The Humanities Geek Test

Okay, I heisted this from The Archer Pelican and knew I had to post it when I read questions number 3 and 4. So we all know that my score is at least a 2.*

I also had to post it because my smart and beautiful niece is currently a student at Radford. One ignores these little cosmic things at one's peril.

Long years ago, when I was in college (at the Maryversity of Uniland), the Rice Purity Test was all the rage, and made even more popular by its emphasis on things done for/to/with members of the opposite sex. College students are basically lawyers at heart, so we all immediately glommed onto the idea that instead of promoting "purity," the test encouraged bi-curious experimentation. My D&D and Markland pals could be divvied up into a few groups:

1. Those who thought that any score above 50 was nothing all that remarkable;
2. Those who thought that any score below 80 was remarkable and vowed to keep theirs above that line;
3. Those who, upon taking the test the first time, devoted their off hours to lowering their scores;
4. Those who, upon learning the scores of some of our friends, vowed never to exchange any body fluid of any kind with them ever;
5. Those who thought the test was poorly constructed (see bi-curious leanings, supra)** and therefore disregarded the results;
6. Those who thought the test was puerile and disgarded it entirely.

Guess which one I was.

Oddly enough, I had dinner with a friend the other night where we discussed/fondly recalled our mispent college years which brought the RPT to mind. More synchronicity...

Maybe I'll print out the RPT before our next dinner so that we have some handy talking points. On the other hand, if I can convince him to put in a couple of hours discussing being and nothingness, I can improve my Humanities Geek Test score.

The difference between the RPT and the HGT is that for the Rice you start at 100 and subtract a point for every "yes." With the HGT, you start at 0 and add a point for every "yes." I would point out that #92 is not a yes/no question unless you chose to count French as a yes and American as a no. That's what I did.***

The Humanities Geek Test (by Laura Cubbison)

After T-bone posted the scientific nerd test, I started thinking about a test for eggheads (humanities geeks). Some of the questions on his test work for eggheads too, so I kept them in. I wrote most of the questions myself, and T-bone contributed a few more. Once I finished it, I figured up my score as 55.

I actually wrote this before the coffee house sketch on MST3K, but I did add two questions inspired by the sketch.

Laura

--EGGHEAD TEST--

For each of the following questions which you answer 'yes,' add one point to your score. Your total at the end is your percentage of eggheadedness.


1)Have you ever gone to a coffee house?
2)Have you ever talked about being and nothingness?
3)Have you ever been to a Pinter play?
4)Do you know who Pinter is?
5)Have you ever done #2 continuously for more than four hours?
6)At a coffee house?
7)Do you wear glasses?
8)Are your glasses shaped like John Lennon's?
9)Is your vision worse than 20/40?
10)Worse than 20/80?
11)Are you legally blind?
12)Have you ever taught freshmen?
13)Have you ever answered a question in lecture after a moment of silence?
14)Have you ever corrected a professor?
15)Have you ever refused to answer a hypothetical question?
16)Have you ever had to sit in a circle in a classroom?
17)Do you save your lecture notes in file folders?
18)Do you never sell back your textbooks?
19)Do you own a black turtleneck shirt?
20)Have you ever used a microfilm reader?
21)Have you ever used a microfiche reader?
22)Have you ever used gopher to retrieve James Joyce's _Ulysses_ for a research
paper?
23)Is your weight less than your IQ?
24)Have you ever done #2 on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday of the same weekend?
25)Have you ever done #2 past 4 a.m.?
26)Have you ever done #2 with someone of the opposite sex?
27)Have you ever done #2 for money?
28)Do you have own a copy of Thomas Pynchon's _Gravity's Rainbow_?
29)Have you read _Gravity's Rainbow_?
30)Did you understand _Gravity's Rainbow_?
31)Without Cliff's Notes?
32)Do you have a copy of the Riverside Shakespeare?
33)Do you have straight hair of all one length?
34)Does it fall in your face?
35)Do you admit to being a white male oppressor?
36)Do you express your rage against white male oppressors?
37)Can you define deconstructionism?
38)Do you know the Allegory of the Cave?
39)Do you know the words that follow "To be or not to be"?
40)Do you have them on a t-shirt?
41)Have you ever quoted Nietzsche?
42)Do you know who wrote _Waiting for Godot_?
43)Have you seen _Waiting for Godot_ in the theater?
44)Do you own more than $500 in books?
45)More than $1000?
46)More than $2500?
47)Do you stack your books in the corner of the room?
48)Have you ever seen a Merchant/Ivory film?
49)After you read the book?
50)Did you cry?
51)Did you fail the math portion of the GRE?
52)Have you ever done homework on a Friday night?
53)Have you ever pulled an all-nighter?
54)Have you ever written a short story?
55)Have you ever written poetry?
56)Done #55 in the last three months?
57)Done #55 in the last three weeks?
58)Have you ever memorized a poem?
59)Are your pants rolled up because they're too long?
60)Do you wear sandals?
61)Have you read _The Canterbury Tales_?
62)In middle English?
63)Have you ever attended a Shakespeare in the Park production?
64)Have you ever seen a Shakespeare play in a theater?
65)Have you ever entered a writing contest?
66)Did you win?
67)Can you identify Jacques Derrida?
68)Have you ever read anything by Derrida?
69)By Michel Foucault?
70)Have you ever used a colon in the title of a research paper?
71)Have you ever applied literary criticism to a television show?
72)Have you ever used inter-library loan?
73)Have you ever had to justify your field of study to your parents?
74)Have you ever used the word "hermeneutics" in a conversation?
75)Do you view participation in extracurricular activities as a violation of
your non-conformity?
76)Do you dress exactly like your non-conformist friends?
77)Do you know more than 1 modern language?
78)More than 2?
79)Do you know an ancient language no longer spoken?
80)Have you ever made a literary joke?
81)Did no one get it?
82)Have you ever attended a conference?
83)Did you read a paper?
84)Did you attend all the presentations?
85)Did you ask a question?
86)Have you ever used the word "verisimilitude"?
87)Can you count in Roman numerals?
88)Have you ever had a book review published?
89)In a newspaper?
90)Have you ever MSTed a textbook?
91)Have you ever attended a RenFest?
92)Do you pronounce "Sorbonne" like an American or a Frenchman?
93)Have you ever bought bottled water?
94)Have you ever drunk Perrier?
95)Is Guinness Stout the only beer you drink?
96)Did you major in philosophy or literature?
97)Have you ever read Beowulf?
98)In Old English?
99) Have you ever bought Let's Go Europe?
100)Do you apologize for the existence of Western Civilization?

* It is, in fact, a 44. Which I determined the easy way by setting up an Excel page with the questions and using 1 and 0 for my answers. One quick =sum later, I had my score. Sigh.

**Nowhere in the test does it mention using "supra" instead of "above" in casual writing. But that one's probably on the "Utter Preteniousness Test."

***David will probably disagree with me on what my answer to that one should be.

Voice Twin

Because I'm actually home this evening, I've been putting around and watching The War. One of the interviewees is a lady from Mobile named Katharine Phillips. I noticed her particularly because they cut to her at one point when I wasn't looking at the screen and I only heard her voice. She sounds exactly the way I remember, Oleta, my father's mother sounding. None of the other Mobileans sound like my family particuarly, but this lady does.

I haven't heard my grandmother's voice in quite a few years, but listening to Ms. Phillips (well, Mrs. Singer, really) brings her right back.

A tiny little gift.

And, interestingly, I think she has a very small connection to my family. Her father was principle of Murphy High School, which I think is where Dad went.

Where it comes from

I learned the last couplet from an essay that Jean Kerr wrote about teaching her children to like poetry, but here's the whole thing:

"Breathes there the man" - Sir Walter Scott from The Lay of the Last Minstrel

Breathes there the man with soul so dead
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned
From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonored , and unsung.

As I like it

I was discussing As You Like It with a friend last night and mentioned that it's my favorite Shakespeare. I, then, in order to ensure that I sounded like a complete idiot*, mispronounced Jaques's name, misattibuted my favorite speech, and misquoted said speech. I am going to English Major Hell, I just know it.

But, just to brighten an otherwise lack-luster Friday, here is the speech. Please, please, let me type it correctly.

Phebe, Act III, scene v**

Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me ere-while?
[...]
Think not I love him, though I ask for him;
'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well;
But what care I for words? yet words do well
When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.
It is a pretty youth: not very pretty:
But, sure, he's proud, and yet his pride becomes him:
He'll make a proper man: the best thing in him
Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue
Did make offense his eye did heal it up.
He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall:
His leg is but so so; and yet 'tis well.
There was a pretty redness in his lip,
A little riper and more lusty red
Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference
Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask.
There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him
In parcels as I did, would have gone near
To fall in love with him: but for my part,
I love him not nor hate him not; and yet
I have more cause to hate him than to love him:
For what had he to do to chide at me?
He said mine eyes were black and my hair black.
And, now I am remembere'd, scorn'd at me:
I marvel why I answer'd not again:
But that's all one; omittance is no quittance.
I'll write to him a very taunting letter,
And thou shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius?
[...]
I'll write it straight;
The matter's in my head and in my heart:
I will be bitter with him and passing short.
Go with me, Silvius.


*Rather than the partial idiot that I normally am when talking to him.

**Page 686 in The Big, Heavy Book of Shakespeare.

Probably a symptom of an aneurysm or something

It hurts when I cry. A lot. My own tears appear to be an irritant in my eyes and sometimes over the past several months I have randomly had stinging, burning, tearing eyes and I have no clue why. And if, for some reason, I am actually crying,* then whatever is making me cry very soon takes a backseat to how much my eyes hurt. Which should make me cry more, but really doesn't. It just hurts like the bejeebers.

My very cute and charming eye doctor (sigh, sigh, all sigh) had suggested that it might be dry eyes and that I try artificial tears. I did. Wow, did that hurt.

So is it just me?



*Not that I cry very often, but you know.

Flying Time

"Are you a Yankee's fan?"
"No, Baltimore."
"Baltimore? Geez, that's like being hit in the head with a crowbar once a day."


Twelve Angry Men by Reginald Rose

Postcard

It's not often that one's lovely autumn weekend in Maine can be summed up with a postcard, but this one could.

(Gorgeous picture of trees in a hundred shades of red, yellow, orange, and green. Mainly red.)

It doesn't really look like this because it's been such a dry summer that everything is more or less going from green to brown but I couldn't find any with a picture of a bunch of geeky G&S fans indoors on a lovely day singing at each other.

Stored Value

NSTIW,* at a Starbucks on the Jersey turnpike. I was just about to hand over my $2.09 (Grande Awake tea - may I put the bag in myself, please? Thanks!) to the nice barista when the young gentleman behind me said, more frantically that would seem necessary under the circumstances, "I'd like to pay for her drink!" And as he looked more like Ralph Rakestraw or Florian than Dick Deadeye or Gama, it was charming, not unnerving.

But.....Okaaaaaaay. I mean, I'm cute and all, but I'd been traveling since morning and looked like it and I'm, um, a little older than this guy. And it's a Starbucks on the turnpike, not a hotel bar, so I'm pretty much gonna pay and leave. As a potential pick up it seemed somewhat...unlikely.

As it turned out he wanted to use his Starbucks stored value card to pay for my drink so that I could give him the $2.09 in cash and he would have enough money to get off of the damned turnpike. His rental car was the first one he had gotten in a while that had no E-Z Pass and he was a tiny bit short of the exit fare.

And he was friendly and charming and seemed perfectly happy to engage me in conversation while we prepped our beverages and he pocketed my former money. I think he chose me because I am universally regarded as approachable and because I bought something reasonably cheap with cash. I think the frantic part came from his sudden realization that I was going to pay in cash, so - ding! - he could possibly turn his stored money into, shall we say, a more liquid asset*** and thus avoid having to resort to being the cutest panhandler in New Jersey that day, and that once it hit Starbucks' till he have no shot at it.

But guess which Kingston Trio song has been stuck in my head ever since?

Well, let me tell you of the story of a man named Charley
on a tragic and fateful day.
He put ten cents in his pocket, kissed his wife and family,
went to ride on the M.T.A.

Chorus:
Well, did he ever return? No, he never returned and
his fate is still unknown.
He may ride forever 'neath the streets of Boston.
He's the man who never returned.

Charlie handed in his dime at the Kendall Square Station
and he changed for Jamaica Plain.
When he got there the conductor told him, "One more nickel."
Charlie couldn't get off of that train.
(Chorus)

Now, all night long Charlie rides through the station,
crying, "What will become of me?!!
How can I afford to see my sister in Chelsea
or my cousin in Roxbury?"
(Chorus)

Charlie's wife goes down to the Sculley Square Station
every day at quarter past two,
And through the open window she hands Charlie a crabcake
as the train comes rumblin' through.
(Chorus)

Now, you citizens of Boston, don't you think it's a scandal
how the people have to pay and pay?
Fight the fare increase! Vote for George O'Brien!
Get poor Charlie off the M. T. A.
(Chorus)

*Oh, come now, you don't really need me to tell you that NSTIW stands for "No shit, there I was" do you? And, shirley**, you remember that NSTWW would be the plural.

**Oh, for pity's sake. Yes, I know that it's spelled "surely," but as everything is going to think that dumb joke, I might as well just spell that way. See? This is why my stories seem so long. Because you people keep interrupting me.

***Liquid asset. Get it? Liquid asset! I crack me up, I swear.

Inscribed

My friend Barry has co-edited a book of "bite-sized essays on language and languages" called The Five-Minute Linguist. (And, yea, it is alway and everywhere a good and joyful thing to have a friend represented on Amazon.com.)

I saw Barry this weekend in Maine and he presented me (via Bob) with my own copy of The Five-Minute Linguist with the following inscription:

For Leta -

Always the most voluble player

Barry

6 October 2007

The Pirate Gloria

I know, I know, Pirates are just robbers, rapists, and murders. With boats. I get it. And even though I don't find the Mafia at all entertaining, I still kinda like pirates. Heck, as a G&S geek, I'm required to like Pirates. And to celebrate Talk Like a Pirate Day.

And, lo and behold, what should turn up on Savoynet the other day but a link to The Pirate Gloria (thank you, Ian!) The entire thing is great fun to read but I've included just two portions below, the Nicene Creed and the Lord's Prayer. Conveniently the line that I have modified for my own use has been left unchanged, so I can still use it.

The next time that TLPD falls on a Sunday will be in 2010, so I have about two years to convince Janice (our minister) that we should use the The Pirate Gloria (including music by Sullivan!) at the 10:30 service.

The Nicene Creed

We believe in one God, the Almighty Admiral,
Maker o’ heaven and ‘arth,
and o’ all things natural and ghostly.
We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ,
T’only Son o’ God, says I, eternally begotten ‘o the Admiral,
God from God, Light from Light,
true God from true God,
begotten, nar made, ‘o one Bein’wi’ the Father.
Through him all things t’were made.
Far us and far arr salvation
he opened the hatch o’ heav’n
and dropped into the hold:
by the pow’r ‘o the Holy Ghost
he became incarnate from the Virgin Mary,
and was made a swabbie.
Fer arr sake he was keel-hauled by that the scurvy dog,
Pontius Pilate;
and was sent t’ Davy Jones’ locker.
On the third day he came back in accardance with the book;
he ascended into heaven
and be seated at the right hand ‘o the Admiral.
He will come again in glory t’judge the living and the dead,
and his kingdom will ha’e no end.
Avast then!
We believe in the Holy Ghost, the Lord, the giver ‘oife,
who proceeds from the Admiral and the Cap’n.
With them two, he be worshiped and glorified.
He has spoken through the Prophets.
We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church.
We acknowledge one dunkin’ far the forgiveness ‘o sins.
We look far the resurrection ‘o the dead,
and the life o’ the world t’come.
So says one, so says us all. Aye aye.


The Lord’s Prayer

As arr Cap’n, Jesus Christ has taught us, we now be prayin’,

Arr Father in heaven, hallow’d be yar Name, yar kingdom come,
yar will be done, on arth as in heaven. Give us today arr daily
ration. Fergive us arr sins as we fergive those scurvy dogs who
sneak up behind us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver
us from evil. Far thine be the kingdom, and the pow’r and the
glory, farever and ever. Aye, aye.

The Eternal Typewriter

We have an old IBM Correcting Selectric II here in the office and I would fling my body in front it to save it were anyone to try to remove it. Selectrics don't have the groovy bells and whistles that, say, iPhones do, but you can open a Selectric up and make a few changes and it will still work. In fact, you can back over it with your car and it will still work. Largely, because it's heavier and more solid than any car I ever drove, possibly excepting the '68 Cougar I had in college. But the Selectric probably gets better gas mileage and won't rust out the way the Cougar did.

I was planning on writing a little love note/blog post to this Selectric today anyway because, well...because I love it, that's all. But things were brought to a head when one of our newer accountants, after being informed that handwriting envelopes containing large checks was not the done thing, asked me how one would "put a typed address on an envelope." And he wasn't kidding.

He had never used an actual typewriter in his life. Not before today anyway. I taught him how. Oh dear.

I learned on my Mom's old Royal manual and I earned some pocket money typing her papers when she was taking some classes when I was a teenager.* In high school, I took typing on a Selectric. And thus a life-long love affair was born.

The Selectric (jeepers, I wish these posts came with a soundtrack because this is just crying out for something by Paul Williams to underscore it) is easy to use and even though it is - literally - older than most of our new accountants (sigh) it still works beautifully. And it sounds like a typewriter. Remember how phones used to sound like phones and now they all sound sort of like the situation normal indicators on life support equipment? Well, newer typewriters don't really sound like typewriters. They just don't.

And it never gets paper jams, unlike a certain copier I could mention here.

It just types. First time, every time. The ball doesn't jam up the way the keys did on the Royal, and the end of line indicator is a cheery bell sound.

And it corrects. Easily. Sure, changing the correction ribbon is something that only the high priestesses of the Selectric (such as, ahem, mine own self) can accomplish but changing the regular ribbon doesn't get toner all over your hands, like with a certain copier that I have been given permission to destroy with the fire ax once it's lease is up.

And...and....and it's a nice color. Well, not bad color. A perfectly reasonable color, unlike that other electric typewriter in the office which is some kind of depressing county office worker teal. The Selectric is a nice, dark beige.

Oh, my but I'm old. Hey! You kids out there! Get off my lawn!


*I typed them pretty poorly because I was too impatient to wait the eons that it took Mom's old McDonald-milkshake-thick White Out to dry, among other things.

I would have chosen a different verb

AOL has a story today from the New York Times about airline safety with the very unfortunate link name of Airline crash numbers plunge sharply. I mean, what kind of sickos are they over at AOL?

The official headline, by the way, was "Air fatalities drop sharply over decade*" which is still not what I have would have chosen (Hey! AOL! How about "Airline safety up since 1996"? Or "Air fatalities decreased over decade"? You know, something less...evocative? We, the nervous fliers of America, never, ever want to see words like "plunge" or "drop sharply" in an article about anything to do with planes.

And I'll bet that had any nervous fliers known that the article would contain this cheery little phrasing, "Barring a crash before midnight Sunday, the drop in the accident rate is about 65 percent, to one fatal accident in about 4.5 million departures, from one in nearly 2 million in 1997" they would have immediately rescheduled any plans they had to fly on Sunday because that just sounds like a dare. Sort of tugging on Fate's sleeve. Never draw the attention of the travel gods to thine own puny self.

On the plus side, it really is very good news.


*The headline on the NYT website, by the way, is "Fatal Airplane Crashes Drop 65%"

"Drinking"

Some folks from the office and I went out for Happy Hour on Thursday. I ordered a Scotch and Soda which, when it arrived turned out to be lightly colored soda water. Disappointing as a drink, of course, but seeing as I was going to rehearsal after Happy Hour, probably just as well. (In fact, it was weak enough that I could have another. And so I did.)

Nonetheless, I still described to the people sitting near me as "practicing Safe Scotch."

Much more complex than the one for Dorothy Sayers

David found this handy chart via Boing Boing and I'll tell ya, I've been looking for something just like this for a while now.


Terry Pratchett fans tend to be a proselytizing lot but every time one of them would recommend his books, I, who like to read books in order,* would ask which one should I start with? Same answer every time: "Oh, it doesn't matter, just pick one up. You can start anywhere." Except that, I can't. Not with books described as comprising a series. Series to me means beginning, middle, and end. So I regarded the answer as non-responsive and didn't read them.

Finally Debbie, who was more dedicated to the Church of Pratchett than some others, told me that if I read them in order of publication, I could watch Pratchett grow as an author. Okay, fine, works for me. So she fed them to me a few at a time and I read them "in order," which makes me happy. And I grew to love them, especially as Pratchett shifted from a Neil Simon-like set up, set up, punchline to storytelling. Very funny, engrossing storytelling.

And so to celebrate this handy new chart, here are a few of my favorite Pratchett quotes:

“It wasn’t that he was unhelpful, but he had the kind of vague, cheerful helpfulness that serious men soon learn to dread.” Mort

“Actors had a habit of filling all the space around them.” Wyrd Sisters

“Magrat plunged on with the brave desperation of someone dancing in the light of their burning bridges.” Witches Abroad

“She felt that the name and the face had established themselves so deeply in her mind now that the rest of her thoughts were forced to orbit them.” Soul Music

"Ankh-Morpork's underworld, which was so big that the overworld floated around on top of it like a very small hen trying to mother a nest of ostrich chicks, already had Big Dave, Fat Dave, Mad Dave, Wee Davey, and Lanky Dai. Everyone had to find their niche." Hogfather

A catastrophe curve, is what opera runs along. Opera happens because a large number of things amazingly fail to go wrong.” Maskerade

*Using like to indicate the same level of interest and commitment as in the sentence "I like to breathe." Or "I like to have a nice, hot cup of tea." Just a bit of OCD there, I agree.

Charles's real estate empire

For now, it's only pretend, sure, but of all the people I've ever met, Charles comes closest to being a mogul capable of conquering all worlds that lay before him. At least that's my conclusion judging from playing Monopoly with him. He is Charles, Landlord of Worlds. With hotels on them.

I went out to Annapolis on a couple of Sundays ago to (wait for it....) see a play. And since Brett and Cate and Charles live on my way home, I left a message before I went into the theater, more or less inviting myself to mooch dinner off of them. Well, not "more or less." I, in fact, left a message inviting myself to mooch dinner off of them. When I emerged back into the bright sunshine* there was a message waiting for me that Cate and Charles would love to be exploited in the name of friendship.

So I headed out to visit, and Cate and I got caught up, and Cate got an advance birthday hug, and we three had a very nice dinner of home-made beef with broccoli and brown rice. Brett, alas, was not home, so I scarfed up his share in addition to my own.**

After dinner we had enough time before Charles's annual bath*** for a quick game of Monopoly. Charles and I come from slightly different Monopoly traditions but we do agree on one of the important of the traditional (if not formal) rules - that a 50 (dollar or pound depending on which of Charles's several versions we are playing) and any penalties incurred are paid into the center and the pot is scooped by whomsoever lands on Free Parking.

We vary in that Charles believes that each player begins with two houses and a hotel. I've never heard of that before, but it works out okay because as soon as Charles has acquired his first monopoly the game is on it's downward spiral, so advancing him some of the construction costs is really just a mercy for Charles's opponent (i.e., the loser. i.e., me.). I mean, how much 9-going-on-10-year-old gloating is a grown up supposed to endure?

So we set to playing and Charles rolls out the strategy that has served him so well. He buys prett' near everything he lands on, tells me the rental, tells me the rental with hotel, rubs his hands together gleefully, and in general behaves like Scrooge McDuck would after finding a quarter on the sidewalk. I am slower to purchase - got to save my cash to pay Charles all that rent - but Charles seems to hope that I am buying properties merely in order to flip them and so offers me reasonable profit if I will allow him to take that nearly worthless land off my hands, you know, more as a favor to me than anything else, really. This last would be more convincing without the gleam in his eye and the used car dealer deameanor that emerges, but what do you expect -- he's only 9. If he were able to complete cover his basic childlike greed and be a smoother huckster, it wouldn't be fun to play with him, merely frightening.

So I sell him some stuff, but not much, and watch my savings dwindle as I meet expenses (hey, just like real life!). Around time that I'm starting to feel the pinch, Charles deploys the second of his sure-fire strategies. Let's remember that Charles's father and grandfather are gamers. But even so, this kid's dice skills are amazing. Why does he always buy Boardwalk and Park Place? Because he lands on them first, of course. (Yes, naturally, I would buy them if I landed on them first. I only look like an idiot. No, I only land there after the Charles Plaza is open for business with its oily concierge smiling at me.)

Why does he get venture capital levels of cash infusions from landing on Free Parking? Because his die rolls take him there. (I'll land on Free Parking a couple of turns later and pick up the solitary 50 from the echoing vaults.)

Between his good head for business and some die rolls that are more miraculous than any crying saint's statue ever was, it's just a matter of time -- a very short matter of time -- before I lose. And then he does the Dance of Joy, sometimes recapping for me great moments from the game that I might have managed to forget. Or will manage with the help of intoxicating beverages once I'm home.

From reading this, you might think that I am only playing with Charles because I'm such a nice person who does things for children to make them happy. Not really. I'm a spinster with a cat and most of the things that deeply interest children, I don't care about at all . And I'm too selfish to spend much time pretending that I do. So the children closest to me have largely learned to take an interest in my hobbies. (The benefits to knowing me are nearly without end, as you can see.) Charles's Nintendo baseball game that he loves? Ehh, never touched it.

But I do like Monopoly and I do like Charles. And I am fascinated by playing Monopoly with him because, in general, Charles is one of the most polite, adult-aware children I know, so it is really interesting to me to see his rapacious, piratical side given free (if temporary) rein.

Maybe it's an only child thing, but he moves in between kid and adults worlds much more smoothly than a lot of other children I know and definitely better than I did at his age, when I was self-involved and oblivious (just like now). Charles and smart and funny and well-behaved and plesasant and, in my opinion, a great credit to his parents. I kind of wish they'd raised me.****

One time we were going to play, but we lingered over dinner too long and it got too late and Charles had to get ready for bed instead of do his impression of Alexander the Great across the game board. When told this, he didn't pitch a fit, he just said okay. And moved on. Again, I wish I were that well behaved.

I'll keep playing with him, but I figured that by the time he moves on to some other game, I will have lost enough money and property to him to buy up and build hotels on several nearby planets.

Charles, Landlord of Universes.


* It was a lovely day in Annapolis and I can only credit the fact that I found parking an easy walk to the theater on a street that has an ice creamery that sells ice cream that they make themselves right there that was very, very yummy, especially on an end-of-summer/beginning-of-autumn great-for-ice-cream-eating kind of day to some of cosmic, karmic thing. I'd better do something real good real soon or some bad, bad juju is coming at me.

**Though p’r’aps I may incur your blame/ The things are few/ I would not do/ In Friendship’s name!

*** Just checking to see if Cate reads this. Charles is actually a very clean child.

****Well, actually, in some ways they did. I have learned an awful from my friendship with both them and I owe them more than I can repay. I also love them both a bunch.

Do other couples bicker about stuff like this?

I was telling David some interesting little anecdote about the Magna Carta the other evening and he was distracted from my amusing bon mot to dwell on the side issue of whether the great charter takes a "the." (For my opinion, see the first sentence of this post.)

So today he sent me a link to the entry in the wikipedia regarding spelling and usage:

Since there is no direct, consistent correlate of the English definite article in Latin, the usual academic convention is to refer to the document in English without the article as "Magna Carta" rather than "the Magna Carta". According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the first written appearance of the term was in 1218: "Concesserimus libertates quasdam scriptas in Magna Carta nostra de libertatibus." (Latin: "We concede the certain liberties here written in our great charter of liberties.") However, "the Magna Carta" is also frequently used. In the past, the document has also been referred to as "Magna Charta".

Mind you, as a publicly editable site, the article on the Magna Carta on the wikipedia is uses both "Magna Carta" and "the Magna Carta," and the wikisource link in a sidebar uses "the Magna Carta."

Which is a pretty tiny thing to debate, except that it's completely typical of the stuff we go on and on about. Not sex or politics or religion or money or television, but this. I mean, really, is it just us?

Again, just kidding

Or rather, it's just this phrase, you know? We don't mean it literally.

At least, I don't.

Actor breaks a leg

ET and Joe Klein

A few months ago my Capital B Boss and I attended a workshop held by Edward Tufte, the graphics guy. Or, more accurately, The Visual Diplay of Quantitative Information Guy. Right now, you are probably thinking "I know the name...." Well, let me jog your memory.

ET (as his adherents call him and as he refers to himself) is best known to the average reader for two things:

* The Napoleon's March Graph, which ET did not create, (Frenchman Charles Joseph Minard did) but which ET so loves that he has made it famous to a generation or so of Americans. You know - this one:

* His hatred of PowerPoint. As much as he love's Minard's graph, he hates Microsoft's slide tool.

ET, like Alton Brown (who calls himself "AB." Hmmmm), has firmly stated opinions that sometimes stray from the strictly accurate to the, shall we say, more rabidly partisan.* There is a eensy-weensy-teensy-tiny bit of "I think this and you must, too, because disagreement on this point will bring down all that good and holy. And just ruin everything."**

Just mouse around his website for a while - you'll see what I mean. Needless to say, his workshops are very informative and hugely entertaining. I loved it. I now also have four of his books, in hardback, in a handy carrying case. Autographed.

So, anyway, any time I see something dissing PowerPoint I think immediately of ET. And in this week's Time Magazine***, Joe Klein's column about the testimony of General Petraeus and Ambassador Crocker contained this bit that ET himself could have written (except that it's less livid):

The general was armed with the modern military's deadliest weapon, the PowerPoint presentation -- serried rank of bar charts marching toward victory, which provided camouflage for the gaping holes and contradictions in the Petraeus-Crocker story.

* As I like to point out, some of the things in the Columbia PP slides should be blamed less on PP and more on what happens when you have engineers do an admin's job. Bill Gates isn't responsible for Boeing's shoddy proofreading.

**We all have that to some degree. Check sometime on how flexible David is on the number of items allowable on a computer desktop and the acceptability of touching the monitor when pointing to something. Whew. I'm lucky to be alive, I swear.

*** "This week's" meaning the Time Magazine that I am carrying around this week. Their dating system is somewhat peculiar. Specifically, though, this one is dated September 24 but I've had it since last week.

Can I borrow 30 million dollars? I'llpayyouback,Iswear.

I'm about 2/3 of the way through reading 1215, so imagine my surprise at reading in today's news that a late 13th century copy of the Magna Carta is going up for auction. For a mere $20 - $30M, you can own your very own Great Charter.

And I really need to spend more time at the National Archive. When I was about 12 my Mom bought me a membership in the Archive and, packrat that I am,* I still have some of the membership documents they sent me. At least, I think I do. But they've had Ross Perot's Carta on loan and on display for several years now and I ... I don't think I've seen it. I've admired the Declaration of Independence, but, heck, that's an 18th century document, practically yesterday.

In other medieval news, historian Jonathan Rubenstein of the University of Tennessee/Knoxville was awarded a MacArthur Genius Grant for "shining vivid light on how violent events such as the First Crusade are recorded and remembered by future generations."

This is, of course, a great honor and I would be the last person to sneer at a cool half mil, but it's not going to be enough to land Dr. Rubenstein his own for-keeps copy of King John's Least Favorite Document.


* Can you see why she would sign me up for that particular institution?

Hinder

94.7 The Globe is way too static-y today, so I'm listening to the very distant runner up, Mix107.3. The only thing that 107 has over The Globe is that 107 plays Hinder, who I find vastly entertaining. Hinder is sort of the current Marrillian in that they quite possibly suffer more per measure of music than nearly is humanly possible.

Alien in New York

Is it just me, or would having Mahmoud Ahmadinejad as one's President be like living in a nation run by Borat?

Absolom Jones and Gene Robinson

My church (the Episcopalians, not my specific parish) is, as most people know, in the midst of a family discussion on who should and should not comprise "the dignified clergy," specifically the episcopacy.* We may end up as two churches, which would be a pity, but the Christian church's history resembles rather nothing more than a series of river deltas as we divided and divided again often as a result of an irreconcilable issue.

History, as it often does, keeps me hopeful. On the whole, the Episcopalians have been a progressive lot. Sometimes more slowly progressive than I would like,** but moving ever upwards nonetheless.

In 1786 the membership of St. George's Methodist Episcopal Church in Philadelphia included both blacks and whites. However, the white members met that year and decided that thereafter black members should sit only in the balcony. Two black Sunday worshippers, Absalom Jones (1746-1818) and Richard Allen (1760-1831), whose enthusiasm for the Methodist Church had brought many blacks into the congregation, learned of the decision only when, on the following Sunday, ushers tapped them on the shoulder during the opening prayers, and demanded that they move to the balcony without waiting for the end of the prayer. They walked out, followed by the other black members.

Absalom Jones conferred with William White, Episcopal Bishop of Philadelphia, who agreed to accept the group as an Episcopal parish. Jones would serve as lay reader, and, after a period of study, would be ordained and serve as rector. Allen wanted the group to remain Methodist, and in 1793 he left to form a Methodist congregation. In 1816 he left the Methodists to form a new denomination, the African Methodist Episcopal Church (AME). Jones (ordained deacon and priest in 1795 and 1802) and Allen (ordained deacon and elder in 1799 and 1816) were the first two black Americans to receive formal ordination in any denomination.***

Set us free, O heavenly Father, from every bond of prejudice and fear: that, honoring the steadfast courage of thy servants Absalom Jones and Richard Allen, we may show forth in our lives the reconciling love and true freedom of the children of God, which thou hast given us in our Saviour Jesus Christ, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever.


* One of the best things about any brand of religion is the fun, wonky, vocabulary it generates. The adjectival form for the Gospel of St. John? "Johannine" which sounds less biblical and more like the lead singer for Concrete Blonde, but I digress.

** We have women clergy and women bishops, but Barbara Harris, the first female bishop in the Episcopal church wasn't made a bishop until 1989. 1989. Good grief. And even then not without controversy. Good. Grief. On the plus side, the current Presiding Bishop, is the clearly-not-a-guy Katharine Jefferts Schori.

*** From The Lectionary, specifically the page on Absolom Jones contributed by James Kiefer. The Lectionary also has very handy listings of Feast Days, Holy Days, & Commemorations as well as listings of readings for each Bible passage and each Sunday. This means that with just a tiny bit of prep I can avoid attending church on Prodigal Son day and spare my friends the annual rant about why I hate that story.

Usually we're just kidding

When I hung out with a bunch of medievalists in college (many of whom I still hang out with because they are such lovely people) our response to anything being thrown - including little, squishy decorative pillows - was to whine "You'll put your eye out!" or "It's all fun and games until somebody loses an eye."

The whining was very important because we were making fun of the self-appointed safety patrol who would nag people about safety procedures of which we were already aware. (For some reason, the SASP were all natural whiners.) We were also quoting A Christmas Story, but that's not the point.

But I bet if the internet had delivered up unto us this story of a modern medievalist unintentionally doing his impression of Harold Godwinson, we'd had shut our sarcastic yaps for a few days.

Urk.

Man speared in the eye during medieval joust for tv show

I have a little shelf

I have a handy little area where I keep a few books at the office. Are they books about finance, engineering, contracting, treasury management, Excel, keeping engineers and accountants placid and productive? Well, not quite. They are:

Agnes of God (John Pielmeier). I'm probably going to audition for it. Lent to me by Andrea.*

The Big Heavy Book of Shakespeare (Edward de Vere). Actually the Cambridge edition of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare with peculiar, very modern, sketches for matte stainless steel statues, what is this a volume of Shakespeare or the storyboard for Metropolis Meets Forbidden Planet? illustrations by Rockwell Kent. I have always referred to both this book and the Riverside Shakespeare as The Big Heavy Book of Shakespeare. Imagine my surprise when some poor, benighted soul asked me - in all innocence - if it was really called that. Sometimes the world is too much with me, I swear.

The Invention That Changed the World (Robert Buderi). Okay, this one is about microwave radar, but come on, it's a history book. Lent to me by a co-worker.

Persepolis (and Archaeological Sites in Fars) (Werner Felix Dutz, introducing). Lent to me by a co-worker. Very, very cool book filled with color plates, photographs, drawings & plans, and maps of the Persian ruins in Persepolis. Published in 1969.

Webster's Ninth New College Dictionary (published by Merrian Webster). What do I actually use to confirm spellings and usage? Dictionary.com.

Wonder of the World (David Lindsay-Abaire). Another possible audition. My copy.

I also used to have Thus Was Adonis Murdered (Sarah Caudwell) here, but for some reason, I took that one home.


* (Note to self - Give Andrea back her darned book!)

Song for Sick Me

When I have a cold I get it out of my system having lots and lots of chicken soup and taking lots and lots of zinc and drinking lots and lots of water and hot tea. I think the cold gets bored and just leaves. And as I make my soup, I recite versus from my Nutshell Library book, Chicken Soup with Rice, by Maurice Sendak.


January
In January it's so nice
While slipping on the sliding ice
To sip hot chicken soup with rice
Sipping once, sipping twice
Sipping chicken soup with rice

February
In February it will be
My snowman's anniversary
With cake for him and soup for me!
Happy once, happy twice
Happy chicken soup with rice

March
In March the wind blows down the door
And spills my soup upon the floor
It laps it up and roars for more
Blowing once, blowing twice
Blowing chicken soup with rice

April
In April I will go away
To far off Spain or old Bombay
And dream about hot soup all day
Oh, my, oh, once, oh, my, oh, twice
Oh, my, oh, chicken soup with rice

May
In May I truly think it best
To be a robin lightly dressed
Concocting soup inside my nest
Mix it once, mix it twice
Mix that chicken soup with rice

June
In June I saw a charming group
Of roses all begin to droop
I pepped them up with chicken soup!
Sprinkle once, sprinkle twice
Sprinkle chicken soup with rice

July
In July I'll take a peep
Into the cool and fishy deep
Where chicken soup is selling cheap
Selling once, selling twice
Selling chicken soup with rice

August
In August it will be so hot
I will become a cooking pot
Cooking soup of course-why not?
Cooking once, cooking twice
Cooking chicken soup with rice

September
In September, for a while
I will ride a crocodile
Down the chicken soup-y Nile
Paddle once, paddle twice
Paddle chicken soup with rice

October
In October I'll be host
To witches, goblins and a ghost
I'll serve them chicken soup on toast
Whoopy once, whoopy twice
Whoopy chicken soup with rice

November
In November's gusty gale I will flop my flippy tail
And spout hot soup-I'll be a whale!
Spouting once, spouting twice
Spouting chicken soup with rice

December
In December I will be
A baubled, bangled Christmas tree
With soup bowls draped all over me
Merry once, merry twice
Merry chicken soup with rice

I told you once, I told you twice
All seasons of the year are nice
For eating chicken soup with rice

1060-something

Sometimes it takes me a while to find the stuff on the net that I was meant to see and this is a case in point. It was originally published in 1998, so perhaps these kids today are once again learning all the history that they're supposed to. Or not. But I liked the handy Clip-n-Save England From Then to Kinda Now.

DATES TO REMEMBER

55BC: The arrival of Julius Caesar to these shores is a good start. An easy one to remember. Old baldy's visit was short but just about unforgettable for all concerned.

787: The Vikings make their first raids and Wantage man Alfred would soon be well on his way to greatness.

1066: The Battle of Stamford Bridge between Harold II and Harold Hardrada, King of Norway - if you want to show off. Otherwise the Battle of Hastings.

1215: King John signs the Magna Carta. Where? - on the bottom!

1314: Big home win for Scotland at Bannockburn. Regularly recalled after embarrassing football defeats.

1485: King Richard III killed at the Battle of Bosworth, conveniently bringing the Middle Ages to a close.

1649: King Charles I loses his head after over-staying his welcome in Oxford. 1688: The Glorious Revolution. A good date, less easy to recall what actually happened.

1745: Bonnie Prince Charlie invades England. But he only got as far as Derby.

1805: Battle of Trafalgar. So big it could yet be the date of an autumn Bank Holiday.

1832: The Reform Bill. Well, Dr Maddicott has it on his list of MUSTS...

I, of course, would add 1420 1415 so that I can justify my near constant quoting of the St. Crispin's Day speech.

And, of course, my favorite mnemonic for the holders of the English orb and scepter:

Willie, Willie, Harry, Steve,
Harry, Dick, John, Harry Three,
Edward One, Two, Three, Dick Two,
Henry Four, Five, Six, then who?
Edward Four, Five, Dick the Bad,
Harrys twain and Ned, the lad.
Mary, Lizzie, James the Vain,
Charlie, Charlie, James again.
William and Mary, Anne o'Gloria,
Four Georges, William and Victoria.
Edward Seven, Georgie Five,
Edward, George and Liz (alive).

Featured Article

David e-mailed me to let me know that my favorite American president is the featured article on Wikipedia today. So here's a little snip from that article, just for fun and, well, as an example of why he's my favorite president.

Truman was chosen to be an officer, and then battery commander in an artillery regiment in France. His unit was Battery D, 129th Field Artillery, 60th Brigade, 35th Infantry Division, known for its discipline problems. During a sudden attack by the Germans in the Vosges Mountains, the battery started to disperse; Truman ordered them back into position using profanities that he had "learned while working on the Santa Fe railroad." Shocked by the outburst, his men reassembled and followed him to safety. Under Captain Truman's command in France, the battery did not lose a single man.

Sick but not leaving

When I told my Capital B Boss that I wasn't feeling too special and might not last out the day he pointed out that we already had three staffers on sick call and that all other leaves have been suspended until further notice.

So I told him if I felt the need to join them on sick call and he prevented me, then he would get 30-minute updates on my symptoms and why I will probably weigh less tomorrow than I did yesterday. (I didn't train under Brett for nothing. I understand how to retaliate and escalate as needed, I just don't usually deploy those weapons very often.)

A seasoned veteran in these campaigns, Capital B Boss then pointed out that I should follow the normal chain of command and report said symptoms to my Lowercase B Boss, who would decide how much detail Capital B Boss really required.

Lowercase B Boss, not wanting to hear anything, then indicated that as our reviews have not yet been finalized, I should think carefully about how much medical detail to bring him.

Even when I feel like crap, working here is so much better than working anywhere else.

And the crisis seems to have passed and I feel a bit better. Whew.

Schelby played my e-quest!

One of my favorite Shriekback songs - the other is Fish Below the Ice. Hmmm. I have time to swing by home on my way to rehearsal and grab my Oil and Gold CD.

I think I will.

Nemesis by Shriekback.


In the jungle of the senses
Tinkerbell and Jack the ripper
Love has no meaning not where they come from
But we know pleasure is not that simple
Very little fruit is forbidden
Sometimes we wobble sometimes we're strong
But you know evil is an exact science
Being carefully correctly wrong

[chorus]
Priests and cannibals prehistoric animals
Everybody's happy as the dead come home
Big black nemesis parthenogenesis
No one move a muscle as the dead come home

We feel like Greeks we feel like Romans
Centaurs and monkeys just cluster round us
We drink elixirs that we refine
From the juices of the dying
We are not monsters we're moral people
And yet we have the strength to do this
This is the splendor of our achievment
Call in the airstrike with a poison kiss


How bad it gets you can't imagine
The burning wax the breath of reptiles
God is not mocked he knows his buisness
Karma could take us at any moment
Cover him up I think we're finished
You know it's never been so exotic
But I don't know my dreams are visions
We could still end up with the great big fishes!

Back in the Day

Radio in the area has prett' near always sucked, but there was a time when it sucked a whole lot less. (Tangent rant: You know, for a reasonably major metropolitan area and the nation's capital, you'd think the radio wouldn't be so bad. But no. It is. Cleveland has better radio than DC. Of course, Cleveland Rocks.)

Jake Einstein, who gave us WHFS, has passed away. Way, way back in the day 'HFS was where you'd tune in to hear music that you couldn't hear anywhere else. And where you'd go and be assured that you'd never hear a song repeated during any one-day period in a time when Top-40 meant "the same 40 damn songs played over and over until you hated all of them." Or perhaps "play these dozen or so songs every 40 minutes."

I'd always described 'HFS as playing whatever music they could find, but they were legitimately famous in this area for having a dj-selected playlist instead of a computer-generated one. They were even allowed to bring in stuff from home to play. Possibly the most famous story about the old 'HFS was the one about the day that Cerphe bought his first new car and spent his shift playing nothing but car-related songs.

Over the last few years a bunch of refugees from 'HFS have found a home on so-much-less-sucky-than-most-of-the-rest 94.7 The Globe, including Cerphe and Weasel and they seem to have brought their music collections with them (well, at least some of their music collections). So there's that, at least.

Farewell, Mr. Einstein. Thanks for the good stuff.

The sign in front of my desk

It hasn't reached this point yet, but may well shortly.


If whatever it is doesn't require an immediate - short - answer, please just keep walking. Unless, of course, you sign my annual review.

I guess they're not "Times" subscribers

Today on Morning Edition Renee Montagne and Steve Inskeep were reporting the current state of the throwdown between Kanye West and 50 Cent. Steve got to the second reference to the latter, called him "Mr. Cent," and he and Renee cracked up. On the air. "That's what it says here - Mr. Cent!" he laughed and they continued, chuckling only slightly.

It's still in the story on the web so if you want to hear NPR staffers who aren't Scott Simon cracking up during a broadcast, just hit the "listen" button.

I so look forward to their next story on Iggy Pop.

Understanding Engineers

Actually, the main thing to understand about engineers is how much they love these nine jokes. I get them via e-mail about once every six months and have prett' near memorized them. Tragically, I also quote them a fair bit because I'm descended from engineers and lawyers.

And if I'm going to know them, there's no reason you shouldn't.


Subject: Engineering Mind

The engineering mind is different.

Understanding Engineers - Take One:

Two engineering students were walking across campus when one said, "Where did you get such a great bike?"

The second engineer replied, "Well, I was walking along yesterday minding my own business when a beautiful woman rode up on this bike. She threw the bike to the ground, took off all her clothes and said, "Take what you want."

The second engineer nodded approvingly, "Good choice; the clothes probably wouldn't have fit."


Understanding Engineers - Take Two:

To the optimist, the glass is half full. To the pessimist, the glass is half empty. To the engineer, the glass is twice as big as it needs to be.


Understanding Engineers - Take Three:

A pastor, a doctor and an engineer were waiting one morning for a particularly slow group of golfers. The engineer fumed, "What's with these guys? We must have been waiting for 15 minutes!"

The doctor chimed in, "I don't know, but I've never seen such ineptitude!"

The pastor said, "Hey, here comes the greens keeper. Let's have a word with him. -- Hi George, say, what's with that group ahead of us? They're rather slow, aren't they?"

The greens keeper replied, "Oh, yes, that's a group of blind firefighters lost their sight saving our clubhouse from a fire last year, so we always let them play for free anytime."

The group was silent for a moment. The pastor said, "That's so sad. I think I will say a special prayer for them tonight."

The doctor said, "Good idea. And I'm going to contact my ophthalmologist buddy and see if there's anything he can do for them."

The engineer said, "Why can't these guys play at night?"


Understanding Engineers - Take Four:

There was an engineer who had an exceptional gift for fixing all things mechanical. After serving his company loyally for over 30 years, he happily retired. Several years later the company contacted him regarding a seemingly impossible problem they were having with one of their multimillion dollar machines. They had tried everything and everyone else to get the machine to work but to no avail. In desperation, they called on the retired engineer who had solved so many of their problems in the past.

The engineer reluctantly took the challenge. He spent a day studying the huge machine. At the end of the day, he marked a small "x" in chalk on a particular component of the machine and stated, "This is where your problem is." The part was replaced and the machine worked perfectly again.

The company received a bill for $50,000 from the engineer for his service. They demanded an itemized accounting of his charges.

The engineer responded briefly: "One chalk mark, $1.00. Knowing where to put it $49,999.00."

It was paid in full and the engineer retired again in peace.


Understanding Engineers - Take Five:

What is the difference between Mechanical Engineers and Civil Engineers?

Mechanical Engineers build weapons. Civil Engineers build targets.


Understanding Engineers - Take Six:

Three engineering students were gathered together discussing the possible designers of the human body. One said, "It was a mechanical engineer. Just look at all the joints. "

Another said, "No, it was an electrical engineer. The nervous system has many thousands of electrical connections."

The last said, "Actually it was a civil engineer. Who else would run a toxic waste pipeline through a recreational area?"


Understanding Engineers - Take Seven:

Normal people believe that ...if it ain't broke, don't fix it."

Engineers believe that: "...if it ain't broke, it doesn't have enough features yet." -Scott Adams, The Dilbert Principle


Understanding Engineers - Take Eight:

An architect, an artist and an engineer were discussing whether it was better to spend time with the wife or a mistress. The architect said he enjoyed time with his wife, building a solid foundation for an enduring relationship. The artist said he enjoyed time with his mistress, because of the passion and mystery he found there.

The engineer said, "I like both."

The others: "Both?"

Engineer: "Yeah. If you have a wife and a mistress, they will each assume you are spending time with the other woman, and you can go to the lab and get some work done."


Understanding Engineers - Take Nine:

An engineer was crossing a road one day when a frog called out to him and said, "If you kiss me, I'll turn into a beautiful princess." He bent over, picked up the frog and put it in his pocket. The frog spoke up again and said, "If you kiss me and turn me back into a beautiful princess, I will stay with you for one week." The engineer took the frog out of his pocket, smiled at it and returned it to the pocket. The frog then cried out, "If you kiss me and turn me back into a princess, I'll stay with you and do ANYTHING you want." Again the engineer took the frog out, smiled at it and put it back into his pocket. Finally, the frog asked, "What is the matter? I've told you that I'm a beautiful princess, that I'll stay with you for a week, and that I’ll do anything you want. Why won't you kiss me?"

The engineer said, "Look I'm an engineer. I don't have time for a girlfriend, but a talking frog, now that's cool."

The enemy of the good

Today is Leslie's birthday and I dropped her a Happy Birthday e-mail. I'm not sure if she'll write back, which makes me sad because I don't know if her failure lately to write back is because she's just up to her ears with job and family or if we have drifted apart and I'm (as always) a little late to catch a clue.

My friends are generally well-spoken, well-written people who value what words sound like and what they mean. Which makes many of them pain-in-the-butt correspondents.

Even casual notes have to be crafted and edited and polished until they are worthy to be collected in the 27-volume edition of Leta's letters, I Can't; I Have Rehearsal, to be published by Harper Collins or maybe Hyperion in a few decades after I become a world-famous community theater actress and WATCH Adjudication Coordinator.

I'm not speaking from the moral high ground here because I'm the same way and I understand, I really do. But after two or three unanswered letters I'm no longer breathlessly anticipating witty epigrams, I'm just feeling abandoned. If e-mail had a version of wrinkled and jelly-stained, that would be fine. Misspelled and incoherent? No problem. Three unpunctuated phrases "doing fine - too busy - miss you." Great, I'll take it.

I'm reluctant to send "are we still speaking?" e-mails* because they would either go into the "answer this when I'm up to producing something worthy of Fitzgerald or Wodehouse" folder or the "stupid, needy e-mails from people I no longer care about, so delete" folder.

Guess which one insecure me thinks they're going into?

Well, anyway, Happy Birthday, Les. Miss you.


EDITED: She wrote back! And there was great rejoicing.


*Once in my life (so far) an "are we still speaking?" e-mail worked the way I hoped it would. I'm thinking of having it framed.

Still pretty good advice

I am having a lovely time reading my new book, 1215, and have found this:

A new genre of lifestyle and etiquette literature sprang up, of which the greatest was The Book of Civilised Man, written by Daniel of Beccles. He instructs the aspiring gentleman on how to behave in an enormous variety of social situations: in church, as a page in a noble household, at the dinner table, as a guest, in the street (don't eat in the street and don't peer into other people's windows), in a brothel -- and many more. He tells you when, where and how you can urinate, defecate, spit, belch and fart politely. He offers advice on how to live a long, healthy and happy life, what to eat and drink, with some recipes thrown in, discusses exercise, when to take baths, how often to have sex. Moderation in all things is the guiding principle, seasonally adjusted: in summer, for example, you should cut back on hot baths and sex. Cheerful songs will keep you in a good mood. Cultivate entertaining conversation, avoid quarrels, and get yourself some new clothes now and again.

Or Richard of Devizes thoughts on London:

Whatever evil or malicious thing can be found anywhere in the world can also be found in that city. There are masses of pimps. Do not associate with them. Do not mingle with the crowds in the eating-houses. Avoid dice, gambling, the theatre and the tavern. You will meet more braggarts there than in the whole of France. The number of parasites is infinite. Actors, jesters, smooth-skinned lads, Moors, flatters, pretty boys, effeminates, pederasts, singing and dancing girls, quacks, belly-dancers, sorcerers, extortioners, night-wanderers, magicians, mimes, beggars, buffoons.

Hmmm. Typing this, I realize that it's been way too long since I've been to London.

For Cate

I know what Instructional Technology is because some years ago Cate moved across the country to get a Master's Degree in that field, but she probably doesn't get to chat about it socially much. And here I have found someone who teaches math (Cate teaches math), using the latest (I suppose) in Instructional Technology, gardens (Cate gardens), and knits (Cate ... well, you get the idea).

Learning Curves

Limerence

Underneath his 19th century gruff avuncularism, W.S. Gilbert understood the hearts of young women better than you'd think. I remember the first time I heard these words* and thought, "yes, that's it, exactly."

When he is here, I sigh with pleasure
When he is gone, I sigh with grief.
My hopeless fear no soul can measure
His love alone can give my aching heart relief!
When he is cold, I weep for sorrow
When he is kind, I weep for joy.
My grief untold knows no tomorrow
My woe can find no hope, no solace, no alloy!

When I rejoice, he shows no pleasure.
When I am sad, it grieves him not.
His solemn voice has tones I treasure
My heart they glad, they solace my unhappy lot!
When I despond, my woe they chasten
When I take heart, my hope they cheer;
With folly fond to him I hasten
From him apart, my life is very sad and drear!


*Constance's Act I aria from The Sorcerer which I've sung now and again in our "living room" G&S get-togethers.

Book Swap

Mattie is not just a hot babe with a law degree. She's also a reader and so a few weeks ago when I got an invite to a girls' night/book swap at Mattie's, I replied with alacrity that I would be there.

Of course, timing is everything (or at least a whole lot) and I had taken several grocery bags of give-away books to the library not all that long ago and didn't have on hand any that I needed to part with, so I applealed to David. I mean, you can't go to a book swap empty handed, can you? Of course not. David asked me if this was a "I read this but don't expect to read it again" type thing or a "Please get this out of my house" type thing. The former, of course. He supplied me with a couple of hardbacks that I could hold carry in while holding my head up, I picked up some gluten-free ginger molassas cookies, and off I went.

Mattie had assembled both a great room full of women - there were about 13 or 14 of us altogether, about half lawyers* - and a delightful repast. We unloaded books, loaded plates and filled glasses, and gathered in the living room, chattering away. The ensemble was comprised of different women that Mattie knew from different groups, so I met several new people and retained about 8 or 9 of all the names (including my own, luckily).

(By the way, for those of my dedicated readership who believe that any gathering of women will naturally result in lingerie modeling and pillow fights, go ahead, apply that here. Who am I to ruin your fun.)

We used the now-standard gift exchange technique of having numbered slips of paper and having the person with slip number one choosing first, slip number two choosing second, etc. The books were introduced and I heard a some variations on "I wanted to like this because [another person] did, but .... ehhhh" or "I liked but I'm not going to read it again" or (my favorite) "It's a well-written book with characters I just didn't like" or (in my case) "David knew that I needed a contribution. They could be fabulous, they could suck." Mattie had primed the pump with several books from a co-worker which were introduced as "From a woman at my office. She says it's a good beach read."

Extra points were given for books with gold embossing on them indicating that they won the Whitbread Prize or the Pulitzer or something similar. Points would have been taken away for Oprah's Book Club, but none of them had that distinction. We were all pleased to notice that the books covered a wide range of subjects and that there were no duplicates, although there were a couple by the same author, like "Le Mariage" and "Le Divorce."

The one that really caught my eye (huge surprise here) is called "1215: The Year of the Magna Carta." It is (all together now-----) a history book about the early 13th century. With an index. And I coveted it. I asked if I could see it for a minute and when handed it, I smiled cheerfully and said "Now try to get it back!"

Luckily I drew #2, so after #1 picked some other book (smart girl), "1215" became mine. Mine. It is my book. After that the rest was gravy. I felt just like the girls in the All-of-a-Kind family when they were given books that they could keep forever instead of returning to the library lady the next week.

After one selected a book, one put one's number back in the champagne bucket we were using as a hat and after everyone had selected one book, we drew numbers again. In compliance with the law of conservation of gloating or whatever, I was #13 for the second go 'round. We had three full go 'rounds and then a general melee (insert wine-fueled hair brushing and pillow fighting here if necessary).

Kate asked if it was acceptable to take home more books than one brought and I said that I figured Mattie's goal was to end up with as clear a coffe-table as she began the evening and that I came with two and was leaving with six, so anyone who wanted to was free to sneer. No one did. All the books found new homes, we had a great time, we met new people**, and we got some cool new books to read. And if we don't like these new books, we'll just do another book swap in a few months.

And here's the cool Good Reads website that one of the women at the party (who's name I've managed to forget) sent to Mattie who sent it to me.




*Or as Kate divided us "the legals" and "the non-legals."

**Among the women I met was Stacey. When I found out that she and Jennifer had done a show together, we played Theater Twenty Questions until we knew a bunch of people in common. Stacey was in "City of Angels" and "Ruthless!", so we know a big bunch of people in common.

How to make me really glad I came to see your show

When I arrive five minutes after curtain (because lunch with Mom always takes longer than I think it will), and I'm slipping in as quietly as I can during the staged overture, and you're near the door, double team hug me whispering to each other "Leta's here!"

Sacco and Vanzetti Day

80 years ago today, Nicola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti were executed for murder and theft. And, probably, for being immigrants with unpopular political opinions.

Webster Thayer, the trial judge, told the jury "This man, (Vanzetti) although he may not have actually committed the crime attributed to him, is nevertheless culpable, because he is the enemy of our existing institutions."

I have no idea if they did or did not commit the crime because the trial seemed to be more about getting possibly violent foreigners safely under lock and key by whatever means necessary. It was a dangerous time and acts of lethal violence, particularly involving bombs, were being used to make political points.

Gosh, I wish that the whole thing didn't seem so....contemporary.

Justice Denied in Massachusetts
by Edna St. Vincent Millay(1927)

Let us abandon then our gardens and go home
And sit in the sitting-room.
Shall the larkspur blossom or the corn grow under the cloud?
Sour to the fruitful seed
Is the cold earth under this cloud,
Fostering quack and weed, we have marched upon but cannot conquer;
We have bent the blades of our hoes against the stalks of them.

Let us go home, and sit in the sitting-room.
Not in our day
Shall the cloud go over and the sun rise as before,
Beneficent upon us
Out of the glittering bay,
And the warm winds be blown inward from the sea
Moving the blades of corn
With a peaceful sound.
Forlorn, forlorn,
Stands the blue hay-rack by the empty mow.
And the petals drop to the ground,
Leaving the tree unfruited.
The sun that warmed our stooping backs and withered the weed uprooted -
We shall not feel it again.
We shall die in darkness, and be buried in the rain.

What from the splendid dead
We have inherited -
Furrows sweet to the grain, and the weed subdued -
See now the slug and the mildew plunder.
Evil does not overwhelm
The larkspur and the corn;
We have seen them go under.

Let us sit here, sit still,
Here in the sitting-room until we die;
At the step of Death on the walk, rise and go;
Leaving to our children's children this beautiful doorway,
And this elm,
And a blighted earth to till
With a broken hoe.

The Battle of Bosworth Field

York Memoranda

DATE: 23 August 1485.
AUTHOR: Mayor and aldermen of York.
TEXT: York City Archives, House Book, B2-4, f.169v. (Also printed in Extracts from the Municipal Records of the City of York during the Reigns of Edward IV, Edward V, and Richard III, ed. R. Davies (London, 1843), pp. 218, 217. (English; spelling modernized.)

Memorandum of meeting in council chamber on the Vigil of St Bartholomew, 'where it was shown by divers persons, and especially by John Sponer, sent unto the field of Redemore to bring tidings of the same to the city, that King Richard, late mercifully reigning upon us, was through great treason of the duke of Norfolk and many others that turned against him, with many other lords and nobles of this north parts, was piteously slain and murdered, to the great heaviness of this city.'

Considering what is know of the character of Henry VII, not a obituary to be casually written.

Gossip

They say; what say they? Let them say.

Family motto of the Keiths, Earls Mareschal of Scotland.

Apply as needed.

The Quotable Penguin

"The one-act play’s the thing for people with short attention spans. It’s live theater’s version of channel surfing."

From The Silver Spring Penguin's weekend calendar's plug for the Stage's festival.

Riding the storm out

We're all clear on how much I like to graph my life on Excel spreadsheets, right?

Well, for the last several years I have been graphing my 401k balances. Every Monday morning I go to the website for the company that has my money, I check the balance, and I type that balance into my 401k spreadsheet. There's a little calculation that determines the difference between this Monday and the previous Monday and there's a little chart, so I can see my future cat-food and store-brand paper goods fund displayed visually.

(I don't play with the money, I just look at it and graph it. I re-balance my stocks/bonds/etc percentages every couple of years and pretty much just let it grow quietly; the same kind of benign neglect that I apply plants. This works even better for a 401k than it does for plants.)

The chart generally looks like a two-dimenional representation of one of the hikes that Mom used to do all time - a kind of ragged, but generally ascending, line. There are, of course, a couple of ha-has* - the first in September of 2001 and the second right now.

10 September 2001 was an average Monday and I entered the 401k balance. 17 September, of course, was not an average Monday, but the balance was only a few dollars off of the one for 10 September. The 24 September balance, on the other hand, was 8% lower than the 10 September balance. I guess everyone in America hit the malls after that because after taking on that bucket or two of water, the little dinghy righted itself and I had made back the losses by 8 October.

Right now the American stock market looks more like a graph of a teenager's moods. And the last couple of weeks have had an emphasis on black fingernail polish and songs by The Cure and Morrissey.**

I'm hearing on the radio that things are going to continue like this for a while. Which is very exciting for me because between 16 July and 13 August my account dropped 6%. And that's six percent of a lot more money than I had in 2001. Between 13 August and today, it has dropped an additional 3% from the 16 July balance. So I'm looking at my balance and doing what I did in 2001, which is scanning for some kind of "save" button, but there doesn't appear to be one.

But I shall be staunch. I shall stand firm and not fret. I still won't play around with my 401k. I'll let it get back on its own feet. This is not permanent, it's just something that happens occasionally.

And I'm going to repeat those helpful phrases as I check my balance on Monday through the fingers I'll be covering my eyes with.

* in the sense of a sunken fence or unexpected ditch. See Jane Austen's Mansfield Park.

**Yeah, yeah, okay, out of date references, I know. I'm old, let's move on.***

***But, really, was there ever - outside of "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" and the works of Chopin - music more suited to depression and self-pity than Morrissey or The Cure?

Where is she now?

At home with her family, it seems.

So, you were probably wondering the other day "whatever became of Quinn Cummings?" Me, too! Well, okay, not really.* No, I just chanced to learn that she shares David's birthday and then I learned that she writes a blog, so I wandered over to check it out.

I'm glad that I did. Hosted right here on Blogger, The QC Report is smart and funny and I've been reading it big, greedy gulps since I found it.

This day had become something like performance art, and like every performance art piece I have ever seen, I had no idea what in the hell I was looking at, or why they were doing a single thing they were doing. The only thing I could hope to do was admire the elements. The Fates had decided to toy with me today, and all I could do was marvel at their prop choices[.] (From her post "More Locusts," 14 Dec 06)

Add to favorites - check.

* I liked her and all, don't get me wrong, but as far as former child actors go, I mostly just wish them well, and hope that they are clean, sober, and not incarcerated. **

**Well, except for Afred Lutter probably. I spend a lot of time wondering why that particular version of Linus-come-to-life hasn't called me. Or written.

Like flammable and inflammable, only different

This morning I received the following notice from an audition list:

Actors Needed!

This Saturday (8/18), from noon to 4pm, the Carlyle House ... as well as some other historic sites and shops in Old Town are staging a re-enactment of the surrender of Alexandria to the British during the War of 1812.

If you would like to participate, please call the Carlyle House at 703-xxx-xxxx.

This kind of surprised me because if I were arranging that sort of thing, I'd use Rev War re-enactors, who are thicker on the ground in the Alexandria area than lobbyists on K Street. At least, they were when I was active in the hobby.

It's also a safer choice because re-enactors know how to handle and use muskets, bayonets, and other dangerous 18th century trappings and we come with our own clothes and props. Neither of these are true for actors (well, unless you count theater folks like me and Constantia). Plus, re-enactors can outsnarky pretty much anyone on earth when they encounter actors attempting to be re-enactors.

So it was with a certain sense of relief that I got this a few minutes ago:

I just received word from the Carlyle House staff that there has been a miscommunication regarding the talent needed for this coming Saturday.

They are looking for RE-ENACTORS--people who have experience with period re-enactments and have their own clothing.

If this sounds like you or someone you know, please contact the Carlyle House at 703-xxx-xxxx.

Sorry for the mix-up!

Whew.

In case you were wondering

Okay, here's why David and I won't be getting married any time soon.

You know how every couple has an "our" thing? "Our song," "our restaurant," "our hot sheets motel," stuff like that. Well, David and I have "our color."

When my life became color coded, David's color became orange (because, as my friend Laura says, orange is a happy color and because David's mobile phone is orange). At work, even e-mail he sends me is orange. And our plans with each other on either of our calendars is orange. So if we got married - you know, had a wedding and stuff - we'd pretty much have to have "our color" in the wedding.

And I'm not spending the rest of my life telling people that the colors for my wedding were Sunkist and Tropicana.

Guilty Pleasure

David Lee Roth is back with Van Halen!* Even though the 1983 Rolling Stone Record Guide called ol' Diamond Dave “the most obnoxious singer in human history, an achievement notable in the face of long tradition and heavy competition,” I still like him.** He was fun. And I really like his voice. Like Billy Idol, underneath the screaming and howling, DLR has a damn fine instrument.

And, of course, it's also fun to watch him jump around. Mind you, at 52, he may not have quite the built-for-sin bod or the make-the-women-notice physicality, but it doesn't matter. Dave's back. It's time to party.

*"Michael Anthony is being shunned for sitting at Sammy Hagar's lunch table." Schelby on 94.7

**Although I can see where this will lead to one of those "all your taste is in your mouth" exchanges that David and I like to have over music.

How to be rich

Brooke Astor passed away at age 105. In the last forty-some years of her life, Mrs. Astor gave away over $200 million dollars to causes large and small.

August 13th

Alfred Hitchcock.

Quinn Cummings.

David.

Happy Birthday!

See what I mean?

I was at Greykell's birthday party yesterday afternoon and when I got ready to head out I was asked "Oh, are you going"

"Yep. Gotta see a play."

And they said "Of course you do."

Statistic

I'm the sort of person who likes to keep records and since 2004 one of the records I've kept is a list of shows I've seen and performed in. It's a pretty long list.

So I counted one day and realized that I spend well over 150 days (nights) a year inside theaters.

Three years out of four have 365 days.

I spend about half of them inside a theater.

For Stacey and Casey and Shelly (oh my)

And anyone else who enjoys a good vampire/sorcery/werewolves webcomic.

Sorcery 101.

Found via an ad on Planet Karen, also a pretty darn good webcomic.

AB would be proud of me

Thanks to the Celiac Disease, I probably consume rice* in some form every day. David, having heard one of my favorite Alice quotes** a few times, asked me if I would like a rice cooker.

And without even thinking about it, I said "I dunno..... What else does it do?"



*Lundberg makes my current favorite. Yummmmmmmm.

** "How would I know how long rice takes to cook? I'm Japanese. I throw it in the rice cooker and when the button pops up, it's done."

Zooming in

Thanks to Silver Spring, Singular, I've been apprised that Google maps has updated their shots of my hometown. The previous pictures were from before a lot of the redevelopment took place, so looking at the old Google Maps image was a quick trip into the past.

Technically, I grew up one zip over in 20901, but for my purposes, Singular's search works just fine.

The first thing I did was zoom in really close onto my office and see that the back parking lot was pretty empty, so we know the picture wasn't taken on a work day;

The strongly western lean to the shadow indicates a picture taken it the morning;

Crusing north from my office to my church, I can see a nice full parking lot, so it's probably Sunday and the street parkers (like me) haven't arrived in full force, so it's probably before 10:00 am; and

The trees are pretty bare indicating winter or very early spring.

Respectfully submitted,
Leta for CSI: Silver Spring

PS - Peter..... Peter.... I can see your house from here.