Tonight (or rather April 23rd night) my 406 class gave me an interesting birthday present (besides bring some delicious cake [rainbow with a lazor-eyed unicorn, and chocolate] and carrot-cake-cupcakes, and brownies). They "discovered" that Nabokov "shares" the same birthday. When looking this up after class, I dicovered the following interesting tidbit (thanks to our dear Wiki):
-------------------
Birth date
Nabokov was born on April 10, 1899 according to the Julian calendar in use in Russia at that time. The Gregorian equivalent is April 22, which is achieved by adding 12 days to the Julian date. Some sources have incorrectly calculated a date of April 23, by inappropriately using the 13-day difference in the calendars that applied only after February 28, 1900. In Speak, Memory Nabokov explains the cause of the error and confirms the correct date of April 22. But he himself celebrated his birthday on April 23, and stated in an interview with The New York Times, "That is also Shakespeare’s and Shirley Temple’s, so I have nothing to lose by saying I was born on the 23rd."
------------------
Indeed, dear Nabokov, indeed. Miss Temple and Senor Shakespeare do make good buddies, good company with which to celebrate one's day o' birth. I'll share them with you. :-) Three might make a crowd, but four is a hella good time, I tell you what. Bring Bunny along when you come over for dinner, wine, and discussion (which might also include watching some funky cartoons, and a bum who believes himself to be a German philosopher); the others won't mind.
:-)
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Friday, April 18, 2008
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
Beckett: counting down
I know all you all are counting down...
Beckett's Birthday is in two days, so hold your horses. The thirteenth of April is on its way.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Semester and books
Not sure how to prepare for next semester yet. Funny, we have to select texts for the next semester, which always makes me feel like I actually have to have next semester completely planned as well. This next year seems as unpredicateable, neigh, more so, than, previous years. I'm thinking through what to teach in terms of the 305 I'm assigned. The real question will be whether I ask for two more classes, or none at all. Regardless, for the 305 I'm thinking about teaching a few more books I've always wanted to read/teach, or that I've taught before but would like to teach again, in a different context. Namely, I'm thinking about the Cantos; Dream Songs; and a few others. More importantly, I'm needing to write more. Writing more might also give me more opportunity in the future in terms of what classes I might get. Also, in addition to Cantos, I was thinking of a poem by Auden; a play or six by Yeats; and others, like Valery; maybe even Baudelaire. Not sure yet. This is a picture of Charles Olson at Black Mountain.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
number theory! - topology and projected plane (n-potential)
So work did suck that night. Stayed up til 4 to handoff a document my project manager didn't even bother handing off til late the next day, and worst thing, the doc never got reviewed by the client. I showed up to the meeting today and found instead a note (yes, a handwritten note, in highlighter no less) indicating that the meeting had been cancelled. I went back to work to find an e-mail from a few moments before the meeting with a cancelled notice. I'd been in work before hand just to ensure I could catch a message like this in time, so I wouldn't waste my time. No go. Wasted time. Awesome. I can't stand dead time.
However, there were some actual awesome things today. First, the guy who sits in the cubicle next to me is fun. He's a mathematician and philosopher. I know, awesome right. He'd been just moments away from a master's thesis and suddenly found the thesis ridiculous and circular; not that his work was ridiculous but that the process and audience was ridiculous. The project is endless, and this endless aspect was just not worth pursuing for him.
It's great for me because that means a great mind I can tap. He's about the same age, maybe a bit older than me, but I can ask him smart things and he knows what I'm talking about, and has his own very distinct interest I can tap. Very cool for me.
And as some of you know, I'm working on a manuscript (one of the many I always seem to be playing with) about space. I don't know whether this is the same one with which I'm trying to articulate triangulated space and the repercusions of it, but I've been intrigued in the last year or so with spaces. I've asked some random questions with this regard; some of you have been kind enough to share and attempt to answer my questions. Some very well. (Thank you.) For example, "How does music function spatially in terms of physical body?" or "How does restraint function spatially in music?" As well as some questions regarding color and music, space and color, and etc.
I received an amazing response to the "How does restraint function spatially in music?" I'm still thinking through some of it. Very exciting. I still don't know how or in what form much of this will take on the page. But I'm very excited about it.
Anyway, so being as this cubical neighbor has an extensive math and philosophy background, you can see why I might be giddy about such a proposition. So today, I asked him if he'd worked with number theory. (Random question with potentially no result, however, I just try to ask the questions that come to me. I don't know their relevance if I don't ask. And the relevance often makes itself apparent.)
Of course he cocked his head, scuewed his eyes and asked, "Why do you want to know?"
Anywho, through the course of his response, he told me about a class he took. He says, there's about three major branches of mathmatics, one of which is called, "topology." He said basically that this math focuses on spaces (gee, I wonder if that struck a cord with me) and how these spaces can be measured, and thus how these spaces can be created.
He said he loved this type of math because his relationship to numbers is very spatial. He loved building these possible shapes in his head and turning them about (again in his head) to look at them in different ways. He mentioned that one day in class, his professor wrote an equation on the board that was different that he'd encountered. As he processed in his mind the equation, he got stuck. The professor turned from the blackboard back to his students and laughed at seeing my office peer. My office peer's expression was that of someone who's head's been frozen from eating super cold ice cream too fast. The shape equated was impossible. There's no way to build the shape nor measure it. It's impossible.
It was at that point that my office peer said that he was done. He could not conceive of continuing with that branch. Though he loved shapes and their potential, a shape of no shape and no possible application was just too much. So, he decided to try his hand instead at tech comm. (This also has an interesting story attached, but I'll try to finish this story first.)
So of course this concept of ‘topology’ becomes an immediate interest. For two reasons: 1. a study of spaces, which fits directly with much of the research I’m doing regarding these various poetry manuscripts but also this work I’m doing with Beckett (and even Paul Auster); and, 2. this impossible space that’s ‘created’ nonetheless (called, something like, ‘projected plane’) is impossible to ignore as a possible means of research and ability to attempt to articulate the ‘void’ in Beckett’s work. Very exciting.
Anyway, with regard to the other story about my office peer trying his hand at tech comm (this is also too interesting to pass up): he says, unfortunately for him (or fortunately, however you look at it), he comes from a long line of people who constantly try their hand at new things. He says his dad was a (and I forget all the careers, not jobs, he listed) lawyer, a real estate agent, a teacher, etc. His mom was a lawyer, a court stenographer, a counselor, a history teacher, a counselor again, and now an English teacher. I’m sure I missed a few. I was amazed because these were whole careers, not just jobs that one usually moves around it.
So he says he blames his background for his not really knowing what he wants to do, because his parents have always been of the mindset that you should always do exactly what you want to do. How interesting is that?
Anyway, thought I’d share.
I also had an awesome lunch with a kindred spirit at work. V asked to have lunch with me because he’d been craving a pure intellectual discussion at work. I think it was good for me. I haven’t been able to talk to him for some time. It was awesome because he said to me that I wasn’t allowed to let tech comm destroy me creatively; that I did need to pursue (what he calls) my half baked ideas and allow them to fully cook. He’s asked that regardless of what I do, if I’ll let him help me sometimes in my research.
People amaze me sometimes. There are pockets of moments. We just have to keep searching and hope we recognize them.
It always makes me feel like I need to get my real work done (not tech comm stuff) and need to just keep going, keep pursuing. Keep writing.
This weekend I hope to get my research proposal on Beckett done, and maybe have some time to work on some manuscript work.
Anyway, keep on trucking all you all.
:0)
~J
However, there were some actual awesome things today. First, the guy who sits in the cubicle next to me is fun. He's a mathematician and philosopher. I know, awesome right. He'd been just moments away from a master's thesis and suddenly found the thesis ridiculous and circular; not that his work was ridiculous but that the process and audience was ridiculous. The project is endless, and this endless aspect was just not worth pursuing for him.
It's great for me because that means a great mind I can tap. He's about the same age, maybe a bit older than me, but I can ask him smart things and he knows what I'm talking about, and has his own very distinct interest I can tap. Very cool for me.
And as some of you know, I'm working on a manuscript (one of the many I always seem to be playing with) about space. I don't know whether this is the same one with which I'm trying to articulate triangulated space and the repercusions of it, but I've been intrigued in the last year or so with spaces. I've asked some random questions with this regard; some of you have been kind enough to share and attempt to answer my questions. Some very well. (Thank you.) For example, "How does music function spatially in terms of physical body?" or "How does restraint function spatially in music?" As well as some questions regarding color and music, space and color, and etc.
I received an amazing response to the "How does restraint function spatially in music?" I'm still thinking through some of it. Very exciting. I still don't know how or in what form much of this will take on the page. But I'm very excited about it.
Anyway, so being as this cubical neighbor has an extensive math and philosophy background, you can see why I might be giddy about such a proposition. So today, I asked him if he'd worked with number theory. (Random question with potentially no result, however, I just try to ask the questions that come to me. I don't know their relevance if I don't ask. And the relevance often makes itself apparent.)
Of course he cocked his head, scuewed his eyes and asked, "Why do you want to know?"
Anywho, through the course of his response, he told me about a class he took. He says, there's about three major branches of mathmatics, one of which is called, "topology." He said basically that this math focuses on spaces (gee, I wonder if that struck a cord with me) and how these spaces can be measured, and thus how these spaces can be created.
He said he loved this type of math because his relationship to numbers is very spatial. He loved building these possible shapes in his head and turning them about (again in his head) to look at them in different ways. He mentioned that one day in class, his professor wrote an equation on the board that was different that he'd encountered. As he processed in his mind the equation, he got stuck. The professor turned from the blackboard back to his students and laughed at seeing my office peer. My office peer's expression was that of someone who's head's been frozen from eating super cold ice cream too fast. The shape equated was impossible. There's no way to build the shape nor measure it. It's impossible.
It was at that point that my office peer said that he was done. He could not conceive of continuing with that branch. Though he loved shapes and their potential, a shape of no shape and no possible application was just too much. So, he decided to try his hand instead at tech comm. (This also has an interesting story attached, but I'll try to finish this story first.)
So of course this concept of ‘topology’ becomes an immediate interest. For two reasons: 1. a study of spaces, which fits directly with much of the research I’m doing regarding these various poetry manuscripts but also this work I’m doing with Beckett (and even Paul Auster); and, 2. this impossible space that’s ‘created’ nonetheless (called, something like, ‘projected plane’) is impossible to ignore as a possible means of research and ability to attempt to articulate the ‘void’ in Beckett’s work. Very exciting.
Anyway, with regard to the other story about my office peer trying his hand at tech comm (this is also too interesting to pass up): he says, unfortunately for him (or fortunately, however you look at it), he comes from a long line of people who constantly try their hand at new things. He says his dad was a (and I forget all the careers, not jobs, he listed) lawyer, a real estate agent, a teacher, etc. His mom was a lawyer, a court stenographer, a counselor, a history teacher, a counselor again, and now an English teacher. I’m sure I missed a few. I was amazed because these were whole careers, not just jobs that one usually moves around it.
So he says he blames his background for his not really knowing what he wants to do, because his parents have always been of the mindset that you should always do exactly what you want to do. How interesting is that?
Anyway, thought I’d share.
I also had an awesome lunch with a kindred spirit at work. V asked to have lunch with me because he’d been craving a pure intellectual discussion at work. I think it was good for me. I haven’t been able to talk to him for some time. It was awesome because he said to me that I wasn’t allowed to let tech comm destroy me creatively; that I did need to pursue (what he calls) my half baked ideas and allow them to fully cook. He’s asked that regardless of what I do, if I’ll let him help me sometimes in my research.
People amaze me sometimes. There are pockets of moments. We just have to keep searching and hope we recognize them.
It always makes me feel like I need to get my real work done (not tech comm stuff) and need to just keep going, keep pursuing. Keep writing.
This weekend I hope to get my research proposal on Beckett done, and maybe have some time to work on some manuscript work.
Anyway, keep on trucking all you all.
:0)
~J
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
ah work...
At work again tonight, it's 10:24pm and it looks to be a long night. And training in the morning I can't miss, and a night class in the evening to teach. Ah.
DooBeeDooBeeDo-Do
Got's to love, what's I do's.
:-)
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Sunday, February 3, 2008
shed
I do, however, really enjoy this shed. I wouldn't go inside it necessarily; but the textures and colors are really great. Part of this shed was pictured earlier (below).
a story
My aunt used to own a appliance repair store. They'd fix washers and dryers. As you could imagine, after several years of such work, they had a great many washing machine and dryer carcusses. So my aunt's boyfriend of about 25 years or more decides the best thing to do with these metal boxes is to fill them with cement and make a house.
So he and my aunt bought a large chunk of desert a few miles from a man-made lake. Yep, the same man-made lake under which is my great grandfathers ranch and orchards, and the field my grandfather used to herd sheep.
Al built the walls by lining these metal cubes in a line, leaving room for door ways, in the shape of a square, or at least as close as he could manage. Then, he set to filling this line of washers and dryers with cement, which you might guess is not an easy task considering you need two major things for this to happen. Cement mix and a great deal of water. Water which is a wee bit hard to come by in a desert. Especially, on land that hasn't been developed, which means no water, no sewer, no electricity, etc. Brilliant, eh?
Oh, yeah, and did I mention no roads. So, if it rains, you're stuck. And, it's the type of desert where the sun bakes the dirt soft and plentiful; the kind that kicks up a wind tunnel when you sneeze.
The bags of mix are easy. He manages to get a generator, which he manages to haul out the the piece of land; and he manages to get a mixer. I'm not sure how he managed the water, but who knows.
Regardless, he manages the project, at least the first floor of walls. After two stacks upward, he spaces a few here and there for windows. They use empty glass bottles for the windows, which cement between.
And remember the soft sand. And the lack of an foundation.
Well, after starting a second floor, which is basically a giant studio, he realized something important. Cement is heavy.
The giant washing machine and glass and cement house sinks.
Anyway, I haven't heard much about the project for some time; at least not this project.
The other project is a house they've built on some prime real estate. This one has water and gas and sewer, etc.
The house is pretty nice. However.
As an additional touch, Al’s taken the concept of the washing machine house to this project as well. The house is normal. But the entrance gate, and the surrounding gate, is made of, that’s right, washing machines and dryers full of cement.
So he and my aunt bought a large chunk of desert a few miles from a man-made lake. Yep, the same man-made lake under which is my great grandfathers ranch and orchards, and the field my grandfather used to herd sheep.
Al built the walls by lining these metal cubes in a line, leaving room for door ways, in the shape of a square, or at least as close as he could manage. Then, he set to filling this line of washers and dryers with cement, which you might guess is not an easy task considering you need two major things for this to happen. Cement mix and a great deal of water. Water which is a wee bit hard to come by in a desert. Especially, on land that hasn't been developed, which means no water, no sewer, no electricity, etc. Brilliant, eh?
Oh, yeah, and did I mention no roads. So, if it rains, you're stuck. And, it's the type of desert where the sun bakes the dirt soft and plentiful; the kind that kicks up a wind tunnel when you sneeze.
The bags of mix are easy. He manages to get a generator, which he manages to haul out the the piece of land; and he manages to get a mixer. I'm not sure how he managed the water, but who knows.
Regardless, he manages the project, at least the first floor of walls. After two stacks upward, he spaces a few here and there for windows. They use empty glass bottles for the windows, which cement between.
And remember the soft sand. And the lack of an foundation.
Well, after starting a second floor, which is basically a giant studio, he realized something important. Cement is heavy.
The giant washing machine and glass and cement house sinks.
Anyway, I haven't heard much about the project for some time; at least not this project.
The other project is a house they've built on some prime real estate. This one has water and gas and sewer, etc.
The house is pretty nice. However.
As an additional touch, Al’s taken the concept of the washing machine house to this project as well. The house is normal. But the entrance gate, and the surrounding gate, is made of, that’s right, washing machines and dryers full of cement.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
E268 today & work this week
Work has been hellish and will prove to be so for some time to come. Alas, three large projects at one time. Two sw manuals of about 400 pages, one that's a bit smaller but equally intensive, and a partridge and a pear tree.
.
Had to work all weekend, plus a 12 hour day yesterday. Yey for 25 hours in 3 days? Blah. Hard especially with teaching and 'trying' to get my own writing done.
.
Anyway, class seemed to go fairly well today, despite the low attendance, which in part was due greatly to the snow. (I don't know if I've seen it snow like this before here; in high school there were a few days of heavy snow. But the high school I went to wasn't big on cancelling school, regardless of weather or reason.)
.
I was feeling uneasy about the class and because of the over-worked brain, and because I was just straight tired, I took a nap when I got home this evening. Gives my brain a chance to chill and process, which helps me think through things and see them differently. Anywho, my dream made me feel better about the class. In it, I kept hurrying to tell them more, and no matter how much I'd tell the students, I never felt like I really covered what I needed to; like I never could explain anything to the degree I wanted or needed to. At one point in the dream, one of my non-traditional students looks at me and says, "We understand things more than you think we do; you are clearer than you think you are."
.
And I woke up. I was still uneasy, just as I was uneasy at the end of the dream right before the student spoke, and I was still processing what she said. But I think she's right. It's exactly what T keeps saying to me anyway. Just do your thing and stop worrying about it. Those who need to understand will; and those who don't care, well...they're not your problem.
.
I know the problem is that I just care too much. I want everyone to know or understand what I know. I like this writing and literature stuff too much.
.
Regarding work, I'm seriously thinking there needs to be a change. These late hours are not alright. These small deadlines are not alright. These multiple projects are not alright. T keeps telling me to "just do what you can" and I'm telling you, this is more than I can. This is taking up my evenings, which is supposed to be for writing and prepping for classes; and it's bleeding into my weekends, which are straight off limits.
.
We're looking at a change. We'll see what happens. I don't want to mention it to anyone yet. I don't want to jinx it like I did with the Summer Seminar on Joyce.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
New Blog?
I'm thinking heavily about starting a new blog for my English 268, British Literature Survey, class. There's only so much I can cover in a single class, and I have the sinking feeling the students have absolutely no clue what I'm talking about. I'm pretty sure doing a blog where I can cover more detail, and answer questions, might be helpful.
I get concerned sometimes about the depth of a normal high school class, or more so, to what depth students actually absorb a normal high school class; and at what depth, normal college classes actually go into.
I spoke to H this Thursday, and she has a great philosophy when it comes to Survey courses. According to her, and I'd agree, Survey courses are the English department's bread and butter. Which makes perfect sense, really, because students in multiple majors take the survey courses to get credit for graduation. It's one of those area classes. If students love the class and the reading, there's potential for that student to shift their major over to English. She also said, there's been a great decrease in the number of students in the English department; which is to say, there's be a decrease in the number of people majoring in English.
It's not so much that, from a business perspective, I want to increase the number of English Majors. It makes sense. But my desire is to have people love and understand literature as much as I do, or at least a fraction of it. Literature permeates everywhere. There are references everywhere. Which also makes sense if you think about it; after all, where do the English majors go when they graduate? writing TV shows for adults and children; bands; newspapers; magazines; advertisement; etc; etc.
I actually think a great number enter the TV market for cartoons. It's super slick. Just watch a few kid's cartoons, and you'll see what I mean. There's an Arthur cartoon (that, crazy ant-eater kid) all about a Red Wheelbarrow, which is William Carlos Williams over-ly talked about poem. [I say overly talked about, because so much of this work is brilliant, and that poem doesn't even come close to his best works.] Also, the cartoon, "The Kid Next Door." This cartoon is amazing for so many reasons. I'm convinced the writers are genius. The cartoon is riddled with literary allusion and political commentary. Amazing. And there's countless others.
Anyway, literary references are everywhere. And having the tools to recognize the references provide you tools for understanding our culture, which is amazingly layered. [Apparently, "amazing" is the word for the day.]
That being said, I think the Brit Lit focused blog might be helpful to these students. I don't want to water down the reading. I think reading is important. I don't want to water it down either, because I already know they won't do a majority of it. That's their decision. But for the few that do, I want them to get the most out of the class as possible. And in order to get the most out of any class, there's something beyond just a grade that one seeks.
Anyway, we'll see how it goes. I'm still pondering exactly what and how much to cover on the Brit Lit focused blog. But, I see the necessity, after all, I relied on a few of my upper classmen to help close read a poem on Thursday with meager results. Which to me means, I need to step back a bit and re-evaluate what I need to do to get the class where it needs to be.
Well, we'll just wait and see.
I get concerned sometimes about the depth of a normal high school class, or more so, to what depth students actually absorb a normal high school class; and at what depth, normal college classes actually go into.
I spoke to H this Thursday, and she has a great philosophy when it comes to Survey courses. According to her, and I'd agree, Survey courses are the English department's bread and butter. Which makes perfect sense, really, because students in multiple majors take the survey courses to get credit for graduation. It's one of those area classes. If students love the class and the reading, there's potential for that student to shift their major over to English. She also said, there's been a great decrease in the number of students in the English department; which is to say, there's be a decrease in the number of people majoring in English.
It's not so much that, from a business perspective, I want to increase the number of English Majors. It makes sense. But my desire is to have people love and understand literature as much as I do, or at least a fraction of it. Literature permeates everywhere. There are references everywhere. Which also makes sense if you think about it; after all, where do the English majors go when they graduate? writing TV shows for adults and children; bands; newspapers; magazines; advertisement; etc; etc.
I actually think a great number enter the TV market for cartoons. It's super slick. Just watch a few kid's cartoons, and you'll see what I mean. There's an Arthur cartoon (that, crazy ant-eater kid) all about a Red Wheelbarrow, which is William Carlos Williams over-ly talked about poem. [I say overly talked about, because so much of this work is brilliant, and that poem doesn't even come close to his best works.] Also, the cartoon, "The Kid Next Door." This cartoon is amazing for so many reasons. I'm convinced the writers are genius. The cartoon is riddled with literary allusion and political commentary. Amazing. And there's countless others.
Anyway, literary references are everywhere. And having the tools to recognize the references provide you tools for understanding our culture, which is amazingly layered. [Apparently, "amazing" is the word for the day.]
That being said, I think the Brit Lit focused blog might be helpful to these students. I don't want to water down the reading. I think reading is important. I don't want to water it down either, because I already know they won't do a majority of it. That's their decision. But for the few that do, I want them to get the most out of the class as possible. And in order to get the most out of any class, there's something beyond just a grade that one seeks.
Anyway, we'll see how it goes. I'm still pondering exactly what and how much to cover on the Brit Lit focused blog. But, I see the necessity, after all, I relied on a few of my upper classmen to help close read a poem on Thursday with meager results. Which to me means, I need to step back a bit and re-evaluate what I need to do to get the class where it needs to be.
Well, we'll just wait and see.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
The Kingdom & Forgiveness
Last night, when we went over to my parents house for dinner & movie like we do every weekend, my brother selected the movie The Kingdom. I knew what I was in for, but I didn't say anything. I don't like veto-ing too many movies; besides, I don't like admitting I'm such a wimp. But, ugh...it was exactly as I thought it'd be. It was just too much.
It silenced me again.
The intro was amazing. The opening setup I'd love to show in class; it was extremely well done. But the movie itself... for one, much of the filming was done just like those Jason Borne movies, all shaky and faux amateur-ish. Makes me nauseous. But that wasn't the whole of it.
I don't even think I can explain what bothers me so much about these types of movies. I think it's partly the aspect of real life that's portrayed. This crap isn't fake to me. All the people involved; all those killed, regardless of reason or purpose. And I don't mean, "Oh, those terrorists; how dare they?!" I mean the death on both sides. The injustice on both sides, and worse yet, that each side acts with such a sense of justice. It's a disgusting circle. And these movies make me feel so helpless in the exchange. And at the same time, I feel like these movies also exploit the situation, the fear, etc. I get that the movie is trying to make a statement; but to what end? What can a piece of Hollywood film really do?
There can be nothing; there can be no hope, without forgiveness. And how can there be forgiveness when the blood is so fresh; when the anger and pain and hatred are so deep?
It reminds me of I book I read some years ago called The Burden of Memory, The Muse of Forgiveness by Wole Soyinka. In it, he tries to discover a solution to all the pain and suffering caused by so many years of colonialism and the results of time after such a mining of culture, language, people. He writes, in the essay “Reparations, Truth, and Reconciliation”:
“When a people have been continuously brutalized, when the language of rulers is recognized only in the snarl of marauding beasts of prey and scavengers, the people begin to question, mistrust, and then shed their own humanity and, for sheer survival, themselves become predators on their own kind” (80).
I think this is an important statement; but, I think it’s more important again to distinguish that I’m not saying this statement applies to only one side or the other: it’s both and all. It’s also important to distinguish this isn’t a binary. It isn’t ‘us’ versus ‘them’; or ‘them’ versus ‘us.’ It’s ‘us’ and ‘us.’ As humans. As living beings.
And this statement applies in so many different ways. D, I know you understand this in a completely different and personal way. The way in which a victimized and hurt child might take snails and cover them in salt, or throw them one by one at passing cars. Empowered through the pain inflicted on another. No matter how small; no matter how trivial.
But it’s the same: the father in pain inflicting pain on the child; the child in pain inflicting pain on another child or living thing. I know this is how it was for me.
But I don’t know where forgiveness starts. It starts perhaps in somewhere equally painful; where the one in pain cannot take more and must forgive in order to heal. This is what sucks. How can you tell someone, “Yeah, you hurt now. No, hurting another won’t make you feel better; you’ll only feel better if you say you’re sorry to those you hurt; if you forgive those who hurt you.” It sounds ridiculous. It is ridiculous.
Soyinka has more to say on the issue. He says that Truth must be admitted. That is, what really happened. Full confession. Full admission. On both, on all, sides. But he continues:
“Truth alone is never enough to guarantee reconciliation. It has little to do with crime and punishment but with inventiveness—devising a social formula that would minister to the wrongs of dispossession on the one hand, chasten those who deviate from the humane communal order on the other, serve as a criterion for the future conduct of that society, even in times of stress and only then, heal. Memory—of what has been, of acts of commission or omission, of responsibility abdicated—affects the future conduct of power in any form. Failure to adopt some imaginative recognition of such a principle merely results in the enthronement of a political culture that appears to know no boundaries—the culture of impunity” (81-82).
What kills me about this is that it isn’t some strange or foreign concept. We’ve learned the same thing time and again throughout history, but we always fail to actually learn and understand what it means. Bottom line: we remember our past, which is oftentimes that factor that dooms us to repeat it.
You’ve heard the phrase before, “We must learn about our past, else we are doomed to repeat it.” However, this is a many formed thing. If we use that memory to remember the wrongs against us, from our past, we are doomed to repeat them. But also, if we don’t learn and concede to the wrongs we have done others in our past, we are doomed to repeat them.
It’s like world war one. Germany got its ass kicked. It had no choice but to concede to any and all demands made on it, no matter how ridiculous and harsh. The end of the war put Germany is such a strain that world war two resulted. I’m not saying that world war two was Germany’s doing; I’m saying that much of the damage done during world war one caused much of the spark and fodder for the second world war.
It’s not a “If they forgive us, then maybe I’ll forgive them” situation. Nor is it, a “Forgive us? Screw you, we did nothing wrong” situation.
It demands an amazing change in consciousness and perspective. An amazing ‘humanism’ that I think ‘we’ as humans are capable of, but I’m not sure how this can happen. So many of us would have to change so quickly.
And the worst part of this, even if/when this great change occurs, and some great people navigate and invent this peace, there will be those who condemn this change and there will be those who praise it for the wrong reasons. After all, even peace is considered ‘suspicious.’ In all too much doctrine, the ‘one’ who brings ‘great peace’ is called the ‘antichrist,’ which brings open a whole new can of worms.
I know people who are excited about that terrible crap going on in the world, because to them, the world is closer to its end; and to them, they are closer to entering the gates of heaven. I can’t believe that. I won’t believe that.
We need a strong dose of humanism; a mighty dose of humanism. And this dose requires more than its fair share of forgiveness. A willingness to forgive; but equally important, a willingness to take responsibility. Only then is true change possible.
How can we do this with more than words?
It silenced me again.
The intro was amazing. The opening setup I'd love to show in class; it was extremely well done. But the movie itself... for one, much of the filming was done just like those Jason Borne movies, all shaky and faux amateur-ish. Makes me nauseous. But that wasn't the whole of it.
I don't even think I can explain what bothers me so much about these types of movies. I think it's partly the aspect of real life that's portrayed. This crap isn't fake to me. All the people involved; all those killed, regardless of reason or purpose. And I don't mean, "Oh, those terrorists; how dare they?!" I mean the death on both sides. The injustice on both sides, and worse yet, that each side acts with such a sense of justice. It's a disgusting circle. And these movies make me feel so helpless in the exchange. And at the same time, I feel like these movies also exploit the situation, the fear, etc. I get that the movie is trying to make a statement; but to what end? What can a piece of Hollywood film really do?
There can be nothing; there can be no hope, without forgiveness. And how can there be forgiveness when the blood is so fresh; when the anger and pain and hatred are so deep?
It reminds me of I book I read some years ago called The Burden of Memory, The Muse of Forgiveness by Wole Soyinka. In it, he tries to discover a solution to all the pain and suffering caused by so many years of colonialism and the results of time after such a mining of culture, language, people. He writes, in the essay “Reparations, Truth, and Reconciliation”:
“When a people have been continuously brutalized, when the language of rulers is recognized only in the snarl of marauding beasts of prey and scavengers, the people begin to question, mistrust, and then shed their own humanity and, for sheer survival, themselves become predators on their own kind” (80).
I think this is an important statement; but, I think it’s more important again to distinguish that I’m not saying this statement applies to only one side or the other: it’s both and all. It’s also important to distinguish this isn’t a binary. It isn’t ‘us’ versus ‘them’; or ‘them’ versus ‘us.’ It’s ‘us’ and ‘us.’ As humans. As living beings.
And this statement applies in so many different ways. D, I know you understand this in a completely different and personal way. The way in which a victimized and hurt child might take snails and cover them in salt, or throw them one by one at passing cars. Empowered through the pain inflicted on another. No matter how small; no matter how trivial.
But it’s the same: the father in pain inflicting pain on the child; the child in pain inflicting pain on another child or living thing. I know this is how it was for me.
But I don’t know where forgiveness starts. It starts perhaps in somewhere equally painful; where the one in pain cannot take more and must forgive in order to heal. This is what sucks. How can you tell someone, “Yeah, you hurt now. No, hurting another won’t make you feel better; you’ll only feel better if you say you’re sorry to those you hurt; if you forgive those who hurt you.” It sounds ridiculous. It is ridiculous.
Soyinka has more to say on the issue. He says that Truth must be admitted. That is, what really happened. Full confession. Full admission. On both, on all, sides. But he continues:
“Truth alone is never enough to guarantee reconciliation. It has little to do with crime and punishment but with inventiveness—devising a social formula that would minister to the wrongs of dispossession on the one hand, chasten those who deviate from the humane communal order on the other, serve as a criterion for the future conduct of that society, even in times of stress and only then, heal. Memory—of what has been, of acts of commission or omission, of responsibility abdicated—affects the future conduct of power in any form. Failure to adopt some imaginative recognition of such a principle merely results in the enthronement of a political culture that appears to know no boundaries—the culture of impunity” (81-82).
What kills me about this is that it isn’t some strange or foreign concept. We’ve learned the same thing time and again throughout history, but we always fail to actually learn and understand what it means. Bottom line: we remember our past, which is oftentimes that factor that dooms us to repeat it.
You’ve heard the phrase before, “We must learn about our past, else we are doomed to repeat it.” However, this is a many formed thing. If we use that memory to remember the wrongs against us, from our past, we are doomed to repeat them. But also, if we don’t learn and concede to the wrongs we have done others in our past, we are doomed to repeat them.
It’s like world war one. Germany got its ass kicked. It had no choice but to concede to any and all demands made on it, no matter how ridiculous and harsh. The end of the war put Germany is such a strain that world war two resulted. I’m not saying that world war two was Germany’s doing; I’m saying that much of the damage done during world war one caused much of the spark and fodder for the second world war.
It’s not a “If they forgive us, then maybe I’ll forgive them” situation. Nor is it, a “Forgive us? Screw you, we did nothing wrong” situation.
It demands an amazing change in consciousness and perspective. An amazing ‘humanism’ that I think ‘we’ as humans are capable of, but I’m not sure how this can happen. So many of us would have to change so quickly.
And the worst part of this, even if/when this great change occurs, and some great people navigate and invent this peace, there will be those who condemn this change and there will be those who praise it for the wrong reasons. After all, even peace is considered ‘suspicious.’ In all too much doctrine, the ‘one’ who brings ‘great peace’ is called the ‘antichrist,’ which brings open a whole new can of worms.
I know people who are excited about that terrible crap going on in the world, because to them, the world is closer to its end; and to them, they are closer to entering the gates of heaven. I can’t believe that. I won’t believe that.
We need a strong dose of humanism; a mighty dose of humanism. And this dose requires more than its fair share of forgiveness. A willingness to forgive; but equally important, a willingness to take responsibility. Only then is true change possible.
How can we do this with more than words?
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Friday, January 18, 2008
Syllabus done; One to go
I finally finished the syllabus for the British Literature Survey course I start teaching next Tuesday; I'm posting one of my favorite pictures of Beckett, taken by one John Minihan as a small celebration gesture. John Minihan is the man when it comes to Beckett photography.
I still have my Poetry Workshop syllabus to figure out, but that one's not as intensive. It's equally as fun, but it's a bit different.
Both classes will be intense, but brilliant.
I'm hoping to get a great deal of writing and reading done this semester, and I'm hoping I can figure out how to balance everything with work (at least better than I have been doing). Teaching is work, but it's different. It's like my writing and research; it's what I'm supposed to be doing. It has purpose. It has value to me. Work does not. It's meaningless; and I guess it's more meaningless because I don't place a great deal of value on it. Yet, I don't want to. I don't want to subtract from the worth I give my "real" work (my writing). Teaching lends to my writing; teaching results from my writing. This isn't to say my writing is didactic. I find no value in that. It's just to say, teaching flourishes for me because of my habit of writing and reading and research. It's a byproduct. But not some unpleasant toxic kind that you form a government policy over to have the seeping barrels of toxic goo sent to a large desert way out in the BF region of the world to store so it might leak into the ground water and cause three eyed fish, and large men with donut eating habits to watch over the sludge while their skinny old boss has his lacky Smithers....anyway.....that being said...Good Night.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Tea and the Interior
I really love some of the new tea I've been drinking, and here's one reason. Each tea bag has a little message on the little tag. Example: The delicious and brilliant message tonight:
"It's not life that matters, it's the courage that we bring to it."
Nice, eh? Very enjoyable. And the tea is brilliant as well; delicious and calming and it smells awesome.
Also, grabbed a book off my shelf I discovered. (Which is to say, I discovered the book. I purchased it a while back but had forgot about it til now.) And glancing through the first few pages discovered a slick set of lines that somehow feel well timed, in one way or another [D, I think you might agree]:
"The poem suggests a sense of elemental loneliness, as though the poet lived in some far wilderness rather than at the edge of a bustling, burgeoning city, and it leaves an aftertaste of sabi, a word that comes from sabishisa, loneliness. But sabi means far more than mere 'loneliness' as we think of it: it means essential aloneness. In Zen, sabi is a condition of utter individualization achieved through solitary, egoless meditation. There is no ego in the poem. No one's there. The reader must project him- or herself into the flow of language and image in order to experience the poetry firsthand" (Narrow Road to the Interior xvi).
Isn't that brilliant? I especially love the aspect, "There is no ego in the poem," because this is exactly how I feel about poetry when I'm working to achieve the poem's absolute potential, it's absolute integrity. It's not about ego; it's something more and less at the same time. It's refreshing to see it written somewhere. Refreshing to have a slight glimmer of where I need to explore to discover just how far my writing needs to continue. I don't mean this in terms of a progression, but rather as, again, an opening up. A means of unleashing absolute potential. Not the flower, but it's fragrance. Not the pink of the petal, but the blend of shadow and brilliant light, the space between which absolute being is possible. The bend, the bow, the void; yes, we're back to that. It's in that space that actuality is possible. The poem as more than poem. The image as more than poem. The being-ness. A glimpse of absolute like a drop of dew frozen.
"It's not life that matters, it's the courage that we bring to it."
Nice, eh? Very enjoyable. And the tea is brilliant as well; delicious and calming and it smells awesome.
Also, grabbed a book off my shelf I discovered. (Which is to say, I discovered the book. I purchased it a while back but had forgot about it til now.) And glancing through the first few pages discovered a slick set of lines that somehow feel well timed, in one way or another [D, I think you might agree]:
"The poem suggests a sense of elemental loneliness, as though the poet lived in some far wilderness rather than at the edge of a bustling, burgeoning city, and it leaves an aftertaste of sabi, a word that comes from sabishisa, loneliness. But sabi means far more than mere 'loneliness' as we think of it: it means essential aloneness. In Zen, sabi is a condition of utter individualization achieved through solitary, egoless meditation. There is no ego in the poem. No one's there. The reader must project him- or herself into the flow of language and image in order to experience the poetry firsthand" (Narrow Road to the Interior xvi).
Isn't that brilliant? I especially love the aspect, "There is no ego in the poem," because this is exactly how I feel about poetry when I'm working to achieve the poem's absolute potential, it's absolute integrity. It's not about ego; it's something more and less at the same time. It's refreshing to see it written somewhere. Refreshing to have a slight glimmer of where I need to explore to discover just how far my writing needs to continue. I don't mean this in terms of a progression, but rather as, again, an opening up. A means of unleashing absolute potential. Not the flower, but it's fragrance. Not the pink of the petal, but the blend of shadow and brilliant light, the space between which absolute being is possible. The bend, the bow, the void; yes, we're back to that. It's in that space that actuality is possible. The poem as more than poem. The image as more than poem. The being-ness. A glimpse of absolute like a drop of dew frozen.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Jonny Boxhead
Put 'em back inside,
Mr Jack Mr Jack
Put 'em back
Put 'em back
my head is open, empty
save for this spring sprung
I'll not fall
I'll not fall for Mr. Jack
come back
come back
back/the flap
it's cold in here
it's cold in there
Mr Jack Mr Jack
put me back
I'll be seeing you, Mr Jack.
Following you, Mr Jack.
You've left the flap
wide open
I can't find
my way back
Mr Jack
Mr Jack
put me back
Sunday, January 13, 2008
British Lit Survey
Working on getting my syllabi together for the British Lit Survey course I'm teaching and the Poetry workshop course as well.The Brit Lit Survey syllabus is a bit more intensive to map out because of the logical progression skeleton I'd like to have. If I set this right, everything will fall into place. I'm going to enjoy this class quite a bit.
The Workshop should be awesome. It usually is. This semester I'm focusing quite a bit on narrative and how narrative is created in a manuscript. However, narrative does not imply an "I" that permeates the text and dictates the "story." It's something very much other. We're also looking at several works that maintain this odd sort of narrative, while at the same time questioning what poetry is and how poetry functions. Is poetry necessarily this thing written in verse, or is it something other? Can it disguise itself as prose, as fiction, as non-fiction? It should be fun, and also has interesting ramifications on the manuscripts I hope to be working on in full force during that time.
Anyway, just thought I'd let you know what I was up to. This break has gone too fast; it always does.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
I Am Legend
Finished (and yet didn't finish) reading I Am Legend last night. I say finished because I did, and yet I say didn't finish because the book I Am Legend consists of several stories, of which "I Am Legend" is one.
So, I finished the story, but not the book. Don't know that I want to finish the rest of the book. I'm not really interested right now. The stories read like those stories you see on Tales from the Crypt. Just not my cup of tea right now.
I did however read the story following "I Am Legend" that my brother recommended. This story was called "Buried Talent" and was exceptionally bizarre; it was about some random dude in a wrinkled suit that goes to the ping pong ball and fish bowl booth at the fair. I'll leave it at that for those of you who haven't read it.
Regarding "I Am Legend": I didn't know what to really feel about this story. I'm not going to go into elaborate detail about the story because it frustrates me when people ruin books and movies. They always say something like, "Oh, that book is great, the guy [fill in the blank here] in the end." Or, "Are you to the part yet where the kid dies?" Or, "You probably won't see it so...[elaborate retelling of story complete with sound effects]." Or, "I couldn't believe she died at the end." Or, etc...
I'm still trying to deal with accidently finding out what happens at the end of A Tale of Two Cities. I was flipping through the channels, stopped on one station for about 10 seconds, but that was all it took. It was one of those movies of teenage angst, slightly old school, which is to say a late 80s if not early 90s take (shoot, it could have been older; I don't know). It was one of those moments when the bad ass kid stands up one day in the classroom and spouts his knowledge making you feel all hunky dory about knowledge's affect on roudy youth. So, this dude says it; yep, says exactly in a small sentence fragment exactly what happens at the end of A Tale of Two Cities. I still haven't gotten over it, because unfortunately, when it comes to books especially, I remember everything.
I guess that goes for movies to. We used to watch a ton of movies as kids, so even now when T filps through the channels, I can spot the movie from a 3 second flicker and tell him what the movie is, who is in it, and whether it's worth watching.
Anyway, so I'll leave my conclusion of "I Am Legend" at this. The story seems to me an odd retelling of Albert Camus' The Stranger. Very bizarre take on it, but still The Stranger nonetheless. (There might be a little of Camus' The Plague thrown in for good measure; but that might be another discussion.) Hands down, The Stranger is better. But kodos to this random and bizarre take on this classic work of existentialism.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Barnes and Nobles Raid
Went to Barnes and Nobles after church yesterday. I'd accumulated quite a stack of gift cards so I thought it might be time to spend them. I found quite a treasure. I had originally gone there to check if they had any nice new journals, but I didn't find any I liked. It took a bit, but I found some awesome things.
First of all, I hadn't realized Sherman Alexie had published anything recently. He had, so I grabbed Flight. I checked online last night and apparently there's one other he's published recently called, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. I might order that soon; if I didn't already.
Also, I found a new translation of Stéphane Mallarmé's prose, Divagations. Oh, boy, was I excited. It looks like there's a bunch of stuff I've never read in it. Can't wait to crack that sucker open.
Also, found Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake at a delectable $7 for a hardback. Oooo-wee. Jodi excited, I tell you what. I've really really enjoyed Margaret Atwood in the past but haven't indulged in her too much because I'm usually in the middle of a semester or preparing for some paper.
Oh, and I found a hardback of Neil Gaiman's Anasi Boys, which was also in the clearance. Yes, sir-rie.
I grabbed the last book of Paul Auster's I haven't purchased yet; the rest are coming via mail. This one is Moon Palace. Actually, I think I have one more after these that I need to get (Oracle), but I figure the other several will keep me busy for at least a few weeks.
Also found a book of Edgar Allen Poe's prose. I know this one seems random but is connected to the Paul Auster interest.
Also found a couple interesting and random books. One called The Reader: a novel by Bernhard Schlink. I haven't heard of this writer nor his book, but the title caught my eye, understandably. And the back description only made matters worse:
"Hailed for its coiled eroticism and moral claim it makes upon its reader, this mesmerizing novel is a story of love and secrets, horror and compassion, unfolding against the haunted landscape of postwar Germany.
"When he falls ill on his way home from school, fifteen-year-old Michael Berg is rescued by Hanna, a woman twice his age. In time she becomes his lover. She enthralls him with her passion, but puzzles him with her odd silences. The she inexplicably disappears.
"When Michael next sees her, he is a young law student and Hanna is on trial for a hideous crime. But as he watches her refuse to defend herself, Michael gradually realizes that his former lover may be guarding a secret she considered more shameful than murder."
I'm not sure about the last two paragraphs, but the first one has me intrigued beyond measure. Except maybe for the "coiled eroticism"; that part makes me want to cover the back cover with my hand over that part when I'm reading it. But, the reader/writer/narrator connection is too interesting not to read, as it reminds me of Whitman and has much to do with my research on Beckett, and my manuscripts as well.
This also interests me because of the possible connection to Postwar Germany, which also plays into my research in various ways.
Also found another random one that seems interesting. This one is called red earth and pouring rain by Vikram Chandra. The title for one is really awesome. Hints to me of the poetic language that might be in the book, and part of the back is interesting: "an eighteenth-century warrior-poet (now reincarnated as a typewriting monkey)..." Already reminds me of an episode of Futurama; if you know Futurama, you know what I'm talking about, hat-wearing genius monkey and all.
Also, I found a book by Anton Chekhov that I wasn't aware of, not that I'm overly familiar with his work, because I'm not. This one is called Sakhalin Island and is apparently travel non-fiction written by Chekhov when he was 30. The back describes it better than I can; especially as I haven't read the book yet:
"In 1890, the thirty-year-old Chekhov, already knowing that he was ill with tuberculosis, undertook an ardous eleven-week journey from Moscow across Siberia to the penal colony on the island of Sakhalin.
"Highly valuable both as a detailed description of the Tsarist system of penal servitude and as an insight into Chekhov's motiviations and objectives for visiting the colony and writing the expose, Sakhalin Island is a haunting work which had a huge impact both on Chekhov's career and on Russian society."
I'm intrigued in this work also because of the research I'm doing for the first section of my thesis.
All in all, makes me eager and excited to finish reading I am Legend; but at the same time, I want to take my time through The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly. I started reading this yesterday after finishing The Brooklyn Follies, and oh boy, it's amazing. I plan on buying another copy soon and sending it to an unsuspecting individual; maybe several copies to several unsuspecting people. Yeah, that good.
Anyway, hopefully I can indulge for at least another week. However, I'm wanting to finish figuring out my classes soon. I'm super excited about that too. Can't wait. Seriously.
First of all, I hadn't realized Sherman Alexie had published anything recently. He had, so I grabbed Flight. I checked online last night and apparently there's one other he's published recently called, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. I might order that soon; if I didn't already.
Also, I found a new translation of Stéphane Mallarmé's prose, Divagations. Oh, boy, was I excited. It looks like there's a bunch of stuff I've never read in it. Can't wait to crack that sucker open.
Also, found Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake at a delectable $7 for a hardback. Oooo-wee. Jodi excited, I tell you what. I've really really enjoyed Margaret Atwood in the past but haven't indulged in her too much because I'm usually in the middle of a semester or preparing for some paper.
Oh, and I found a hardback of Neil Gaiman's Anasi Boys, which was also in the clearance. Yes, sir-rie.
I grabbed the last book of Paul Auster's I haven't purchased yet; the rest are coming via mail. This one is Moon Palace. Actually, I think I have one more after these that I need to get (Oracle), but I figure the other several will keep me busy for at least a few weeks.
Also found a book of Edgar Allen Poe's prose. I know this one seems random but is connected to the Paul Auster interest.
Also found a couple interesting and random books. One called The Reader: a novel by Bernhard Schlink. I haven't heard of this writer nor his book, but the title caught my eye, understandably. And the back description only made matters worse:
"Hailed for its coiled eroticism and moral claim it makes upon its reader, this mesmerizing novel is a story of love and secrets, horror and compassion, unfolding against the haunted landscape of postwar Germany.
"When he falls ill on his way home from school, fifteen-year-old Michael Berg is rescued by Hanna, a woman twice his age. In time she becomes his lover. She enthralls him with her passion, but puzzles him with her odd silences. The she inexplicably disappears.
"When Michael next sees her, he is a young law student and Hanna is on trial for a hideous crime. But as he watches her refuse to defend herself, Michael gradually realizes that his former lover may be guarding a secret she considered more shameful than murder."
I'm not sure about the last two paragraphs, but the first one has me intrigued beyond measure. Except maybe for the "coiled eroticism"; that part makes me want to cover the back cover with my hand over that part when I'm reading it. But, the reader/writer/narrator connection is too interesting not to read, as it reminds me of Whitman and has much to do with my research on Beckett, and my manuscripts as well.
This also interests me because of the possible connection to Postwar Germany, which also plays into my research in various ways.
Also found another random one that seems interesting. This one is called red earth and pouring rain by Vikram Chandra. The title for one is really awesome. Hints to me of the poetic language that might be in the book, and part of the back is interesting: "an eighteenth-century warrior-poet (now reincarnated as a typewriting monkey)..." Already reminds me of an episode of Futurama; if you know Futurama, you know what I'm talking about, hat-wearing genius monkey and all.
Also, I found a book by Anton Chekhov that I wasn't aware of, not that I'm overly familiar with his work, because I'm not. This one is called Sakhalin Island and is apparently travel non-fiction written by Chekhov when he was 30. The back describes it better than I can; especially as I haven't read the book yet:
"In 1890, the thirty-year-old Chekhov, already knowing that he was ill with tuberculosis, undertook an ardous eleven-week journey from Moscow across Siberia to the penal colony on the island of Sakhalin.
"Highly valuable both as a detailed description of the Tsarist system of penal servitude and as an insight into Chekhov's motiviations and objectives for visiting the colony and writing the expose, Sakhalin Island is a haunting work which had a huge impact both on Chekhov's career and on Russian society."
I'm intrigued in this work also because of the research I'm doing for the first section of my thesis.
All in all, makes me eager and excited to finish reading I am Legend; but at the same time, I want to take my time through The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly. I started reading this yesterday after finishing The Brooklyn Follies, and oh boy, it's amazing. I plan on buying another copy soon and sending it to an unsuspecting individual; maybe several copies to several unsuspecting people. Yeah, that good.
Anyway, hopefully I can indulge for at least another week. However, I'm wanting to finish figuring out my classes soon. I'm super excited about that too. Can't wait. Seriously.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Interesting timing
Yesterday there was an article on Yahoo.com's home page lamenting lack of sleep in youth, claiming lack of sleep as a newly found cause of diabetes. Sure, I don't doubt lack of sleep might affect the possibility of diabetes; however, being skeptical I must also note that lack of sleep also increases the chance of falling asleep at the wheel.
However, what I find really interesting is the timing of this article alerting the public to the dangers of lack of sleep, because today's article talks about a magical nasal spray that will eliminate sleepiness.
Lack of sleep = sleepiness = magical nasal spray = not sleepy = no diabetes?
Whatever, it's just funny; here's the article on lack of sleep = diabetes: http://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/92854.php
Here's the article on magical nasal spray: http://www.wired.com/science/discoveries/news/2007/12/sleep_deprivation?mbid=yhp
However, what I find really interesting is the timing of this article alerting the public to the dangers of lack of sleep, because today's article talks about a magical nasal spray that will eliminate sleepiness.
Lack of sleep = sleepiness = magical nasal spray = not sleepy = no diabetes?
Whatever, it's just funny; here's the article on lack of sleep = diabetes: http://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/92854.php
Here's the article on magical nasal spray: http://www.wired.com/science/discoveries/news/2007/12/sleep_deprivation?mbid=yhp
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
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