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[Nov. 25th, 2009|04:00 am] |
I don't know why inspiration is cyclical, but this is one of the weeks in which I have a dozen topics I want to write about before I lose those trains of thought.
Monday I read the New York Times magazine cover article, about men who discover that they are not the biological fathers of their children (usually years after the kids are born and in the course of divorce or child support proceedings), with the fascination of an outsider. I don't mean an outsider as in childless, although I am that, too. I mean from the perspective of someone who has no known blood relatives at all.
Of course, many adoptees search for their biological parents, and they probably struggle with issues similar to the ones discussed in the article. Although one difference may be that adoptees rarely wonder who their "real" parents are; I assume it's because they grow up knowing that their families are bound by psychological rather than genetic ties.
Just the fact that it is a huge adjustment for some fathers and children to discover they aren't biologically related interests me. People take comfort, I guess, from shared blood. Why is this? Or, as the author of the NYT article put it, "why is it that we imbue genetic relationships with a potency that borders on magic?" I suppose the phenomenon is something I'll never really understand. I have heard stories of adoptees who want to have children because they want blood ties. They want to know what it's like, how it's different.
In case you're curious, no, I have no interest in searching for biological relatives. The most interest I can muster is for medical information. If a woman were to contact me and say that we're sisters, I imagine my response would be, "oh, interesting! How old were you when you got your period? Do you suffer from migraines?" My shrink often notes that it is unusual to lack curiosity about origins. My guess is that my parents so thoroughly trampled my self-esteem that I regard anything remotely related to me as inherently worthless and boring. I assume that this also ties to my lack of desire for offspring.
Oddly, when I watched the Precious Cargo documentary with my mom a few years ago, her biggest reaction was abject fear that I would renounce my American life (or maybe just her), move to Vietnam, and never speak to her again. It's odd because I think she did a pretty good job of ensuring that scenario would never happen. Also, if she really had that much invested in me being HER child, wouldn't she have treated me a little better? I guess not. Jealous partners are often the most incompetent. |
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| in which I am easily amused by the Internet |
[Nov. 24th, 2009|09:54 pm] |
On a whim I put "Pasteur" as a search term on the Oxford University Press's Web site and got Louis Pasteur and the Hidden World of Microbes, which sounded promising until I read the Amazon page and discovered the suggested reader age is 9 to 12 (years or grade I'm not sure, but too young regardless).
I searched Amazon again, this time using only "Pasteur" as a search term and then narrowing the results to biographies and memoirs. On the sidebar there was an option to narrow the results to award-winning titles, so I clicked on "Pulitzer Prize," and the find looks fascinating: A Midwife's Tale: The Life of Martha Ballard Based on Her Diary, 1785-1812.
My right ear has been throbbing for most of the day. I'd better not get sick right before the only four-day weekend of the year. *grumble* |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 24th, 2009|12:08 pm] |
Finally did a friends list purge. People who haven't posted in a year and who aren't sentimental favorites (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) wouldprefernot2 and melanthe) got the axe. If you lurk and still read, comment and I'll add you back. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 23rd, 2009|06:03 pm] |
A recent post by purejuice reminded me that I need to finish Microcosmos because there are several topics I want to write about. Although I never did really explain what makes music good (to me), I am also thinking about what makes writing good.
For work, it's easy: good writing is easy to follow. I recently copy-edited a paper about quantum computing, a subject I know absolutely nothing about, and yet I felt that I understood the methodology and results of the study. That is good writing. Conversely, I suffered through a virus evolution manuscript that felt about a million pages long. It was confusing and tedious, and I theoretically know about and am predisposed to like the topic of microbial evolution!
For free-time (I almost put "pleasure" and then remembered how some of you are sick, sick puppies) nonfiction, this recent cover article by Neely Tucker (in the Washington Post magazine) is a long example of nonfiction writing I like. A great, devastating example: "Reading the three dedications consecutively, realizing they were written over a 13-year period, makes it difficult not to feel the anger beneath the surface. And the heartbreak."
to be continued |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 21st, 2009|10:27 pm] |
In spite of what I said earlier about friendships being simple, I get anxious over social interactions. Social interactions with friends are fine, but then there's that gray area between friend and acquaintance, which is emotional quicksand.
Most of my current friends are people I've met directly or indirectly through one of my first co-workers in the DC area. Second biggest source is LJ, and third, somewhat surprisingly, is high school. I have just two friends from college and one from graduate school, good indicators that I chose those schools poorly.
Anyway, Tania and I have known one another since 7th grade and were friends until high school graduation. I saw her a few times in San Antonio after that, but then her parents moved to Dallas (where she went to college). Andrea, my good friend from the same period, was closer to Tania and stayed in touch through the years. It was Andrea who told me that Tania was moving to DC to start the MBA program at Georgetown.
I saw Tania a few times a year the first few years she was here, partly because she was busy with school and partly because we've grown into such different people. I don't think we would be friends without the long shared history. She's super social, with plans practically every night and over 200 Facebook friends. We get together and chat about family and high school friends, but we don't have much else in common. Over the years we've met less and less often, and I was always the one to suggest doing something. As part of my "you don't have to be the good friend in perpetuity" awakening, I was content to let that friendship die peacefully in its sleep.
Except friendships do not go gently. She admonished me last winter about not making more of an effort to see her, so I planned a dinner out with her and Bear (another of the hometown friends) in February. In May I took her out to dinner for her birthday. She said she wanted to go to one of the Jazz in the Sculpture Garden concerts in the summer, so I tried to find a Friday that worked. We had a date in August finally, but then she bailed the day before, and that's when I mentally gave up.
Friends from the same social circle (although not people I knew well) are in town this weekend, and yesterday Tania called to invite us to brunch with them. We said yes, but I wish we'd said no. Now we'll be the last-minute invitees who aren't close to the out-of-towners and who haven't kept in touch with Tania, the in-towner. I hope that they do all of the talking while Brent and I eat quietly in the corner. At least the brunch is at a good restaurant, one that Brent hasn't tried, and Bear will be there. Bear's a good friend. |
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| on friendship |
[Nov. 18th, 2009|03:58 am] |
My co-worker Jen was telling me an exasperating story about the guy she's kind-of-but-not-really dating. A big part of the frustration was that he claimed to have no idea why she was irritated with him.
I want to bonk him on the head, Stooge style, and say, "it's because friends aren't supposed to make their friends' lives more difficult! Life is hard already. Friends are the people you've chosen to be nice to."
Frankly, most of life sucks. 99.9% of people don't even know I exist, and half of the remainder probably aren't crazy about me. I spend most of my waking hours at work with a good number of people I wouldn't choose to be with. And then the rest of the time I hope to go unnoticed, approaching human interactions from the perspective of "please let me get through this without losing faith in humanity."
Friends give me hope; I root for them to get everything they want in life and feel better when they (finally) do. It's kind of like Christmas on a grand scale. Or perhaps the impulse is similar to the one that makes pets enjoyable. Yeah, it's all well and good to like cats and dogs, but there's nothing like having your own critters to spoil.
Hope no one's offended by being compared to pets.
This seems very simple, but I've noticed that a lot of people don't feel the same way. They view friendship as a zero-sum game (if she gets a better job that makes my job worse) or as minor inconveniences that must be endured to attain some other goal (finding a spouse, keeping a job network, getting discounts on the bar tab, etc.).
My LJ friends list is basically a roster of players that I cheer for, and I'm glad whenever you score a victory, no matter how minor. I cheer every time you read a really good book, find a beautiful place, and satisfy your curiosity.
One of the best things about Brent is that he's happy for me. Whenever I get an eBay package in the mail, he always smiles and congratulates me, even though part of him is probably thinking "doesn't this woman already own all of the screwback earrings ever made??" |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 16th, 2009|05:47 pm] |
My brain needs a break, so I'm going to indulge myself here a little.
There is a new biography of Jacques Cousteau. I was, of course, a Cousteau devotee as a child; an episode about sharks made me determined to be a marine biologist. Even into graduate school I was seriously considering marine microbiology and tagged along on some sampling trips to ingratiate myself with marine sciences faculty.
Besides more than a little nostalgia for Jacques Cousteau and wondering whether documentaries about J. Craig Venter will inspire the next generation of marine microbiologists (a legion of them, no doubt!), I also was reminded that I've been disappointed in my search for a Louis Pasteur biography. According to Amazon.com, there are only two that are written for adults. Both were written published in 1995, 100 years after Pasteur's death.
The Private Science of Louis Pasteur was written by historian Gerald Geison and, according to one review of the other Pasteur biography, is a vigorous debunking of Pasteur mythology. The other is Louis Pasteur, by Patrice Debré, an immunologist. Debré finds Pasteur worthy of exalted status.
Still, it's hard to believe that there are only two biographies of such a famous scientist. Maybe there are more biographies written in French, or maybe there's just no mystery about his life.
If I could write, I would write biographies of Pasteur and Antoni van Leeuwenhoek. Oh, and during my trip to and from Boston, I started San Antonio: Story of an Enchanted City, by Frank W. Jennings. It is really terribly written- repeated cliches, unfocused, often incorrect (I seriously doubt that San Antonio has more songs written about it than any other city in the world). So I would also write a biography of San Antonio, except that maybe someone already wrote a good one. |
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| not courting disaster |
[Nov. 13th, 2009|06:24 pm] |
Yesterday Lawyer B said that I don't have to go to court this coming week, and today she sent the official (as official as e-mail gets, I guess) notice to the county attorney, copying me and the county inspector (who paid another lovely visit to the house yesterday instead of returning Lawyer B's phone calls).
Monday I have to go to the county seat and pick up the sign advertising the public hearing on 2 December. The sign has to be posted in the front yard by Tuesday.
I remembered belatedly that the public hearing may not be the end after all. The board of appeals doesn't have to vote on the matter at the hearing. They can request more information or just decide to deliberate further.
I saw the full variance application for the first time just now. We are arguing about 72 square feet of concrete. Seventy fucking two goddamn feet. So if the board turns down my request, I won't have to cut up the driveway completely. Just those 72 infernal feet. Lawyer B got the permit review department to concede the other 108 ft. In hindsight, I guess I could have voluntarily reduced the driveway down to 108 ft., but they wouldn't offer any sort of guarantee that they would grant the permit, and I didn't see the point in cutting up the driveway again without a guarantee that it would be the last time. It was like pulling teeth for them to "allow" anything at all, so in many ways Lawyer B's already earned her paycheck.
At some point I will have to meet with my town's mayor and town council (yes, really; a town council for some 400 people) and try to convince them to recommend that the variance be granted. Apparently the town's opinion will matter a lot to the board. Fortunately there are no homeowner or neighborhood associations to placate. |
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| end in sight |
[Nov. 11th, 2009|09:27 pm] |
Lawyer B wrote to say that the driveway hearing with the Board of Appeals can be scheduled for 2 December; it was either that or the first week in January. I definitely want it sooner rather than later. I'd love to have the whole thing finished before the new year, but after I clear this hurdle I still have six stations left at the permit office. Who knows what future delights await?
Unfortunately, she has not heard from the assistant district attorney about the court order to appear before a judge and explain my lack of a driveway permit on 18 November. I've been procrastinating on asking for leave because I keep hoping I won't have to. "Hey, C. I need a day off to convince a judge not to fine me $250 a day. Is that all right?"
If I can I'll take the whole day of the Board of Appeals hearing off. I doubt I'd get much done at work anyway. Perhaps it would be smarter to be out on the 3rd. If the board decides that I have to cut up the driveway, I'll definitely want a day to stay in bed.
Needless to say, I'm pretty stressed. I'm glad the saga may be ending soon, but I don't relish going to court or being questioned at a public hearing.
In other news, did you know that Combos are the official cheese-filled snack of NASCAR?
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 8th, 2009|09:17 pm] |
I should be doing some work from home but instead I'll do the five questions meme. You know the drill: comment and I'll give you five questions in turn. These are from villagecharm.
1. Do you find yourself listening to different types of music depending on the season?
I only listen to Winterreise in January or February, and I pull out Bach's St. Matthew Passion during Holy Week. I also like Latin jazz when it's cold and rainy. But I guess I listen to all types of music all year round. Mood is probably the main factor in music selection.
2. If you could solve one public mystery once and for all - purpose of Stonehenge, who shot JFK, etc. - which one would it be?
I would want to know who invented the microscope. Does that count as a public mystery? If not, ummmmm. How'd those giant heads on Easter Island get there?
3. What city in the U.S. is completely underrated?
I haven't been to many American cities. I'd say that the hate for LA and DC is completely out of proportion to their respective negative aspects and that Austin and San Francisco are totally overrated. But, underrated. Hmmm. Probably the Village of Charm. ;)
4. How do you celebrate or reward yourself for a job well done?
I don't ever think I do a good job at anything, but when I'm in the mood to splurge I tend to buy decadent, expensive food, either groceries or a meal. Sometimes I'll treat myself to a CD.
5. Do you still send people handwritten letters? If not, when did you stop?
I do, mostly at the end-of-year holidays. I don't write newsletters, and I don't use those cheap-ass photo cards that people don't even bother to sign. Not that I'm bitter. The last time I wrote a non-holiday letter was to my godmother. She suffered a stroke several years ago and has been unable to work. She gets very bored and very lonely (they live in a rural area and her husband has only found work as a long-haul truck driver). I had a penpal when I was 5 to about 8 years old. Maybe it's time to start again. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 8th, 2009|10:29 am] |
Holy smokes. I feel like I've been away from LJ for a week, but it was only a couple of days. Thursday evening I went to Boston and spent all day Friday at a user group meeting for editing software that we use at work. I got home late Friday night. Yesterday I did some chores, then Brent and I went to check out a new (to us) band, Arty Hill and the Long Gone Daddys. Hill's steel guitar player is the same guy who plays for my favorite band, the Oklahoma Twisters. I'm glad he suggested the band- it was pretty good. Actually, as Brent said, Hill had terrific taste in cover songs. What's not to like about a band that lets me sing "Please, baby, wait for me until they let me out again"?
I drove from a thrift store (where I donated more items than I bought, I think) to the CSA farm to pick up my vegetable share. Fela Kuti (one of Brent's finds) was on the tape, and I thought, "I'm either a hippie or a hipster. Neither can be good." |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 5th, 2009|09:40 pm] |
I had a ginormous slice of the best pizza in DC (and yeah a lot of people say the pizza in DC sucks, but they haven't been here) for lunch and a green salad and mac'n'cheese for dinner. Hard to post much of anything with such a full belly and a nice soft bed. I confess that I enjoyed every pound of cheese that I ate today.
Still ruminating on music, too. I have a weakness for dance music and probably always have. One of my Beethoven CDs is a compilation of dances, which may seem like a waste of his talent but such commissions probably allowed him to eat while he worked on his "serious" compositions.
There's a section in that Nat Hentoff compilation that I read a few weeks ago that quotes musicians talking about dancers. I agree with them: dancers make music sound better, and they probably make musicians better players, too. One guy said that he didn't like playing unless someone was dancing.
Brent's much more open-minded about music. He listens to a lot of experimental avant garde jazz and rock, stuff that I don't appreciate because I can't find a melody. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 4th, 2009|10:02 pm] |
Yesterday Brent and I watched Without Bias, a documentary about Len Bias, a basketball phenom who died of a cocaine overdose a few days after being drafted by the Boston Celtics. Unlike a lot of current players, Bias stayed at the University of Maryland for four years, so he was 22 when he entered the NBA draft.
As with Four Little Girls, there seemed to be a need to convince the viewer that the deceased was a wholly blameless victim. Bias's family and all but one of his friends said they never knew him to take drugs. The overdose occurred because he didn't know what he was doing or how his body would respond.
Only one friend admitted to being a drug user and to knowing that Bias occasionally did drugs. He was quick to acknowledge that most people didn't know, and they didn't know because he and Bias hid the habit. This disputes the theory that Bias was naive about cocaine's effects but doesn't explain why Bias would take a fatal dose.
What bothered me about this is that it shouldn't matter whether Bias was or was not a habitual drug user. If he was an addict, that doesn't make his death less tragic. Nor does it mean he deserved to die at the age of 22. The question of whether he fell in with the wrong crowd also seems irrelevant. He was, by all accounts, a roaring success. He was a young man who loved his family and friends, had exceptional athletic ability, and was about to turn all of that hard work and dedication into a successful career. How wrong could his crowd be?
I guess my fear is that thinking that someone who used illegal drugs deserves to die of an overdose is just another step toward general indifference to the suffering of others. From there it's not that far to thinking that illegal immigrants deserve to be exploited or that abductions are notable only if the victims have blond hair and blue eyes.
The director, Kirk Fraser, draws an explicit link from Bias's death to harsh mandatory minimum prison sentences for drug possession, particularly crack cocaine. One politician actually admits on camera that those laws were a terrible idea and that he felt guilty about all of the lives ruined by politicians' zeal to do something. I don't even understand the logic behind the legislation- cocaine is so addictive, dangerous, and awful that government is going to punish ... the addicts. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 2nd, 2009|11:04 pm] |
I joke that it's good that Brent doesn't like They Might Be Giants, because if he did I would think he's perfect and therefore doesn't really exist.
Now I can joke that it's good he doesn't like They Might Be Giants or Ariadne auf Naxos. Ah well, vive la difference. Too bad the cast wasn't better; better singers might have made it more likable. The best singer was Irene Theorin as Ariadne. Surprisingly Lyubov Petrova was okay as Zerbinetta. I was expecting her to be awful because this is a much more demanding role than Gilda (as whom she was also okay). The production played up the campy, slapstick aspect, and I wasn't sure whether Bacchus was portrayed as a fat Fabio as comic relief or just bad choreography/acting.
DCist's opera reviewer suggests that leftover contracts after the cancelled Ring performances led to a hodge podge season at the Washington National Opera. I can imagine Theorin in a Wagner opera. She might even convince me to like it. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 1st, 2009|10:09 pm] |
I'm having pangs of regret about this house. For most of the day I had a headache (and if cold fronts can trigger headaches I'm in big trouble this winter), but I did do some organizing in the attic.
I have so much crap! Worse than having a lot of crap is that I'm reluctant to get rid of any of it. That gray wool blazer I've had since 1992- so many memories! I have a big plastic bin full of clothes I sewed for myself that no longer fit. I tell myself that a) no one else would want them and b) maybe by some miracle I'll lose enough weight to wear them again.
Then there are the things bought for home improvement projects continually postponed. I want to regrout the bathroom tile, so I bought a grout remover. It sits in the basement with the lamps I've never repaired and the bathroom fixtures I haven't installed.
Just a little junky house filled with a little woman's junk.
I try not to buy new plastic because there's already too much of it in the world, but I think I'm going to cave and buy some new, clear plastic storage bins. The basement isn't wet but it's damp enough that cardboard eventually wears out. Alternatively I could spend a fortune and install a wall of shelving, enough to get most boxes off of the floor and have some semblance of organization.
Garbagegarbagegarbagegarbagegarbagegarbagegarbagegarbagegarbagegarbagegarbagegarbagegarbagegarbage |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 30th, 2009|10:58 pm] |
The spookiest thing in my life is that I can't find my original contract for the deck or the duplicate check for the deck deposit. I'm a pack rat, dammit. How can I not have these things but have every museum exhibition brochure since my last year of high school??
Organizing my crap is the goal of this weekend. Crikey. |
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| ambitious but not accomplished |
[Oct. 28th, 2009|05:04 pm] |
I wanted to have a repaired shower faucet and a warm apple pie ready for Brent's return yesterday but managed neither. This is the busy period at work with the major deadline on Friday followed by another on Tuesday, so I'm not even sure I'll get the pie made before the weekend. I hope the apples keep.
I post more when Brent isn't around, and I can't decide whether that's because I have more time or because I don't have anyone to talk to.
On cake: I like cakes with a lot of layers. I need more practice slicing cake layers; I'd love to make a lemon cake with four cake layers and two layers each of lemon and coconut frostings.
On pie: I use about 60:40 butter:lard for dessert pie crusts. Flakes beautifully with a sweet flavor.
On music: We got to see my favorite local band (the Oklahoma Twisters) for the first time in what feels like forever. The Twisters were playing the second and fourth sets, so some of 'em sat and chatted with us during the first set. We talked about Proper Records and their ridiculously cheap box sets and good taste (Brent and I picked up a few of their box sets in Texas; we should have bought more-apparently they don't sell them new in the U.S. anymore), whether popular music is necessarily bland, and people who won't pay $10 cover charges but happily spend $200 on a portable music player. A snippet of conversation:
(complaining about how a $10 cover charge means $2 for each band member)
George (band leader): Although I don't really mind low covers if they get people in the door. I'd rather have an audience of 100 who paid a dollar each than play for one guy who paid $100. And that one guy who's the only listener is always kinda creepy, y'know?
me: Wait, I think I've been that guy.
George: But we never charged you $100.
me: And hopefully I'm not creepy.
(everyone laughs but no one says "nah, we never thought you were a stalker even when you came to every show in 2007")
Did I cover all the recent themes? Oh, home repair anecdote: took the installation booklet and broken faucet pieces to the hardware store (an old-fashioned kind that is usually only open while I'm at work), and the staff had a good time trying to figure out the configuration. "Hey Carl! Check this out!" That made me feel better. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 26th, 2009|10:40 pm] |
I didn't get a pie crust made or my complaint to the Maryland Home Improvement Commission started, but I did pay this month's bills and clear some room on my desk. I'm working from home tomorrow, so I should be able to rip more CDs. Two complete sets of Beethoven symphonies await...
p.s. I don't like cupcakes because the frosting:cake ratio is too low (I also think this is true for the basic 9x13 rectangle cake, which is why I usually bake 8- or 9-inch round layers). I also have a reflexive aversion to the idea that small things are automatically adorable. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 26th, 2009|12:45 am] |
It's a good thing Brent is out of town. My attempt to repair the shower's on-off faucet made it worse instead. I was chagrined to find that many of the inner pieces are plastic. All of the visible parts are chrome or ceramic; what good is that?? I guess it masks the crap construction pretty well.
On the plus side, maybe a late bedtime means that I'll sleep straight through to my alarm, instead of waking up during the 2 or 3 o'clock hour. |
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| Pandora p.s. |
[Oct. 24th, 2009|11:08 pm] |
Okay I just signed up for an account and put a wide variety of music on a single "channel." The first really daring song choice it played was "Comanche," by Cake, a band I've never listened to. The explanation: "Based on what you've told us so far, we're playing this track because it features basic rock song structures, folk influences, a subtle use of vocal harmony, extensive vamping, and a busy horn section." I find this amusing although not sure why.
I see one problem with this methodology. I don't typically decide whether I like something on first listen. Dislikes are immediate, but 50% of music is just okay, not good or bad. It just picked "Come as you are" by Nirvana, which I've heard a million times and for which don't have strong feelings one way or the other.
Meanwhile my computer was ripping Bach's St. Matthew Passion and for some reason didn't like track 15 on disc 3. Harrumph. I suppose I should just be glad the final chorus made it. |
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