Thoughts and Words Ill-Sorted

I have a thing about beets.  To me, they taste like dirt, and I’m not thrilled about eating them.  At all.  Sydney seems to like them in as many forms as he can get them: pickled, roasted, in pasta sauce, etc.  I’ve been bullied into trying all of Sydney’s beet dishes (and there have been many!), but every time I’ve said “Ewwwwwwwwwwwww!”

This evening, however, Sydney made beet latkes, topped with a fresh grated apple-jalapeño-lemon juice chutney.  The kitchen looked like a wreck.  Part of the counter looked like the site of the slaughter, and it looked for all the world that Sydney was lightly frying up raw beef patties that refused to brown.  But the end result tasted really good.  I think it helped that the lemon juice masked all possible beet flavor 🙂

A point for Sydney in the beet war.

Erin

A recent NYTimes article chronicled the shaming that some people experience when they tell their book book group that they haven’t read the book, but rather they listened to it. Audiobooks, according to many, simply aren’t books. The true literary experience is something that has to be experienced on the page.

Here’s something to chew on: did original “readers” of Homer actually read the book? How about theatergoers of Shakespeare’s King Lear? And isn’t there a reason why poetry is often recited aloud? When I read the article I wanted to laugh; in my poetry classes there’s a great deal of concern for hearing readings of the poem, so that you can catch it in various lights according to varying verbal stresses. Some of my peers may actually forget the poem ever existed on a page, experiencing it only by listening to others or reciting it to themselves. Poetry and sound have traditionally gone hand-in-hand, the page being a sort of last resort, Continue reading →

ABC News has a story about a man cited by authorities after coming too close to a luxury liner with his replica of a 1775 submarine. I thought this quite interesting in itself. But the man also also happens to have a website, with some interesting material on it (e.g., his artist statement). Here’s the description of one of his early projects:

From 1992 to 1997, I lived and worked in an 8 by 10 foot pigeon coop constructed out of a widow’s walk on the roof of an old dilapidated building in Providence, RI. I shared the space with both domestic and street pigeons. A series of assemblages made with materials collected directly from the site and some photo documentation are all that remains of, what I now regard as my first conceptual performative and multimedia project. 

I’m not quite sure whether this confirms the guy’s insanity or whether I should admire his discipline, fortitude, and so on (and I like birds and am quite accustomed to proximity to bird excrement from my days on the farm).

Sydney

Erin had four rolls of film developed yesterday, so we can once again provide a bit of relief from all the text. Today I’ll post some pictures from our recent trip to Nova Scotia. The first one is from my parents’ farm; the rest of them are from our last two days there, when Erin, my family, and I went to Long Island on Saturday, stayed the night at historic inns in Annapolis Royal (yes, ‘historic’ is an absolutely necessary word when describing things in Annapolis Royal, having been settled in 1605 by Samuel de Champlain and others, and, yes, plural for ‘inns’—we split into two groups so as to accommodate limited room availability at small inns), spent Sunday morning wandering the Historic Gardens, after which Erin and I took the early afternoon ferry to Saint John.

Erin is rather fond of the following photo:

NB: More photos below the fold. Continue reading →

While standing in Lowe’s: “I can’t believe I survived two years without a Vise-Grip!”

I took the car in for an oil change today, armed with a book and prepared for a stint on their waiting area couch.  But apparently book-reading customers are a rarity, because I got some interesting inquiries today:

Man 1: “What are you reading?”

Erin: “The Rhetoric of Fiction.”  For once I wasn’t reading a novel, so I left it at that, rather than get into a discussion about how narratology fits into modern discussions of literary theory.

Man 1: “You know, fiction is more real than nonfiction.  That stuff Plato says about experience being not trustworthy.  So fiction is the real thing.”

Satisfied with his conclusions, he walked away.  I was just glad he didn’t ask for my opinion on the matter.

* * *

Man 2: “What are you reading?  The Bible?”

Erin: “Nope.”

So many thoughts went through my head at that one. Why did he expect me to be reading the Bible?  Just as an FYI, it wasn’t a Bible-resembling book I was reading.  What would he have said if I’d said “Yes”?

* * *

Woman 1: “Do you want the light on?”

Erin: “No thanks.”

Woman: “Alrighty.”

Per David’s question, I have no idea how to say that in Low German (I expect Sydney will get back to you), but I did manage to learn how to say a few things in Low German while I was visiting Sydney’s parents.  The young female cousins thought it important I know how to say “I love you,” which I promptly said to Sydney and he responded by laughing and saying “I think I know what you’re getting at.”  Mushy stuff aside, “I love you” also gets me halfway to “I like/love strawberries,” which is much more useful.

Another female cousin taught me words for “rooster,” “hen,” and “chickens.”  I’m sure they’ll come in handy in my classroom this fall.

Also, after watching some young moms instruct their kids at a picnic, I now know how to say (emphatically) “No, dirty!” and “Yucky!”  Finally, something truly useful!

As you can see, I’m learning by leaps and bounds, half-a-dozen words in the last two years.  I’ll keep you posted on my development.  I wonder if my advisors will see learning Low German as sufficient to fulfill my language requirement . . . I mean, who can resist the awesome knowledge of “chicken”?

Erin

I’m trying to get my passport renewed, so I went to RiteAid for some new photos.  I was relieved at the prospect of new pics, because when I got photos for my passport the first time around, I paid a ghastly amount for a travel agent in New Haven to take them.  Imagine the horrors that can be produced when the picture is taken by someone 3 feet shorter than you, someone who has to point the camera almost directly upward toward your head.  I’ve generally had pretty representative pictures all my life, but this one time wiped out anything I had “gotten away with” up to that point.

This time, though, my fate is equally bad, but differently so.  The teen at RiteAid used a tiny digital camera about 1 1/2 feet from me, and man, is it ugly.  Stringy hair, shadows all around my head from the flash (which also made my entire face shiny, thanks much), and purplish shadows around my eyes.  I, round-cheeked girl and all that, look somewhat ill.  When I got home, mortified, Sydney started explaining why wide-angle lenses are terrible for portraiture, and ended by telling me the perspective is all off, which is why my nose and mouth are disproportionately large.  I hadn’t even gotten around to noticing that . . .

Erin

Make that four zucchini recipes this past week: Sydney and I just put a hefty zucchini lasagna in the oven . . . If it works, we’ll have dinner made for the next few days!

Erin

“In principle, I’m in favor of instituting the practice of certain African cultures of men holding hands.”

“But not in putting it into practice yourself?”

“I’m not interested in holding hands with anyone, man or woman.”

“Why not?”

“It interferes with walking.”

“Oh, really? I thought we’d gotten pretty good at it.”

“We’ve gotten to the point where on level paths without any obstructions we can walk without danger.”