Kipper Lost! and Found!

UPDATE: He's been found! Now being spoiled with some tuna -- a neighbour let him in and then he was retrieved. Whew!!

Poor little guy! He got out of Barb's house. We're hoping he hasn't gone too far and can be lured back in. She saw him on the porch, but he ran off. She's putting out the have-a-heart trap and hoping for the best. Fingers crossed. I feel so helpless, so far away.


UPDATE (Sun night): Barb says that some of her neighbours have seen Kipper around so he hasn't left the area -- a very good sign. The hunt continues. Keep your fingers crossed!

Well Done, Gardai

So, two trips wasted now.
(V)-_-(V)

I spent yesterday finding the Garda Immigration Office in Galway. It turns out to be in a mostly unmarked building (there's a tiny plaque among the others) in the Byzantine wastelands of a charmless industrial park in the part of Galway that doesn't end up on the postcards. After at last locating it with a lot of help from Google Maps, I was told that not only were there no forms available to register, but they were "out of numbers."

Silly me, I assumed this meant some kind of glitch with their machine. At least I knew where it was now and could return in the morning, when (surely!) it would be less chaotic.

I got up early, passing through a twilit Eyre Square, where the crows fought a turf battle against the gulls with plenty of commentary on both sides, and repeating the less-than-picturesque ramble out to the industrial park. Returning for the opening hour of 7:30 was early for me, but surely a wise thing to do.

Apparently not.

Arriving minutes after opening, I found the line out the door and into the parking lot. I ducked in to grab a form, but after asking several people, was unable to find anyone who was giving out the tickets to officially queue for a place in line. I joined the end of the line and filled out my form, hoping someone would appear soon. More people joined behind me. Everyone looked anxious. Children were already bored with waiting, as apparently many people got here quite early. I was beginning to get a bad feeling about that.

Finally one of the latest folks to join the queue came out with a form in her hand, saying angrily that they would not see anyone that day who did not already have a ticket. We were wasting our time. Yes, that's right. Arriving at the time the office opened meant we were too late to actually see anyone in the office that day (o_O). So the posted hours -- which a hand-written sign declared could be changed "without notice" -- mean nothing because if you are not there before they opened (in fact, well before they opened) they will do nothing for you.

Apparently, this is typical.

I suppose if you're in the midst of a financial crisis and want to discourage immigrants, this is one way to do it. However, I am not costing the Irish nation a penny, and am bringing the prestige of the Fulbright foundation and a lot of money to spend here, but apparently that's not enough. Perhaps a dance of some kind is called for, or a round of drinks...?

And they're not answering their phone. I shall have to write a letter to The Times. Oh, wait...

Life at No. 10

Still trying to sort out the practical matters: you know how much patience I have for that (>_<) but my M-Bag has arrived with its wealth of goodies. No fun waiting around for the postman to arrive when there's no internet at home! I have some brief video from Newgrange (before the batteries ran out >_<) but I have to splice it together which I should have been doing with all that free time but I only remembered it now. More anon!

Frustrations

Hastily as I have no time (literally, my 20 min voucher ticks away) things to date: no phone, no internet because I didn't have a bank account until today and couldn't deposit my check before tomorrow, so no money in account and no bank statement. Argh -- no internet on campus because the request for my ID didn't go through until today and it takes 24 hrs for the account to be set up. Won't be able to use it because tomorrow at dawn I'm off to Dublin for orientation which has us traipsing around New Grange and then going to a formal lunch (how to dress for that day?). I find the Ambassador's do now says "no refreshments" which makes me want to give him the high hat (what's the point of Ambassadors if they don't give you cake at least?!). So no phone, no internet possible before next week.

Oh and the whole check being delivered to the wrong address because I am Eyre Square Centre and not Eyre Square which is the opposite side of the square and thank goodness for honest folk not tempted by an enormous check >_<

Decisions: do I pay for the phone outright because the good contracts require a 24 mo commitment? If so, is it worth springing for the iPhone? Maybe not. Argh! Decisions!

On the other hand I had lunch with a fantastic colleague, resident medievalist Frances McCormack who was a delight and a kindred soul for sure, so things are bound to improve. And I have finally had a pint, so you can relax all those who were excoriating me ;-)

Carrot & Stick

I have a favor to ask of you: it's not really much and this time of year, you might be spending a lot of time in the particular location anyway. I have a birthday wish. I realise it's a few weeks away yet, but you need some preparation time. The good news is that it costs you nothing but a small amount of time (otherwise I'd be hitting you up for donations to Heifer International or Kiva for micro-loans).

As you know, there are more places than ever to get the word out on your books and products, and even more people trying to do the same. It's hard to get a signal through all the noise. But there are a few things that will help get the word out on my behalf: tags and reviews.

Over at Amazon, it is possible to tag items so people know this book is in the same category as this other one. The more tags -- and the more agreement about the appropriateness of tags -- the better, as people are more likely to find your book in searches ("if you liked X you may also enjoy Y"). So if you have some time on your hands, I'd love more tags for all my books on Amazon.

And reviews! They needn't be elaborate, but they are helpful to have there so people have some idea what the book is like; be creative. Once you're on a roll, consider adding reviews (they could be the same ones) to places like GoodReads and Library Thing. Be sure to friend me there, too. Most of my Library Thing entries have been done by the lovely grad students (thank you!).

Thanks in advance for your help! It's the best birthday present I could get (other than a big lottery win -- I can hope).

Now the carrot: I hope you've all seen the new series Sherlock which revamped Conan Doyle's stories for the 21st Century. Fun stuff! Sherlocking is a fan site for show and they ran a fan fiction contest recently (no, not the naughty kind). I had been poked on Twitter to submit a story but with one thing and another, I nearly forgot until the last day. So, not my best work, I suppose -- and it may not make much sense to someone who's not seen the show -- but the kind of exercise that can be fun in a thousand words or less. So here it is:

"A Charming Situation": Holmes and Watson visit the London Zoo

Enjoy! If you prefer something less linear, drop by my page at the New Absurdist. Or if steampunk is more your style, drop by the serial. I think I finally figured out where I was going off the rails there: I got sidetracked on Helen's father before I developed her enough. That's the thing with first drafts; they seldom stay that way.

Moping and Missing Friends

The nor'easter puts the kibosh on plans for the party at Elena's. I was so looking forward to seeing everybody tonight! I am now going to sulk and watch sad movies... once I finish grading. Bleh.

The Thing about Vampires

Teaching is all about planning + improvisation. You have to plan well and provide a structure, but it's also important to roll with the vagaries of the unexpected. Today was a case for this kind of flexibility. After talking about the ambiguity that signaled the 1980s shift in horror films, we were all primed to see John Carpenter's 1982 movie The Thing. It's a heady mix of gender politics and claustrophobic masculinity and rather good monster effects for its time.

However, the disc refused to play in the dvd player or in the computer. We even tried one of the students' laptops. No go. Argh. So much for my carefully orchestrated preamble. Fortunately, I do bring a handful of other films to show brief clips from to illustrate various points (we had already watched the opening minutes of the stylish vamp classic The Hunger with Bauhaus, Deneuve, Bowie and Ann Magnuson). The students suggested watching that film instead (in part because of our now running joke about David Bowie) but it's a video transfer and stutters a lot, so I decided to go with Near Dark, which is an entertaining film with some interesting developments, but not quite on track with our trajectory.

I suppose it's just as well as we were giving short shrift to vamps over all (on the whole I'm not a big fan of vampire films) but it irks, of course. But that's the teaching life. We had a good discussion and they'll surely have more to post on-line tonight, so I ought to be sanguine.

Self-Reliance

"There is a time in every man's education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must take himself for better, for worse, as his portion; that though the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given to him to till. The power which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he knows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried. Not for nothing one face, one character, one fact, makes much impression on him, and another none. This sculpture in the memory is not without preestablished harmony. The eye was placed where one ray should fall, that it might testify of that particular ray. We but half express ourselves, and are ashamed of that divine idea which each of us represents. It may be safely trusted as proportionate and of good issues, so it be faithfully imparted, but God will not have his work made manifest by cowards. A man is relieved and gay when he has put his heart into his work and done his best; but what he has said or done otherwise, shall give him no peace. It is a deliverance which does not deliver. In the attempt his genius deserts him; no muse befriends; no invention, no hope..."

[read more]

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Seven Deadly Sins

Of course, this spider isn't deadly, but it looks as if it were! Okay, there's not really a link to my topic, I just thought this picture Stephen Fry posted on Twitter was terrific. He's currently down in Madagascar and if you follow his tweets, you will get some cool photos.

In class today I had my sophomore class do an exercise I have used before, but the results intrigued me because this is one of those quiet classes that seldom speaks. Consequently, they have made a lot of extra work for me to come up with a variety of techniques to get them to engage with the materials, including making them lead the discussion at the start of each day. Not always successful, of course, but at least they get to feel a little empathy (I hope) for my frustrating situation.

The exercise focuses on our reading of Chaucer's Pardoner's Prologue and Tale. The Pardoner is a swindler who not only tells his fellow pilgrims how he swindles people, but tries to do it to them at the end of his tale. That's some chutzpah! In demonstrating his art, he actually offers a moral sermon on the theme Radix malorum est cupiditas, or avarice is the root of all evil (a subject he knows all too well).

In the course of the discussion, we talk about the Seven Deadly Sins, a popular rhetorical tool in the Middle Ages (and beyond: Marlowe gives us a wonderful parade of them in his Doctor Faustus). Then I mention how the Vatican has come up with a new list for our time, modernizing the medieval trope.

Before I show them that list, I ask them to work in pairs and make their own list. I also ask that they provide people in the news to exemplify them. It's always interesting to see what they come up with. I did a version of this just a week or so ago with the freshman medieval class: their major point of concern? Gang violence, for one, which seemed an odd thing to focus on in this relatively safe city (especially for a bunch of mostly small town and suburban kids). They also came up with some of the same concerns as the Vatican, like environmental damage, drugs and excessive wealth.

The sophomores also focused on greed, citing Enron, the oil companies, Hollywood and, perhaps unfairly, Bill Gates, as examples of avaricious wealth. The big thing for them, however, was adultery. I think every single group listed that, citing either Brad Pitt or Bill Clinton (they ran neck and neck throughout). Pity that this seems to be the legacy for Clinton, not that balanced budget and lack of debt that we're all paying for now with the no-tax-but-plenty-spend (AKA après moi, le déluge) practices of the current administration. There was one group who blasted stupidity and named W and Palin as examples, but by far Clinton was a favorite target. Those who named murder as a key sin also mostly named O. J. Simpson as the example. I mentioned that he had been found not guilty in his criminal trial, but they seemed to disregard that detail.

Paris Hilton was the equivalence of conceit for several of them. There was a group that found flashy dressing to be a sin and mentioned a co-worker as an example (too much glitter). One group mentioned rape as well as murder (Ted Bundy and Charles Manson respectively), but on the whole I was struck by their very personal and judgmental focus. There was little perspective on the larger world around them or vision beyond their own immediate concerns.

I always learn from my students, but I don't always like what I learn.

Too Much Writing

A friend suggested I need to take a break from writing, but I can't think without writing, so I'm not sure how to do that. But being a little preoccupied at present with work (mostly writing), I cheat with the blog today, offering some words of wisdom from wiser heads than mine about this madness we call writing instead of actual original content (am I forgiven?):

There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.
~Walter Wellesley "Red" Smith

You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.
~Ray Bradbury

Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia.
~E.L. Doctorow

And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.
~Sylvia Plath

First forget inspiration. Habit is more dependable. Habit will sustain you whether you're inspired or not...Forget talent. If you have it, fine. Use it. If you don't have it, it doesn't matter. As habit is more dependable than inspiration, continued learning is more dependable than talent... Finally, don't worry about imagination. You have all the imagination you need...Persist.
~Octavia Butler

I am a galley slave to pen and ink.
~Honore de Balzac

What a writer wants to do is not what he does.
~Jorge Luis Borges

I am irritated by my own writing. I am like a violinist whose ear is true, but whose fingers refuse to reproduce precisely the sound he hears within.
~Gustave Flaubert

1. Find a subject you care about.
2. Do not ramble, though.
3. Keep it simple.
4. Have the guts to cut.
5. Sound like yourself.
6. Say what you mean to say.
7. Pity the readers.
~Kurt Vonnegut

I write for the same reason I breathe - because if I didn't, I would die.
~Isaac Asimov

Words are sacred. They deserve respect. If you get the right ones, in the right order, you can nudge the world a little.
~Tom Stoppard

Many red devils ran from my heart
And out upon the page,
They were so tiny
The pen could mash them.
And many struggled in the ink.
It was strange
To write in this red muck
Of things from my heart.
~Stephen Crane

Bootless (but Corseted)

I was all pleased to be without the boot any longer, despite the swelling today (pushed things too much yesterday, I guess -- missing the whirlpool at physical therapy, sigh). But my trip to the orthopedist this morning resulted in another appliance, an ASO, which naturally I have already dubbed "the ankle corset" (nice lacing). Despite their claim that it "will fit in any type of shoe," it could not fit in the slip-on Sketchers, so I had to go home and get the Chuck Taylors.


Here's what it looks like all wrapped and ready to roll (minus the Chucks).

Writing and Not Writing

Yes, I have a thousand tongues,
And nine and ninety-nine lie.
Though I strive to use the one,
It will make no melody at my will,
But is dead in my mouth.

From Stephen Crane's collection The Black Riders and Other Lines, better known for the lines, "because it is bitter, and because it is my heart," which also came to mind today for a silly reason on Facebook.

In other words, sometimes the magic works, sometimes it doesn't. But you keep typing...and hope it returns.

Living Down to Expectations

I give up: my students in the Gender and Medieval Literature class have let me know that the fight to gain equal rights for women has utterly failed. Life today is apparently much like that of Anglo-Saxon England (although with better plumbing). Men, they tell me, are still expected to be brave and strong like Beowulf and the other warriors. You don't want a guy falling apart in an emergency, one told me, a woman can fall apart. Yeah, another agreed, if you go to a scary movie, you want to be able to hide on his shoulder when you're scared. Yes, as a horror film veteran, I rolled my eyes.

But I have to admit it feels like all the efforts of second and third wave feminists have been for naught. Given the virulent sexism of the political coverage for the last 18 months or so (brilliantly skewered by two of the funniest women working now, Tina Fey and Amy Poehler) even by supposedly "liberal" commentators like Jon Stewart and Keith Olberman, it kind of makes a gal lose all hope.

Teaching the Zemeckis Beowulf film in my upper division course rubs salt in that wound, too. I do still find it shocking that 21st century filmmakers have even less regard for women than the 11th century monks who wrote down the original text. The monks at least thought women had some purpose other than as sexual objects for men, could even seen women as powerful leaders. At least a couple of students in that class were appalled by the film, but it's small comfort when I have creative writing students writing about their future wedding day as "the best day of my life" -- yeah, and it's all downhill after that?

Is it really such a radical notion today that women are people, too? Not defined by biology? Not just not-men? I guess so.

A Moment's Inattention

I received a powerful lesson in mindfulness today. As I was out on my daily walk -- my thoughts a thousand miles away -- I twisted my ankle as I walked down the hill coming out of the forest by Buckingham Lake and fell down hard. The scrapes and bruises on my knees and on the heels of my hands were nothing next to the sprain. I could feel it tearing as I was falling and saying, "Ow, ow, ow!" Oddly enough, although it was a time that might legitimately have called for saltier language, I really did just say "ow" repeatedly.

An elderly gentleman, one of the regulars, helped me get up and dust off. He offered to walk with me or whatever I needed, but I told him I would be okay and was going to go sit down. But as I limped along the path, I figured out that it was going to stiffen up quickly if I sat, so I just walked home. Nothing like pain to focus the mind. Every step was vivid. Yeah, it was pretty swollen by the time I got home. Iced it after a shower, but looking on line I find that you're not supposed to ice for more than 20 minutes at a time, so I guess I'll put the ice away and get out the Ace.

Well, I had planned to blog today on the toys: Ianto's new Gelaskin with lovely Ralph Steadman art, "Vintage Dr Gonzo" and the new phone that now features George Spiggot saying "Julie Andrews!" I had planned a lot of things for today that will have to be adjusted now. You'd think, given my natural inclination toward laziness, that this would provide a good excuse to do nothing, but my perverse nature rebels at anything I'm forced to do; so, forced to be immobile, I get antsy. There's no pleasing some people. I'll be quite bereft without my daily walk -- no rabbits, herons, ducks, kingfishers, turtles, and dogs. There's also the whole pain thing...

Review: Ginger Geezer

I'm not actually going to write a review of the book: it's about a fascinating artist, Vivian Stanshall, told in a journalistic manner, which in this case means a meandering although vaguely sequential narrative, without an iota of beauty or style, but one which nonetheless proves to be an enjoyable read just because it is so chock full of the wonderful, whimsical words of Vivian himself. Former musical collaborator Mike "Tubular Bells" Oldfield assures us on the back of the book that Viv was "Rock-n-Roll's answer to Peter Cook" as if Peter Cook were a question, but it's a fair equivalence in some sense simply because both were so singularly inventive and, of course, damn funny.

Like many of the assessments of Cook, there's a lingering sense of what a shame it is that he didn't do more (instead of marveling that he did so much so amazingly well). Prefacing the start of the account is a quote from Alan Moorehead's description of Sir Richard Burton which they mean to attach to Stanshall as well:

He was one of those men in whom nature runs riot; she endows him with not one or two but twenty talents, all of them far beyond the average and then withholds the one ingredient that might have brought them to perfection -- a sense of balance and direction.

Yet, Stanshall (and Burton for that matter) accomplished so much in so many different veins -- and media -- that such a grand expression of failure seems utterly mistaken. I suspect that largely this melancholic disparagement comes from the greedy desire for an endless line of glorious works and from knowing that there might have been so much more from these wonderful artists had physical frailties not impeded their later output. Yet I can't help but wonder whether such incendiary genius could do anything other than consume its source. As poet Roger McGough wrote in his funeral encomium, Stanshall was always "walking the tightrope with the safety net firmly nailed to the floor." There's a painful nakedness there. Photographer Barrie Wentzell said, "He was tortured by his intelligence and he just couldn't stop thinking of ideas. He once told me, 'It's all in my head and I hate it.'" It's the kind of feeling that makes you want to put an auger to your head just to get it all out.

I already quoted one of my favorite comments. The book explodes with wonderful words from and about Vivian, so it's worth reading for them. I did find out a bunch of things I did not know (like all the song writing he did with Steve Winwood). I'll have to find a copy of Stinkfoot the comic opera he did on the Old Profanity Showboat. While he may be gone in a puff of smoke, it's a comfort to know that he existed and that much of his work lives on (now release all those recordings Warner Bros!).

Hmph -- well, I guess I wrote a review after all (amending post title now). Yes, I'm taking a break from the novel, which sounds preferable to admitting that I am idling away from its stern demands to post here, and which reminds me I need to update the serial as well. I'm so close to the end of the novel, but I can't seem to make it go any faster -- just plink plink plink away at the keyboard as always.

No Fun

Gene has just departed with the G4 in hand, leaving behind his old WinBook as my rescue dog. I gave him two pennies for the ferryman, but it could be possible that the Mac doctors will be able to save her (although I have visions of them gathered around, staring with awe, "You still use this old machine?! What is it? 2003?").

This laptop works -- I can ask no more.

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

There's nothing quite like being all set for a week of writing in a great situation: a beautiful house in a gorgeous location -- and it comes with a cat (isn't Hamilton cute?). But then out of the blue -- because we're speaking about my dependable Powerbook G4 -- a massive crash occurs. We're talking code in black and white on the screen, funny noises, and an absurd look of horror on my face (or so I imagine). It took a while to get the computer to shut off. It took even longer for it to come back on. I tried to do a few things to help it recover, but mostly I crossed my fingers and hoped. On the plus side, I lost a few sentences at most of what I was writing. And yes, backed up to the external HD before I left, backing up regularly to the virtual drive and the jumpdrive is right here, too.
So far this morning, everything seems fine, apart from a persistent whir that I don't think was there before, but at this point I could be imagining it, too. Yet I am smiling (see, I submit photographic proof -- sorry for the poor quality, but I only have the PDA cam with me). Maybe it's because I woke up to mist-shrouded trees (and wow, bed head!), or maybe it's because I'm drinking from a gigantic lemony yellow smiley face mug (though it's tempting to add a Watchmen touch), but most likely it's because I still have days to relax and write (okay, maybe with a pen and paper) and that's good. Before the meltdown, I had written a good deal which had been surprisingly effortless -- well, for me, which means rather than plonking down the odd word every few minutes, I was actually typing along as fast as my fingers could go (admittedly, not very fast). I started writing (on paper) as soon as I got up today and even had some ideas for a story that has languished for months in limbo after a promising opening paragraph.

So, cross your fingers for me. With luck, it will all be fine.

At a Loss for Words

In that situation, one should always check the Meaning of Liff (all the gods bless Lloyd and Adams):

ARAGLIN (n. archaic)
A medieval practical joke played by young squires on a knight aspirant the afternoon he is due to start his vigil. As the knight arrives at the castle the squires attempt to raise the drawbridge very suddenly as the knight and his charger step on to it.

CLIXBY (adj.)
Politely rude. Briskly vague. Firmly uninformative.

KETTERING (n.)
The marks left on your bottom or thighs after sunbathing on a wickerwork chair.

WEST WITTERING (participial vb.)
The uncontrollable twitching which breaks out when you're trying to get away from the most boring person at a party.

*Photo by ktims82

Friday is for Books

I'm packing them, Bernard Black is trying not to sell them. Why can't I be more like Bernard? Hail Black Books, Dylan Moran, Graham Linehan, Bill Bailey and the wonderful Tamsin Greig.



"Manny -- splishy-splashy!"

If Thursday was a Boat...

"Here's why I did not go to work today..."

I'm spending this "surreptitiously unique" day once more in the moving process because time is running out, work was not advancing well anyway, and it's got to get done. Somehow, somehow -- at least Harry Nilsson is in my head.

Think positive: progress is being made. Not entirely tangible right now as I sit among scattered boxes in the still-too-full house, but there has been progress.