DAVID BOWIE TIME!
A brief precis of his film career has thoughtfully been provided by Slate. (Vampire video not recommended. I'm sorry I watched it, myself. o_o) And the man himself features in Before and After: the Rock Star Game, over at verbaldoodles.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Un angel cayo', un angel se fue
When the angels weep
It rains on the city and on the fields
Because someone has died...
An angel fell, an angel died, an angel left us,
Flying into the morning.
It rains on the city and on the fields
Because someone has died...
An angel fell, an angel died, an angel left us,
Flying into the morning.
Monday, July 12, 2010
The World Cup is over. *tear*
Of course, it has been ending for a long time, in the context of the cup itself. Once you get past the quarterfinals and the games are no longer played every day, the best part is already over. The more so as the semi-finals and finals are often very tentative, at least for a while--the games mean so much that the teams are often playing not to lose rather than to win.
Which is why the 3rd place game is usually one of the best of the tournament. Certainly it was this year. After the departure of the United States from the tournament I pinned my hopes on Uruguay, and they did well--not well enough to beat the Netherlands in the semi-finals, nor Germany in the third place game, but well enough to challenge both. Not bad for a country only a little bigger than Utah in its population. Their star player Diego Forlan is my new favorite player (non-Arsenal division), and deservedly carried off the Golden Ball, awarded to the tournament's best player. From what I hear through the Internets, he is also a really good guy. Here is a little back-story on him.
Spain are champions, and deserved to be. Mostly. They are unusual--perhaps even anomalous--in their style of play, which has been described as "beautiful" by many. I think "hypnotic" might be a better word. If you like soccer you probably watched them and don't need a description, and if you don't it may be hard to get a mental picture just from a verbal description of what they do, but essentially their strategy is to pass the ball around among themselves until the other guy falls over from exhaustion and they can walk the ball into the back of the net. Their midfielders (Xavi, Andres Iniesta, Xabi Alonso) are from another planet in terms of their ability to maintain possession of the ball...a planet full of Catalonians playing keepy-uppy and drawing little triangles on the grass with their passes to each other.
But...and this is a big "but"...they had exactly one player (David Villa) who was willing to shoot the ball--an activity generally regarded as central, even crucial, to winning soccer games. Villa scored five goals. All other Spaniards scored three. Since they didn't benefit from any own goals, we can therefore conclude that Spain scored eight times in seven games. Under ordinary circumstances, one goal a game is not going to get it done for you. Spain, to their credit, got it done; and yet their style, despite its polish and technical brilliance, was curious soporific, as if they smothered each opponent with a silk pillow.
Holland, with whom they disputed the final, did not smother anyone with silk pillows. They kicked them into submission. Mark van Bommel should probably have been sent off in each and every game he played. Arjen Robben, Evil Genius, too, although for diving rather than for kicking people. Nigel de Jong should certainly have been sent off in the final for kicking Xabi Alonso in the chest; probably only an entirely understandable reluctance to see the Netherlands finish the first half with nine players kept the red cards in referee Howard Webb's pocket. Robben and Wesley Sneijder (one of the three to escape the opprobrium of a booking, and the scorer of five goals himself) are certainly geniuses with the ball, but Robben in particular tends to make his living by the dark arts.
The Germans, on the other hand, played beautifully, and that's a role reversal to raise anyone's eyebrows. The Germany-Spain semifinal was remarkable for its flowing play and general sportsmanship; there were fewer fouls (eight) in that game than yellow cards just for the Netherlands (nine, including Heitinga's second) in the final. Thomas Mueller, who is only 20 (I feel old!) won the Golden Boot as top goalscorer, and Germany's team, who are all very young, will certainly look to make their mark in Europe 2012.
So, in the end, alien metronomes seize low-scoring victory, the pantomime villains fall at the last hurdle, while the people's favorites scrum over the leftovers and go home reasonably well satisfied.
Which is why the 3rd place game is usually one of the best of the tournament. Certainly it was this year. After the departure of the United States from the tournament I pinned my hopes on Uruguay, and they did well--not well enough to beat the Netherlands in the semi-finals, nor Germany in the third place game, but well enough to challenge both. Not bad for a country only a little bigger than Utah in its population. Their star player Diego Forlan is my new favorite player (non-Arsenal division), and deservedly carried off the Golden Ball, awarded to the tournament's best player. From what I hear through the Internets, he is also a really good guy. Here is a little back-story on him.
Spain are champions, and deserved to be. Mostly. They are unusual--perhaps even anomalous--in their style of play, which has been described as "beautiful" by many. I think "hypnotic" might be a better word. If you like soccer you probably watched them and don't need a description, and if you don't it may be hard to get a mental picture just from a verbal description of what they do, but essentially their strategy is to pass the ball around among themselves until the other guy falls over from exhaustion and they can walk the ball into the back of the net. Their midfielders (Xavi, Andres Iniesta, Xabi Alonso) are from another planet in terms of their ability to maintain possession of the ball...a planet full of Catalonians playing keepy-uppy and drawing little triangles on the grass with their passes to each other.
But...and this is a big "but"...they had exactly one player (David Villa) who was willing to shoot the ball--an activity generally regarded as central, even crucial, to winning soccer games. Villa scored five goals. All other Spaniards scored three. Since they didn't benefit from any own goals, we can therefore conclude that Spain scored eight times in seven games. Under ordinary circumstances, one goal a game is not going to get it done for you. Spain, to their credit, got it done; and yet their style, despite its polish and technical brilliance, was curious soporific, as if they smothered each opponent with a silk pillow.
Holland, with whom they disputed the final, did not smother anyone with silk pillows. They kicked them into submission. Mark van Bommel should probably have been sent off in each and every game he played. Arjen Robben, Evil Genius, too, although for diving rather than for kicking people. Nigel de Jong should certainly have been sent off in the final for kicking Xabi Alonso in the chest; probably only an entirely understandable reluctance to see the Netherlands finish the first half with nine players kept the red cards in referee Howard Webb's pocket. Robben and Wesley Sneijder (one of the three to escape the opprobrium of a booking, and the scorer of five goals himself) are certainly geniuses with the ball, but Robben in particular tends to make his living by the dark arts.
The Germans, on the other hand, played beautifully, and that's a role reversal to raise anyone's eyebrows. The Germany-Spain semifinal was remarkable for its flowing play and general sportsmanship; there were fewer fouls (eight) in that game than yellow cards just for the Netherlands (nine, including Heitinga's second) in the final. Thomas Mueller, who is only 20 (I feel old!) won the Golden Boot as top goalscorer, and Germany's team, who are all very young, will certainly look to make their mark in Europe 2012.
So, in the end, alien metronomes seize low-scoring victory, the pantomime villains fall at the last hurdle, while the people's favorites scrum over the leftovers and go home reasonably well satisfied.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
England v USA
60 years ago, the USA beat England at the 1950 World Cup 1-0. It was quite possibly the biggest soccer upset ever. (Many in England assumed at first the score had been reported incorrectly, and it was USA 1, England 10.)
They had never played in a serious competition since, but England had won all the friendlies, save perhaps one or two draws mixed in there somewhere. The USA has come a long way since 1950, but England is still the big dog and the US the underdog in this match-up.
Thus for background. Now! Yesterday. We (my friend J and I) made our way to AT&T Park bright and early so as to get good seats in which to observe the Jumbotron, chant "U-S-A!", &c. We were among the first through the doors and grabbed seats in the shade, where we were promptly surrounded by a loud mother and her relations, including any number of lads in the 10-12 age range, most of whom were firm for the USA but one of proclaimed his allegiance to England through his Liverpool jersey (with Steven Gerrard's name all over the back of it).
The game got off to a miserable start when Steven Gerrard slipped past his man and buried a nifty little sidefoot shot in the 4th minute. Four minutes! And already the USA was shipping goals! They have formed the very bad habit of going behind early, and against a team like England it looked foreboding. However, the Boys in Blue (England was in all white, the USA in blue with a white diagonal on the chest) rallied nicely and had the better of it for most of the first half.
And then, DISASTER!
Not for the US. For the English goalkeeper, who made the most astonishing gaffe I have ever seen in a soccer game (yes, worse than Fabianski's dubious duo, tho it was a singleton). Here it is.
It was really shocking, but very welcome. (I kinda wished it had happened in some other way, because poor Mr. Green will see that one in his nightmares, and the English tabloids, for the rest of his life.)
Thus fortified, the US went into half-time level. And there they stayed. England woke up a bit and stirred the ball around rather well for longish stretches, but they never had any good shots to back up their good developments in play--and Tim Howard is not going to make a gift of a goal. Before the match I read in an English newspaper that the US had an advantage at only one position: keeper. Of course, if you can only have an advantage at one position, that is the one to choose, and this game illustrated why perfectly. Mr. Howard was man of the match; he made some good saves, despite getting kicked in the ribs at one point, marshalled the defense and generally brought home the bacon.
Mr. Green, on the other hand, let the bacon slip through his nerveless hands. Alas!
So, England and the US take away a point apiece, and Slovenia, having beaten Algeria on a somewhat similar but less egregious slip-up by the Algerian goalie, goes into first place in the group. US-Slovenia next!
They had never played in a serious competition since, but England had won all the friendlies, save perhaps one or two draws mixed in there somewhere. The USA has come a long way since 1950, but England is still the big dog and the US the underdog in this match-up.
Thus for background. Now! Yesterday. We (my friend J and I) made our way to AT&T Park bright and early so as to get good seats in which to observe the Jumbotron, chant "U-S-A!", &c. We were among the first through the doors and grabbed seats in the shade, where we were promptly surrounded by a loud mother and her relations, including any number of lads in the 10-12 age range, most of whom were firm for the USA but one of proclaimed his allegiance to England through his Liverpool jersey (with Steven Gerrard's name all over the back of it).
The game got off to a miserable start when Steven Gerrard slipped past his man and buried a nifty little sidefoot shot in the 4th minute. Four minutes! And already the USA was shipping goals! They have formed the very bad habit of going behind early, and against a team like England it looked foreboding. However, the Boys in Blue (England was in all white, the USA in blue with a white diagonal on the chest) rallied nicely and had the better of it for most of the first half.
And then, DISASTER!
Not for the US. For the English goalkeeper, who made the most astonishing gaffe I have ever seen in a soccer game (yes, worse than Fabianski's dubious duo, tho it was a singleton). Here it is.
It was really shocking, but very welcome. (I kinda wished it had happened in some other way, because poor Mr. Green will see that one in his nightmares, and the English tabloids, for the rest of his life.)
Thus fortified, the US went into half-time level. And there they stayed. England woke up a bit and stirred the ball around rather well for longish stretches, but they never had any good shots to back up their good developments in play--and Tim Howard is not going to make a gift of a goal. Before the match I read in an English newspaper that the US had an advantage at only one position: keeper. Of course, if you can only have an advantage at one position, that is the one to choose, and this game illustrated why perfectly. Mr. Howard was man of the match; he made some good saves, despite getting kicked in the ribs at one point, marshalled the defense and generally brought home the bacon.
Mr. Green, on the other hand, let the bacon slip through his nerveless hands. Alas!
So, England and the US take away a point apiece, and Slovenia, having beaten Algeria on a somewhat similar but less egregious slip-up by the Algerian goalie, goes into first place in the group. US-Slovenia next!
Saturday, June 12, 2010
The big one
But I was not there to see Argentina-Nigeria--well, I was, kinda, but it was mostly to be on the scene for England-USA--probably the most anticipated match of the group stage.
Of which...more to follow!
Of which...more to follow!
I Love the World Cup
It is the television I will cross the street to watch.
Or go down the street to AT&T Park to watch on the JumboTron, which is what I did this morning. I went bright and early and hung around in the Public House, which is the restaurant attached to the stadium, and watched Argentina play cat-and-mouse games with Nigeria. The Nigerian goalkeeper, Vincent Enyeama, was Man of the Match, as well he should have been, because he made at least three world-class saves.
The rest of the Nigerian team was fairly dire.
Argentina looked quite bright and sprightly, though they tended at times to kick the ball around just to look good. Lionel Messi (by acclamation, the current Best Player in the World) looked very good and got off several nice shots, all of which were parried by Enyeama. The redoubtable Enyeama had less luck with Gabriel Heinze, who snuck up from his defender position to head in a corner. Just when you thought you had contained all 5 or 6 or however many it is of Argentina's world-class strikers, the defender gets you.
So, 1-0 to Argentina, fair play to everyone.
Or go down the street to AT&T Park to watch on the JumboTron, which is what I did this morning. I went bright and early and hung around in the Public House, which is the restaurant attached to the stadium, and watched Argentina play cat-and-mouse games with Nigeria. The Nigerian goalkeeper, Vincent Enyeama, was Man of the Match, as well he should have been, because he made at least three world-class saves.
The rest of the Nigerian team was fairly dire.
Argentina looked quite bright and sprightly, though they tended at times to kick the ball around just to look good. Lionel Messi (by acclamation, the current Best Player in the World) looked very good and got off several nice shots, all of which were parried by Enyeama. The redoubtable Enyeama had less luck with Gabriel Heinze, who snuck up from his defender position to head in a corner. Just when you thought you had contained all 5 or 6 or however many it is of Argentina's world-class strikers, the defender gets you.
So, 1-0 to Argentina, fair play to everyone.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
On Ignorance
One of the fun things about learning another language is that you understand your native language better, and find weird holes and gaps in both.
Here's one of my favorite examples: English, as far as I know, has no positive, active way to say "to not know"; it can only be formulated as a negative (not knowing) or a passive (I am ignorant). It does has a word for the condition--ignorance--but to "ignore" something is definitely not the same as not to know it.
In Spanish, however, "ignorar" means "to not know", expressed as a positive declaration. Interestingly, Spanish does not, as far as I know, have any single word that expresses the English meaning of "to ignore", and the phrase that translates it best, "no hacer caso", is formulated as a negative.
Very curious!
Here's one of my favorite examples: English, as far as I know, has no positive, active way to say "to not know"; it can only be formulated as a negative (not knowing) or a passive (I am ignorant). It does has a word for the condition--ignorance--but to "ignore" something is definitely not the same as not to know it.
In Spanish, however, "ignorar" means "to not know", expressed as a positive declaration. Interestingly, Spanish does not, as far as I know, have any single word that expresses the English meaning of "to ignore", and the phrase that translates it best, "no hacer caso", is formulated as a negative.
Very curious!
Friday, May 7, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Poem of the Day
Sailing to Byzantium, W.B. Yeats
I
That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
---Those dying generations---at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unaging intellect.
II
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.
III
O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.
IV
Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.
***
Stanza 2 in particular is a favorite of mine. "Perne" means "to spin" or "to move in a spiral motion", and apparently Yeats is the only writer, or almost the only writer, to have used it; the online Oxford English Dictionary gives the definition above specifically "in the works of W.B. Yeats, or in reference to [his work]."
That Yeats.
I
That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
---Those dying generations---at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unaging intellect.
II
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.
III
O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.
IV
Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.
***
Stanza 2 in particular is a favorite of mine. "Perne" means "to spin" or "to move in a spiral motion", and apparently Yeats is the only writer, or almost the only writer, to have used it; the online Oxford English Dictionary gives the definition above specifically "in the works of W.B. Yeats, or in reference to [his work]."
That Yeats.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Burdies
As Robert Burns would call them, have been seen in profusion 'round Chez Indessed, and Lady J has chronicled their antics. There are many birds 'round my apartment complex as well; it is next to the campus quad, and it's a nice green space for them. Pigeons and crows abound, and there is also a sort of non-pigeon dove which lives here and calls at night and in the early morning. (I have no idea why it would call at night; I don't think they're nocturnal, and to call from your nest seems like saying "Come and get me!" to nocturnal prowlers.) I only discovered what kind of bird it was that made that call a few days ago; it is not a very dovelike call.
We used to have a hawk who would come and perch on the light fixture next to the building, but the construction next door seems to have frightened it away. One of my favorite bird memories out here was seeing a red-tailed hawk circle at low altitude (~40 feet) over the park as we played softball and our high-school neighbors carried on their football practice. Urban wilderness!
We used to have a hawk who would come and perch on the light fixture next to the building, but the construction next door seems to have frightened it away. One of my favorite bird memories out here was seeing a red-tailed hawk circle at low altitude (~40 feet) over the park as we played softball and our high-school neighbors carried on their football practice. Urban wilderness!
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Dialogue...so bad...
Yesterday I was playing Axis & Allies with my friend E, and his girlfriend was watching a would-be drama on the television--a drama full of special police forces and kidnappings and stuff. I would like to like it, if for no better reason than because the main character and I share a name. (That's right, he's named Sealion Too. ;))
But the dialogue! Oh, my bleeding ears!
It was largely in the delivery, which was cynical and sneering from all sides, and boy does that get old fast. But then they were also dropping chestnuts such as this...in arch, cynical, sneering, self-serious tones: "Boy, isn't it funny how you always find things in the last place you look."
...
...
Guys. Of course it's in the last place you look. When you find something, you stop looking.
But the dialogue! Oh, my bleeding ears!
It was largely in the delivery, which was cynical and sneering from all sides, and boy does that get old fast. But then they were also dropping chestnuts such as this...in arch, cynical, sneering, self-serious tones: "Boy, isn't it funny how you always find things in the last place you look."
...
...
Guys. Of course it's in the last place you look. When you find something, you stop looking.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Most random regrets:
1) Not getting better evidence for that potentially world-record-setting centipede I encountered in Venezuela.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Arsenal 2-2 Barcelona
That is how they do scores in England...home team first. In America we almost always do home team second, which I think must be a carryover from baseball, since the home team always goes in the bottom of the inning and appears on the lower line of the box score.
ANY-way.
It may have been a Pyrrhic victory, but it was a victory of a sort. Barcelona dominated play, but must go away with a draw after two late Arsenal goals. Unfortunately, three of Arsenal's best players (Cesc Fabregas, William Gallas, Andrei Arshavin) were injured (re-injured, in the cases of Fabregas and Gallas).
Perhaps we will make this...Arsenal Week!
ANY-way.
It may have been a Pyrrhic victory, but it was a victory of a sort. Barcelona dominated play, but must go away with a draw after two late Arsenal goals. Unfortunately, three of Arsenal's best players (Cesc Fabregas, William Gallas, Andrei Arshavin) were injured (re-injured, in the cases of Fabregas and Gallas).
Perhaps we will make this...Arsenal Week!
Thursday, March 25, 2010
This is cool:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q02ompQhtY8
(In case you can't tell what's going on...he's using the little foot-activated gadget to record each segment, then adding another segment, until he has five or six "layers" of self-harmonization. It's really amazing. Imogen Heap does this really well too.)
(In case you can't tell what's going on...he's using the little foot-activated gadget to record each segment, then adding another segment, until he has five or six "layers" of self-harmonization. It's really amazing. Imogen Heap does this really well too.)
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Adventures in Bookstore Reading
I have read all of Naomi Novik's books (the Temeraire series) in bookstores. That is a lot of book-reading!
I have also recommended them to others, and made a Christmas present of one to a friend, so I do not feel I have cheated Ms. Novik of her moneys...although it is an interesting question of the bookstore reader.
I have also recommended them to others, and made a Christmas present of one to a friend, so I do not feel I have cheated Ms. Novik of her moneys...although it is an interesting question of the bookstore reader.
Monday, February 15, 2010
The List:
Books in the Bookstore!
Let's begin with the biggie. That would be Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
I did not go to the bookstore at midnight; I am not that big an HP fan. I went the next afternoon, a Saturday, and read the book in three and a half or four hours. I confess, I did not read the long long parts where HarryHermioneandRon are wandering around wondering what to do with any great attention, but, well, they were long long and dull. I didn't like it supermuch; a lot of it felt like a very ex post facto explanation of things which had gone before, and really, now, in the last book, you are going to introduce these marvelous artifacts the Deathly Hallows, which have never been whispered of before, despite their Awesome Powahz and the fact that two of them have been hidden in plain sight (if you can say that of an Invisibility Cloak) the whole time?
I shake my head in bemusement, J.K. Rowling. If you care to cry all the way to the bank, this is your cue.
Anyway. I read the book. Then I went dancing and my date was upset to learn I was done already.
I did not know quite what to make of that.
Let's begin with the biggie. That would be Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
I did not go to the bookstore at midnight; I am not that big an HP fan. I went the next afternoon, a Saturday, and read the book in three and a half or four hours. I confess, I did not read the long long parts where HarryHermioneandRon are wandering around wondering what to do with any great attention, but, well, they were long long and dull. I didn't like it supermuch; a lot of it felt like a very ex post facto explanation of things which had gone before, and really, now, in the last book, you are going to introduce these marvelous artifacts the Deathly Hallows, which have never been whispered of before, despite their Awesome Powahz and the fact that two of them have been hidden in plain sight (if you can say that of an Invisibility Cloak) the whole time?
I shake my head in bemusement, J.K. Rowling. If you care to cry all the way to the bank, this is your cue.
Anyway. I read the book. Then I went dancing and my date was upset to learn I was done already.
I did not know quite what to make of that.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Friday!
Name either for Frigg or Freyja, if they are not really the same goddess after all; the former is Odin's wife, the latter the goddess of love (still in the Norse pantheon here). In Spanish, "viernes", for Venus...also the goddess of love. I guess Fridays are romantic.
It had never really struck me before that several of the days retain their association with a quality (the moon on Monday, war on Tuesday, lightning on Thursday, love on Friday) even though the origin of the associated diety is different. Assuming that the Norse got the seven-day week from the Christians who came to convert them, perhaps they kept the idea of the name of the day of the week but swapped gods to suit their own religious antecedents?
It had never really struck me before that several of the days retain their association with a quality (the moon on Monday, war on Tuesday, lightning on Thursday, love on Friday) even though the origin of the associated diety is different. Assuming that the Norse got the seven-day week from the Christians who came to convert them, perhaps they kept the idea of the name of the day of the week but swapped gods to suit their own religious antecedents?
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Catching up to Thursday!
Tuesday: Tew, the Norse god of war. In Spanish it is "martes", from Mars. I guess there is just something bellicose about Tuesdays.
Wednesday: Woden, aka Odin, the All-Father, etc. etc., chief of the Norse gods. In Spanish, "miercoles" for Mercury.
Thursday: If you see a pattern here you have already guessed...it is for Thor, god of thunder. In Spanish, "jueves", for Jove, which I guess means there is something very fulgaral about Thursdays. <--I confess I had to look that up, but it's a great word, isn't it?
Given the derivation of the two languages it is perhaps not surprising that English (up to this point) has gone exclusively with Norse dieties whereas Spanish has stuck with the Roman gods. This pattern does break, but not 'til the end of the week...[cliffhanger!]
Wednesday: Woden, aka Odin, the All-Father, etc. etc., chief of the Norse gods. In Spanish, "miercoles" for Mercury.
Thursday: If you see a pattern here you have already guessed...it is for Thor, god of thunder. In Spanish, "jueves", for Jove, which I guess means there is something very fulgaral about Thursdays. <--I confess I had to look that up, but it's a great word, isn't it?
Given the derivation of the two languages it is perhaps not surprising that English (up to this point) has gone exclusively with Norse dieties whereas Spanish has stuck with the Roman gods. This pattern does break, but not 'til the end of the week...[cliffhanger!]
Monday, February 8, 2010
Maybe I will do something shorter than restaurants.
It will take too long to describe them.
I have been given ideas by mah peeps (especially Mom, thanks Mom!) for things to list, which is cheerful.
This week we will do Days of the Weeks, origins of, a reprise of a past post...if I remember right.
Sunday is, well, Sunday. Monday is Moon day. In Spanish they are domingo (they are not capitalized in Spanish, and neither are the names of months), which I do not know the exact meaning of, but which has the same root as domine and probably means the Lord's Day, and lunes, which is Moon Day (luna=moon) again. We will see that the English names are all pagan, whereas the Spanish are 5/7s pagan. I do not know if there is any lesson to be drawn from that, except that we name days for odd stuff.
I have been given ideas by mah peeps (especially Mom, thanks Mom!) for things to list, which is cheerful.
This week we will do Days of the Weeks, origins of, a reprise of a past post...if I remember right.
Sunday is, well, Sunday. Monday is Moon day. In Spanish they are domingo (they are not capitalized in Spanish, and neither are the names of months), which I do not know the exact meaning of, but which has the same root as domine and probably means the Lord's Day, and lunes, which is Moon Day (luna=moon) again. We will see that the English names are all pagan, whereas the Spanish are 5/7s pagan. I do not know if there is any lesson to be drawn from that, except that we name days for odd stuff.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
What we have here is,
failure to communicate.
My poor computer up and bit the dust, or at least nibbled it. So the postings may be less than what we all would hope.
My poor computer up and bit the dust, or at least nibbled it. So the postings may be less than what we all would hope.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Hiatus
So, let's get back to that SF restaurant list next week, as it is already the middle of this week.
I keep thinking of funny things to put up here and then forgetting them. I will have to imitate Elder A's dad and go about with 3x5 cards in my pocket to jot down my musings.
Here is an amusing thing--a couple of nights ago I had a dream about my dad and I fighting a zombie ogre mage outside this little cabin in the woods. We were all got up like D&D characters with swords and studded leather armor, and we could jump around like the rope-fu guys in the movies (onto the roof, off the roof, right over the head of the ogre, who was about nine feet tall). Dad left in the middle to go get a spear or something and I woke up before he got back, so I guess it ended in a draw.
The really funny thing about all this, of course, is that Dad was a FIGHTER! Wow, how weird is that?
[Inside joke with an audience of one. I love you, Dad. ;)]
I keep thinking of funny things to put up here and then forgetting them. I will have to imitate Elder A's dad and go about with 3x5 cards in my pocket to jot down my musings.
Here is an amusing thing--a couple of nights ago I had a dream about my dad and I fighting a zombie ogre mage outside this little cabin in the woods. We were all got up like D&D characters with swords and studded leather armor, and we could jump around like the rope-fu guys in the movies (onto the roof, off the roof, right over the head of the ogre, who was about nine feet tall). Dad left in the middle to go get a spear or something and I woke up before he got back, so I guess it ended in a draw.
The really funny thing about all this, of course, is that Dad was a FIGHTER! Wow, how weird is that?
[Inside joke with an audience of one. I love you, Dad. ;)]
Monday, February 1, 2010
San Francisco Thing #7:
On tape delay!
Just kiddin', I just didn't bring my computer home Saturday night.
Thing #7, which I have saved up all week to write, is: FOOD!
Before I came to San Francisco I had never eaten sushi. I had never really seriously considered the possibility of eating sushi. Sushi was, I dunno, a Japanese thing, right? Eating raw fish is just not something we do 'round here.
So said I.
And then, when I'd been here a couple of months, we got the chance to take a visiting professor to lunch (student lunches with visiting professors have provided several memorable experiences for me) and my older and more experienced program-mates made tracks directly for Ebisu, one of the best sushi restaurants in San Francisco.
So, I had sushi. Cuz, well, when in Rome. And it was OK, except the part where I was ambushed by the wasabi hiding underneath one of those little shrimpies.
And then! A couple of months later! We hosted the students interviewing for next year's admissions, and squired them up and down and feasted them upon fat things, including a trip to Hotei, which is Ebisu's sister restaurant, and ordered lots and lots and LOTS of sushi.
And a little light went off in my head, and I said..."SUSHI!"
I am dead sure I ate more than thirty pieces. Forty would not surprise me. I ate the little fried-egg sushi, and the unagi, and the tuna (yellow) and the tuna (pink) and the cucumber-avocado-and-crab-meat, and the spider roll with the crab legs sticking out, and it was SO DELICIOUS.
This is only one of many stories, in fact, so perhaps that will be this week's list: Stories about Food in San Francisco.
Just kiddin', I just didn't bring my computer home Saturday night.
Thing #7, which I have saved up all week to write, is: FOOD!
Before I came to San Francisco I had never eaten sushi. I had never really seriously considered the possibility of eating sushi. Sushi was, I dunno, a Japanese thing, right? Eating raw fish is just not something we do 'round here.
So said I.
And then, when I'd been here a couple of months, we got the chance to take a visiting professor to lunch (student lunches with visiting professors have provided several memorable experiences for me) and my older and more experienced program-mates made tracks directly for Ebisu, one of the best sushi restaurants in San Francisco.
So, I had sushi. Cuz, well, when in Rome. And it was OK, except the part where I was ambushed by the wasabi hiding underneath one of those little shrimpies.
And then! A couple of months later! We hosted the students interviewing for next year's admissions, and squired them up and down and feasted them upon fat things, including a trip to Hotei, which is Ebisu's sister restaurant, and ordered lots and lots and LOTS of sushi.
And a little light went off in my head, and I said..."SUSHI!"
I am dead sure I ate more than thirty pieces. Forty would not surprise me. I ate the little fried-egg sushi, and the unagi, and the tuna (yellow) and the tuna (pink) and the cucumber-avocado-and-crab-meat, and the spider roll with the crab legs sticking out, and it was SO DELICIOUS.
This is only one of many stories, in fact, so perhaps that will be this week's list: Stories about Food in San Francisco.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
San Francisco Thing #6: The Human Parade
This deserves a longish post but it is late! And I am tired! So I will just say San Francisco's reputation for attracting more than its share of characters is well-deserved.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
San Francisco Thing #5: No Car
I have lived all my life without owning a car. This was much more awkward in Utah than it is here. I guess that people coming from New York might find the mass transit system less than stellar, but, well, that's New York, the only really top-notch mass transit system in the United States (my anecdotal evidence says). You've got the BART, you've got the MUNI, you've got CalTrain...you can get all kinds of places.
Admittedly, it's not as convenient as a car. But it's SO much cheaper!
Admittedly, it's not as convenient as a car. But it's SO much cheaper!
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
San Francisco Thing #4:
The muzaks!
I do not by any means fully take advantage of the San Francisco music scene. There is a well-known club that plays much local music five minutes' walk from my residence, and do I go there and listen? No, I do not. (Well, I did once, and saw Experimental Dental School, which was...wait for it...oh, never mind. Dentist jokes are too easy.)
Anyway! Even with my relatively little advantage taken, I have seen a LOT of good musical performances here in SF. Jethro Tull, Richard Thompson, the Soul Savers...the best was a little music festival thing up in Marin that was all local acts playing for an audience of, oh, maybe one hundred fifty in a little community center with a two-foot stage. That was where I fell in (lyrical) love with Miss Joanna Newsom. It was a great night.
I do not by any means fully take advantage of the San Francisco music scene. There is a well-known club that plays much local music five minutes' walk from my residence, and do I go there and listen? No, I do not. (Well, I did once, and saw Experimental Dental School, which was...wait for it...oh, never mind. Dentist jokes are too easy.)
Anyway! Even with my relatively little advantage taken, I have seen a LOT of good musical performances here in SF. Jethro Tull, Richard Thompson, the Soul Savers...the best was a little music festival thing up in Marin that was all local acts playing for an audience of, oh, maybe one hundred fifty in a little community center with a two-foot stage. That was where I fell in (lyrical) love with Miss Joanna Newsom. It was a great night.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
The List: San Francisco Thing #3
It is always early spring, or late spring. Except for the two days of winter (in either December or January) and two weeks of summer spread out in two or three day intervals between March and October.
That's it. That's all you get for seasons.
The magnolias bloomed a couple of weeks ago, and that's why. They'll do it again in April.
That's it. That's all you get for seasons.
The magnolias bloomed a couple of weeks ago, and that's why. They'll do it again in April.
Monday, January 25, 2010
The LIst: The Things About San Francisco no. 2
Hills.
I am thinking of this one because yesterday I had to get out to a house party to send off our Australian friend, and it involved a fair amount of walking, because I convinced myself it would be faster than taking the bus for the second leg of the trip.
So there I was, walking. And walking. And I came to a hill, and started to go up it, and I realized it was gonna take a while going up the hill. Just at this moment I passed...a staircase. A staircase which promised to take me directly from where I was to where I wanted to go without all of this tedious switchback action.
Accordingly, I started to go up it. And up, and up, and up it.
And up.
And up.
And up.
And then I got to the place I'd been looking toward as my milestone and discovered I was only about half-way to the top.
So.
Up I went.
355 stairs later (I didn't count myself, but I was told that's the number) I was at my destination, rubber-legged and sweaty. But! It was faster than going 'round! So I had that going for me at least.
Going down that staircase when I left was pure pleasure.
I am thinking of this one because yesterday I had to get out to a house party to send off our Australian friend, and it involved a fair amount of walking, because I convinced myself it would be faster than taking the bus for the second leg of the trip.
So there I was, walking. And walking. And I came to a hill, and started to go up it, and I realized it was gonna take a while going up the hill. Just at this moment I passed...a staircase. A staircase which promised to take me directly from where I was to where I wanted to go without all of this tedious switchback action.
Accordingly, I started to go up it. And up, and up, and up it.
And up.
And up.
And up.
And then I got to the place I'd been looking toward as my milestone and discovered I was only about half-way to the top.
So.
Up I went.
355 stairs later (I didn't count myself, but I was told that's the number) I was at my destination, rubber-legged and sweaty. But! It was faster than going 'round! So I had that going for me at least.
Going down that staircase when I left was pure pleasure.
Avatar reviewed.
My problem with movie reviews is that either I don't think enough about them to say more than "Yeah, that was pretty cool/all right/a waste of $10," or I have so much to say that it would be the essay with footnotes. (The Dark Knight was like that.)
Avatar falls more into the latter camp, which I guess says something for it. Maybe. Unlike TDK, though, what I want to say is not "This film made me think about human nature and the nature of evil," it was "I found this movie obnoxious in ways I have a hard time stating concisely."
It does have its good points. Namely, that it is beautiful. And perhaps even more important, for movie purposes, when you have humans interacting with what I presume is computer animation, the eye just pans across the scene. No visual jar at all. This is not Who Framed Roger Rabbit?
So, there's that.
Just a few notes on the "story" side: the Na'vi are not really alien at all. They are tall blue humans with tails. It is hard to do "alien" effectively, of course, but here it seems to be done deliberately in a sort of psychological sleight-of-hand. We empathize immediately with the "aliens" because they are, in fact, human, which is important because we are supposed to root for the "aliens" and against the humans, and it would be much harder to bring that off if the aliens really were strange/uncanny/incomprehensible to the audience.
We are also supposed to root for the aliens because we never see an alien do anything that would lose our sympathy, whereas none of the humans not ultimately allied with the aliens do anything to gain our sympathy. Well, OK, this is a very slight exaggeration; one of the Na'vi gets the standard "truculent tribal alpha male displaced by hero" role, in which he says rude stuff, and the Marine colonel is intelligent, decisive, and physically brave...but, of course, he's also a warmonger, so all of those good qualities just end up making him worse. That's about it for the moral ambiguity.
So, fine, we are rooting for the aliens. (And Our Hero, who, in the finest pulp tradition, is the white guy swooping into the native society, assuming the leadership of the tribe, and poaching the most available of the ladies, who is also the tribal shaman-in-waiting, as if Edgar Rice Burroughs had written this part of the plot. Oh, and Our Hero's friends. We are rooting for them too.) And they win! Through the power of the coalition-building montage scene, and a lot of heroic self-sacrifice from the expected quarters, and the Mother Tree zapping all the Marines, or whatever they are.
And the humans are frog-marched to their waiting spaceship and forced to decamp to their "dead world". About three-quarters of the way through the movie we learn that humans have "killed their mother (meaning Earth)" and that there is "nothing green on the planet (Earth again)". If this is not just wild hyperbole, then one might think it would have come up at some point in the movie prior to this--say, when the corporate mucketymuck is explaining why humans are interested in Pandora. At the time he says it is to get "unobtainium", the utility of which is never even hinted at, but maybe it is to establish Pandora as a human colony because the Earth is rapidly becoming uninhabitable, and they just forgot to say so.
But if that's really the case, I have bad news, Na'vi: Human nature being what it is, the defeat of a few hundred Marines is not gonna stop us, and I doubt even Toruk-Makto will be effective against being bombed from orbit.
Avatar falls more into the latter camp, which I guess says something for it. Maybe. Unlike TDK, though, what I want to say is not "This film made me think about human nature and the nature of evil," it was "I found this movie obnoxious in ways I have a hard time stating concisely."
It does have its good points. Namely, that it is beautiful. And perhaps even more important, for movie purposes, when you have humans interacting with what I presume is computer animation, the eye just pans across the scene. No visual jar at all. This is not Who Framed Roger Rabbit?
So, there's that.
Just a few notes on the "story" side: the Na'vi are not really alien at all. They are tall blue humans with tails. It is hard to do "alien" effectively, of course, but here it seems to be done deliberately in a sort of psychological sleight-of-hand. We empathize immediately with the "aliens" because they are, in fact, human, which is important because we are supposed to root for the "aliens" and against the humans, and it would be much harder to bring that off if the aliens really were strange/uncanny/incomprehensible to the audience.
We are also supposed to root for the aliens because we never see an alien do anything that would lose our sympathy, whereas none of the humans not ultimately allied with the aliens do anything to gain our sympathy. Well, OK, this is a very slight exaggeration; one of the Na'vi gets the standard "truculent tribal alpha male displaced by hero" role, in which he says rude stuff, and the Marine colonel is intelligent, decisive, and physically brave...but, of course, he's also a warmonger, so all of those good qualities just end up making him worse. That's about it for the moral ambiguity.
So, fine, we are rooting for the aliens. (And Our Hero, who, in the finest pulp tradition, is the white guy swooping into the native society, assuming the leadership of the tribe, and poaching the most available of the ladies, who is also the tribal shaman-in-waiting, as if Edgar Rice Burroughs had written this part of the plot. Oh, and Our Hero's friends. We are rooting for them too.) And they win! Through the power of the coalition-building montage scene, and a lot of heroic self-sacrifice from the expected quarters, and the Mother Tree zapping all the Marines, or whatever they are.
And the humans are frog-marched to their waiting spaceship and forced to decamp to their "dead world". About three-quarters of the way through the movie we learn that humans have "killed their mother (meaning Earth)" and that there is "nothing green on the planet (Earth again)". If this is not just wild hyperbole, then one might think it would have come up at some point in the movie prior to this--say, when the corporate mucketymuck is explaining why humans are interested in Pandora. At the time he says it is to get "unobtainium", the utility of which is never even hinted at, but maybe it is to establish Pandora as a human colony because the Earth is rapidly becoming uninhabitable, and they just forgot to say so.
But if that's really the case, I have bad news, Na'vi: Human nature being what it is, the defeat of a few hundred Marines is not gonna stop us, and I doubt even Toruk-Makto will be effective against being bombed from orbit.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
The List:: Seven Things About San Francisco
Thing #1: Fog.
Not original! So sue me!
The thing that really weirded me out about San Francisco fog...well, two things, actually. The first one is that it can be so localized. My former roommate's brother had a house in Diamond Heights where you could literally walk in the front door in the fog, go to the back door, and look out at a blue sky.
Trip-pee.
The other thing is that it's fast. In Utah the fog just comes in and sits. In San Francisco it goes ghosting along at 10-15 miles per hour sometimes as it comes in off the sea...it's really weird to watch it. So quiet and so swift.
Not original! So sue me!
The thing that really weirded me out about San Francisco fog...well, two things, actually. The first one is that it can be so localized. My former roommate's brother had a house in Diamond Heights where you could literally walk in the front door in the fog, go to the back door, and look out at a blue sky.
Trip-pee.
The other thing is that it's fast. In Utah the fog just comes in and sits. In San Francisco it goes ghosting along at 10-15 miles per hour sometimes as it comes in off the sea...it's really weird to watch it. So quiet and so swift.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Last Beatles Song
Since this is not a favorites list or anything, just what happens to come to mind, let's have a look at:
"Blue Jay Way"!
One of the least listenable Beatles songs of all time, and yet weirdly hypnotic. And "Please don't be long/Or I may be asleep" has always been a relevant line 'round the old family hope.
"Blue Jay Way"!
One of the least listenable Beatles songs of all time, and yet weirdly hypnotic. And "Please don't be long/Or I may be asleep" has always been a relevant line 'round the old family hope.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Beatles Song the Sixth:
"Hey Bulldog".
Just because.
And also because it just might be the catchiest Beatles' song ever. Seriously.
Yellow Submarine ahoy!
No wonder that blue Cerberus thingy loves it.
Just because.
And also because it just might be the catchiest Beatles' song ever. Seriously.
Yellow Submarine ahoy!
No wonder that blue Cerberus thingy loves it.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Beatles Song the Fifth:
How about "Rain" again?
No?
It is still raining. In fact, I don't think it's stopped all day. Certainly not for long.
So, it turns out that there may be something to getting a Ph.D. after all, and becoming the undisputed master of a sub-demi-niche of the great ecology of knowledge. We have had the privilege of hearing about the research of a Nobel laureate here the last two days, and, as one would expect, the stuff he is doing is pretty awesome. But he showed one picture that made me say, "The picture you are showing does not show what you say it shows; that just so happens to fall in my demi-sub-niche and you will have to explain it better or get a better picture to convince me your interpretation of your experiment is correct."
That is the point of graduate school, really; so you will know enough to be able to have a conversation with a Nobel laureate about his research that is really about his research (assuming his research is in your field, of course; I could do this for Medicine and Physiology, and maaaaybe Chemistry, but not Physics).
Anyway. In honor of that, how about the song the Beatles sing Jeremy Hilary Boob, Ph.D.:
He's a real Nowhere Man
Living in his Nowhere Land
Making all his Nowhere Plans
For nobody.
No?
It is still raining. In fact, I don't think it's stopped all day. Certainly not for long.
So, it turns out that there may be something to getting a Ph.D. after all, and becoming the undisputed master of a sub-demi-niche of the great ecology of knowledge. We have had the privilege of hearing about the research of a Nobel laureate here the last two days, and, as one would expect, the stuff he is doing is pretty awesome. But he showed one picture that made me say, "The picture you are showing does not show what you say it shows; that just so happens to fall in my demi-sub-niche and you will have to explain it better or get a better picture to convince me your interpretation of your experiment is correct."
That is the point of graduate school, really; so you will know enough to be able to have a conversation with a Nobel laureate about his research that is really about his research (assuming his research is in your field, of course; I could do this for Medicine and Physiology, and maaaaybe Chemistry, but not Physics).
Anyway. In honor of that, how about the song the Beatles sing Jeremy Hilary Boob, Ph.D.:
He's a real Nowhere Man
Living in his Nowhere Land
Making all his Nowhere Plans
For nobody.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Beatles Song the Fourth:
"Taxman".
People mostly associate the Beatles with Flower Power and hippieness and so on and so forth, possibly because the Beatles are so indelibly associated with the 60s and the 60s with leftist idealism among (most of) the young and reaction against it among (most of) the powers-that-were. (Viz., "Never trust anyone over thirty" and "The sign said 'Long-haired freaky people need not apply.'", respectively.)
But the truth, as always, is more complicated, and in 1965 George Harrison was ready for a little less in the way of redistributive socialism in England. Specifically, he was really not all that fond of a 95% marginal tax rate on his income. So he wrote a song about it. (Just to prove he wasn't taking sides, he name-checks both Mr. Harold Wilson and Mr. Edward Heath, leaders of the Labour and Conservative Parties, respectively.)
I play this song every April 15th. I'll bet a lot of people do.
People mostly associate the Beatles with Flower Power and hippieness and so on and so forth, possibly because the Beatles are so indelibly associated with the 60s and the 60s with leftist idealism among (most of) the young and reaction against it among (most of) the powers-that-were. (Viz., "Never trust anyone over thirty" and "The sign said 'Long-haired freaky people need not apply.'", respectively.)
But the truth, as always, is more complicated, and in 1965 George Harrison was ready for a little less in the way of redistributive socialism in England. Specifically, he was really not all that fond of a 95% marginal tax rate on his income. So he wrote a song about it. (Just to prove he wasn't taking sides, he name-checks both Mr. Harold Wilson and Mr. Edward Heath, leaders of the Labour and Conservative Parties, respectively.)
I play this song every April 15th. I'll bet a lot of people do.
NOT a Beatles' song!
The last two nights we have had heavy rain and wind, so that I have waked several times when I hear the rain at the window. It always makes me think of the verse of "A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief" that begins:
'Twas night; the floods were out, it blew
A winter hurricane aloof.
There are a lot of poor wayfaring men of grief here in San Francisco; I hope they have all found somewhere dry to spend the night, and continue to do so. The weather report predicts rain all week.
'Twas night; the floods were out, it blew
A winter hurricane aloof.
There are a lot of poor wayfaring men of grief here in San Francisco; I hope they have all found somewhere dry to spend the night, and continue to do so. The weather report predicts rain all week.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Beatles Song the Third:
"Rain".
Or, in this case, "RAIN!"
We actually had a thunderstorm last night, which is a maybe-twice-a-year occurrence here in California, and it rained with enthusiasm for about twelve hours straight, which it almost never does in this neck of the woods. The clouds have dispersed and a watery blue sky with a few cotton-puff clouds arches over us, but we have the puddles to remind us.
"Rain, I don't mind;
Shine, the weather's fine."
Or, in this case, "RAIN!"
We actually had a thunderstorm last night, which is a maybe-twice-a-year occurrence here in California, and it rained with enthusiasm for about twelve hours straight, which it almost never does in this neck of the woods. The clouds have dispersed and a watery blue sky with a few cotton-puff clouds arches over us, but we have the puddles to remind us.
"Rain, I don't mind;
Shine, the weather's fine."
Monday, January 18, 2010
Beatles Song the Second:
"Maxwell's Silver Hammer"
When I came home from the record store with my dad after having bought "Abbey Road", this was the song playing as we arrived at home. (That is what memory whispers, anyway.) Dad said it might be his favorite Beatles song ever.
At the time, I thought, "Oh neat! Dad's favorite Beatles song!" Now, of course, I would think, "Wait, the faux show tune about a serial killer and his murder weapon?...Really?"
A clear case of familiarity leading to familiarity leading to weirdness. This kind of thing happens all the time at our place.
"Abbey Road" was also the cause of a slightly painful yet strangely hilarious moment; that first night my dad strictly instructed me not to listen to it all the time, as it is not good for the brain to listen to too much pop music, also, poor Mom to have to listen to the Beatles continually. (He may stated those last two clauses only by implication, but it was pretty loud and clear implication, if you know what I mean.)
So when he came home the next evening and learned I had listened to the album straight through three times between when I got home (at 2:30) and when he asked about it (about 8), he was not very happy. Realizing that it would cut no ice as an excuse for my behavior, I did NOT mention the fact that I had manfully demanded of myself that I go at least an hour between listenings!
When I came home from the record store with my dad after having bought "Abbey Road", this was the song playing as we arrived at home. (That is what memory whispers, anyway.) Dad said it might be his favorite Beatles song ever.
At the time, I thought, "Oh neat! Dad's favorite Beatles song!" Now, of course, I would think, "Wait, the faux show tune about a serial killer and his murder weapon?...Really?"
A clear case of familiarity leading to familiarity leading to weirdness. This kind of thing happens all the time at our place.
"Abbey Road" was also the cause of a slightly painful yet strangely hilarious moment; that first night my dad strictly instructed me not to listen to it all the time, as it is not good for the brain to listen to too much pop music, also, poor Mom to have to listen to the Beatles continually. (He may stated those last two clauses only by implication, but it was pretty loud and clear implication, if you know what I mean.)
So when he came home the next evening and learned I had listened to the album straight through three times between when I got home (at 2:30) and when he asked about it (about 8), he was not very happy. Realizing that it would cut no ice as an excuse for my behavior, I did NOT mention the fact that I had manfully demanded of myself that I go at least an hour between listenings!
Sunday, January 17, 2010
The List: Seven Beatles' Songs
#1: "I'm So Tired". Its chief claim to fame in my book it is one of the two songs that I remembered well enough to mention to my father as reasons to get Beatles' CDs for Christmas, which was the beginning of my introduction to rock'n'roll. ("Rocky Raccoon" was the other. That's right, two songs from the deepest darkest depths of the White Album--well, OK, "Revolution 9" is deeper and darker--were what led to my becoming a Beatles fan. Weird, huh?)
But it's also just a great song, and it introduced me to the word "git", which I suppose could be considered a point in its favor? It's also not often you here Sir Walter Raleigh name-checked in your pop music, which is a nice touch. (He's the man who brought the idea of smoking tobacco to England from the Indians of Virginia and/or the Carolinas. At least, that's the way John Lennon tells it, and I think it's true.)
But it's also just a great song, and it introduced me to the word "git", which I suppose could be considered a point in its favor? It's also not often you here Sir Walter Raleigh name-checked in your pop music, which is a nice touch. (He's the man who brought the idea of smoking tobacco to England from the Indians of Virginia and/or the Carolinas. At least, that's the way John Lennon tells it, and I think it's true.)
Friday, January 15, 2010
I feel worn to a frazzle
I don't know why. Perhaps it is that I am surprizing close to the Next Big Thing after all.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
English
One of the best things about it: the fine gradations of meaning in different words (awe, horror, dread, terror).
One of the worst things about it--the homogenization of meaning in different words (awful, horrible, dreadful, terrible).
One of the worst things about it--the homogenization of meaning in different words (awful, horrible, dreadful, terrible).
Monday, January 11, 2010
Poems
It's been a long time since I've written any.
I wonder if it is simply that I have gotten older, or if it has to do with my being more tranquil now. Correlation and causation are hard to unwind at that level.
It could also be that I got tired of writing for an audience of one. Sometimes more, of course, but only one for certain. Lady Grey mentioned something along those lines to me the other day--that a writer must have an audience, and the better the writer, the more needed the audience. (I hope I paraphrased that correctly...)
It's an interesting idea.
I wonder if it is simply that I have gotten older, or if it has to do with my being more tranquil now. Correlation and causation are hard to unwind at that level.
It could also be that I got tired of writing for an audience of one. Sometimes more, of course, but only one for certain. Lady Grey mentioned something along those lines to me the other day--that a writer must have an audience, and the better the writer, the more needed the audience. (I hope I paraphrased that correctly...)
It's an interesting idea.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Fun with Microwaves
SUCCESSES
1. Peeps
2. Grapes cut almost but not quite in half
3. Cockroaches (it doesn't do anything to them. I have no explanation for this.)
FAILURES
1. Twist ties.
1. Peeps
2. Grapes cut almost but not quite in half
3. Cockroaches (it doesn't do anything to them. I have no explanation for this.)
FAILURES
1. Twist ties.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Posting to a blog:
Only one of the many things it is easier to do every day than to do every two or three days.
At least for me. I think many people are not like that, but I have more than once said "I will do (not do) the following thing every day, starting now" and then gone and done (not done) that thing for many months, in some cases years, in one case for the last ten years. But if I ever miss two days, it all goes to pot.
P=mv! It is not just for physics!
At least for me. I think many people are not like that, but I have more than once said "I will do (not do) the following thing every day, starting now" and then gone and done (not done) that thing for many months, in some cases years, in one case for the last ten years. But if I ever miss two days, it all goes to pot.
P=mv! It is not just for physics!
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
The Beatles, oh, the Beatles
When I was very young I heard them singing "Rocky Raccoon" and "I'm So Tired" on the LP. And when I got to be, oh, 14 or so, I said to my dad, "Hey, wait about those Beatles songs?" And he got Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band and the White Album for Christmas, and my long slow slide into rock and roll fandom had begun.
Or maybe it was an ascent, I dunno. I do not listen to the Beatles like I used to, but I still have a lot of their trivia at my fingertips, and I can probably sing along with, oh, 90% of their recorded output.
So, yeah, still a fan. :D
Or maybe it was an ascent, I dunno. I do not listen to the Beatles like I used to, but I still have a lot of their trivia at my fingertips, and I can probably sing along with, oh, 90% of their recorded output.
So, yeah, still a fan. :D
Monday, January 4, 2010
TCU done dropped the ball.
We (by which I mean, the Mountain West Conference) were all set to run the table and stake our claim to BCS goodness. But TCU could not seal the deal. They lost 17-10 to Boise State in the Fiesta Bowl. >:(
In fairness, Boise State played really well and were value for money, but it is disappointing that the Horned Frogs couldn't do to them what they did to the Utes. (55-28...the pain still lingers.)
In fairness, Boise State played really well and were value for money, but it is disappointing that the Horned Frogs couldn't do to them what they did to the Utes. (55-28...the pain still lingers.)
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Still thinking about Bishop L
I guess that's not very surprising. One of the things I have been thinking about is how to explain to someone who's not a Mormon the relationship between a bishop and a member of that bishop's ward. No very clear parallel suggests itself so far.
Of course, this is particularly close to my heart because I was the ward clerk for Bishop L for close to two years, so I talked with him pretty much every week. It's really strange to think of him being gone. The funeral will be in southern California, so I won't be able to go; I hope they have a memorial service up here so we get a chance to say goodbye in an official way.
Of course, this is particularly close to my heart because I was the ward clerk for Bishop L for close to two years, so I talked with him pretty much every week. It's really strange to think of him being gone. The funeral will be in southern California, so I won't be able to go; I hope they have a memorial service up here so we get a chance to say goodbye in an official way.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
A very somber day
I found out this morning that my bishop passed away last night. It has given me lots to think about all day.
I'm going to miss him.
I'm going to miss him.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Observation
Today the tide was as high as I've ever seen it in the Mission Bay canal. Usually high tide puts the 2 in the sign reading "1/2" underwater but leaves the 1 untouched, but today the whole fraction was submerged. Not only that, the high tide line showed that the tide was receding, and the full tide had been about a foot higher than that! I wonder if it's because of a storm surge.
There were sea lions in the canal too. (Two of them actually, which I regard as a good omen. ;)) I never saw sealions in the canal until a few months ago; I wonder if something has changed to make it more congenial to them.
There were sea lions in the canal too. (Two of them actually, which I regard as a good omen. ;)) I never saw sealions in the canal until a few months ago; I wonder if something has changed to make it more congenial to them.
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