Jam Tomorrow

But writing today: Reviews tomorrow of Stoppard's Rough Crossing and (tonight's fun) Harry Potter.

Publication: Imagineer

According to McFarland's page anyway, the book is "available for immediate shipment." Amazon yesterday said it was "available special order only"; today it says "only 1 left in stock!" Who knows?



At least the table of contents is up at the publisher's site, so we can see my essay "Imagineer: Clive Barker’s Queering of the Conservative Bent of Horror Literature" is the last in the collection. That's actually a good thing -- the best place to be is first, of course, but last is traditionally the anchor position in academic publishing. Of course the page at McFarland's makes it look like Ruth wrote all the essays, which is a bit irritating. The table of contents at least should clarify who wrote what. Let's hope the actual essays indicate authors (I'm sure they do -- there's an entry for contributors in the ToC).

With luck, maybe my copy will arrive soon.

Something to Be Ready For

What I hope to make my next phone, the Neo 1973:



Although I'm not sure if I could go for orange. The folks at Openmoko are making progress on this terrific phone that will not be tied to evil AT&T like the iPhone and will have all kinds of adaptability for innovation. This is in keeping with the free source ideas of Open Office, the free open source version of your favorite office softwares, or Open Source Web Design, where my web templates were found.

Thanks to Gene, my Boing-Boing sifter (i.e. he looks at the site more often than I do and tells me when there's something worth checking out), for sifting this gem.

Something to Smile About

Learn more at the Guardian (where clever readers add their own captions).

Drumming with Layne Redmond

Thanks to the folks at the Kripalu Center in Lenox, MA, I got to spend the weekend learning from the wonderful Layne Redmond. I had not been to the center before (conveniently across the street from Tanglewood and, as I discovered, around the corner from the Berkshire Botanical Garden and the Norman Rockwell Museum). As you can tell from the image above, it's a gorgeous location. When I arrived Friday after the beautiful drive through the Berkshires, I got out of the car and just sighed. The center is a the top of a hill looking down on a valley with a lake (Kripalu has its own beach there). A year away from Houston and I still can't get enough green, but here was the perfect place to be. Trees, trees, trees -- and plants. Lots of bees! A very good sign these days. The main building still ahs the look of its former residents, the Jesuits -- their legacy remains in the Saint Francis statue outside the door. His influence still seems to be felt among the little creatures there, too. Just outside the doors where people gather on picnic tables, chatting and eating, birds, squirrels and even little bunny rabbits sit calmly eating among the flower beds with others walking by. It was wonderful to walk around the hills and forests. There's even a labyrinth. After the big storms Friday night, there was a lot of moisture in the air and Saturday morning the mists hung in the hills like something out of Miyazaki (no Totoros to be seen, so far).


Of course, the main reason I was there was for Layne's workshop. An enthusiastic group gathered to hear her play and share her skills. I have been a big fan of hers ever since I read When the Drummers Were Women, which I found out about when I took my first drumming class with Toni Kellar back at Eastern Connecticut State University's Day for Women. As many of you know, I've been drumming ever since, but this is the first opportunity I'ev had to attend one of Layne's workshops.

She's just as inspiring as her book and CDs. She's in the process of moving to Brazil, so many of the rhythms we learned came from that region. It's amazing how well the Brazilian rhythms mixed with the Middle Eastern patterns that have long been a part of her music. The participants ranged from practiced musicians to complete beginners, but there was something challenging for everyone. Layne led us through stages carefully, helped by her assistant, Shirsten Lundblad of Inanna. Usually we'd start with the basic rhythm which we would chant first, then we would learn to play on chopsticks -- yes! chopsticks: a cheap and simple rhythmic instrument. Then we'd have to play it while stepping right, cross left, then left, cross right. At least we didn't have to chew gum, too. Once we mastered that, it was time to pick up the drums. We were using the lotus tambourines that Layne designed for Remo (and yes, I bought one to bring home. I had been wanting one for a couple of years now and sold my old riq which was just too heavy). We would learn the basic rhythm, then add the frills, then do it all -- chanting, playing and moving. Ay yi yi -- it was quite complex and often it was hard to get everyone in sync. But when we were, it was just magic. Of course, we were all eager to hear Layne play -- it's amazing the range of sounds she can coax from a drum. She also brought along footage of players in Brazil and videos she has made for the new songs for the Orishas.

It was hard to leave Sunday afternoon -- well, she wasn't leaving. The Sacred Pulse Festival happens all this week at Kripalu, but work beckons me. Sigh. But I'm listening to the new CD as I type this (that doesn't sound much like work, does it?) and I can play along with my new drum later.

I think I should have no other mortal wants, if I could always have plenty of music. It seems to infuse strength into my limbs and ideas into my brain. Life seems to go on without effort, when I am filled with music.
George Eliot (1819 - 1880)

Albany Joys

A couple of the things I enjoy about this area: riding along the Hudson on my bike, although I found that I have to go down to 4th street to catch the main trail toward Albany. Northward, the trail goes all the way out the Mohawk River past Schenectady.

Last night I finally got to go to Mahar's, where Gene had already been. We signed up for the beer tour, which means you record all the different beers you try. When you get to 50, you get a t-shirt; when you get to 125, you get a special mug that stays there and gives you a 20% discount on drafts. My first beer? Well, how could I resist the Middle Ages XII Porter? It was a tad sweet but with a rich flavor. Mmm.

Tonight I'm off to drum with Layne Redmond -- whoo hoo!

Strange Obsessions

Magpies have been much on my mind of late, partly due to seeing so many in England and Finland, but also because of something I'm writing right now. You can learn a lot about them at this terrific site, Raven's Aviary, including traditional stories and myths about all the corvidae. They have had their effect on many across the world and through time.

Somehow having a day off has mixed up my sense of what day it is...

UPDATE: But I do have shed envy!

Celebrate America -- with Comics!

The most remarkable woman ever known, Fantomah (above in one of her many exciting adventures, although you can't see her blue skull here as gorillas tear apart an evil scientist [yes, gentle gorillas, but they've had a dastardly serum injected]): she's just one of the characters created by Fletcher Hanks. The weird and wonderful art of Hanks (AKA Hank Fletcher, Barclay Flagg, and Hank Christy) seems to come from a seriously disturbed mind and a singular (if anatomically suspect) hand. His heroic son, Hank Fletcher Jr., gives a little insight into why that might be (see pp 21-22 of this profile).



Gene introduced me to this bizarre work with the Super Wizard Stardust comic (sent by the joey Zone, thanks :-). I am convinced that there is a Fletcher Code to deduce within these pages (it can't just be inept storytelling!), so I will have to write that bestseller soon.

Really weird stuff, indeed.

Best paragraph ever

From the Guardian's story on the media's coverage of the Princess Diana memorial concert:

Every single piece of tomorrow's chip paper has devoted a space to the Wembley stadium shindig. The Sun's Vicky Newton, who by rights should be more interested in His Majesty Cthulhu than any temporal royalty, makes a big play of being the only gossip hack to get backstage. 3am, meanwhile, put a rubbish sketch of a laminate VIP pass at the head of their column in order to make some kind of positive impression.

They fail.

God save the British press.



Check out the inestimable Hello Cthulhu for more wacky adventures of the adorable Elder God!

Kazoo in the Chronicle

This week's issue of the Chronicle of Higher Education has the story on the Medieval Congress at Kalamazoo. Perilous Cheryl tells me that there are, alas, no pictures of me or Miss Wendy, but it should be interesting to see the write up. She's also kindly offered to send me the article as we have only the (lagging a week or so behind, picture-free Lexis-Nexus) electronic version at Saint Rose.

There is, however, an audio story about the dance! And here's somebody's brief YouTube video at the dance. Medievalists rock!

Quiet Weekend

Not much exciting to post because we have both been busy writing or scanning (in Gene's case). We did hear from Miss Wendy, who has been terribly busy with her students in Los Angeles, meeting up with my pal Adrean (yay!) and getting ready to visit SF. And we're not in Manchester, so waah! Deadlines loom, so I'll leave you with some wise words which came to me courtesy of the Kripalu Center:



Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day, you shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.
--Ralph Waldo Emerson, U.S. poet, essayist, and lecturer

Art in the Streets

Great new program from the National Gallery that puts art in the streets:

Over the next twelve weeks we're turning the West End into a giant gallery by lining the streets of Soho, Piccadilly, and Covent Garden with some of the world's most famous paintings.


Imagine, the Triumph of Pan (above) on Shelton Street -- what would Cardinal Richelieu think (he was the original owner, although what the Card was doing with "a wild pagan celebration in full swing" is anybody's guess). Whistlejacket is over on Mercer Street -- I always like to see him at the far end of the Gallery as you walk through the doors opposite the shop, so it would be weird to see him like he's out shopping for trinkets in Covent Garden. My only question: Où est Les Grandes Baigneuses?

Ah, London.

What's in Your Shed?

Here's what was on the floor of ours, which I found once I finally got to it after removing boxes, furniture and more boxes. Lesson: what parts of the squirrel are not good to eat? Tail (the first part I saw, thinking, "Is there a kitty in here?"), ribcage (which was next and first made me think, "uh oh") and of course, feet. Undoubtedly work of the cat colony next door.

Good thing there's a shovel right there in the shed. No, I did not put it on the newspaper just to get a better photograph (although it did help) but to move it toward the trash, plus putting more paper down on the tarp that lines the bottom of the shed. Probably superfluous -- it's already pretty dessicated -- but it felt a bit oogie to be stepping on its remains (the shovel is not a perfect instrument).

I had gone to the shed to do what should have been done months ago -- get framed pictures out of the shed. Argh; assessing damage now.

Which Tarot Card Are You?

Passed along by the Boojums:

You are The Magician

Skill, wisdom, adaptation. Craft, cunning, depending on dignity.

Eleoquent and charismatic both verbally and in writing,
you are clever, witty, inventive and persuasive.

The Magician is the male power of creation, creation by willpower and desire. In that ancient sense, it is the ability to make things so just by speaking them aloud. Reflecting this is the fact that the Magician is represented by Mercury. He represents the gift of tongues, a smooth talker, a salesman. Also clever with the slight of hand and a medicine man - either a real doctor or someone trying to sell you snake oil.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Tove Jansson Rediscovered

That's the new title of the forthcoming collection from Cambridge Scholars Press on the lovely Finnish artist/author. Co-editor Kate McLoughlin says that with the latest round of corrections made, the book is on track for the September 1, 2007 publication date. Hurrah!

This is the book for which I wrote on the beautiful Drawn & Quarterly collection of Moomin Comics -- and, yes, the same one I spoke about at the Tove Jansson Conference in Oxford last March. There was a wide variety fo lively papers at the conference, so it will be great fun to read them with a little more leisure.

Good buys and good news

Just found out over the weekend that my paper on the Grendel opera has been accepted for the 22nd Annual Conference on Medievalism. I was hoping to go anyway, but funding is more likely when giving a paper, so this helps. Of course, now there's the whole writing of the paper that has to happen.

I'm also going to be writing a paper on Terry Gilliam's Tideland (which I recently reviewed for Phil's Up Against the Wall magazine) for Steffen Hantke's collection American Horror Film Today. You may recall that name from the collection Horror Film: Creating and Marketing Fear, for which I wrote on the Horror in Film and Literature internet group that I've been part of for -- eek! -- about twelve years. Of course we'll have to see if Steffen still buys my argument about Tideland being horror when I finish writing the essay...



Yesterday we went up to the antique sale/flea market in Round Lake. There were a whole lot of vendors there, with everything from the horrid to the sublime (and the expensive to the affordable). If we had deep pockets and room for furniture, what a place to shop. Gene found some useful things for the book project he's working on and we found a few gifts for friends. I even found one or two things for me -- including a very cool sterling silver turtle ring. Unique -- the head, legs and tail all move!

I am being more productive of late, but there's still a little residual vacation-head that makes me off in another world at times (like that's unusual).

Review: Rickie Lee Jones

The weather seemed iffy all day, with bits of rain off and on, but we were determined to have our picnic at Bard, so I made some potato salad (yes, me -- cooking! Good thing it only requires the skill of boiling water) and we picked up a nice bottle of champagne and headed down to meet Robert. It was just getting late enough that we saw a lot of deer, some bunnies and a groundhog or two coming out for their own picnics by the road side (fortunately for the most part staying away from the road itself, although one got a little close).

Bard sure has a pretty campus -- amazing what a lot of money can do! Fortunately, there was a set up for a wedding the next day by Ward Manor, so we used one of the nice tables under the festive tent, festooned with paper lanterns. We ate yummy foccacio samiches (the only way to spell it) and my potato salad and sipped champagne, then wandered over to see if we could get our eyes poked out by the decorative sculpture. We ate our chocolate torte (mmmm) in the gazebo, and then it was time to head over to the giant rabbit, AKA the Gehry-designed Fisher Center (you have to see it from the right angle) to take our places in the Sosnoff Theater. We had been to Theater Two for the Beckett series last year, but we hadn't been in the big theater yet.

It's very nice. Surprise.

Some local DJ introduced Jones and then we waited, because they weren't actually ready yet. But then she came out with her band behind her. Good band -- especially her drummer/percussionist, who was constantly busy changing sticks and shakers of various kinds, usually with at least one held in his mouth because he lacked enough hands to do all he needed to do. The bass player (what did he have in his hair though -- I think it looked like a tiny blue dolphin hairclip) was even bowing his strings at one point, which led to Rickie Lee doing the same with her guitar. I think everybody picked up some percussion instrument at one point or another during the concert, so that was a lot of fun.

She still has some pipes on her, wow. Her voice goes up and around and back down again with ease, although I wished she handed out lyrics sheets for the show because with her delivery it's often hard to pull the words apart in her phrasing (kind of like Tori in that respect). They opened with "Scary Chinese Movie" which set the tone for the nigh: experimental, loose and full of surprises. The long sequence from the current CD -- which the DJ described as taking back spirituality from those who had stolen it from the rest of us -- was fascinating in all the musical avenues and really allowed all the musicians to shine. This wasn't just a back-up band for a star -- they worked together easily and well.

Despite all the technical difficulties that got things off to a bumpy start (Ace, she's looking in your direction) Jones stayed affable and loose. After letting the band go, she turned to the piano to play some solo songs at the piano, something a number of folks in the audience really seemed to have been looking forward to. While Gene had threatened to yell out "Chuck E.!" after every song, a group of women really did yell out a request for "The Albatross" and Jones instantly granted their cries with the song.

Here, here's where we live
Here is a sea, my family
We'll always be young as we've ever been
Death will not part us again nearer to heaven than
10,000 ancestors who dream of me
Well I hear you dreaming of me
Yeah sometimes, dream of me!

Great show -- thanks, Robert!

UK Pix -- Part 5: Weird and Wonderful

Match the caption to the picture below:

A: Hands of a Renaissance Man
B: Suitable for any occasion
C: Keeping innovative theater at bay for 55 years
D: I love my kitty this much!
E: Every day, I awoke to this -- amazingly, vomiting only occurred once...
F: King Brad
G: From Brazil with Toffee Apples
H: Impending disaster -- good thing the author's dead already
I: Come back, little Arthur!

Summer Solstice

Around the world people celebrate the beginning of Summer and the longest day. Finns will be celebrating Juhannuspäivä, which they take a bit more seriously than Americans take their holidays. Helsingin Sanomat, for example, closes down for a month as most Finns will be heading off to their tupas for the summer and there won't be much news to report, other than all the accidents that inevitably happen on Juhannuspäivä, because they'll hold big bonfires and eat and drink merrily.

Some of my pals will be doing the same out west of here, but we'll be in town in part because we have work to do (how tediously American!) but also because Robert got us all tickets to see Rickie Lee Jones tomorrow night. We're going to picnic before the show, so we get a little bit of that midsummer feeling.

The internet keeps cutting out here on campus. I'm guessing the big upgrade they did last week -- shutting down the system for four days -- hasn't really helped. So it goes.

Groovin' with Gramps

Bright and early this morning the sound of thumping music poured across the neighborhood: the Beach Boys? and then some Lovin' Spoonful. No, it wasn't the crazy Jesus guy next door, but the elementary school across the street. Hurrah! Let's hope it's only a noe day thing. Yes, we were already up, but it's still annoying to be bombarded by someone else's loud music.

And weird -- as Gene said, "Wow, rocking to their grandparents' music." I'm sure the kids relate.

I got to campus and the house next door was rockin' out to the Four Seasons -- oh, what a day. At least it's in the back of the house and I'm in the front of ours. That air conditioner may come in handy for white noise.

So in a grumpy mood (hey, they just tried to take my printer away!) here are some inspiring words of wisdom from the great Vonnegut (or if you prefer, you can get the word from Kilgore Trout).

Twain Quote

A moment of synchronicity from the pen of the mighty man:

"Now and then we had a hope that if we lived and were good, God would permit us to be pirates."

-- Mark Twain, Life on the Mississippi

UK Pix -- Part 4: Into the Green

This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea...

Sometimes in the midst of the pullulating streets of London, it's hard to see what Shakespeare was getting at -- and then you step into one of the beautiful parks, and it all comes back. There is a love of gardens in England that few countries share (Japan springs to mind). The protection of public greenery is something we have not been treasuring in this country.


Even in the midst of winter, green can be found in the gardens of London. How glorious it is, though, to be back in summer when -- yes -- the calla lillies in Regents Park are in bloom in the Secret Garden and for a moment, anyway, one can feel the noise of the city drop away and the calls of myriad birds fill the air.



Look under the bridge and you'll find a nest of coots, the adults pampering their single chick. Egrets, ducks, geese and swans crowd the banks, eager for a handout from the passing tourists and bird fans. The banks were covered with pollen thick as snow.



On this trip I finally got to Kew Gardens with Liz and Sophie. We made a stop at M&S to pick up a picnic lunch, then settled on a bench to enjoy it. Far away we could see a duck walking with purpose (what duck would not walk with a purpose when it can?), making a bee line (duck line?) right for us. Clearly she had a plan. It paid off as we were quickly persuaded to share some of our lunch with her. She demanded no less.



Less demanding were the magpies, who seemed to think waiting was best, certain that we'd leave enough behind for them to snack on. One of them couldn't resist posing just so she was framed by the branches. We also saw guinea fowl, peacocks (who chased the tour tram), larks, a robin in the palm house and many more.



Of course you can't visit Kew without an iconic picture of the Palm House and the pond before it. In the Palm House itself we saw bamboo and bananas and in the basement all the fish -- sea horses and crabs, clown fish and mime fish (well, they looked like clown fish but they were black and white) and all manner of strange little fishies. In the Princess of Wales Conservatory there were additional climates from the alpine to the tropical. And in the Waterlily House there were giGANtic lilies, the size of small boats (Victoria cruziana).



There's even Kew Beach -- where this jaunty pirate ship can be found (see Sophie in her Hello Kitty t-shirt -- gee, wonder where she got that?) along with lots of white sand and plenty of beach toys. The kids have a great time playing in the sand and the adults get to rest a minute from walking the 300 acres of Kew.

Ahhh, green.

UK Pix -- Part 3

Gog and Magog, the guardians of London, currently posted in the lobby of the Royal National. Pity they weren't watching over the students' belongings a little more closely.



The Punch Tavern on Fleet Street in The City, glimpsed through the window of the Hop-on Hop-off Coach. Unlike the students who got bad sunburns, I stayed on the lower level -- on the boat tour, too, where everyone fell asleep. No Cutty Sark to see anyway. I'll have to find this pub again and have a drink there. Cheers, Mr. Punch.



A grim face from Southwark Cathedral. This is where Shakespeare worshipped and a monument to him can be found inside, including stained glass depictions of many famous scenes from his plays. Gower is buried inside as well, claimed as "England's first poet" -- I think contemporary Chaucer might dispute that (not to mention Cynewulf, the Rood poet and of course the Beowulf poet...)



The gates of Crossbones Graveyard, recently rediscovered. Some of the bodies buried here can now be found in the Museum of London.



The students mug at the Globe. Despite the three hours of standing, they really seemed to enjoy the experience -- why not? Tim McInnerny played Iago!



The students are smiling: the trip is almost over and I am buying a round at the Museum Tavern to celebrate the end of the presentations.

PC Woes

Well, the computer failed to turn on this morning. After a call to ITS and ten more tries, I finally got it on at least long enough to print out a) the document I needed for the meeting with my department chair and b) a notice for my lost gnome (sob).

So I ought to be blogging on zombies, but I don't much feel like it at the moment. I'm up at the top of the English Department where the English adjuncts normally roost, and a dark, sombre and poorly lit loft it is. As if being an adjunct didn't already suck. There aren't even any speakers so I cannot listen to the lovely blues CD by Joan Armatrading that my thoughtful brother bought me at her concert (and had signed!).

Instead, I'm thinking of Yeats and wonder to myself, WWYD? I think he would do thusly:

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee;
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

Sounds like a plan.

UK Pix -- Part 2 [the uncanny]

Tourists are to be feared, not fed
A tiara has strange effects
His name is Pete!
Caroline, apparently, needed telling
The site of the miracle: a blind man, collecting for charity suddenly had his sight restored by the power of Venus, whose temple all London phone booths appear to be (else why the pornographic postcards?); unfortunately, he immediately forgot his charity chores, dropping the collection box here in the bottom of the phone booth, presumably hot in the pursuit of amour...
Peter Parker (and alter ego) apparently summer in Brighton with other local luminaries

Aaaargh!

My office PC just died a sudden and horrible death. Well, so much for getting work done today, grumble grumble. I'm typing this in one of the classrooms where I have to stand behind the media podium. It's this or a student lab. Sigh. Maybe I should just go back and wade through some research -- with no music?! Oh, the agony. Good thing I don't have to deal with some real serious problems -- think how whiny I would get then.