Cheryl & the Corpse Flower

No, it's not the latest off-Broadway musical (yet: hmmmmm...), but the latest photo of Perilous Cheryl (AKA Cranky Yanky) at the side of the titan arum at ECSU. Drop by the New England Anomaly's blog for more info and links to other pictures. It will be flowering soon and smelling like a corpse.

I still think it looks like a giant bok choy!

UPDATE: the flower has bloomed (8/31/07)! Go see the latest pix at the NE Anomaly.

One Down

A day of teaching done -- and it wasn't too bad. Well, there was the lack of sound in the "smart" classroom where I'm teaching the film class, which is a bit of a problem (obviously). I thought perhaps I missed something simple, but the tech guy was unable to find the problem either (good thing media support is in the first level of the same building). He brought us a media cart and promised the problems would be solved. Fingers crossed.

Teaching is always an anxiety-provoking endeavour: the struggle to do well, to always wonder if you're doing it well enough, and the ever-quiet Saint Rose students staring at me with their big eyes. the difficulty is always getting them talking. It helps that I've got three repeats (i.e. students who have been in a class with me before) in the creative writing class and four in the film class. The latter looks to be lively -- a variety of students were speaking up on the first day, so yay.

I put an image from the gallery at Gode Cookery at the top of this post. It's a great site with recipes for medieval food, but they also have this great collection of clip art. I always dip into it for images on my syllabuses (I always put images on my syllabuses, somehow it looks a little more lively, or so I imagine: does a student faced with a very detailed syllabus in a 10 point font really feel somewhat cheered to see a lovely medieval woodcut at the top of it? Let's hope).

It still feels good to realize I have only three classes to teach (goodbye 4/4 load!) and they're reasonable in size -- and not one of them is composition! Hurrah -- and two are explicitly medieval, so yay me.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

Island Life

Yesterday afternoon we headed up to Green Island (not to be confused with the town of Green Island), the new home of pal Paul.

Yes, that's right: we know someone who owns an island. How cool is that?

Well, as you can tell from the pictures Gene took, pretty cool indeed. Paul retrieved us from the Schaghticoke side of the river, ferrying us across to the island where his folks and his sister and brother-in-law were already enjoying the island life. The cottage there was built by a guy with a lumber business, so it's gorgeous wood, well-built. Having grown up with a more rustic cabin, it looked amazingly shiny inside and out. We scouted around the island observing the flora and fauna (ooh, even a skeleton of something dog-sized, or perhaps beaver? Paul had seen some beavers at work in the river) while the gulls, geese, ducks and cormorants cried. We even saw a heron fly by. There was an amazing variety of mosses in the woods, varying from springy and soft to brittle and dry. Such a variety of conditions on one small land mass, and what fun to explore. We sat on the porch with a cool drink and drank in the peace of island life. Paul told us about some of the challenges of setting up life on an island -- like getting an address. His island's in the river, a border between two counties. The landing site is in one town, the island itself technically in another. It's between two locks of the Champlain Canal of the Hudson.

It's far simpler to have a friend with an island -- especially when he asks if you'd be willing to hold onto a spare set of keys. You bet we will.

I Can Stop Anytime I Want To...

Linked by lucius_t at the inferior4+1:

75%How Addicted to Blogging Are You?

Mingle²

C'mon -- how would I know what my friends are up to if I don't read their blogs? And vice versa...

Birthday Boys

Today is Jorge Luis Borges' birthday. Why not stop by Ubuweb and see this fabulous documentary on his life and writing? Or pick up Dream Tigers and find yourself elsewhere.



It is also Stephen Fry's birthday. The BBC is serving some fine cake in the shape of a variety of programs commemorating his 50th, including a short show where he details some of his guilty pleasures from Abba to Georgette Heyer (I went by the local library to check out one of her books and picked up a couple of things from their on-going book sale). Fry is the eclectic kind of public intellectual that seems unthinkable at present in this country, what with our worship of everything anti-intellectual. Thinking, while not yet a crime, is certainly looked upon with contempt. Raise a glass to Fry, who sincerely believes that thinking is not only worthwhile, but entertaining and well worth celebrating. More QI!

Meetings

Jean Paul Sartre is rightly famous for suggesting in his play Huis Clos [No Exit] that hell is other people.



I would amend that by saying hell is in fact meetings with other people.

To be fair, the meetings I had to attend today have been necessary and informative. But the shock of suddenly being surrounded by lots of people for extended periods of time is always a little overwhelming; particularly when you've spent a good deal of the last few months quietly with little company. At home we have the radio on much of the time, but that's as close as we get to a crowd on most days.

I know, I know -- I was at a few big conferences this summer, but it's not the same. You move, you circulate, you go to your hotel room. You can take a breather (so to speak) in the ladies room without people beginning to wonder if you're having bladder trouble, because nobody is paying attention to what you do (unlike at meetings where everyone else who is not fully engaged in the proceedings is wondering what's up with you sneaking out of the room so frequently).

It's all part of acclimating yourself to the fall semester...

The Gawker Excoriates You

This time, it's all about your reading habits, and not that outfit you wear (you know the one). You can read about the original AP poll here.

The Guardian Gets Medieval

I wish I could be hanging out with Benjamin Bagby in Edinburgh like Rowena Smith. Well, at least I have his DVD. She describes him thus: "Benjamin Bagby, whose one-man performance of Beowulf, complete with subtitles for those whose Anglo-Saxon is a little rusty, is the unlikely hot ticket of the Edinburgh festival..."



Need I add: well, of course!

Warp Your Mind

Head on over to magician Chris Welsh's site to enjoy a little optical magic (i.e. the above image is not animated!). Browse around his site for more entertaining reality warps.

Something Accomplished

It feels good to send off a completed project, in this case a review of Laura Stark's The Magical Self for the Journal of Folklore Research Reviews. Fewer sounds of construction here on campus, a newly landscaped yard and a (finally completed) parking lot.

Of course, this is also the week in which things really kick off on campus, so I'll be seeing a lot more of it than I have recently -- even if the construction continues. That bane of modern existence -- meetings -- start up in earnest Thursday.

And no, my syllabuses are not ready.

The Face in the Crowd

Do you Shaboo? Marko does, too (shoo-be-doo-be-doo).

Trinoc*coN Pix

Gene has uploaded the pictures from Trinoc*coN. Here's the cast of Con-Eire, looking a bit nervous before the recording began. Enjoy the pictures of Doctor Zaius, congealed processed foods and people in funny hats.

Other People's Words

By way of John Van Druten (in Playwright at Work), here's Robert Graves' "A Pinch of Salt":

When a dream is born in you
With a sudden clamorous pain,
When you know the dream is true
And lovely, with no flaw nor strain,
O then, be careful, or with sudden clutch
You'll hurt the delicate thing you prize so much.

Dreams are like a bird that mocks,
Flirting the feathers of his tail.
When you seize at the salt box,
Over the hedge you'll see him sail.
Old birds are neither caught with salt nor chaff:
They watch you from the apple bough and laugh.

Poet, never chase the dream.
Laugh yourself and turn away.
Mask your hunger; let it seem
Small matter if he come or stay;
But when he nestles in your hand at last,
Close up your fingers tight and hold him fast.

You can hear it read aloud to you (always a treat) at LibriVox.

It's not that I'm not writing, by the by. Just overwhelmed by tasks and lack of time. The construction noises continued this morning at a much too early hour -- I guess they need to finish before classes begin. Next door, the motorcycle gal's kids bounce on the sproingy trampoline and tear at my concentration. Work to do, work to do.

Sonnet XXIX

When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur’d like him, like him with friends possess’d,
Desiring this man’s art, and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,
Haply I think on thee,—and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

(Reading Germaine Greer's commentary on the sonnets and considering the gift of partnership)

Ubuweb

Liz Hand over at the inferior 4+1 wrote today about Ubuweb. Wow -- what a site! Like I need another place to waste time, but just look at all the artists listed -- people like Beckett and Deren and Burroughs and Cocteau! What a cornucopia of delights. Video and audio both -- a treasure trove for sure. I think I need a little Artaud right now (well, after Marko's show, of course).

Back on the Beat

I still haven't managed to get a new inner tube for the bike. I figured that I could just pick one up at Target, but they only have mountain bike tires and tubes. So once more I find myself walking up Bought Road, which has its drawbacks. Namely a) people drive so fast they whoosh by and you fear for your life and b) they stare at you as if they had never seen a person walking before (something I know not to be true). Once I get up the hill, it's better.


Turkeys on both sides of the road, a lone one in the yard of the house by the power lines and a group of six behind the house with the blue gazing ball. Judging by the sides of the road the top litterers are smokers, beer drinkers and fast food customers. But I did see some gold finches and lots of wild flowers, so it wasn't all ugly. The worst moment was seeing a little striped kitty by the side of the road in front of the religious school, so I hugged my Kipper when I got home. He will stay an indoor cat.

I've been considering the theme of liminality in my own writing (after thinking about Neil's formula and worrying that I have one, too), and it strikes me that our house was no accident. While our address is in Watervliet, our house is not. A neighbor told Gene a story about the old guy who once lived being dropped off at the driveway in great distress by the Watervliet police or rescue, because this house is actually in Colonie (which 'round these parts is pronounced col-uh-KNEE). Guess we live in the house on the borderland.

More Quiet

Over at Elena's there are more pages of our comic, Jane Quiet. She writes, "It's amazing the amount of time it's taking to draw something which in the end, a person can pick up and read in about five minutes." Ain't it the truth? Years sometimes spent writing a book that an excited reader can finish overnight. Nevertheless, we find it worth doing, and I can't wait to see what Elena does with my words -- even if the final product can be consumed in minutes.

Quiet otherwise seems hard to find: the construction, the trains, the loud trucks rattling down the street, the noisy stereos blaring from passing cars all conspire to make me cranky. So much to do -- and increasingly less time in which to do it. Meetings start up the 23rd, classes begin the 27th. Argh -- this always happens when I try to cram so much work into the short months of summer.

Review: Stardust

I posted to the Horror list about the film first, as there's been a conversation going on about it since its release. Suitably, I spoke of the horror elements first:

A song by Take That! The horror, the horror! Without Robbie Williams even! Steve Bissette thought the Titanic nod was more horrifying, but I thought that was a bit more of a wink than a nod. You can read his much longer review (well, it's Steve) here.

The short review: fun. There's no way any film could match the extraordinary beauty of Charles Vess' images. Perhaps an animated film that simply put his drawings in motion, but the film captures the feel of his illustrations with some success. I'm a bit prejudiced, obviously. I have a print of Vess' illustration for the anthology The Green Man (signed) hanging in front of me as I type this. If I look back over either shoulder, I'll see one or the other of his cards framed: a witch flying over a moonlit sky, a black cat sitting like Jiji on the end of her broom, or Puck swinging on a wind blown tree, laughing madly.

Putting that aside, I enjoyed the film which follows the source tale much more than the previews indicated. Yes, De Niro as the air pirate, Captain Shakespeare, is a big interpolation, but he's eminently entertaining. His ship is a good bit more steam-punk looking that the original crafts, but it fits within director Matthew Vaughn's less magical imagining of the story. Faerie is far less faerie-filled, which is a pity. Perhaps he feared it becoming too fey -- I doubt any of the viewers would have minded. We had the two teens in front of us who clapped enthusiastically at the end, waved their lit cell phones in the air to the anthemic Take That song (the new lighters, I guess) and afterward, in the ladies room, continued to gush. In fact, the one gal said if she had to choose between seeing the Harry Potter movie again and Stardust, she would probably choose the latter, even considering "the absolute gorgeousness of Gary Oldman" (Sirius Black in the Harry Potter films).

Michelle Pfeiffer is a lot of fun. The fantastic supporting cast is drawn from just about every BritCom in the last ten years and there's also the always reliable Rupert Everett (but not enough of him!). Claire Danes is adequate as the star Yvaine, but she lacks the sparkle needed to really make the role more than just an object. The less said about Siena Miller, the better, but she's hardly essential. Charlie Cox is likable as Tristran and grew on me over the course of the film, although I couldn't help wishing that Ben Barnes, who played Tristran's father Dunstan as a young man, had been chosen instead (he's going to be Prince Caspian in the next two Narnia films, so we'll be seeing more of him).

No Tori tree -- how sad is that!

There's less blood over all (except for one good joke) but more violence. I think the popularity of the Pirates franchise had an effect on the shape of the movie. It follows what I have begun to think of as Neil's formula (I won't put it here as it will spoil the film for anyone who hasn't seen it), but all these quibbles aside, I did enjoy it. Oh, the bombastic score is one more quibble, as it can be overbearing at times.

Bottom line -- a movie with some magic and imagination is a rarity these days. If it's not as good as it could be, well, few films live up to the beauty of a good book. Books just have so much more they can accomplish. Most viewers (who ask far less of films) will be delighted and amazed, charmed by the story and amused by the humor. I enjoyed it more than this review ends up sounding and I recommend it to anyone who needs a little magic in her life right about now.

And go look at Charles' site!

Timing

Last Monday night, we all listened with rapt attention as Mildred read from her work in progress. We had just come to a very tense part when the door bell rang and we all jumped. It was only Susan's new next-door neighbors coming over for a drink, but it sure had a strong effect (far better than at least one or two of the films we watched during the visit, so kudos to Mildred).

That's the wonderful magic of writing -- having such an effect with only the words on a page (or, in this case, words in our ears): The power to transport the audience to another world, another time or just another mind. The best stories have an impact that can last a lifetime. What stories are still in your head from childhood? What story changed your life in some important way? Good questions on a hot summer day.

I've sent off the latest story on its first journey; we'll see what comes of that. Another had come back with a rejection and I'll have to review emails to recall where it's been, so I can send it somewhere new (I've been bad about keeping the database updated). As one of the other writers repeated this past weekend, if you can do something other than write, you should. If you cannot, you deal with the endless rejections as best you can and keep writing.