Showing posts with label odds and ends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label odds and ends. Show all posts

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Whatever Happend to Mayor McCheese?

I was in McDonald's the other day (and lest ye judge me, I was there with my daughter as a reward for her being very good during a day of necessary shopping) when I noticed something. It wasn't the expanding waistlines that make for a nice physical model of the expansion of the universe and/or demonstration of how the bigger the object the bigger the gravity it has. It wasn't the secretly addictive power of the Shamrock shake. Nor was it the woman who looked entirely too much like she would have been at home on the cast of Jersey Shore. Which no, I don't watch, but I'm not completely ignorant. This woman belonged to the tribe of Snooki, and it was far, far scarier to observe in real life.

This isn't about any of that. No, this is about something far, far more sinister. This is about missing people. Missing, important people, and how despite their conspicuous absence no one acts like they are missing, and no one's mounted an investigation or anything else. It's almost a conspiracy of silence, and its victim is Mayor McCheese.

I don't remember the last time I saw him, or some of the other McDonald's anthropomorphic menu items that have also slipped away along the wayside. (Talking chicken McNuggets, anyone?) For that matter, I don't remember the last time I saw any of the McD's crew, other than their eternal leader, in any television commercial. I could be rational here, and point to the changes overall in advertising, particularly children's advertising, that has become necessary as the Saturday morning bloc of cartoons broke up and the target demographic scattered across the cable channels, many to networks that run limited - if any - commercials during their programming for the younger set. Or how changing ideas on proper diet and exercise have also taken their toll, and a visible symbol of greasy caloric consumption probably sends the wrong kind of message.

I could, but that would be less fun. And absent an official announcement from the Powers That Be, I'm going to go with the more nefarious explanation.

Mind you, not all of the mascots have vanished. Grimace, Birdie, even the Hamburglar can still be seen painted on the walls of the various Playplaces, or they turn up on the in-house items. They may not get their moment on the television screen anymore, but they are still around. Contractually bound to silence, or perhaps threatened with the same fate as the Mayor should they attempt to break ranks.

Maybe this, then, is the story of the lone dissident, the one who would not go quietly. A mayor of a land whose silence would not be bought (obviously not a Chicago mayor), who refused to be intimidated when others came to shush him, and who paid the ultimate price for it, being buried unceremoniously in an unmarked grave in some landfill, forever preserved in a giant version of those styrofoam containers McD's used to package all their products in. Maybe Mayor McCheese paid the ultimate price for his integrity by being tossed, piece by piece, to a flock of ravenous seagulls or park pigeons.

If so, I'm willing to bet his fate was meant to serve as an example to the rest of them: cooperate, tow the corporate line, OR ELSE. Hence the Fry Guys went quietly, and Hamburglar hasn't stolen a thing in years. Grimace keeps his politically incorrect overweight self well out of the spotlight, and Birdie has been encouraged to fly south and stay there, except for the occasional public appearance or photo op.

And the orchestrator of all this? The person behind this scheme, so callously disposing of once beloved icons behind the scenes? Well, ask yourself? Who has the spotlight all to himself now?

Oh sure, it can't be him, you say. To which I reply: he is a clown, after all. And we all know, when clowns go bad, they go really, really bad.

So, I say we should observe a moment of silence for Mayor McCheese, to take a brief pause and remember a man/food item of integrity, who paid the ultimate price for his principles.

And then I'll take mine with extra pickles, please.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Writer's High

You always hear them talk about the "runner's high." I have often pondered why that's limited to runners - in the lexicon, that is, as I know full well the effect isn't just experienced by runners alone. Anyone who does that kind of exercise gets the same sort of effect, which makes sense once you consider the biochemistry of the whole thing. I think runners just get all the press because they are both the most visible and the most vocal members of the exercise community. (In part because in television land, other than the gym and the exercise studio, running is the easiest to film it seems. At least judging by the number of tv characters who jog or run anyway.)

Now, while I have no idea if the biochemistry is the same, and greatly suspect it isn't, in large part, I am putting forth the idea of the "writer's high." No sneakers required. Also no shower afterward, and no heavy duty cycle on the laundry.

I discovered this - or if that seems to smack too strongly of ego-centrisim, I realized this - after a particularly good writing session the other day. I don't remember how many words I got out, and at any rate I am of the opinion it can be something of a trap to focus on the number of words, but however many of them there were, they were good words that day. The first set of good words in a while, as lately they've become something of a slog. Something to get through, get words down, even if they're all going to die later in the rewrite.

And they felt good. Really good. Not just the act of writing itself, but the afterglow when I was done, when I had walked away from the computer to go do something else. I have noticed that with a really good workout, that sense of accomplishment follows me the rest of the day, long after my heart rate has subsided. This was the same thing, where it followed me throughout the remainder of my day, making the day seem that much better.

It's not the first time this has happened, and it is that feeling which helps me get through the days when it is more of a slog, when it seems almost like a chore to sit at the computer and try and crank something else. It's the rememberance of that feeling, of knowing if I can get past the warm-up (so to speak) and into the main workout, when it's all done I'll feel better. Maybe not a whole lot better, but better. And the memory of that feeling, of knowing it's there on the other side, makes it easier to try and tackle it each day.

It doesn't always work, as just with my exercise routine there are days I fail, but it gives me something to chase, something to seek, a little reward each day for sitting down and doing what I'm supposed to be doing. Something that, unlike with exercise, I can continue to chase my whole life, regardless of failing knees or joints or whatever else in my body decides to betray me as I get older. So that, when I'm 70, while my days of earning that "runner's high" - which I never, ever actually run for - may be gone, the "writer's high" will still be waiting for me.

Friday, January 8, 2010

Too Much Information

(Feel free to hum along to the Duran Duran song as you read, though the point of their song is somewhat different from the following smattering of thoughts.)

I have too much clutter in my head. And by "clutter" I mean absolutely useless bits of trivia and information which, aside from those random moments where I can pipe up and say "I know that!" serve no other purpose in my head other than space filler. If you read or saw Dreamcatcher by Stephen King (and if you have to choose the read it, the book was far better) there is a section that takes place inside a character's head, where everything he's every thought is filed away. My head is like that, only combined with the warehouse at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark.

I've always been aware of this, but it was brought to the forefront the other day when I was reading something on various TV themes. They mentioned one in particular - a short lived show from the 80's that was born of the "heroes in/on vehicles trend" spawned by Knight Rider and Airwolf. Which show, you ask? It was called Street Hawk. What, you don't remember it? Don't worry, you're likely not alone. I retained it primarily because I was 11 when it came out and to an eleven-year old, the idea of a vigilante riding around on a souped-up motorcycle was cool.

So was KITT. I was eleven.

Which in a complete aside, was old enough to notice and be bothered by an eventual plot continuity problem with Street Hawk which had to do with how he maintained his secret identity. But I digress, and that could be an entirely separate entry on it's own.

As I said, it came up in conjunction with a discussion of TV themes. It turns out that this particular theme was written by Tangerine Dream, which I did not know. It also turned out that, even without clicking the link that was so generously provided, I could hum the theme. No words, so no singing, but I had the tune down. In my head, I was even in tune. (Reality was slightly different.)

The show ran for all of thirteen episodes, not even a full season. When I was eleven. It spawned no spin-offs, and while it wasn't as bad as, oh, say "Manimal" or the show with the computer guy and the cursor that followed him around - which was apparently bad enough for me to have forgotten the title completely* - it's not exactly the kind of thing that should have formed a lasting influence.

And yet, inexplicably, it did. Or at least I retained enough of it to make the connection reading about it again all these years later.

That's just one example. My head is full of those little tidbits and snippets, and while I could make the argument that, as a writer, you never know when one of those little things will blossom into something bigger and more important... I suspect they are just largely useless for anything other than taking me down random tangents at random moments.

Or the occasional moment when I can pipe up and say, "Hey, I know that!" even when no one else is in the room.


*An hour after I posted this the title occurred to me as I was making lunch: it was "Automan."

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Bright Copper Kettles

I'm not sure it counts as a Christmas song, or rather, why it counts as a Christmas song, but nonetheless it seems I hear "My Favorite Things" every Yuletide season. Generally I find the song overtly sentimental and sappy, especially when sung from the seminal musical it derives from (it's not one of those songs that was redeemed in later versions, like "Over the Rainbow" which takes on new poignancy when sung by... by... by that guy who sings it whose name I wrote down and now can't find). However, while I was waiting for the water to boil for some tea the other day it occurred to me I do have a mild attachment to a bright copper kettle.

I'm presuming they meant tea kettle, though of course you can buy copper cooking implements of all kind. I have heard that while they look nice, they are not ideal for serious cooking, so I don't own any. I think simply to boil water in, however, they would do just fine. Plus, they're decorative, so it's a bonus. I don't have one, though I do have a tea kettle, and perhaps it's because mine seems to be falling apart and I am in need of a new one that my thoughts turned to the shiny versions.

I own a microwave, so I am aware I could boil water in about a minute, maybe two. (It's an old microwave and the display is long since burned out.) Yet, in defiance of the rest of the patterns in my life in which I almost always embrace the more modern option, when I need water for tea I still prefer to boil it. Or if I need water for a single cup of coffee. I can't say for certain that it really tastes better – or even different – if I boil it the old fashioned way, just that I think it does. I also think the water out of the bathroom tap tastes different than the water from the kitchen. Yes, I am aware of my issues.

It certainly takes longer to boil water using the kettle, and when I didn't have a stove (back in college) I used the microwave. So it's not as if I have a complete aversion to it. As long as I have the option, though, I prefer the non-tech version. I think it adds something to the kitchen as well, and a kitchen without a tea kettle seems somehow incomplete to me. If I visit someone else's home I confess I am always a little skeptical if they don't have one. If you can't take the time involved to prepare a decent cup of tea, what else have you skimped on, culinary-wise?

I could draw a few cultural and historical allusions to the Japanese Tea Ceremony... but that would be stretching things far out of proportion. I don't have any ritual to the process, just boil, pour, and steep. I even use tea bags. (Because they're cheap, mostly.)

So while I could - and have - gone without a microwave, I think I'd be much more out of sorts without a tea kettle. Even if mine is stainless steel with a black plastic handle.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

People I Thought Were Already Dead

As we're coming down to the end of the year, it's time once again to remember all those who died during the past 11 months. There will be heartfelt tributes, moving montages, and plenty of weepy moments.

Just not in this blog.

Nope, this is about those people who, when reading through such lists, I discover had only just died, instead of having been long dead and gone as I presumed them to be. Like Andrew Wyeth. Don't ask me why I thought he was dead, because the best I can say is that he's an artist, his pictures hang in museums, ergo he was probably dead. Plus I had this impression that he'd been painting around the turn of the 20th Century, which made it even more likely that he was long since dead. Shows what little I know about modern American art. Or just modern art in general.

Ditto with John Updike. Though in his case it was primarily because as a child I remember seeing the Rabbit books on my dad's shelves - and they already looked pretty dusty and old. If I'd thought about it, I would have remembered that Updike had just published something not too long ago, but again, this was a case of seeing his obituary and thinking, "He was still alive?"

In both cases, it's an instance of having formed certain impressions early on, which were for one reason or another never dispelled. I took an Art History class, I know Wyeth was in there, and I'm pretty sure - though I didn't look it up to be sure - that they didn't list him as dead. Yet, just about everyone else in that book was dead, so at the time it seemed a logical enough assumption.

You have to have just a certain level of celebrity to get away with this. Clearly it was not going to happen with Michael Jackson, even if he'd lived to be a hundred and two. His death would always have been big news (unless in the next fifty years we revamp the way we look at what is and what is not newsworthy... but that seems unlikely). So you can't be so famous that your passing is automatic headlines. It also helps not to go before your time, assuming that's a valid concept to start with. I've always found it to be a bit of an oxymoron, though I get the sentiment behind it.

No, you have to have just the right amount where your passing gets noted, but not with a lot of hoopla, so that someone like me can be forgiven for just assuming they missed the news. You also can't have done anything to attract a great deal of attention, at least not recently. As mentioned, Updike had recently published, but I don't think that was this year. Or even last year. And his biggest claim to fame, the Rabbit novels, were with one late exception mostly penned long before I was old enough to read them. (It would also have helped if I'd ever read them at all. I knew when Tony Hillerman died, after all.)

So it helps to have faded some from the immediate public awareness. Which, although I've never achieved it myself, would I think be a worthy goal for most who do achieve celebrity. You shouldn't have to spend your last years being hounded by the press, and aside from Paris Hilton I don't know of anyone on the celebrity A list who wouldn't enjoy having their private life back.

I suppose there's a certain ignominy in being presumed dead when you are not. Being dead, though, I also suppose they're probably beyond such concerns anymore. It might also help with that late in life anonymity as well. I have to wonder what Mark Twain thought about the rumors of his demise, given the famous quote on the subject. You could probably either be bitter about it, or wryly amused, and which way you went would say a lot about you as person.

I'm sure this coming year will bring a few more people whom I thought were dead into the realm of the actually dead. And I will, as before, scratch my head - metaphorically - and reflect on why it is I thought they were dead when in fact they weren't. Yet.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Very Superstitious

I'm not, mind you, but the Stevie Wonder song popped into my head as I was thinking about the date today. Hopefully, it's as stuck in your head now as it is in mine. If it's not, you can click here and give it a listen, as well as watch a clip that further illustrates what I was saying about Sesame Street. I like to spread the misery around. Not that it isn't a good tune. Quite the contrary. But after two hours of hearing it round and round in my head... well, any tune gets old fast that way.

I can't really afford to be superstitious anyway, as I am the provider of food, snuggles, and a clean litter box for the resident black cat here. She crosses my path frequently on any given day, more so if her water dish is empty. (I have tried to explain to her that if she trips me and I hit my head, her water dish will not get filled, but she's a cat. Reason is lost on her.) Also, if I had the amount of luck that was supposed to go with finding a penny... well, then I ought to be winning the lottery. Or at least have the Prize Patrol on my doorstep.

Neither has happened. Of course, I don't play the lottery, either, and only ever once bought something from Publisher's Clearing House, so that might have something to do with it as well.

Still, I'm not completely dismissive of superstitions. In part this is because I attend church, and while we refer to it as "religion" I am well aware that in large part that's a "po-tay-to, po-tah-to" kind of distinction. Also, because I happen to be a word geek, I love finding out the origins of various words and phrases, and know that some superstitions were rooted in good measures.

Not that any spring to mind, at the moment. But I know some were.

Friday the 13th has historic origins, and if you've read Dan Brown or watched the movie, you'll know what those are. (Yes, he got that right. Blind pigs and acorns and all that. Actually, that's a little unfair. I'm sure he does some research, and the book was entertaining.) Though I have to wonder how that became spread across any Friday the 13th, and not more like the Ides of March wherein it's a particular day associated with a particular event. Maybe because Shakespeare didn't encapsulate that one into snazzy rhyme and meter? Hmm, possible.

Aside from that event though, and a series of ultimately silly movies and one, slightly less silly and slightly more entertaining short-lived television series, I think the day is in large part like any other. I am even inclined to agree with Garfield the cat in that Monday the 13th seems far more ominous to me, having been once in a Monday-Friday kind of job. Mondays were definitely scarier. Especially because of the weekly meetings. *shudders*

Anyway, I don't have a rabbit's foot, or other charms - heck, I haven't even had a bowl of Lucky Charms since college and expect by now I'd find them too sweet. So if this day does hold inauspicious things for me, I guess I'll just have to weather them as best I can. Somehow, though, I don't think it does.

Knock on wood.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Lonely Place of Dying

There was a disturbing item in my local news a while ago. A local senior citizen had passed away, in her home, alone. Now that particular scenario plays out far more often than it should anyway, but what made it more tragic was that her body went undiscovered for about a year and a half.

Think about that. The woman was dead, for over a year, and no one noticed. No one missed her. No one thought to wonder where she was, or if they did, not enough to check on her. Her utilities were, one by one, simply turned off for non-payment. Whatever mail she received disappeared into a mail slot and piled up, flier by flier, junk mail by junk mail, until at last the Post Office cut her off, too.

I say this as someone engaged in a largely solitary profession. Unless you work in-house for someone, as a writer chances are you're alone at your desk most of the time. At the moment I can't claim much of a social life, either, without admitting that most of what I do have exists on-line. (I haven't had cause to get out much lately, okay?) Even so, I don't think I could be dead for more than a few hours before someone would notice.

Other than the cat. Which is small comfort, really.

To some extent, this is because I have a family. Even in the days when I didn't, while I could extend that time frame to a few days - possibly - eventually someone would notice. Again, it probably would have been family, just more extended than the members I live with now.

But what if I didn't have any family, at all? As of right now, my only work occurs here, at my desk. I have no boss to report to. If the ladybugs finally overwhelmed me (dealing with a minor infestation at the moment), presuming they didn't devour me in some horror movie-esque special effect, at most it would be about two months before I was found. Only because I rent, and my landlord would show up to evict me.

(Wonder if I could finally get him to fix that leaky shower that way...)

And if I didn't rent, if I owned my home? Then, like the woman left alone, it would depend largely upon the weather, I think, and the season in which I died. In the end, that wasn't even how the local woman was found. She was discovered because looters thought her home was abandoned. Not that the looters reported her, but a neighbor noticed them.

My point is, I think it's all too easy for us to isolate ourselves. I'm not going to turn this into a rant against cell phones and tweeting and whatever else people like to point to as a scapegoat. The truth is, we make our own connections. Even if it's just the local person behind the counter when we pick up our Sunday paper. Which is more difficult to do at Walmart, but, again, not getting off into a rant on that, either. If we have no one in our life who would notice our passing, I think we ought to make an effort to do something about that.

It's not even always on us to make those connections, either. As with so many other relationships in life, for good or ill, it takes two. The woman in the article had family. Distant, extended, but family nonetheless. One of them, I think, should have noticed. Should have tried to pick up the phone over the holidays, or something. She had neighbors, too. I don't know if the blame lies with anyone source, and I suspect there's more than enough to go around.

So as we approach the holidays - and I know we do because the commercials have started - I think it's a good time to look around and take stock of our connections, and those of others. And perhaps ask if, in the coming season, the best gift we can give might not just be that of our company.

[If you're inclined to read it, the original article is at: www.goerie.com - just click the link for the full url.]

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Definitely not the Dream Castle

Barbie's gone homeless.

All right, it's not really Barbie, but rather one of those American Girl dolls that come equipped with a history lesson, a morality lesson, various trimmings and trappings, and a price tag that makes Barbie look like Raggedy Anne. And it's not even one of the main dolls, but a side character from one of the stories that comes with the main doll. But, from what I understand, you can purchase her (and thereby give her a home - though that's a cynical approach and might even be a bit of marketing irony lost on the company, as they don't seem noted for subtlety), and this has apparently caused a bit of an uproar.

Now, before I get to what I really want to discuss, I'm going to say that the uproar over this particular doll strikes me as somewhat silly and misguided. I'm the parent of a little girl, and frankly given all the hundreds if not thousands of images about femininity she is bombarded with on a weekly basis, there seem to me to be lots of other things to get upset about. Body image and unreasonable life expectations are only the start of it. (A Prince? Really? Marrying someone you've only just met is really going to fix your life? Sure, thanks for that lesson Disney.) But no one seems to get much up in arms over those topics.

Let one little doll be homeless, however, and suddenly it's some sort of moral crisis or something, as if we're now exposing our daughters to something we ought to have shielded them from.

Which, again speaking as a parent, is crap. If you ask me, the American public as a whole is far too shielded from the reality of life on the streets, let alone our children. Because as much as it may be a shock to some people, there are plenty of our children who are living on the streets. They, and there parents, have no where else to go. Yet we don't think about them when we think about the homeless.

Take a moment, just a moment, and do a mental exercise with me. If I say "homeless," what do you picture? If it's some bushy-bearded guy in rags - pushing a cart is extra - who mumbles to himself and/or smells of alcohol, chances are you're in good company. It's what a lot of people think. And to be fair, many of our homeless do suffer from mental and addiction issues. But it's not all of them, not by a long shot, and the difference between some of "them" and most of "us" isn't as far off as we might like to think.

In this one regard I will defend Dickens, whom, as I may have mentioned before, I generally loathe. But my lack of esteem for his word-craft aside, the man raised public awareness about the plight of children living on the streets and working in factories and being raised in dismal orphanages in ways very few others managed to do. (And it wasn't just Oliver Twist, either. Read enough Dickens and you will notice the recurring theme. Even in "A Christmas Carol." Pay attention to the little caroler who comes calling on Scrooge early in the opening act.)

We could use another Dickens in this day and age. That Will Smith movie wasn't a bad attempt, but I don't think it went far enough, and it wasn't the point of the story anyway. The sad reality is, especially in these economic times, homelessness is something that entire families have to deal with. Some, probably most, manage to ward it off through various means. I know that if it came down to it, I have family I can turn to. Even friends. But not everyone does. And anything that raises awareness of the issue, even if it wasn't the direct intent, is something that I think is worth talking about.

Not ranting about, mind you, in some misguided argument over the "appropriateness" of a doll, but actually discuss. In ways that might someday bring about a change in attitudes, or preferably still, a change in reality.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

The Corkscrew

This is a rumination on the little identifiable things that make us instantly recognize whatever it is that little thing is a part of, but which may, in their own way, be somewhat inscrutable. In this case, it's the corkscrew on the Swiss army knife.

A question to start with first. Has anyone who owns a Swiss army knife ever actually used the corkscrew to open a bottle of wine? I did, once, and have to say it doesn't work very well. It's a little too small, unless you have some super-deluxe model, and frankly the corkscrew on a decent sommelier's knife works a lot better. In part I think the fault for the Swiss model lies in it's need to fold away nice and neatly, but, really, in a survival knife, why do you need a corkscrew in the first place?

Or, for that matter, why is part of the standard issue equipment to an army - assuming the Swiss army knife, was, in fact standard army issue - a device whose sole purpose is to aid in the consumption of alcohol? Then again, they are Swiss, after all, so maybe a little wine after the field of battle was the norm.

Though when was the last time the Swiss went to war?

And yet, for it's seemingly little utility, it's on all but the smallest models, and I would go so far as to say that it would seem not only odd, but also somewhat amiss, were it not to be there in the first place.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Lights and OBEs

[A brief note before I launch into the actual subject of this entry: The radio segment in which I heard about this topic was broadcast originally on either the CBC's Quirks and Quarks or NYC's Radio Lab. I could look it up, but in this case I'm not going to not because I don't feel like it, but because if you're reading this and you are unfamiliar with either of these shows, you ought to check them out. They put out an hour show - each - once a week, they also podcast, and they have some of the coolest science segments on radio.]

So, the truth is out there now. (Yes, blatant X-Files reference.) Turns out that light at the end of the tunnel? Well, unless you're in the subway, it's not the A-train, and it's not the land of clouds and wings and harps, either. Before going any further, let me preface this by saying the following has nothing to do with a belief in life after death, or any religious system of belief, or anything of that nature. I, for one, have a firm belief that something of who we are survives the transition from life to death, and it's based on personal experience. ... Which is probably where some of you have now tuned me out as being slightly more whacko than you thought I was already.

For those of you still reading, there was a series of studies done, not just recently but going back to experiences of test pilots during the 1950's, where they have now been able document both that "light in the tunnel" you see when you're dying, as well as the out of body experience (known as an OBE in the paranormal parlance... at least I think so and will call it such to shorten my typing). OBE's were actually experienced by test pilots, not only in the planes themselves but also after performing tests in ground-based apparatus, so long as the pulling of heavy g-forces was involved. It was some of these experiences which also led to the development of the g-suit as a way to counteract the effects of pulling g's on the body.

Just in case you aren't versed in techno-geek, a "g" is the effect of gravity on your body. Normally, you're at 1 g. Higher g's, known as "pulling g's" can be caused by rapid acceleration, among other things. Lower g's, or negative g's create a less than 1 g feeling on your body. You can demonstrate this yourself on a swing. The little "blurp" your body does at the end of the forward upswing is where, for just a moment, you have a slightly negative g. ... and if I'm wrong, I'm sure some physicist out there will eventually correct me, but I'm pretty darn sure on this one.

It turns out that one of the effects led to the OBEs the test pilots had, as a result of some chemistry/blood flow thingy in the brain. Thingy is a technical term, trust me. The upshot of the study was that they were able to reproduce the effects, and figure out why they had happened in the first place.

Along with that, they also tumbled onto the "light in the tunnel" bit. And, again, were able to reproduce the triggers in the brain that set it off. Without having to kill anyone or bring them near death. Which I think is probably a plus during scientific experiments. Now, this whole set of experiments does some very interesting things, and says some very interesting things about the way our brains and bodies react (mostly our brains) and this is where I again plug the above shows and encourage you to go take a listen.

But it also struck me, that in validating the OBEs as something that does actually occur, in taking what was largely assumed to be a paranormal event and one of those things we laugh at in the tabloids, it ought to make us take another look from time to time at other things we might just flat-out dismiss. Even the light in the tunnel, though it doesn't lead to heaven, is in fact a real phenomena and, while on the one hand it is "just in people's heads" we shouldn't look askance at people who claim they've experienced it.

Also makes me wonder what gets proved next....

Monday, August 3, 2009

Bookshelves

One of the things that comes out of moving is reacquainting yourself with the contents of your bookshelves - mainly because if you aren't planning on selling (excuse me a moment while I indulge in serious laughter) or donating them, there's nothing to be done with them but pack them up and take them.

(On a quick side note, I do suggest that, when you can, you donate books to places like your local library or other organizations that provide books for free. I managed to unload my shelves of a number of tomes that I simply had not read in ages, and was unlikely to read again, and in the process boosted my local library's collection. By eight boxes.)

On my shelves are some of the old stand-bys, of course. I have Shakespeare and Thoreau and Joyce - the latter of which I'll confess I've not yet read. I've got some non-fiction (mostly about either military history, gleaned from college, or dinosaurs, which have been a life-long hobby), some poetry, and a fair amount of other people's fiction, too. And while a lot of it goes together, in a way, there are those odds and ends that, when you put them on the shelf together, they just look a little odd.

Some of that is my own doing. I group things by genre, and then alphabetically. (Don't look at me like that, it makes things much easier to find than grouping things by, say, where you were in your life when you first heard them.) But there are those volumes that defy this effort at categorization. The "Tao Te Ching" for example... is that philosophy, or religion? Same thing for the "Tao of Pooh" (which I actually recommend as a decent introduction into Taoism). Other times it's just a question of having not enough of one to fill a shelf. I've got books on religion - enough to cover all the majors and some of the smaller - and some philosophy books - heavy on the Foucault and Nietzsche. But not enough of both to fill a shelf, and I figure they're similar enough to go together.

So I ended up with "The Art of War" next to "The Way of the Goddess." The former is something I bought on my own, the latter acquired from an ex-something. (Not quite girlfriend, not quite friend.) It was technically borrowed in exchange for two books on Egyptian stuff, one on their myths and another on hieroglyphics. I never got mine back... Which, come to think of it, has happened before. I seem to have bad track record on lent books. I don't really count it as a far exchange, especially for the lost book on mythology, but I confess the Wiccan manual is interesting.

It did, however, make for an odd juxtaposition, I thought. Nothing profound in that, or at least if there is I'm not seeing it at the moment, but just one of those things were, when you visit a person's home, their bookshelves can tell you a lot about them. In my case I'd think they'd just say I have diverse taste in books, but at the very least I'm never short of something interesting to read.

Monday, May 25, 2009

Singing at Flanders Field

Do Canadians get choked up over "O' Canada"? I ask this, because aside from watching the Olympics I don't often have the opportunity to watch people of other nationalities react to their own anthems. The Olympics doesn't quite count, either, because you understand it then when some athlete from some small country, against all odds (or sometimes even in favor with the odds, but still...) manages to ascend that central podium, hoist there gold, and watch and listen as the symbols of their country are displayed in international prominence. Sometimes it's the only time these countries get to shine.

The American anthem does it for me, lots of times. Not every time, mind you, and frankly Whitney Houston's did and still does make me cringe. It isn't a pop standard, and should not be "stylized" the way everyone since here has seemed to feel the need to do. It stood on it's own very well for over a century before Whitney, and I shudder to think her version has somehow become the epitome for the "Star Spangled Banner."

Yes, in some things I'm a purist.

But back to the central point, here, in that it's become a moving piece of music. I doubt that when, in the midst of battle, Francis Scott Key penned the words to his poem he had any expectation that it would go on to such prominence in the national psyche. (If he was anything like the other writers I know now, he was probably just hoping it would be good and not end up in the trash heap somewhere.) That it has is as much a testament to thee power of the words as the sentiment they embody, something that just seems to capture much of the American mind-set as no other piece has done.

(I know there has been a movement around for years, if not decades, to replace "The Star Spangled Banner" with "America the Beautiful"... and while yes, "Banner" is at least on the surface about war, and "Beautiful" is by default a more peaceful song... there ought to be more to a national anthem than just a moving description of the landscape. A country is more than its scenery, after all.)

It also matters the occasion for which an anthem is sung. I love baseball, but it is just a game. On the other hand, hearing it sung today, Memorial Day, by a group of kids in Flanders, Belgium - where they very much appreciate that sometimes you have to fight for things such as the ideals of democracy and your country, and that on two occasions we have done that fighting for them - then it struck chords that it doesn't when being sung by some local crooner to kick of the Mets vs the Yankees. And while at the start of a baseball game it does carry reminders of history and patriotism and national pride...

... there was more to it today, sung by school children at a cemetery erected to honor those Americans who fell on foreign soil defending higher ideals. And for a moment, I paused in what I was doing, and took a moment to reflect on and be grateful for the sacrifice of people like them.

Friday, April 17, 2009

WWHTT moments

I learned something the other day that would have never occurred to me without it having been mentioned. It wasn't anything earth-shattering, just one of those "huh, who would've thought that" moments. Oddly enough it concerned a community that I had only recently had another such moment about, and it got me thinking about those other societies we see around us but don't ever know much about.

I suppose a little background is necessary or else this won't make any sense. I live out in rural Pennsylvania at the moment, and we have neighbors who are Mennonite. That term may be less familiar, but one I'm sure everyone knows is Amish. They've made enough appearances in pop culture - Hollywood movies, Weird Al videos - that when you mention them to most people, certain images come to mind. The images aren't wrong, by the way, as we've encountered horse-drawn buggies on the road and seen men with beards and dark clothes laboring with hand tools alongside women in full length dresses and mob caps. (My spelling may be wrong on that last bit of clothing. That's how I've heard it said but I've not actively looked it up.)

The first WWHTT moment was when I learned that what I thought was the natural progression of things was actually the reverse. Mennonites are essentially Amish lite - they are to the Amish what the Anglicans are to the Catholics, in a sense. Recognizable as the same basic faith and close relatives of one another, but different enough to be distinct. The Mennonites dress similarly and hold similar values, but are in keeping with modern technology. They have cars, phones (though some rule dictates where this phone must be kept in relation to the house) and electric lights. I had always presumed the Amish came first, but in fact they splintered off to become stricter.

The second WWHTT moment came more recently, when it was mentioned that there are a lot of African-American Mennonites. I've never seen any in the Amish community, and perhaps saying that there are "a lot" in the Mennonite community is overstating it, but they aren't so rare that's it's unusual to meet one if you spend any amount of time among them. Now it mostly seems to be men, as anecdotal evidence suggests African American Mennonite women are few and far between, but they are there where I never would have thought to find them in the first place.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

Skulls and Bowls

Just a couple of odds and ends around a central theme, but don't expect anything other than the central motif to tie them together. No deep meaning, just tidbits.

-> Read an article in a magazine on biblical archeology that was about incantation bowls. These are apparently Jewish artifacts from the 3rd to 7th Century that relate to magic and demons and such. Not something I would have traditionally associated with Judaism, though it occurred to me the story of the golem is both Jewish and magic. Some have figures inscribed in the bottom, but all have these written incantations that spiral outward from the bottom. In an unusual twist, there are also incantation skulls, though these are much fewer and of somewhat questionable provenance.

-> There is a persistent rumor that the Skull and Bones group at Yale has the remains of Geronimo. There is now a lawsuit in the works to try and verify that and then return them to the Apaches if that is in fact the case, though despite persistent rumors it seems unlikely. Though it does make you wonder who's skull and bones the society actually has.

-> During medieval times of the methods for dealing with vampires was a brick in the mouth. This was done post mortem, and was applied much earlier than the stake through the heart method which was apparently popularized in more recent eras. The brick in the mouth was a medieval method (the news article was about a 16th Century skeleton) and if you ask me not well thought out. Why couldn't the vampire just take the brick out? However, the people back then felt it worked.

-> And last but not least, the concept of "lilith" as a general class of demon who afflicted young mothers and infants dates back much earlier than the specific "Lilith" later tied in with vampire lore (and other things). That one was apparently a medieval creation and came about much later. But the "liliths" of the demon variety show up much earlier, and are in fact mentioned on some of the incantation bowls.

Saturday, March 7, 2009

Loss of Language

I was listening to a program on public radio this morning that was interviewing a guy whose job ti is to go around and try and preserve languages before they disappear. This wasn't the first time I'd heard about such a project, but it reminded me that among all other things we're losing in our rush to homogenize world culture is all these various languages. And I'm not bashing globalization, either, because I am well aware of all the good things it has accomplished. But these languages are the victims of both a dwindling population and a dwindling usage because there's little utility in learning them, other than for academics, when they're only spoken by an increasingly diminishing number of people.

Some of the samples that were played during the interview were ones which were likely no longer spoken as a living language, because the recordings had been made by elders in the community who have probably died by now.

It got me thinking on the ongoing evolution of language. English is in no danger of dying out anytime in probably the next millennia or two, seeing as it's been around for a thousand years or so in some form (though Old English is as indecipherable to me as Greek). Which is not to say that if we fast-forwarded to a thousand years from now we'd understand what was being spoken. The slang and common terms alone would probably elude us. Other major languages have been around longer... but we are approaching a point where the number of languages spoken around the world is dropping to a core group of languages.

Which might an optimist think that this would improve communications among us. I am not much of an optimist, at least not these days (actually I tend to be an optimist who plans like a pessimist) and doubt that we'll resolve our difficulties in communicating with one another simply because we have less options. But as someone who writes future-oriented fiction - yes, I write sci-fi, I know, I know - it made me think about the way my characters speak, and perhaps making some small changes to that.

Nothing large, because few things bog down a book faster than jargon, but just a couple of things here in there. (Like Josh Whedon having his characters in "Firefly" curse in Chinese, though that doesn't strike me as a really good language for swearing. German, on the other hand, always sounds like you're swearing even when you're just asking to pass the salt.) I haven't quite decided what yet, but I'm working on it.

In the meantime, if you've got a little extra and are looking for a tax-deduction: www.livingtongues.org

Friday, August 24, 2007

Crambo

crambo \KRAM-boh\ noun

: a game in which one player gives a word or line of verse to be matched in rhyme by other players

Example sentence:
According to his early letters, James Boswell, friend and biographer of English lexicographer Samuel Johnson, was a keen crambo player.

Did you know?
We've called the game "crambo" since at least 1660, but it was originally dubbed "crambe." The now-obsolete word "crambe" literally meant "cabbage," but it was rarely used for the leafy plant. Instead, it was used figuratively (in reference to a Latin phrase meaning "cabbage repeated or served up again") for things that were overused or repeated. The game, which was popular in the 17th and 18th centuries, began with one player picking a word. A second player then tried to guess it by asking questions. For example: "I know a word that rhymes with 'bird.'" "Is it ridiculous?" "No, it is not absurd." "Is it a part of speech?" "No, it is not a word." And so on, until the word was guessed.

(From Merriam-Webster)

Sunday, May 13, 2007

The Joy of Standardized Testing

I signed up to take the Mass Tests for Educator Licensure. Once passed, coupled with my BA (either one of them) I will be eligible for a preliminary teacher's license, which will let me teach here in Mass. If I can find a job, though given the continual teacher shortage I think that shouldn't be too much of a problem. No guarantees that it will be in Boston, but we'll see what comes.

Yesterday was test day. I've been studying, more for the second test which is actually based on subject matter knowledge. The first test is a basic literacy test (which isn't quite what they call it but that's what it was). I picked up a study guide for both tests, though quickly realized that my time would be better spent studying just for the subject matter test. The study guide for the literacy test was designed to be an eight-week process, and after the first day I'd breezed through weeks 1-4 in an afternoon. Mostly it was the kind of vocabulary questions they asked on the SAT. Not the GRE, mind you, but the SAT.

The test yesterday turned out to be even easier than the study guide. There were some grammar questions that were a little tricky, but overall I wasn't worried. I finished in good time, and then got lunch. During the break I made the mistake of doing a little shopping, which was a mistake because going in and out of the bright sunshine into darkly lit stores (like the one for my watch battery) brought on a migraine. I had my meds with me, but this one was bad enough that it hit me through the meds. If I hadn't had them taking the test would have probably been impossible, but as it was I was fine. Other than a mild pain and some equally mild nausea.

Or that may have been from the second test. I am VERY glad I studied, but even so a number of the questions were either a: obscure enough that they were nearly impossible to study for or b: arguable enough that I really don't think they belonged in a multiple-choice format. But they were. Always for the questions two of them were clearly wrong, and for the most part that kept me from blindly guessing. I would have preferred a lot more "world" in the world history section (more questions on Asia would have been a big help) but as usual world history was mostly defined by what happened in Europe.

(And my position on that is: largely nothing happened. One empire after another, an endless - boring - succession of kings and the occasional queen, and the odd crusade and/or inquisition. That's it.)

Fortunately there were two essays, although that second essay was not only on Europe but Europe in the time frame I now very little about other than the Crusades: the early Middle Ages. Formerly known as the Dark Ages, for those of you not keeping up with historical naming trends. The only things I know about this time period are garnered from old Monty Python movies, which were oddly helpful enough.

I walked out of the first test feeling very confident, and out of the second one less so. To the best of my knowledge I just need to pass the test - and I'm not sure the scores are weighted or anything. I assume so, but the website didn't quite say. I have to wait a month for my scores anyway... which is a little nerve-wracking. This was the first standardized test I've taken since the GRE in 1999 so I was a little apprehensive anyway.

It was also the first time I'd been inside an American high school since... well, probably since shortly after graduation. Wandering through the halls I had a moment remembering just how little I actually liked high school - and wondering if finding a career there was the best move - but it was a little late at that point. Besides, the front of the classroom is far more rewarding and I do enjoy teaching. Though perhaps I should have considered primary education a little more strongly.