to Claremont seeing only half a dozen other cars.
    

New year's resolutions: books and rowing

A bit of time since the ol' last post. ah well.

Been reading, rowing, and relaxing (oddly different than Debbie and Doyle's three R's: "I believe in the three R’s—“R” children “R” “R” future.").

My new year's resolution is to work out 6 days a week. Because otherwise I am rather lazy (and even with this resolution I'm rather lazy) and so I need some sort of discipline and pattern to do things properly. Working out 6 days a week is rather difficult, it turns out. First there's the showering. Well, not first, obviously, but this is my primary issue with the regime. I dislike bathing. What can I say. Then there's the clothing, and the time, and the scheduling of it all. And the other things like lying on the couch that you can't do if you're rowing every day. Sigh. But it will be good for me. I have as yet not fallen off the wagon. I am recording each workout in my new Battlestar Gallactica calendar (huzzah!), in hopes that some of Starbuck's buffness will transfer. (For I do not have the legs to aspire to Six's physique. Some things are genetic. Sigh.)

F's new year's resolution is to copy No.3 over at FFB. Well, only in the resolution sense. Book a week. This results in two things: I am reading a book a week and F is working out nigh 6 days a week. Which is, also, good.

As forementioned I am lazy, and thus I have discovered that on the long rows it's lovely to listen to books on iPod. I finished Jane Austen's Persuasion last week (all 8.5 hours of it) and I believe that Austen should only be listened to. For it was sooo much better than reading it. So I highly recommend trying this out if you have had difficulty dealing with the classics. I have run into the problem that audiobooks are expensive. Something about paying actors to read them? Huh. For those wishing to explore the classics, however, there is a possible solution: LibriVox. Public domain works read by volunteers. It's the last bit that I will report back on. One doesn't want to hear an amateur drone on for 8 hours. But these people must be dedicated to the project, so perhaps it works. I'll let you know.

Books read since Christmas: Anansi Boys (Neil Gaiman), Spook Country (William Gibson), House of Meetings (Martin Amis), and of course Persuasion (Jane Austen).

no expert

I have been called out from the end-of-year/beginning-of-year haze to comment, in my capacity as 'expert' on the loss of Bhutto last week to assassination. I have been reading OpenDemocracy's authors on this, along with the usual press coverage; salon's various articles are helpful, including a summation of the South Asian press's reactions, and several comments on the rather sad and pathetic reactions from the US's presidential hopefuls on both sides turning this into something related to 9/11 (Guiliani, natch) or something related to the US's borders (er, it's really, oddly not completely always about you, people). Others have commented on the potential better than I could; see Juan Cole in Salon as well. Perhaps the most annoying element of the coverage is the 'when I met Benazir' trope--wasn't she lovely and oo! so powerful! so manipulative! Hitchens is the worst on this (to be fair: it's an obituary, but still.); Fred Halliday also goes a bit in this direction.

I am not a Pakistan expert. This is perhaps indicative of the divisions within South Asia since I became a scholar more than a decade ago--despite teaching the entire region in various contexts, my focus is largely India. I'm somewhat still in shock from the Bhutto assassination--not surprised, I suppose, but in shock, in the way that one knows a sick relative will die, but then when it happens it's still sudden. Ascertaining who killed her will be difficult; it was one thing when you could capture the assassin (Godse killing Gandhi) and figure it out--even then most of my students think that Gandhi was killed by a Muslim. (Except that it was a Hindu fundamentalist upset that Gandhi was meeting with Muslims in an attempt to bridge post-Partition communal divisions. But close!) Here we have a shooting/suicide bomb combo. Musharraf had warned her not to speak in Rawalpindi back in November because of security concerns; it may indeed have been people acting in what they felt was the military/Musharraf best interest, but I'm not sure it was truly in *his* best interest to have her assassinated.

Bhutto also kept her family away from Pakistan; in part because her husband is not liked--the corruption charges and money scandals surrounding her are usually about him--Hitchens' obit pointed me to this NYT article detailing some of that. She also anticipated being the focus of assassination attempts and wanted her family away from that. It's difficult enough to protect major world leaders from this sort of thing--Hilary's campaign headquarters was taken over by a crazy person not too long ago--but when you're addressing public rallies out on the streets in Pakistan, it becomes a bit trickier to claim any level of 'security' for that leader. I haven't met Bhutto, but I've been in crowds in South Asia.

The PPP is her family's party. We in the West have been led to believe it was/is the saviour of democracy for Pakistan. I don't know. Perhaps she/it would have been. But the corruption charges are real. The demagoguery that her obituary 'when I met Bhutto' writers talk about is equally real. If democracy means civil society with space for dialogue and debate, then Pakistan needs a free judiciary back--that looks unlikely. And some sort of balance in order to acknowledge a bit of the Islam-centred identity of the nation (along with its multiethnicity) without tipping into extremism would be lovely. The Dubai-raised, Oxford-educated 19 year old now heading the PPP may provide that. But not this year.

Much more to think about re: US interests in the region and the Euro-American fascination with playing with this end of the Silk road (most recently from the 19th-20th century British Great Game through the mujahideen to Musharraf). It is the crossroads of culture. It's too bad that's been a curse rather than a blessing for the last little while.

Vote for Dan!!

All must go now and vote for Dan so that he can be victorious! He has created a lovely hallmark card for the (RED) campaign and he is lovely and thus he must win. (Logically. Obviously.)

vote early. vote often.

three books on the way to a hermitage

I was going to blog on: 'Killer app' for the misanthropic--a discussion of how instead of facebook or twitter we should have an on-line app for those of us (me) who are not big fans of, er, people. Hermitbook. Goawaybook. MyCave. I still think this a good idea. perhaps someone out there (not me) will run with this so that I don't have to interact with anyone.

But then I had to go interact with people at a conference, which was lovely (it's always fine once you're interacting. it's the prospect of doing so that's so dread-ful.) and there was no interwebs. how could this be? I don't know. but no interwebs. very calming not to have the ol' interface constantly, I will say. More time for reading.

I read Amitav Ghosh's The Hungry Tide a few weeks back, to coincide (coincidentally) with the cyclone hitting precisely the region the book is set in--the Sundarbans of Bangladesh. It is excellent, as usual. Several things recommend it: it is realistic without ignoring the supernatural. It is not entirely depressing despite being a novel written about India. It has lovely science-y bits about river dolphins without being preachy. It does the 'each chapter a different POV' thing which doesn't quite meld the way you want it to--my one critique. But y'all know how I dislike conceits. That said, it comes together. it makes sense. it is about the past, the present, the otherworldly, generations, modernity, tradition, colonialism, socialism, and all that good stuff. plus did I mention dolphins?

I finished Spook Country a week or so ago, which was good--nothing can top Neuromancer for Gibson, and the best part about Spook Country is its short-story quality. Not that it's short. But that it has the flavour of a tight, small story carefully, expertly fleshed out. I liked it. Had Gibson's aesthetic of the future is now, but didn't have the draw of the female protagonist in his Pattern Recognition--she was an amazing, insightful, full character, and the lead in Spook Country isn't quite there. So, if you haven't read Gibson, shame. shame. shamies. Read Neuromancer, and Pattern Recognition, and Spook Country.

I also finished Richard Powers' Operation Wandering Soul which is about narrative. Well, what isn't really. (obviously.) but it's about children's stories, fables, history, crusades, telling stories to understand the (horrible) world. it opens with an amazingly accurate and beautiful--nay, sublime (er, goes without saying as it's Powers) description of driving in LA. I'm not sure Powers 'gets' LA in the same way he completely and utterly embodies the Midwest, but the opener is brilliant. And the re-telling of the Pied Piper in the middle of the book is nothing less than genius. It's Powers. Say no more. say no more.

Christmas Drinks

I have *two* e-mails with the above title in their subject-line in my in-box right now. How cool is that? to my recollection, at the three institutions I worked at in the US, we never (either officially or informally) did Christmas drinks--one, because it is utterly un-PC (part of that 'war on Christmas' I'm sure we'll hear about again soon) and two, because people drive everywhere in the US and so drinking with the driving not so much, and three, alcoholism aside, folks in the US don't drink enough. In a celebratory fashion, I mean. Or, everyone in Britain is an alcoholic. Either interpretation is plausible. I will debate it over drinks, multiple times, in the next week or so. Huzzah.

spam + viagra = perfect holiday dish

My fetish for science blogs has led to some extremely productive locales, not least is the following site. Because Spam = good and viagra = hilarious and so there you are. The dedication of some people to art (wax molds!) and food (blue sushi rice!) is quite astounding.

Link here.

compost-level 2

Back in the spring you will recall (ha!) that I made the move to try to reduce the waste we put in landfill by getting a bokashi bin set and fermenting kitchen waste. the idea is that you can then dig the waste into the soil and it decomposes really fast without attracting animals. We discovered one major problem with this theory: Luke the dog likes the smell of the bokashi bran stuff and thus, er, in fact digs the stuff out of the ground, licks the dirt into which it's been dug, and generally addresses bokashi as if it were one huge chocolate bar. I tried planting containers with it and I dug some of it into the front garden (where Luke doesn't go)--that seemed to work. I also put it in the regular rubbish pickup once or twice, reassured that once it got to landfill it would, indeed, decompose faster. Not sure that really works as a justification, but there you are.

So my conclusion now is that the bokashi bin system is a gateway drug. Despite all my best efforts at resisting becoming 'that guy', I have now installed a very simple compost bin in the corner of the garden into which the bokashi bin contents go once they've fermented a bit. Along with leaves, clippings and other crazy stuff. For example, I discovered in 'experiment 1' with bokashi that eggshells don't so much decompose. I knew this from advice from others, but it seemed such a pain, and really crazy gardner talk to do something different with the shells. Now it seems I'm on the path to really crazy gardener.

I now microwave the shells after using them, crush them a bit, and once there's a critical mass of shells (don't ask what a 'critical mass' of shells actually means)--I put them in the food processor and grind them into dusty shelly bits. Now that I have a compost bin these can go in there as well. I'm that guy. so sad.

I still don't like gardening--never fear. It is too much akin to cleaning house: always stuff to do, never done, and frustrating.

so I have now reached compost--level 2. not sure what this means, but I will report back on the compost progress and whether it leads to things like caring about shrubberies and the like.

Gender, Photography, and the Taliban

Surfing around Slate this morning and came across a video-essay that photographer Thomas Dworzak put together with journalist/author Ahmed Rashid. It is an extended commentary on the practice of young Taliban recruits having their photographs taken in studios in Afghanistan under the Taliban regime, a regime that banned images of living things. Many interesting issues intersect in these images, from representation of human beings under a strict no-human-image regime to the relations between the people in the photographs to their own desire to be photographed, despite the repression of such activities by the very people these men worked for.

The photographer who collected these studio images along with the journalist who provided commentary both focus on the 'Gilbert and George'-like effeminization/homoeroticism of the images. Despite Dworzak partially dismissing this interpretation at the beginning of the video, the narration (by Rashid at this point) goes on to discuss various practices under Taliban rule of ancient-Greek-like mentoring relationships between an older man and a younger man, and link what they see as effeminate, intimate (hand holding) poses/images in the studio pictures with this practice. In the end, the video's reading of the pictures links these images to iconographies of homosexuality arising from cultures far removed from the Talibani one. In addition, the video shows no awareness that it is precisely the kind of male-male ancient Greek practice that largely sparked the critique of the search for 'gay history' and produced 'queer theory'--a space where acknowledging that different periods in history, cultures, classes have a wide range of sexual practices, and that just because your particular cultural space labels them as 'gay' or 'feminine' does not mean that those participating would do the same.

The video plays upon a presumed incongruity between the effeminate nature of the images and the perception of a unified strict Taliban regime. This seems to me to misread the images, which can, if read in context, be understood as articulations of power and strength without the overarching femininity Rashid and Dworzak see. It is odd that they did not link these images to well-documented and thoroughly-researched scholarship on 20th century studio photography patterns in South Asia as a whole (including Pakistan and Afghanistan) that include all of the elements found in these photographs: air-brushing, Swiss mountain backdrops, guns-as-props, men holding hands. The work of Chris Pinney in this area is widely known and easily accessible.

I'm not trying to protest the idea that there are certainly both gay men within the Taliban and also male-male sexual practices that may not fall within the 'gay' label. (The assumptive relation between gay and feminine is troubling, but that's another comment for another time.)

I am protesting the simplistic reading of images outside of any local, historical, or visual context. When you read images, just as when you read text or hear about an event, you need to look around to see if these images really are odd or strange, or if it's just your own encounter with them that makes them so. The photographs in this piece are part of a long history of South Asian photographic iconography that goes back to princely photographic portraits of the 19th century. Ripping them out of that context and putting them in the 'Gilbert and George' contemporary installation art context does not provide a responsible articulation of what these images meant to those sitting for them, for those taking them, or for those viewing them.

From a Euro-American 21st century eye alone they may appear effeminate. To assume that assessment is universal is to repeat Orientalist, sexist assumptions about men in the non-West ('non-European men are effeminate and, of course since women are weak, this means they are weak') and to underestimate the strength and power communicated through these images.

Perhaps another greek concept--hubris--might be appropriate here?

onions

this seems to be veering into food blog. but it is that time of year, traditional harvest time in parts of the northern hemisphere, and so one finds oneself in the kitchen cooking warm yummy things and the rest.

we get a weekly organic veg delivery from a farm less than four miles from here. the lovely organic man delivers the big paper bag of veg in his white biodiesel van, much like the one I imagine Willie Nelson drives. or wished he could drive, were he not so famous. Luke finds this van to be extremely aggravating and so barks incessantly at it, in a seemingly odd antagonistic relation with saving the nature of which he is our in-house representative. 'dog of the wild' we call him.

in the veg delivery each week is about a pound of lovely onions. the problem is F doesn't eat onions, or really any of what I call the 'Italian' family of vegetables: red/green peppers, the entire onion family, tomatoes, olives (okay not a veg, but neither are tomatoes, so...). anything you'd find on a traditional Italian-American pizza, aside from the meat (we love the meat). you get the picture.

so the onions pile up and I can't throw them out for, obviously, that would defeat the purpose of receiving the veg delivery, namely: saving the world. if you throw out the onions you're supporting the terrorists, right?

so, yesterday I had about 4 lbs of onions and decided something must be done. opened lovely farm cookbook gifted to us by friends from Mankato (go Mavericks, except when they're playing the Gophers of course). I made two huge batches of onion marmalade. I had encountered this substance before via a gift from an English friend (our rwgbi/football guru) and decided it's the best thing to do with onions, period. it involves, in addition to the obvious, red wine, red wine vinegar, sherry, honey, dates, and lots of butter. then you let it simmer for an hour and a half until it gets all thick and dark and congeal-y. it's lovely on burgers, slab-o-cheddar cheese sandwiches, and, according to the cookbook, as a pizza topping. I eat it on top of meat, myself. but that's me. mm. meat. mm. onions. what's not to like?

Duck update

The duck was lovely in all of the aforementioned ways. I then proceeded to become cooking geek: made duck stock from the duck bones, made homemade cornbread and then used both to make cornbread stuffing for thanksgiving, celebrated last night (Friday) at the Cornish-Scottish-American friends' house with Welsh, French, and English guests in attendance. Much fun and (too much) brandy had by all.

Our menu:
Apricot cranberry sauce
green beans with bacon
Cornbread stuffing
turkey
mashed potatoes
gravy
grilled sweet potato halves with yogurt-dill sauce
ratatouille (completely traditional of course)
slightly mashed parsnips roasted in the grease from one of the turkeys
green salad with pomegranate seeds
french bread (aka 'freedom bread')

butternut squash pie
lemon cheesecake
key lime pie
cinnamon rolls
mince pies

2007 Beaujolais Nouveau
other wine, red and white
whisky
brandy

Advise and Consent (1962)

This Henry Fonda/Washington insider film is amazing, from the framing of the architecture (one of the first shots focuses on the 'In god we trust' inscription in the senate chamber while including in the bottom of the frame a somewhat rancorous debate spurred on by hovering press) to the sugary-sweet construction of the suburban home one senator inhabits, one that is revealed to be both very real and an utter façade. What's great about the film, if you (like me) know nothing about it before watching it, is that the plot is a sleeper plot. It starts out very slowly and vanilla but then grows into something utterly other than that. And the ending is brutal.

From our jaded perspective at the beginning of the 21st century, it starts with the fervor over the nomination the President has made for his Chief of Staff. In fact, the first scenes are very like the short-lived show K Street, with a senator getting the news of the nomination by looking at the morning headline, rushing over to a colleague's hotel room, where he finds him already on the phone with the president protesting the choice.

The rest of the film is about the senate committee hearings vetting the nominee. Wow. Sounds like the action film of the century, no? No. But it's fascinating in the way it exposes the workings of politics, the problem with idealists, the legacy of WWII, the various subcultures (the unmarried hostess of Washington poker games and gala parties; the gay New York club/bohemian culture), gender relations, and the way in which before the penetration of the media into the minutiae of every public figure's life, these people could walk around Washington, have meetings in the open, discuss issues--all without a gaggle of reporters everywhere they went. The unfolding of the plot moves it from political sparring almost to the point of political thriller.

recommended.

Duck à L'Orange and other mistakes

Having eaten a low-sugar diet for four or five years now, the ol' tastebuds have changed such that things others consider to taste 'normal' taste, to me, unbelieveably sweet. Like Havarti cheese. Or low-fat milk. or 85% chocolate. Probably my cooking states unbelieveably bland and/or spicy and/or something to other people. Who knows. But one of my favourite meats (mm. meat. it's all good) is duck. there are several excellent reasons for this. [note: my sole reader who does not eat duck for reasons that they are lovely cute creatures and it is cruel might want to stop reading here. also my other two readers who are vegetarian. so, the one carnivorous friend that's left, read on.]

1. Duck is fatty. Fat is good. It makes meat taste good and it helps with cooking the meat and did I mention it's lovely?
2. Because of #1, duck meat is usually quite moist and juicy.
3. If you like dark meat on a turkey, you love duck. It all has that taste of dense but juicy dark meat. And the ducks aren't (I don't think?) perversely fattened to produce large breasts for the (again perverse) taste for breast meat that the North American public seems to crave.

We like our birds breast-heavy with thin legs. Hm. What else fits that description? Coincidence? But I digress.

4. Duck is often used in fabulous Chinese cooking--and I'm not talking about the drive-up hole-in-the-wall university take-away Chinese that we all know and love for entirely other reasons having to do with fried, breaded goodness.

Duck is often on the menu here in the UK at 'normal' 'British' restaurants of the post-1980s variety (that is, the food is quite good and well-prepared). We went to one such restaurant which is excellent where the duck leg entree is served with this amazing lentil/dal-like sauce. It goes perfectly with the richness of the duck meat, providing a sort of horizontal taste next to the wavy curviness of the duck (spatial/visual thinker here--bear with me).

Our dining companions also ordered the duck and didn't like it. Their complaint: too salty.

But it was not salty at all. No salt was used in the sauce, our friendly waiter graciously reported. My conclusion from this? British/North American palates expect duck + something sweet. Whether it's an orange glaze or a Chinese plum sauce, the idea is that duck is equated with sweetness. To have a lovely perfectly spiced horizontal low-level buzz of dal underneath the duck means to be forced (against their will) to taste the duck itself. And so, Duck à l'orange has ruined duck for an entire population spanning the Atlantic. Very very sad.

This is borne out by my experience today trying to find a recipe to use to cook the duck I purchased this week in my Sainsbury's delivery. It was on sale. I'd never cooked duck before and I thought: hey, I like duck! and then hey, why not? So I have a duck in the fridge. Sorry Ruth. I looked in a variety of cookbooks, and aside from the basic roasting instructions for all birds in the Good Housekeeping, all of the recipes involved apricot jam or some sort of citrus-honey sauce or, in one interesting innovation, a honey-thyme sauce which sounds lovely but frankly still ends up in the too sweet category.

I did find a recipe--Madhur Jaffrey to the rescue once again--she's got a whole stuffed duck recipe in her Invitation to Indian Cooking that looks lovely. It has raisins and dried apricots in it (sweet) but they are in the stuffing, entirely different from a glaze. I may cook dal with it as well. I will report back.

8.5 x 11 is so wrong

isn't it? it just occurred to me (again) that this was the case. A4 is an elite, svelte paper size, is it not? hm.

Activist judges

FFB noted the disparity between the sacrifices that the Pakistani judiciary and body of lawyers has made in the face of martial law (oh--sorry. it's not martial law it's 'emergency-plus' which I think is in fact a vitamin-C drink, is it not?).

This article from OpenDemocracy illuminates some of the reasons for the ire of the lawyers in particular, and also illustrates why the announcement today by Musharraf that elections will be held in January does not, in fact, solve the underlying problem. It also belies what I'm perceiving in the press coverage in the UK the distinct impression that Bhutto is the country's only/best hope--an impression that seems to stem largely from the fact that she feels 'comfortable' to a western audience, where Musharraf never quite did, despite appearing on the Daily Show. She too benefits from this emergency-plus situation with corruption cases suspended against her, as Raja at OpenDemocracy argues.

yea, o holy book review...

I would so much like to write book reviews like this one from time to time. Well, only when it's entirely appropriate, as this one is. Check it out.

Macbeth

1. No, Patrick Stewart was not as brilliant as you would expect him to be. He was quite a bit better than that.
2. And still, it was Kate Fleetwood's Lady Macbeth that almost stole the show.
3. But the real winner was the production and direction.
4. And the icing on the cake? Sitting next to Marina Sirtis in the best seats in the house

What's on My iPod (Touch)

As this otherwise worthless post indicated, I do not have a new iPhone, but I do have a new iPod touch. Like the rest of you (the sane ones, that is) I covet an iPhone, but both options available to me at the moment are really non-starters:

1. Buy a US iPhone and 'unlock' it.

It's simply too much money for a device that could be rendered useless with a firmware upgrade, and frankly, as much as I love the command line, it's all a bit too much work for me.

2. Pick up the UK iPhone on o2 when released in November.

A. 35 quid a month is steep for someone who NEVER uses his phone and who currently pays less than £8/month.

B. The UK and Europe moved their networks from 2g to 3g. The US didn't, really, but instead upgraded to '2.5G' in the form of adding EDGE to the 2G network. The iPhone, as we all know, is not 3g; it's an EDGE device. There are reasons that that sucks, but putting those aside, here's the dealbreaker: there is no viable EDGE network in the UK. o2 is 'bragging' that they have been putting EDGE in place and will have 35% coverage at release. 35% is not a typo; it is, however, unacceptable.

But o2 has done something right compared with AT&T. They have bundled wifi hotspot coverage into their package deal. Even better, the hotspot provider, The Cloud, will give you unlimited access for your iPod touch for less than a fiver a month!

So, until I can experience the glory of the iPhone I picked up an iPod Touch (purchased in dollars - which are worthless, by the way - of course). This gives me a chance to check out the new UI without spending lots of money. And yes, it is all it is hyped to be. And more.

So what's on my iPod Touch?

• a random selection of about 35 albums from my collection
  
• all my contacts and calendars
  
• a bunch of youtube bookmarks
  
• Battlestar Galactica Episode
  
• Deadwood Episode
  
• Brian Manzella's Confessions of a Former Flipper
  
• Radiohead's 'In Rainbows' (the subject of my next blog)
  

misanthrope

I signed up for facebook. I was curious, I suppose. it reveals more deeply than ever that I really don't so much like the people. I'll find people I used to know and I think: huh, s/he looks good. good for them. but contact? ha! no way.

and: it's eerie how happy everyone is in their little pictures. eerie and wrong. it has a sort of uncanniness to it. I'm sure some grad student is working on this busily in some cultural studies department somewhere in the midwest right now. does not detract from the fact that facebook: uncanny. and me: misanthrope. this facebook thing may not work for me. we'll see. here's my uncanny pic.

The iBrick

Just so you all know that I can maintain a sense of humour even concerning those things that I typically treat with religious reverence - I thought this was very funny:

blogging from my iPod

nothing else to say!!!

busy and big month

not that this has prevented me from blogging, but the big news is that my sister has just given birth to our first nephew (or niece for that matter--the first of the next generation, more or less, I should say). Welcome to the world Alexander!

the busy bit of the month has simply been the beginning of term usual chaos. on-line content for your teaching seemed such a good idea when we started this years ago and yet it takes an insane amount of management and time. so I find myself updating tutorial sign-up sheets, creating groups for students to meet on-line and collaborate through, uploading slides from the lectures, coordinating the readings and reading questions, and all the rest.

we had a lovely visit from Kristin and Mark last week, which was great. I was in the last sentence going to classify them as our 'denver friends' because that's where they live, but that doesn't quite do it. we know many many people in Denver. And Kristin and I really met at a series of weddings, so perhaps they are 'wedding friends'--you know those people you see once/year for about 3-5 years when every one of your mutual friends gets married and as a result you gain lifelong friends. very cool. but there are earlier connections for fronesis--high school, to be specific. And we are now more than wedding friends. So there you are. uncharacterisable, all-encompassing friends. the best kind. Great to see y'all.

will keep blogging soon.

My Other Excuse(s)

Coming to a bookshop near you in January:

but is it?

first week of teaching over here, bit chaotic. this made me laugh.

Explaining Myself (now on Youtube)

Why haven't I been blogging?

The link to the answer is below, but I warn you: precisely one of our readers is going to be at all interested in this.

my sisters' sister

in the on-going purchasing spree that is our recent lives (we can quit at any time), we have acquired a tiny but lovely digital video camera. it is our first. one of my relatives offered to buy me one several years ago as a gift and I weighed it and decided I'd rather have a high end still camera than a video one. but now times are different. there's the youtube kids keep talking about. and video reviews on Amazon. so it seems 'normal' to own and use a video camera. plus, frankly, there's iMovie and so it seems silly not to be using this free software.

but it is weird. very weird. we were testing the thing (filming the dog, of course--what else would we film?) and I was on the tape for a bit. (tape. ha! what's that, gramps?)

it was like watching my sister. except not. and which one I'm not sure. sort of like watching the sister of my sisters. someone not me. very very weird.

and it made me reflect that the shift from family snaps to family clips is not far off. that the old home movies which somehow because of technological hurdles and all the rest never quite made it into my normal life--they are now inching their way in. it will be odd to hear my younger relatives talking in amazement about the fact that we 'lived without' digital video snaps of our family, blood and not. how do you know what they really look like if all you have is some lame-o still analog photograph, great-great-aunt tekne? oh wait, that's probably not what they'll call me.

but it's a good thing to know that seeing myself is also seeing my sisters in face and mannerism and bearing. weird. but also good.

up a creek

we are very excited about the new member of our furniture family: the concept 2 rower. yes, we finally made the shift from the £8 (delivered) boot sale stationary bike to, well, the machine to end all machines. I'm still startled when I walk by the room. the thing is this huge alien creature akin to some large extended insect (preying mantis?) squatting in our 3rd bedroom-cum-walk-in-closet. quite a change from our old set up:

the workout is great, and it's exciting (I know--I'm a geek) to figure out a new technique, having never rowed before in my life. after rowing sans instruction once (of course), we watched the little video hosted by the Australian 4-man olympic rowing team, realised we were doing nigh everything wrong, tried again, and it's pretty durn cool. the computer is a full-on computer. does more than my Apple IIe did (not to dis my IIe. That was an amazing machine. and to be fair, the rower can't print out banners on a dot-matrix printer with PrintShop, nor can it organise your life through Hypercard. ah nostalgia.) but it can track all my rows, tell me the force of my strokes, how fast I'm going, what my 'split times' are (yes, new vocab part of the attraction!), show me rowing with a 'pace boat' next to me, allow me to row in competition with others on-line by uploading my results, and a whole lot of other things. I plan to be super-buff in next to no time.

Mad Men 2

One of the funny moments in the early episodes of MM is a scene in which two characters share their lunch, but spend it touring the office. What's great about it is that the office is deserted--they are the only ones around, everything is quiet, and it is pointed out as an oddity that one of the middle-management people with an office has 'stayed in' during the lunch hour.

I'm in my office now--it's 5:20. I'm here because I have Welsh class starting in a few minutes. There's no one around. no one, except me and the cleaning staff. deserted. it's Tuesday. I think this is pretty damn awesome. Now if I can only train my co-workers to do the same at lunch...hm. and then there's the constant whisky drinking...

Mad Men

with the lull before the autumn season premieres (FNL is, I think, the only show I'm actually waiting for...) we are re-watching Deadwood season one which is completely and utterly amazing. I believe this is the third time we've watched these episodes but I still can't get over how goddamn good the show is--like the doctor explaining to the preacher that he should get some 'goddamn' rest--all done with this amazing understanding and respect:

Doc: All right. (jabbing the Rev in the chest) You listen to me now, Reverend. You are goddamn exhausted and you give yourself no respite. And your seizures may owe somethin’ to that, but it also wouldn’t surprise me if you had a lesion in your goddamn head…(Jane looks on, eyes filling)…and that’s what’s giving you the seizures and generating your chats with the goddamn divinity. No goddamn offense intended.
Rev: None taken, sir.
Doc: Now, get outta here and get yerself some rest.
Jane: Go on, Reverend. (Doc straightens up.) Doc’s tired too, only reason he’s talkin’ so fuckin’ harsh.
(The Rev mulls on this for a moment, then looks up at Doc.)
Rev: Could not the lesion be the instrument of God’s instructive intention, doctor, if I am so afflicted?
Doc: Well, of *course* it could, his ways not bein’ ours and so forth. But could he not, Reverend, be sayin', just once, you gettin’ outta here and gettin’ yerself some goddamn rest?

Oh how the text on the page is insufficient.

But wait--this post is about Mad Men!
Yes, we've discovered (hello, people out there--where were you when this show started mid-summer to tell us about it!) Mad Men on AMC--yes, AMC. I know! crazy. But there it is. It's a show about ad execs in 1960s Manhattan--the early 60s, back when patriarchy had some bite and wasn't all subtle. Back when everyone smoked all the time. Back when they made the caesar salad at your table. We're two episodes in. it's extremely well written, the acting is all amazing (includes, by former character played: Angel's son, Mrs. Reynolds, Bartlett's daughter, Gabbi's politician husband, and several others...)

It's available on iTunes for download. We've committed: season pass. I imagine this only means one thing: it'll be cancelled next season. But we live in hope.

it's about the love

our friends over at OaO, specifically mtg, seek the love in their television viewing, and desire (if I may be so bold as to articulate said desire on their behalf) entertainment that demonstrates why it is, in the end, that human beings interact in the first place--what the payoff is for living with/amongst fellow beings, and the good bits of that (not necessarily the happy bits--the good bits). The love. even in shows that 'fro' and I find to be full of the love, like, say, Deadwood, do not fit this criteria because of the nasty ickyness they also display in order to, in my mind, show you the love that much more clearly, that much more fully. The love, for example, between Swearingen, the bar owner and town boss, and Trixie, his lead whore. some things are difficult to see, but once seen are the more powerful for having seen them. But I digress. the love, in its more unadulterated form, can be found in Friday Night Lights, which, and I cannot emphasise this enough, is both entirely about football and not at all in any way about football. it is about the love. I say this now because Heather Havrilevsky over at Salon has given FNL the annual 'Buffy' award for the most underappreciated show on television. Link (subscription or short ad to watch first)
this is in large part because of the love:

But what's impossible to express, what can only be experienced by watching a handful of episodes, is that "Friday Night Lights" has so much heart and sweetness, so much love for normal people with big dreams, that it has the power to give you a lump in your throat every single week.

go netflix/buy season 1 and then watch season 2 starting 5 October. in hopes that there might be more of the love.

bombs: now environmentally friendly!

Unlike a nuclear weapon, the bomb doesn't hurt the environment, he added.

This from an AP story about the 'dad of all bombs' (outdoing through patriarchal gender norms the US's 'mother of all bombs') that Russia tested at an undisclosed time in the recent past.

'Full' story here.

It's not nuclear, but it destroys kinda a lot like nuclear but it's not bad for the environment! well, except for the bomb part of the bomb. that might, you know, destroy some stuff. but see how much better than before!

I love that the save-the-environment rhetoric works for bomb making. and what better combo than patriarchy + environment to make your point? can't think of one.

new walk

It has not rained in Swansea in two weeks. in fact, it's been mostly beautiful the entire time since I returned from London--a bit overcast in the morning and then clearing up to gorgeous sun in the afternoon. Not too hot, clear fresh air, lovely. Luke and I have developed a new walk in celebration of the weather. we had discovered the path earlier but that time it had rained (a lot) and thus is was more of a slog through mud than a walk per se. without the water it is a lovely walk. and I can report two things: 1. it is blackberry season. lots of berries hanging from spiky viney things into the path. this is fun. it's like an instant, on-demand snack. how cool is that? 2. people litter. this is odd to me. wonderful walky blackberryness and you drop your litter on the path? wha? and what possessed you to be drinking a Lucozade orange drink in the first place? or eating a monster bag of M&Ms while walking, when blackberries are right there, and if you eat them fast enough they too melt in your mouth and not on your hands? sometimes, i imagine, one accidentally drops things. this happens. but how about picking things up? less accidental. more planning involved there. so Luke and I do. two or three things. and the poop of course.

PS: where do horses get off not picking up, when dogs can be fined? what's that about? and the former's droppings are, well, quite a bit larger than the latter's. not cool.

PPS: how cool is it that I have a path with horses on it 3 blocks from my house? too cool.

champagne

'is the only wine that may be served with any course and at all times during the meal'.* Hear hear.

I have this week received a cheque (stoked!) for £300ish from Oxford University Press (woo woo!) in payment for writing four entries in the forthcoming Encyclopedia of the Modern World. This included the aforeblogged entry 'Art--Overview' in which I cover the entirety of Art for the World since 1750 in 2000 words.

And on some old advice from a dear friend, I'm thinking that rather than deposit it and add it to the ol' bank balance, for it to disappear and meld together with other pluses and minuses, I should instead buy something cool. but what to buy?

Option A: Art (appropriate). Could buy a print from a Pakistani artist I met here in Swansea last year.
Option B: Rug. always love the rugs. sort of wish for my house to look like those orientalist tents in 1920s-50s Arabian-set films, piled with carpets.
Option C: comfy reading chair for the upstairs 'library' currently unpopulated with furniture of use.
Option D: rockstar leather trousers (this was what aforementioned friend suggested back when, and it is still on the table)
Option E: New iPod Touch. Because you know you want one. with exchange rates I could buy two. Hm. who would want the other one though? I can't think of anyone. huh.
Option F: trip to ?? for weekend.

Thoughts? I can report back on my capitalist indulgence. Until then I can drink champagne throughout the meal. huzzah.

*from: Old Mr. Boston Deluxe Official Bartender's Guide, compiled and edited for Old Mr. Boston by Leo Cotton in Collaboration with Old Time Boston Bartenders. Boston: Mr. Boston Distiller, Inc., 1955 (original printing 1935). For more click here...

spiders

my expectation is that spiders come into the house after the summer, as the season changes into fall and then into winter. it seems Britain's lack of a summer has confused said 8-legged friends and thus there are many of them inside the house as I type. but is it a bad sign that there's one that's set up shop across the shower/bath? is the universe telling me I should bathe more often? hm. once a week whether ya need it or not.