Very academic title, that. In fact, I have always wanted to write about the characterization of politics in novels, but that is something left to a graduate student in literature, political science, although there are undoubtedly ample opportunities for cross-disciplinary work like this. While the academic literature in political science, works such as The American Voter, The New American Voter, Citizen Politics and Party Systems and Electoral Systems, provide facts from which we can draw inferences, works of fiction like Edwin O'Connor's The Last Hurrah contain as much truth about how political systems work. We can take all the cross-tabulations, typologies, and indices from the former and connect them to characters, actions and motivations in the latter.
There are four novels that I read in pairs, which would form a nice core of political fiction. The first two have a personal point of view, and would (in the academic parlance of political science) be from the rationalist perspective. The books are not deliberately or ostensibly political; they are both the stories of men at the point of middle age. The second two are books written deliberately as comments on American politics and, in fact, address the same essential question.
The first two are George Orwell's Coming Up For Air and Sinclair Lewis' Babbitt. These books work very well side-by-side, and are particularly good in comparing British and American culture. They are both set in that period of nervous energy between the First and Second World Wars, although Coming Up For Air occurs much closer to the war and uses the building expectations of conflict as a central theme. Both books have as their protagonists anti-heroes, both named George. (In fact, they have the same initials: George Bowling and George Babbitt.) These portrayals of men in the midst of a rapidly and violently changing world present real and believable depictions of anomie and alienation at the human level.
The second two books are Philip Roth's The Plot Against America and another Sinclair Lewis novel, It Can't Happen Here. These two form an obvious pair for comparison, (at least one review I read of Roth's book referred to Lewis's) as they are both "alternate histories" that examine the question of how far America was pushed toward fascism as a result of the Great Depression and the conflicts in Europe. The Lewis novel is not one of his best; the characters are a bit stock and the last third of the novel seems as though it were rushed to a conclusion. Lewis was an unreformed alcoholic, and several of his books have this problem. He would lose patience with himself and his creations and finish just for the sake of finishing. The Roth novel is, in my opinion, excellent. Some critics have complained that the historical scenario he paints is far-fetched and shows a poor opinion of the American public, especially rural America. History, however, has borne out more than one far-fetched scenario, and the American public only deserves the generosity it displays. In a country where a group of people (no matter how small) can make a practice of showing up at military funerals with signs saying "God Hates Fags" we need to admit we can expect the worst.
It was a pair of incidents from these second novels that gave me the idea (and the title) for this entry. In both books, the protagonists are having a hard time understanding the appeal of the charismatic political leaders who are vying for power. (In Roth's book that character is Charles Lindbergh, running for president against FDR on a "Stay Out of War in Europe" platform.) The pivotal episode for each, which allows them to see the grasp these men have on their audience -- if not succumb to it -- is a rally at Madison Square Garden. The similarities between the two episodes are striking and enlightening. One interesting difference is the perspective of the protagonists in each novel. Lewis has his hero attend the speech in person, while Roth's listens to the speech on the radio. Otherwise, the effect and the outcome are quite similar. Both stories show how appeals to emotion outweigh appeals to reason in the political arena. This is an important lesson more acutely and accurately conveyed in a novel than a textbook.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Lazy, lazy, lazy. Lazy all around.
(The missus has Flashdance on in the other room, and Lady Lady Lady started playing just as I typed this.)
I was going to write a letter to the Globe, but I haven't had a chance to sit down and compose something nice and organized and well thought out, so I am just going to rant quickly in here. I am never surprised when Jeff Jacoby's op-ed pieces in the Globe piss me off. The guy is just the paper's token conservative and it is almost guaranteed that whatever issue is at the top of the news during any given week, he will be spouting the (Republican) party line.
Yesterday, though, his piece was odious more for its lack of effort than anything else. He decided to jump on the Obama-bashing wagon because of the flap over the Senator's decision not to wear a flag pin on his lapel like every other lock-stepping automaton. Barack's statement was (and Jacoby quoted him) "I noticed people wearing a lapel pin and not acting very patriotic." Jacoby then spends six paragraphs excoriating Obama for daring to utter disparaging words about all the wonderful, patriotic Americans who wear lapel pins. Jacoby's vision of America (like Ann Coulter's) is one where we all go along. If a symbol can stand in for a sentiment, then by God you better have the symbol on your chest like everyone else, and don't dare question the sincerity of anyone sporting the same symbol.
The most aggravating thing is that Jacoby, a graduate of the BU School of Law, would make such a logically fallacious argument and use it for the basis of an entire column. It's insulting. Does he think that the readers of the Boston Globe aren't intelligent enough to know the difference between Obama saying some people who wear pins might be misrepresenting themselves and all people who wear pins are misrepresenting themselves? Of course it's completely unverifiable but I would be willing to bet any amount of money that, had John McCain or Rudolph Guiliani made the exact same statement, Jacoby would have broken out his Roget's and found every synonym for brave he could (and made some up) and written ten paragraphs about it.
But I'm one to talk; I was going to write to the Globe but I blahrrgd about it instead. I'm too lazy to send a letter out.
P.S. Has Ann Coulter completely lost her mind, or is she just so worried that she's gone a month without making the front page of CNN that she had to say something completely ridiculous?
I was going to write a letter to the Globe, but I haven't had a chance to sit down and compose something nice and organized and well thought out, so I am just going to rant quickly in here. I am never surprised when Jeff Jacoby's op-ed pieces in the Globe piss me off. The guy is just the paper's token conservative and it is almost guaranteed that whatever issue is at the top of the news during any given week, he will be spouting the (Republican) party line.
Yesterday, though, his piece was odious more for its lack of effort than anything else. He decided to jump on the Obama-bashing wagon because of the flap over the Senator's decision not to wear a flag pin on his lapel like every other lock-stepping automaton. Barack's statement was (and Jacoby quoted him) "I noticed people wearing a lapel pin and not acting very patriotic." Jacoby then spends six paragraphs excoriating Obama for daring to utter disparaging words about all the wonderful, patriotic Americans who wear lapel pins. Jacoby's vision of America (like Ann Coulter's) is one where we all go along. If a symbol can stand in for a sentiment, then by God you better have the symbol on your chest like everyone else, and don't dare question the sincerity of anyone sporting the same symbol.
The most aggravating thing is that Jacoby, a graduate of the BU School of Law, would make such a logically fallacious argument and use it for the basis of an entire column. It's insulting. Does he think that the readers of the Boston Globe aren't intelligent enough to know the difference between Obama saying some people who wear pins might be misrepresenting themselves and all people who wear pins are misrepresenting themselves? Of course it's completely unverifiable but I would be willing to bet any amount of money that, had John McCain or Rudolph Guiliani made the exact same statement, Jacoby would have broken out his Roget's and found every synonym for brave he could (and made some up) and written ten paragraphs about it.
But I'm one to talk; I was going to write to the Globe but I blahrrgd about it instead. I'm too lazy to send a letter out.
P.S. Has Ann Coulter completely lost her mind, or is she just so worried that she's gone a month without making the front page of CNN that she had to say something completely ridiculous?
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
"You've never been anywhere, have you ahss-hole?"
Death is a strange and difficult thing to deal with for everyone. One perspective I recall reading is that death is the only supernatural event with which everyone has experience. We all lose someone at some point in our lives; we all have to come to grips with a life, a soul, leaving forever.
I've been fortunate in that I really haven't had too much loss in my life. My parents and siblings are all still alive. I even have one surviving grandparent, which is remarkable for a forty-year-old. My family just celebrated my paternal grandmother's ninetieth birthday two weeks ago. My only experience with the unexpected loss of a close family member was the sudden death of my aunt at the age of fifty.
Last week, though, my close friend's father passed away. Adam and I have known each other since we were fifteen, and I spent a lot of time at his house. His father was a friend to me, too. In fact both his parents were. I always felt that they were the kind of people who were a phone call away if I ever needed them. They were nice enough to open their house to our band and let us rehearse there for years, and made us feel welcome every single time we showed up.
Freeman was a teacher and a raconteur, and he loved the sound of his own voice - but with good reason. He was the most successful debate coach Melrose High School ever had (and ever will have), and had a love of American history that infected those around him (at least it did me). He also had a bizarre, absurdist side that came, I think, from not being afraid to be unusual or conspicuous. Every group of friends has "in" jokes; sayings, quotes from movies, Freudian slips that came out at just the right time. The jokes among me and my band mates, who were exposed to Freem on a regular basis, are filled with "Freem-isms." After dinner one night, Sally announced that she had made coffee jell-o for dessert. I'd never had coffee jell-o (I didn't even know it came in that flavor) and said as much. Freem looked at me as if I had just said "Really, the Pope isn't a Methodist?" and exclaimed "Never had coffee jell-o? You've never been anywhere, have you ahss-hole!?" He was forever calling me an ahss-hole and a horse's ahss and (my personal favorite) a touch-hole. And always with a great, big smile on his face. Probably the strangest Freem-ism was a complete non sequitur. We were eating pizza and somebody mentioned Taco Bell. Freem was finishing off a bite of pepperoni (his favorite) and with a big grin on his face said, "Taco Bell, mon! My brudder been down dere." !? Whatever he meant, it's a mystery he has taken to his grave.
When I got the news that Freeman had passed away, I was stunned. I hadn't seen him in almost a year, and the last time I saw him he was in relatively good health and spirits. He had had his share of health troubles, but it seemed like things were turning around. But this year wasn't a good one for him, and there were more setbacks than advances. In one sense, I was glad that I had a memory of him frozen in my mind from better times; but that seems almost unfair. The people who meant the most to him had helped him right up to the end, and they couldn't replace the reality with a softened version of the past. He got sick. He got sicker. And he died.
I didn't know what to expect at the wake. To me, this seemed like such an untimely and unfair loss. A man, perhaps old and ill, but still vital, was "suddenly" gone. In my universe, Freem was there one minute, calling me a "horse's ahss" and telling raunchy stories, and gone the next. But when I talked to his sons they told me no, this was expected. Yes, he was still himself right up to the day he died, but he was tired. I got the impression that he went out on his own terms. And at the memorial service the next day, Adam gave the most touching and eloquent eulogy I have ever heard, with equal measures of remorse, respect, irreverence and humor. After that, I heard a story about Freeman's last day from Cal and Adam and it all started to feel like less of a sudden departure.
There are a lot of things I'll miss about Freeman Frank, and I am sure I won't miss him even half as much as his family, but his life was whole and complete. So, really, nothing is "gone." Freem was there, and is there, and will always be there. And I'll always be a horse's ahss.
I've been fortunate in that I really haven't had too much loss in my life. My parents and siblings are all still alive. I even have one surviving grandparent, which is remarkable for a forty-year-old. My family just celebrated my paternal grandmother's ninetieth birthday two weeks ago. My only experience with the unexpected loss of a close family member was the sudden death of my aunt at the age of fifty.
Last week, though, my close friend's father passed away. Adam and I have known each other since we were fifteen, and I spent a lot of time at his house. His father was a friend to me, too. In fact both his parents were. I always felt that they were the kind of people who were a phone call away if I ever needed them. They were nice enough to open their house to our band and let us rehearse there for years, and made us feel welcome every single time we showed up.
Freeman was a teacher and a raconteur, and he loved the sound of his own voice - but with good reason. He was the most successful debate coach Melrose High School ever had (and ever will have), and had a love of American history that infected those around him (at least it did me). He also had a bizarre, absurdist side that came, I think, from not being afraid to be unusual or conspicuous. Every group of friends has "in" jokes; sayings, quotes from movies, Freudian slips that came out at just the right time. The jokes among me and my band mates, who were exposed to Freem on a regular basis, are filled with "Freem-isms." After dinner one night, Sally announced that she had made coffee jell-o for dessert. I'd never had coffee jell-o (I didn't even know it came in that flavor) and said as much. Freem looked at me as if I had just said "Really, the Pope isn't a Methodist?" and exclaimed "Never had coffee jell-o? You've never been anywhere, have you ahss-hole!?" He was forever calling me an ahss-hole and a horse's ahss and (my personal favorite) a touch-hole. And always with a great, big smile on his face. Probably the strangest Freem-ism was a complete non sequitur. We were eating pizza and somebody mentioned Taco Bell. Freem was finishing off a bite of pepperoni (his favorite) and with a big grin on his face said, "Taco Bell, mon! My brudder been down dere." !? Whatever he meant, it's a mystery he has taken to his grave.
When I got the news that Freeman had passed away, I was stunned. I hadn't seen him in almost a year, and the last time I saw him he was in relatively good health and spirits. He had had his share of health troubles, but it seemed like things were turning around. But this year wasn't a good one for him, and there were more setbacks than advances. In one sense, I was glad that I had a memory of him frozen in my mind from better times; but that seems almost unfair. The people who meant the most to him had helped him right up to the end, and they couldn't replace the reality with a softened version of the past. He got sick. He got sicker. And he died.
I didn't know what to expect at the wake. To me, this seemed like such an untimely and unfair loss. A man, perhaps old and ill, but still vital, was "suddenly" gone. In my universe, Freem was there one minute, calling me a "horse's ahss" and telling raunchy stories, and gone the next. But when I talked to his sons they told me no, this was expected. Yes, he was still himself right up to the day he died, but he was tired. I got the impression that he went out on his own terms. And at the memorial service the next day, Adam gave the most touching and eloquent eulogy I have ever heard, with equal measures of remorse, respect, irreverence and humor. After that, I heard a story about Freeman's last day from Cal and Adam and it all started to feel like less of a sudden departure.
There are a lot of things I'll miss about Freeman Frank, and I am sure I won't miss him even half as much as his family, but his life was whole and complete. So, really, nothing is "gone." Freem was there, and is there, and will always be there. And I'll always be a horse's ahss.
Friday, October 05, 2007
Some comments that I've heard recently that can only be described as stupid:
Listening to NPR this morning (I know, I'm turning into a stereotype, but 'BZ has too many frikken commercials), there was a story about Donald Rumsfeld being named to a fellowship at the Hoover Institute at Stanford. Several faculty and students started a petition expressing their dissatisfaction with the choice. After all, Donald Rumsfeld is the primary architect of what will have to go down in American history as the first big blunder of the 21st century. And even the people in his own administration are attributing the failure of the war in Iraq to his misjudgements. But do you know why the faculty and students are protesting his appointment? Because liberals are intolerant and dismissive of alternative opinions, according to Greg Lukianoff and Roger Kimball.
In class last night, we were discussing states where the government had no authority outside of the capital city. One of the students actually said, "isn't that just like the situation in Harlem, New York?" ??!! Watch a little too much Law and Order lately, pal?
This morning, the train was crowded - quelle surprise - and a man who got on felt it was just too unfair for him to have to deal with this. He leaned up against a pole with his rather large posterior right in the face on a woman sitting in one of the seats. She said, "Excuse me!," and he replied "Snooty Bitch!" I was stunned, and just stared at him (he was right in front of me). I'm always shocked that people can make it to adulthood with such ignorant attitudes. He noticed me staring at him and said, "Well, she is a snotty bitch."
In class last night, we were discussing states where the government had no authority outside of the capital city. One of the students actually said, "isn't that just like the situation in Harlem, New York?" ??!! Watch a little too much Law and Order lately, pal?
This morning, the train was crowded - quelle surprise - and a man who got on felt it was just too unfair for him to have to deal with this. He leaned up against a pole with his rather large posterior right in the face on a woman sitting in one of the seats. She said, "Excuse me!," and he replied "Snooty Bitch!" I was stunned, and just stared at him (he was right in front of me). I'm always shocked that people can make it to adulthood with such ignorant attitudes. He noticed me staring at him and said, "Well, she is a snotty bitch."
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Ummm...
...I was in a coma for seven months...
...I was thinking of joining the priesthood and went to a seminary, but earthly temptations proved too much to withstand...
...I spent most of my time doing utterly boring and mundane things that have no business being blarrgghhed about.
One of these statements is a fact, or what a philosopher would call an objective consensus on a fundamental reality. I'll let you decide which one.
In the meantime I will tell you that it is also a fact that I have a Master's degree in public policy and am now officially a PhD student. I will probably take my comprehensive exams next fall and submit a dissertation proposal, at which point I will be a doctoral candidate, or what is referred to as ABD (all but dissertation). This will be a step up from my usual state of ADD, ADHD and ASSHOLE.
Lisa and I are in new digs closer to the center of JP. The apartment is beautiful, newly renovated and wonderfully spacious. The only drawback is a lack of closet space. All our dirty little secrets are out in the open, like the fact that we own no less than seven guitars, two amps, a drum kit, a keyboard and enough assorted percussion instruments to do a live version of Don't Stop 'til You Get Enough. I think we even have a Vibra-Slap. Dirty.
I was talking with somebody about how clothes are an extension of the image you want to project, and we agreed that your house/home/apartment is (or can be) an extension of that, too. Moving out of the old apartment has had a good effect on my psyche. The old place was a decent apartment. Lots of closets. But the rooms were all separated from each other by tiny little doorways. As you walked from the living room at the front of the apartment to the kitchen in the back, you had to do a kind of psychic compression through each doorway. In the new place, the living room and kitchen are connected by a great big doorway. In fact they're almost one big room. I can stretch my head a bit.
We still have a lot of boxes to empty out, and I need to get rid of a few dozen books if I can find that many I can part with, but we immediately felt at home here. Now I have to get over the inertia that has settled in and get the last of the stuff unpacked and in place. It's funny how stuff you thought was absolutely essential to your life can sit at the bottom of a box for a month and you don't even miss it. What more proof do I need that it wasn't so important in the first place?
...I was thinking of joining the priesthood and went to a seminary, but earthly temptations proved too much to withstand...
...I spent most of my time doing utterly boring and mundane things that have no business being blarrgghhed about.
One of these statements is a fact, or what a philosopher would call an objective consensus on a fundamental reality. I'll let you decide which one.
In the meantime I will tell you that it is also a fact that I have a Master's degree in public policy and am now officially a PhD student. I will probably take my comprehensive exams next fall and submit a dissertation proposal, at which point I will be a doctoral candidate, or what is referred to as ABD (all but dissertation). This will be a step up from my usual state of ADD, ADHD and ASSHOLE.
Lisa and I are in new digs closer to the center of JP. The apartment is beautiful, newly renovated and wonderfully spacious. The only drawback is a lack of closet space. All our dirty little secrets are out in the open, like the fact that we own no less than seven guitars, two amps, a drum kit, a keyboard and enough assorted percussion instruments to do a live version of Don't Stop 'til You Get Enough. I think we even have a Vibra-Slap. Dirty.
I was talking with somebody about how clothes are an extension of the image you want to project, and we agreed that your house/home/apartment is (or can be) an extension of that, too. Moving out of the old apartment has had a good effect on my psyche. The old place was a decent apartment. Lots of closets. But the rooms were all separated from each other by tiny little doorways. As you walked from the living room at the front of the apartment to the kitchen in the back, you had to do a kind of psychic compression through each doorway. In the new place, the living room and kitchen are connected by a great big doorway. In fact they're almost one big room. I can stretch my head a bit.
We still have a lot of boxes to empty out, and I need to get rid of a few dozen books if I can find that many I can part with, but we immediately felt at home here. Now I have to get over the inertia that has settled in and get the last of the stuff unpacked and in place. It's funny how stuff you thought was absolutely essential to your life can sit at the bottom of a box for a month and you don't even miss it. What more proof do I need that it wasn't so important in the first place?
Saturday, February 17, 2007
You Can Not petition the Lord with prayer!
I was reading an article on crisis pregnancy centers in Time magazine this afternoon. The abortion debate is truly one of those intractable discussions that may never be completely settled. I have my positions on the issue, which I won't go into here. I assume most people who know me know how I feel about this, and I am not one to proselytize. The comment I read that got me thinking was an opinion expressed by the CEO of a "pregnancy services" center in Asheville, NC. She says, "the Bible clearly states that sex outside of marriage is against God's will for our lives."
This seems like a reasonable and widely accepted point of view. Most people, believers or not, would say that the Bible does not support pre- or extra- marital sex. But if you really study the Bible closely, it is not so clear. People often point out that the Bible sets many standards that could not be followed today. Slavery, polygamy, and indiscriminate slaughter are all condoned at one point or another in the Bible, but no reasonable person would argue that they are acceptable in today's world.
My point is that whenever anyone says those four words -- "the Bible clearly states" -- what follows is invariably a subjective statement of what that person believes. Furthermore, it is usually a prelude to some statement that the speaker thinks is a fundamental moral law that no one could argue with. The Bible does not clearly state anything, and in fact just about any position that the Bible can be used to support, the Bible can also be used to refute.
The other statement that always sets me off is "I only answer to my Lord." One virtually universal sentiment in world religions is that whatever diety exists is primarily concerned with how we treat each other. It is inherent in faith that we have a responsibility to each other. You can't do whatever you feel like and justify it by claiming to "answer to the Lord."
This seems like a reasonable and widely accepted point of view. Most people, believers or not, would say that the Bible does not support pre- or extra- marital sex. But if you really study the Bible closely, it is not so clear. People often point out that the Bible sets many standards that could not be followed today. Slavery, polygamy, and indiscriminate slaughter are all condoned at one point or another in the Bible, but no reasonable person would argue that they are acceptable in today's world.
My point is that whenever anyone says those four words -- "the Bible clearly states" -- what follows is invariably a subjective statement of what that person believes. Furthermore, it is usually a prelude to some statement that the speaker thinks is a fundamental moral law that no one could argue with. The Bible does not clearly state anything, and in fact just about any position that the Bible can be used to support, the Bible can also be used to refute.
The other statement that always sets me off is "I only answer to my Lord." One virtually universal sentiment in world religions is that whatever diety exists is primarily concerned with how we treat each other. It is inherent in faith that we have a responsibility to each other. You can't do whatever you feel like and justify it by claiming to "answer to the Lord."
Thursday, February 08, 2007
What marriage means to me.
The missus, like many missuses, asks me to confirm that what she is wearing for the day looks okay. She will sometimes use the classic "Does this make me look fat" but usually she has a specific and perfectly reasonable concern that I have no qualms addressing. Often it's just a matter of making sure something isn't too wrinkled and that she doesn't have a stray sock or pair of panties stuck to her skirt. I occasionally ask her to return the favor.
This morning I was contemplating my wardrobe and had a small problem. It's been bitter-ass cold all week, and I don't own too many sweaters. I was down to the last sweater in the closet, a straightforward crew-neck in a boring shade of brown. The trouble is, I was planning on wearing my brown pants, too, and I thought the outfit was going to make me look like a UPS driver (not that I have a problem with UPS drivers). So I caught her attention as she was getting ready to leave and said, "Hey, do you think this brown sweater will be okay with these pants? Cause I don't want to, you know, look like a..."
"Big turd?" she interjected.
"...uh...yeah, that or a UPS driver. Do you think I'll look like a big turd?"
"Oh no, honey. Of course not. Bye."
This morning I was contemplating my wardrobe and had a small problem. It's been bitter-ass cold all week, and I don't own too many sweaters. I was down to the last sweater in the closet, a straightforward crew-neck in a boring shade of brown. The trouble is, I was planning on wearing my brown pants, too, and I thought the outfit was going to make me look like a UPS driver (not that I have a problem with UPS drivers). So I caught her attention as she was getting ready to leave and said, "Hey, do you think this brown sweater will be okay with these pants? Cause I don't want to, you know, look like a..."
"Big turd?" she interjected.
"...uh...yeah, that or a UPS driver. Do you think I'll look like a big turd?"
"Oh no, honey. Of course not. Bye."
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Hhm.
I am at work with the "radio" on KEXP, and the Stranglers (or is it just Stranglers) "Golden Brown" just came on. I've always liked this song, but I never really knew the lyrics beyond "never a frown, with golden brown." Now that I've listened to them closely, I realize that it's basically (as far as the lyrical message is concerned) the same as "Brown Sugar" by the Rolling Stones.
Unless it's about heroin.
Unless it's about heroin.
Friday, January 26, 2007
It's already happening!
See, it's already Groundhog Day (practically) and this is only the second time I've written here. I am keeping ahead of things for the most part in the rest of my life. I need to write an essay to get into the PhD program at school, even though I already wrote them an essay eighteen months ago. I wonder if they'd notice if I sent the same essay?
I went searching on Amazon yesterday for books on finding freelance research work. I know I could buy one of those Writer's Market books for technical writing, but I was hoping to find something that would give some tips on finding clients and pitching yourself to companies. I am not sure if I want to pursue that or not, but it is an option as I get further along in my education and can convincingly bullshit -- I mean sell myself as a capable researcher/analyst.
Right now I feel like I spend most of my time (the time I'm not goofing off on the Internets) figuring out shortcuts to transform Excel spreadsheets into workable data files. The more computers become central to everything we do, the more we all become glorified code writers.
I went searching on Amazon yesterday for books on finding freelance research work. I know I could buy one of those Writer's Market books for technical writing, but I was hoping to find something that would give some tips on finding clients and pitching yourself to companies. I am not sure if I want to pursue that or not, but it is an option as I get further along in my education and can convincingly bullshit -- I mean sell myself as a capable researcher/analyst.
Right now I feel like I spend most of my time (the time I'm not goofing off on the Internets) figuring out shortcuts to transform Excel spreadsheets into workable data files. The more computers become central to everything we do, the more we all become glorified code writers.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
I think I'll try and hold my breath for 2007.
I know it's so commonly said as to be a cliche, but 2006 went by ridiculously fast. I made resolutions for last year that I didn't so much break as just never got around to. I feel like I spent the entire year catching up: catching up on school work, on office work, on friendships and family time. There were coworkers and friends who I literally didn't talk to all year.
So, for 2007, my one simple resolution is not to let myself get so far behind in things. If I can control things a little better, maybe this year won't fly by like the last.
Changing topics, I have been following all the flap that new Congressman Keith Ellison has caused by using the Koran to take his oath of office. It amazes me that people, and more specifically another Congressman, would be so ignorant of the principles of religious tolerance that they would take issue with this. Unfortunately the kind of rigid, xenophobic, narrow minded dolt who equates "Muslim" with "terrorist" will not be convinced otherwise by any argument, no matter how eloquent the words or unassailable the patriotism of their source. That the Congressman who represents the district in which Thomas Jefferson was born would stoop to making fear-mongering statements about the need to tighten immigration restrictions or risk the prospect of more elected officials taking the oath of office on the Koran is sickening.
So, for 2007, my one simple resolution is not to let myself get so far behind in things. If I can control things a little better, maybe this year won't fly by like the last.
Changing topics, I have been following all the flap that new Congressman Keith Ellison has caused by using the Koran to take his oath of office. It amazes me that people, and more specifically another Congressman, would be so ignorant of the principles of religious tolerance that they would take issue with this. Unfortunately the kind of rigid, xenophobic, narrow minded dolt who equates "Muslim" with "terrorist" will not be convinced otherwise by any argument, no matter how eloquent the words or unassailable the patriotism of their source. That the Congressman who represents the district in which Thomas Jefferson was born would stoop to making fear-mongering statements about the need to tighten immigration restrictions or risk the prospect of more elected officials taking the oath of office on the Koran is sickening.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Noise noise noise noise
I finally put pictures of the Christmas tree up. They're at my Flickr site, which you can link to from the bookmark over on the right. The one that says "My Photos."
I spent most of this past weekend with family members, especially many small children. And some not so small children. I know this is something everyone says, to the point of sounding trite and cliched, but kids really grow up fast. I have a mental picture in my mind of my step-brother changing my niece's diaper on the floor of my father and step-mother's house on Christmas eve. I can here all the sounds and conversation going on around me, I can smell the food that was being served in the kitchen, and most of all I can remember thinking how silly she looked getting her diaper changed. She was just kind of looking up at my step-brother and waiting for him to be finished (she was probably about two and wasn't going to be in diapers too much longer). I don't remember the exact year, but it had to have been well over ten years ago because I saw her yesterday at my step-sister's house and she is three inches taller than me (in heels) and a sophomore in high school.
Having the chaos of children around reminded me of something I though of in church a couple of weeks ago. The Episcopal parish I go to does Sunday school in the parish hall up to the point in the service where the congregation exchanges the peace of Christ. As we shake hands and get ready for the Eucharistic part of the liturgy, the kids pour in and join their parents in the pews. They help with the collection, and then generally buzz and hum about until the end of the service. This means that while the vicar is telling the story of the Eucharist, and blessing the bread and wine, and during the recitation of the Lord's prayer, there is a lot of giggling, chattering, wandering, and occasional squalling going on. The more experienced parishioners make no attempt to hush or huddle their children.
I can imagine some parents going crazy with this type of activity going on during what is the most solemn and important part of the service, and I have often imagined a kind of dialogue in my head between a more strict parent and the parents of St. John's. Two things occurred to me, which made it clear that not only does this method of dealing with restless children in church not do any harm, it adds something very useful to the experience.
First is what the distraction of children's voices and footsteps during the Eucharist provides for adults. It is a challenge of sorts. We are constantly distracted and preoccupied in our daily lives, and yet Christ (or God or whatever your flavor of faith is) expects us to stay focused. We acknowledge the distractions, we deal with what we have to, but we get our minds back on the task at hand and stay connected to our faith. If we concentrate and find balance in our minds, we will hear the most important parts of the message of faith through the din of the everyday world.
The second realization I had concerned the children themselves, and my response to someone who felt that they should be compelled to pay attention during the service. The benefit children get from going to church, especially very young children, is hardly in the specific lessons and words they hear there. What is most important is the model of behavior they see being set by the adults around them. If they are being scolded by parents who are focusing more on being in control than they are on the transcendence of the moment, they won't come away from the churchgoing experience with any sense of the peace and reassurance that regular worship brings. After all, how many kids who were forced to attend church every Sunday throughout their childhood abandoned it the moment they had the freedom to? And how much good is it doing for those people who go only because it was programmed into them?
After spending the last two days surrounded by tumbling, chattering, squawking, crying, laughing and questioning voices, I have reached a sort of indifference to it. Not an indifference to the kids, but an ability to squelch the noise and filter the distractions and not lose my mind. I imagine this is what most parents learn to do, eventually. When I think of all the adults in my life when I was a child, I am amazed at what they accomplished while my brother or cousins or friends and I were raising a ruckus. They carried on conversations, played card games, read books, watched television and a host of other things. You must just get used to it after a while.
I spent most of this past weekend with family members, especially many small children. And some not so small children. I know this is something everyone says, to the point of sounding trite and cliched, but kids really grow up fast. I have a mental picture in my mind of my step-brother changing my niece's diaper on the floor of my father and step-mother's house on Christmas eve. I can here all the sounds and conversation going on around me, I can smell the food that was being served in the kitchen, and most of all I can remember thinking how silly she looked getting her diaper changed. She was just kind of looking up at my step-brother and waiting for him to be finished (she was probably about two and wasn't going to be in diapers too much longer). I don't remember the exact year, but it had to have been well over ten years ago because I saw her yesterday at my step-sister's house and she is three inches taller than me (in heels) and a sophomore in high school.
Having the chaos of children around reminded me of something I though of in church a couple of weeks ago. The Episcopal parish I go to does Sunday school in the parish hall up to the point in the service where the congregation exchanges the peace of Christ. As we shake hands and get ready for the Eucharistic part of the liturgy, the kids pour in and join their parents in the pews. They help with the collection, and then generally buzz and hum about until the end of the service. This means that while the vicar is telling the story of the Eucharist, and blessing the bread and wine, and during the recitation of the Lord's prayer, there is a lot of giggling, chattering, wandering, and occasional squalling going on. The more experienced parishioners make no attempt to hush or huddle their children.
I can imagine some parents going crazy with this type of activity going on during what is the most solemn and important part of the service, and I have often imagined a kind of dialogue in my head between a more strict parent and the parents of St. John's. Two things occurred to me, which made it clear that not only does this method of dealing with restless children in church not do any harm, it adds something very useful to the experience.
First is what the distraction of children's voices and footsteps during the Eucharist provides for adults. It is a challenge of sorts. We are constantly distracted and preoccupied in our daily lives, and yet Christ (or God or whatever your flavor of faith is) expects us to stay focused. We acknowledge the distractions, we deal with what we have to, but we get our minds back on the task at hand and stay connected to our faith. If we concentrate and find balance in our minds, we will hear the most important parts of the message of faith through the din of the everyday world.
The second realization I had concerned the children themselves, and my response to someone who felt that they should be compelled to pay attention during the service. The benefit children get from going to church, especially very young children, is hardly in the specific lessons and words they hear there. What is most important is the model of behavior they see being set by the adults around them. If they are being scolded by parents who are focusing more on being in control than they are on the transcendence of the moment, they won't come away from the churchgoing experience with any sense of the peace and reassurance that regular worship brings. After all, how many kids who were forced to attend church every Sunday throughout their childhood abandoned it the moment they had the freedom to? And how much good is it doing for those people who go only because it was programmed into them?
After spending the last two days surrounded by tumbling, chattering, squawking, crying, laughing and questioning voices, I have reached a sort of indifference to it. Not an indifference to the kids, but an ability to squelch the noise and filter the distractions and not lose my mind. I imagine this is what most parents learn to do, eventually. When I think of all the adults in my life when I was a child, I am amazed at what they accomplished while my brother or cousins or friends and I were raising a ruckus. They carried on conversations, played card games, read books, watched television and a host of other things. You must just get used to it after a while.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
O Tannenbaum
After six years in school, I am beginning to associate the holidays with panic-stricken paper writing. With the exception of one fall term when the school fiddled around with the schedule -- and the term ended after the new year -- the Christmas season has also marked a period of multiple assignment deadlines. I'm actually enjoying it this year; it adds to the whole intense, expectant, anticipatory mood of the season. And I would like to think I am getting better at slamming out papers, so it is getting easier (but I'll wait to say that with 100% conviction until after I get this term's grades.)
Right now I am trying to decide whether I am going to go out shopping tonight, or finish the last of my papers. I really need to get some presents for a family get together this weekend, and I can write during work hours tomorrow and Thursday (when the paper is due). But tonight I just don't feel like shopping. I have no idea what to get, anyway. I need some presents for little nieces and nephews that I don't see very often, so I'm not sure what they're into. And I am looking forward to writing this paper.
The whole process of writing is getting easier and more enjoyable for me. I outline things in my head and literally visualize the paper coming together. I picture a body, like a lizard or a cat, and the main idea is the spine. The head is the introduction, that has a little bit of everything in it. The legs are the specific points I want to concentrate on, and the tail is the re-statement of the most important point I am trying to make. Once all those parts are filled in I can sit down and knock off how ever many pages I need just by adding to each part.
The hardest part of writing academic papers is digging through sources for references. I have to develop a system of keeping quotes and citations easy to access, so I can drop them in at the appropriate place and not spend 45 minutes flipping through a book or article looking for the few relevant words I know I read somewhere. I'm sure there are software tools for this, but I have to get used to using them. I have a nice outlining software for Mac that was free, but I never use it. The university also licenses EndNote software for bibliography writing. If I were smart I'd start a database of my sources now and save myself all that typing come dissertation time.
Last but not least, we got our Christmas tree up this past weekend. I'm going to post some photos later. It is a great tree - shaped like a perfect triangle, and decorated to perfection by the missus. She's kind of particular about it. I try to help, but I usually end up doing a crossword and watching "A Christmas Carol" while she agonizes over ornament placement. I do the take down. It used to depress me, but I get as excited by the end of Christmas (and the start of a new year) as I used to get by the beginning of it.
Right now I am trying to decide whether I am going to go out shopping tonight, or finish the last of my papers. I really need to get some presents for a family get together this weekend, and I can write during work hours tomorrow and Thursday (when the paper is due). But tonight I just don't feel like shopping. I have no idea what to get, anyway. I need some presents for little nieces and nephews that I don't see very often, so I'm not sure what they're into. And I am looking forward to writing this paper.
The whole process of writing is getting easier and more enjoyable for me. I outline things in my head and literally visualize the paper coming together. I picture a body, like a lizard or a cat, and the main idea is the spine. The head is the introduction, that has a little bit of everything in it. The legs are the specific points I want to concentrate on, and the tail is the re-statement of the most important point I am trying to make. Once all those parts are filled in I can sit down and knock off how ever many pages I need just by adding to each part.
The hardest part of writing academic papers is digging through sources for references. I have to develop a system of keeping quotes and citations easy to access, so I can drop them in at the appropriate place and not spend 45 minutes flipping through a book or article looking for the few relevant words I know I read somewhere. I'm sure there are software tools for this, but I have to get used to using them. I have a nice outlining software for Mac that was free, but I never use it. The university also licenses EndNote software for bibliography writing. If I were smart I'd start a database of my sources now and save myself all that typing come dissertation time.
Last but not least, we got our Christmas tree up this past weekend. I'm going to post some photos later. It is a great tree - shaped like a perfect triangle, and decorated to perfection by the missus. She's kind of particular about it. I try to help, but I usually end up doing a crossword and watching "A Christmas Carol" while she agonizes over ornament placement. I do the take down. It used to depress me, but I get as excited by the end of Christmas (and the start of a new year) as I used to get by the beginning of it.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
T-day plus 2
I made pie. And cranberry chutney. And broccoli bake. The broccoli bake is like the classic green bean casserole, with the French fried onions and Campbell's soup, only you use broccoli instead of green beans and cream of broccoli soup instead of cream of mushroom soup. The cranberry chutney is one of my favorite things to cook and eat. That's made with shallots, ginger, garlic, sugar, cider vinegar and cranberries. Savory and sweet, and it is great on a turkey sandwich.
The masterpiece was my pie: buttermilk pecan. Two cups of sugar, one cup of buttermilk and one stick of butter (among other things). It is one of the richest, sweetest things I've ever eaten. Good thing I only make it once a year.
The leftovers are almost gone. The weekend is almost over. The season is in full swing now. Blink and you'll miss it.
The masterpiece was my pie: buttermilk pecan. Two cups of sugar, one cup of buttermilk and one stick of butter (among other things). It is one of the richest, sweetest things I've ever eaten. Good thing I only make it once a year.
The leftovers are almost gone. The weekend is almost over. The season is in full swing now. Blink and you'll miss it.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Remembrance Day
It was a bright, warm November day, and I took a walk around the pond. I noticed a lot of empty jackets forgotten on benches; it must have seemed like a good idea when you left the house, but sixty-five degrees is too warm for that micro-fleece knit pullover. This time of year, the sun is always low in the sky, and shadows and glints of light bounce around and keep me squinting and distracted. I can't focus on any one thing for too long, but I never could, even under the best of circumstances.
Saint Martin, according to legend, cut his cloak in half to save a freezing beggar. A period of warm weather on (or near to) his feast day is often called St. Martin's little summer, and it is believed that there always is a spell of warm weather in honor of his kindness. In America, these warm spells are called Indian Summer, in honor of the opportunity they provided for the savage brutes to squeeze in one more attack before the winter settled in for good. Imagine the audacity! Such a crass lack of hospitality. And after we gave them all those blankets to keep them warm.
Today a WAR MEMORIAL was dedicated at the school. WAR MEMORIALS strike me as misleading and contradictory. This one is not very imaginative or subtle: black granite with etched, coarsly photo-screened images of war on one side, stainless steel plaques like over-sized dog tags on the other. Inflexibility and strength. And a too-human tendency to replace memory with an archivist's ledger. Shouldn't the point of every WAR MEMORIAL be a compelling persuasion to never let this happen again, and not some macho promise of immortality? Dulce et decorum est, indeed.
I remember realizing, in a history class I took two years ago, that the anniversary of the abdication of Kaiser Wilhelm and Kristallnacht were one day apart. How you remember is just as important as what you remember.
"Fellas, it's been good to know ya."
Saint Martin, according to legend, cut his cloak in half to save a freezing beggar. A period of warm weather on (or near to) his feast day is often called St. Martin's little summer, and it is believed that there always is a spell of warm weather in honor of his kindness. In America, these warm spells are called Indian Summer, in honor of the opportunity they provided for the savage brutes to squeeze in one more attack before the winter settled in for good. Imagine the audacity! Such a crass lack of hospitality. And after we gave them all those blankets to keep them warm.
Today a WAR MEMORIAL was dedicated at the school. WAR MEMORIALS strike me as misleading and contradictory. This one is not very imaginative or subtle: black granite with etched, coarsly photo-screened images of war on one side, stainless steel plaques like over-sized dog tags on the other. Inflexibility and strength. And a too-human tendency to replace memory with an archivist's ledger. Shouldn't the point of every WAR MEMORIAL be a compelling persuasion to never let this happen again, and not some macho promise of immortality? Dulce et decorum est, indeed.
I remember realizing, in a history class I took two years ago, that the anniversary of the abdication of Kaiser Wilhelm and Kristallnacht were one day apart. How you remember is just as important as what you remember.
"Fellas, it's been good to know ya."
Friday, November 10, 2006
I'd Rather Be Wrong and Happy...
I will continue to make gloom-and-doom predictions, but at least my mistakes aren’t too difficult to swallow. Regarding my post at the end of September, I stick with my assertion that the Massachusetts Democratic Party didn’t really get behind Deval Patrick: he won this entirely on his own. Or, more correctly, Kerry Healey lost it. She would have had a chance with a low-key campaign that stuck to identifying Patrick as the tax-and-spend liberal he admits he is. Instead she went with tactics more reminiscent of the national GOP and got blown out of the water. Thank goodness.
On the national level, I am also pleasantly surprised. I think this reaffirms the assertion that pundits and political scientists make: high voter turnout is good for the Democrats and bad for the Republicans. You’ll also notice that in the two close Senate races – Montana and Virginia – the (losing) Republican candidates didn’t do too much kicking and screaming or make accusations of voter fraud and improprieties. Because Republicans are mature and statesmen-like losers, right? No, because they know if anyone is going to use any hanky-panky to nudge a close race over the edge it will be them, and not the Democrats! (Okay, settle down, I’m just kidding.)
Also, for the first time since 1994, more state legislatures are in Democratic hands than Republican. This was also the first time since 1994 that all the chambers that switched hands from one party to the other went from Republican to Democrat. This reinforces the notion that what we have seen is a change on the same scale as the Republican Revolution of 1994. Both chambers of the New Hampshire General Court are controlled by Democrats for the first time since 1874. (That’s supposed to be an 8, it’s not a typo.) For the first time since Rutherford B. Hayes was president New Hampshire is a “blue” state. So much for the Libertarians taking over.
So, the ignorant Americans who get all their political information from the TV news think that we are going to either (a) abandon Iraq overnight, turn all their children homosexual and raise the tax rate to 50%, or (b) pull out of Iraq overnight, fund universal health care, and institute 100% public financing of elections. I was surprised that a fellow graduate student reacted to the election results by saying “hold on to your wallets – the Dems are in charge.” People have such over-simplified views of the world, it’s no wonder we can’t have an intelligent debate about anything.
On the national level, I am also pleasantly surprised. I think this reaffirms the assertion that pundits and political scientists make: high voter turnout is good for the Democrats and bad for the Republicans. You’ll also notice that in the two close Senate races – Montana and Virginia – the (losing) Republican candidates didn’t do too much kicking and screaming or make accusations of voter fraud and improprieties. Because Republicans are mature and statesmen-like losers, right? No, because they know if anyone is going to use any hanky-panky to nudge a close race over the edge it will be them, and not the Democrats! (Okay, settle down, I’m just kidding.)
Also, for the first time since 1994, more state legislatures are in Democratic hands than Republican. This was also the first time since 1994 that all the chambers that switched hands from one party to the other went from Republican to Democrat. This reinforces the notion that what we have seen is a change on the same scale as the Republican Revolution of 1994. Both chambers of the New Hampshire General Court are controlled by Democrats for the first time since 1874. (That’s supposed to be an 8, it’s not a typo.) For the first time since Rutherford B. Hayes was president New Hampshire is a “blue” state. So much for the Libertarians taking over.
So, the ignorant Americans who get all their political information from the TV news think that we are going to either (a) abandon Iraq overnight, turn all their children homosexual and raise the tax rate to 50%, or (b) pull out of Iraq overnight, fund universal health care, and institute 100% public financing of elections. I was surprised that a fellow graduate student reacted to the election results by saying “hold on to your wallets – the Dems are in charge.” People have such over-simplified views of the world, it’s no wonder we can’t have an intelligent debate about anything.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Pranksters and Wiseacres
I've been reading Lisa Crystal Carver's Drugs are Nice lately. I mostly read it in bits and pieces when I'm on the can, because I don't have the luxury of spending long periods of time reading for enjoyment. I was aware of Suckdog and GG Allin in the late eighties when I was a nice, polite, shoe-gazing indie rocker. I always thought that any fool could get on stage and take a crap or insult people and pass themselves off as some kind of unique, demented genius. I had some respect for the guts it took, and the originality of it, but I always thought it would be better if it were done with a little more subtlety. Where’s the shock value if everyone shows up expecting you to shit onstage and flail yourself with the mic stand, and that is exactly what you do?
Another person mentioned in Drugs Are Nice is Lisa’s ex, Boyd Rice. He likes to piss people off by using quasi-fascist symbols and spouting social Darwinist ideas. But when you’re that ham-fisted about making people uncomfortable, you only attract people who either misinterpret what you’re doing (e.g. actual white supremacists or fascists who will eventually kick your teeth in once they figure out what you’re up to) or only have a fleeting attachment to being with the most “out” group they can find but will drop out as soon as they find something weirder or more shocking. Holding an opinion because it will make some people mad is no more original than holding an opinion because it will make some people happy.
Sometimes I do wish I was more of a rebel. But I’ve never felt like my life would be better today if I had managed to insult more people in the past. The people I’ve met who “aren’t afraid to say how they feel” and who “don’t hold anything back to protect other people’s feelings” are always the first to get insulted when you tell them to their faces that they aren’t clever because they are brutally honest, they’re just assholes. Not that anyone is going to accuse me of being too nice anytime soon. Maybe too safe, but not too nice.
Another person mentioned in Drugs Are Nice is Lisa’s ex, Boyd Rice. He likes to piss people off by using quasi-fascist symbols and spouting social Darwinist ideas. But when you’re that ham-fisted about making people uncomfortable, you only attract people who either misinterpret what you’re doing (e.g. actual white supremacists or fascists who will eventually kick your teeth in once they figure out what you’re up to) or only have a fleeting attachment to being with the most “out” group they can find but will drop out as soon as they find something weirder or more shocking. Holding an opinion because it will make some people mad is no more original than holding an opinion because it will make some people happy.
Sometimes I do wish I was more of a rebel. But I’ve never felt like my life would be better today if I had managed to insult more people in the past. The people I’ve met who “aren’t afraid to say how they feel” and who “don’t hold anything back to protect other people’s feelings” are always the first to get insulted when you tell them to their faces that they aren’t clever because they are brutally honest, they’re just assholes. Not that anyone is going to accuse me of being too nice anytime soon. Maybe too safe, but not too nice.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Five Random Confessions
Here, in no particular order, are five things about myself that I am not particularly proud to admit.
- I got into the Clash because I heard "Train in Vain," and I got into the Jam because I saw the video for "Town Called Malice." Yeah, I'm a faux-punk poseur.
- I avoid people I know in public. When I'm commuting to or from work or just out and about, if I see someone I know I will usually avoid them. I'm not talking about people I don't particularly like, or people I don't know well. I just don't really like making small talk. The only people this doesn't apply to are my wife and the few people I am close enough with that we can sit quietly together. It takes a certain level of intimacy to transcend verbal communication.
- I have a touch of OCD when it comes to the order that I open the applications I use on my work computer. We use Lotus Notes for email, so I always have to open that first. Then I have to open FileMaker Pro, the database software I work on. Next, I open Internet Explorer, then iTunes, then the scanning software I use regularly. If I screw up and close my Lotus Notes window, I have to shut everything else down and open them back up in the right order. Otherwise they aren't lined up along the bottom of the task bar correctly. This isn't a problem for me at home - I use a Mac there.
- I am very rarely in the moment. I have a secret life more rich than Walter Mitty, although many of my "daydreams" are just mundane monologues and imagined conversations I'll never have. I am talking to myself almost constantly, and sometimes out loud (or just under my breath). I'd like to be more focused, but it's a good day when I can spend an hour concentrating on any one task.
- I can be ridiculously delusional. I have occasional spells of insecurity where I think my friends are all just pretending to like me.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Pro-cras-ti-na a-tion, it's keepin' me waiting.
So, I am once again immersed in work-avoidance Internet use. I should be typing up a summary of all the books and papers used as sources for my big paper, and I can't stay focused for more than ten minutes at a time, what with MySpace and YouTube and the happy chickens message board around to distract me.
I went to Ad Frank's birthday party at the Middle East Friday night. I was originally supposed to play one of his old songs to him (that was the entertainment theme of the evening), but that didn't work out. It was another one of those nights when I stood in the crowd and longed for the days when I was only in a club like that because I was going to be on stage at some point. *Sniff sniff* I miss my rock star days. I don't miss load-in, load-out, hauling amps through snow, sleet, rain and hail, hanging around empty clubs through sound checks and generally busting ass for $3 and a few drink tickets. The two things I really do miss are the writing process - spending hours on a piece of music with two or three other people and the feeling of satisfaction when you knew you were playing something that was having an effect on people - and being in the studio. I actually miss having all that guitar gear, too. I used to give stuff away just to have an excuse to go shopping for more stuff.
For some weird reason, when I was rehearsing the song I was going to play for Ad, I got "Temptation Eyes" by the Grass Roots in my head. I would not be satisfied until I learned it, so I downloaded in on iTunes, and then Googled the guitar tablature. I wish I had this stuff when I was first learning the guitar. It sure beats picking the needle up and putting it down on the same measure and a half of "Accidents Will Happen" over and over. (Am I dating myself?)
I went to Ad Frank's birthday party at the Middle East Friday night. I was originally supposed to play one of his old songs to him (that was the entertainment theme of the evening), but that didn't work out. It was another one of those nights when I stood in the crowd and longed for the days when I was only in a club like that because I was going to be on stage at some point. *Sniff sniff* I miss my rock star days. I don't miss load-in, load-out, hauling amps through snow, sleet, rain and hail, hanging around empty clubs through sound checks and generally busting ass for $3 and a few drink tickets. The two things I really do miss are the writing process - spending hours on a piece of music with two or three other people and the feeling of satisfaction when you knew you were playing something that was having an effect on people - and being in the studio. I actually miss having all that guitar gear, too. I used to give stuff away just to have an excuse to go shopping for more stuff.
For some weird reason, when I was rehearsing the song I was going to play for Ad, I got "Temptation Eyes" by the Grass Roots in my head. I would not be satisfied until I learned it, so I downloaded in on iTunes, and then Googled the guitar tablature. I wish I had this stuff when I was first learning the guitar. It sure beats picking the needle up and putting it down on the same measure and a half of "Accidents Will Happen" over and over. (Am I dating myself?)
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Here I am...
I am very busy, and the deadline for my NEPSA paper is fast approaching. But I was sitting here listening to KEXP and I was reminded of a bon mot I made at a party a few weeks ago that I meant to share with the world.
We were talking about cliques in college and my friend Ad Frank mentioned that his college was so small that the punk, hippie and deadhead groups all conflated into one (and he did use the word "conflated" because we talk like that). I said that that happened at a lot of small colleges in the mid 80s. That's why we have Camper Van Beethoven.
See, I can be clever when I want.
We were talking about cliques in college and my friend Ad Frank mentioned that his college was so small that the punk, hippie and deadhead groups all conflated into one (and he did use the word "conflated" because we talk like that). I said that that happened at a lot of small colleges in the mid 80s. That's why we have Camper Van Beethoven.
See, I can be clever when I want.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Prognostication.
I am just here for a minute - I've got too much work to do to spend time bllaarrrghing. I just want to share a thought I actually had about a month or two ago. All the anger and discouragement people were feeling against the Republicans (on a national level) peaked way too early for the Democrats to make any use of it. And the Democratic Party is defined by an inability (and maybe even a lack of willingness) to manipulate the voters the way the Republicans can and will. I'm predicting only slight changes in the balance of the House and Senate, with a more than likely continuation of the status quo as far as majorities are concerned.
As far as the election for Massachusetts governor goes, I said all along that the Democrats squandered the opportunity to get out in front when they went with this touchy-feely, let's-all-bring-something-to-the-table strategy of running three candidates through the summer and having a primary. Deval was it at the convention. Deval was it at the primary. Deval should have been it all along. They'd have several million dollars to spend (instead of a little over $1 million), and the Healey campaign wouldn't be able to say things like "even Tom Reilly called Deval Patrick soft on crime." Way to go Massachusetts Democratic Party. You now have 42 days to overcome the political inertia of an electorate who are probably a lot more comfortable voting for a Republican woman than a black man, or who are more than likely going to stay away from the polls altogether. Not than an extra three months of one-on-one campaigning was going to change the minds of the many unenlightened folks who vote for the candidate they would prefer to have a beer with, but it could have given Patrick more time to convince voters that he has more on the ball than Healey. Instead we got to listen to Reilly and Gabrielli snipe at each other over a moot point.
I am still completely convinced that Sal DiMasi and Bob Travaligni have no interest in sharing power with a Democrat in the corner office. Why split the spoils and the patronage when you already control the approval process for the most important appointments? When you've got the kind of overwhelming control that the Democratic Party has in two of the three branches of government, taking the third branch becomes more of a liability than an asset. And the executive branch is the easiest to concede without actually committing to any substantive changes in policy. Vetoes can be overridden, rulings can be overturned, and executive agencies can be investigated to the point of impotence. Think of this: Massachusetts has had Republican governors since 1991, and we are still the national touchstone for liberal government. Don't think for a second that the Massachusetts Democratic Party is embarrassed by that characterization, or is trying too hard to change it.
As far as the election for Massachusetts governor goes, I said all along that the Democrats squandered the opportunity to get out in front when they went with this touchy-feely, let's-all-bring-something-to-the-table strategy of running three candidates through the summer and having a primary. Deval was it at the convention. Deval was it at the primary. Deval should have been it all along. They'd have several million dollars to spend (instead of a little over $1 million), and the Healey campaign wouldn't be able to say things like "even Tom Reilly called Deval Patrick soft on crime." Way to go Massachusetts Democratic Party. You now have 42 days to overcome the political inertia of an electorate who are probably a lot more comfortable voting for a Republican woman than a black man, or who are more than likely going to stay away from the polls altogether. Not than an extra three months of one-on-one campaigning was going to change the minds of the many unenlightened folks who vote for the candidate they would prefer to have a beer with, but it could have given Patrick more time to convince voters that he has more on the ball than Healey. Instead we got to listen to Reilly and Gabrielli snipe at each other over a moot point.
I am still completely convinced that Sal DiMasi and Bob Travaligni have no interest in sharing power with a Democrat in the corner office. Why split the spoils and the patronage when you already control the approval process for the most important appointments? When you've got the kind of overwhelming control that the Democratic Party has in two of the three branches of government, taking the third branch becomes more of a liability than an asset. And the executive branch is the easiest to concede without actually committing to any substantive changes in policy. Vetoes can be overridden, rulings can be overturned, and executive agencies can be investigated to the point of impotence. Think of this: Massachusetts has had Republican governors since 1991, and we are still the national touchstone for liberal government. Don't think for a second that the Massachusetts Democratic Party is embarrassed by that characterization, or is trying too hard to change it.
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