Things that are awesome, Vol. 3

The Electra Townie.

Do I have any firsthand knowledge of or experience with the bike? No. Other than touching one wistfully in an REI. But the whole flat-foot technology thing, the big ol' handlebars, the curve of the top tube--this is one cool bike. Perfect for doing things like, I don't know, bike commuting to work (when my other beloved bike seems like overkill or pretentiousness--like riding one of those tricked out fixies). Plus, with the Townie, you can get all sorts of cool accessories! They also have all sorts of gearing options, including those snazzy internal-hub shifters.

But if you're in the country, as I am, can you get away with riding a "Townie" when sitting at a red light alongside a dude driving a Dodge Ram dually? Perhaps not.

the question for the day

What can I do to become a better writer?

Do you mean you're worried about your grade?

No . . . I just feel like my writing is . . . marginal. I want to know how to do better.

Well...

• There's no accounting for talent. Some people, regardless of their "intelligence," have the knack for putting stuff into words.
• Experience helps. Actually, it's irreplaceable.
• Writing is situation specific, isn't it? I mean, different disciplines, different career paths, require different ways of thinking and different ways of communicating ideas. I can therefore only show one so much about "doing better."
• Get used to the feeling. Most of us, I think, feel like our writing should be better than it is.

I want to get better at it too. Which means actually sitting down and working at the craft of serious prose. I've not done it in a long while, as my mind has been on its months-long perambulation. One of my intellectual mentors, Ben Jonson, would say: bring it to the forge and file again, turn it anew. In other words, keep trying.

the picture above is a portrait of Ben Jonson. Between you & me, he looks like a more portly Geoffrey Rush.

fighting. fighting? fighting!

From Charlie Chaplin's film Limelight:

Ballerina: I can't stay here, causing you all this trouble.

Clown: I'm not complaining.

Ballerina: You should, I'm such a bore.
But it's not my fault. You would save my life.

Clown: Well, we all make mistakes!

Ballerina: I'm sorry.

Clown: You should be. A young girl like you wanting to throw your life away.
When you're my age, you'll want to hang on to it.

Ballerina: Why?

Clown: Well, at this stage of the game life gets to be a habit.

Ballerina: A hopeless one.

Clown: Then live without hope. Live for the moment.
There are still, there are still... There are still wonderful moments.

Ballerina:But if you've lost your health!

Clown: My dear, I was given up for dead six months ago, but I fought back. That's what you must do.

Ballerina: I'm tired of fighting.

Clown: Because you're fighting yourself. You won't give yourself a chance. But the fight for happiness is beautiful.

This Weekend's Activity

So here we are in Nashville, waiting for tomorrow's Country Music Marathon and Half Marathon. And no, it's not something that happens on the radio & involves Hank Williams. It starts at Centennial Park, where the Parthenon is, and snakes all around through downtown Nashville, ending at LP Field. I am not running. I am driving the spouse to the race start in the wee hours of the morning, then choosing a spot along the route to watch her run by along with a zillion other amped-up runners, then waiting at the finish line.

She has wanted to do this race for well over three years. I'm glad she gets to do it finally. You can see above that Little Red was especially excited to come as well.

I got to drink a Cheerwine tonight!

"Bottom Dog Always Wins"

(warning: serious matters ahead. You've been warned.)

Today, it fell into place: I don't actually know how to relate to other people in a healthy way. It's "top dog/bottom dog," in the phrase used by the doctor today. Top Dog is the one who says how things will be, who makes the demands, who says "you must please me." Bottom Dog is the one who strives to please, who crouches with tail low, and who, if he resists, passively resists.

And here's the thing: every important relationship in my life, without an exception I can think of, has been this way. I have always been Bottom Dog, putting myself in the subordinate position of the one who wants to/has to please, thereby allowing or forcing the other to adopt the position of authority--the One Who Must be Pleased.

But there's more: I don't know how to fix it. I don't know what steps I should take in order to correct the problem. And it is a problem. However, there is a great deal of relief in finally (I think) getting to the root of much of what has happened this past year. I'm still not sure that "bottom dog always wins," in the phrase used by the doctor today--I fail to see how I've won much of anything by being this way.

There is one possibility we talked about today: It's time to stop swallowing anger. Frustration & guilt, my daily emotional bread, are evidently two forms of sublimated anger. And depression is partially caused by anger turned inward, inflicted on oneself. As he told me, "the result is a heart attack at age 50." I told him I know how to be sad, but not how to be angry--certainly not how to express it. The prospect is terrifying; it means that I cannot be passive. It means that I have to relearn a lot about relating to other people. Even if that way lies freedom, the road looks awfully long from where I'm standing.

111H, 112H

Goodbye to a fine group of students. They have no idea how (nor should they), but they collectively helped me through a terribly difficult year. I owe them much. I shall not see their like again, at least not for a while.

chalk

galing na galing

I'd love to be in Manila today.

Well, that goes for any day, really. But especially today, what with the bike ride on EDSA and all.

An Observation

From presentations in my composition course this morning, where students were presenting their plans for a utopian society:

in my 8:00 class, both groups presented utopias in which marriage was rigidly defined and strictly upheld (in one case, you were able to marry only once, without exception even for death of a spouse), and in which adulterers were put to death.

in my 9:30 class, both groups presented utopias using exclusively "open" marriages, where one could conceivably have any number of sexual partners.

I'm sure this means something, but I'm not sure what.

9.908

How can I live without thee, how forgo
Thy sweet converse and love so dearly joined,
To live again in these wild woods forlorn?
Should God create another Eve, and I
Another rib afford, yet loss of thee
Would never from my heart . . .

(from Paradise Lost)

Things that are awesome, Vol. 2

Barbecue.

Specifically, pulled pork. Now, don't get me wrong: I appreciate brisket, chicken, ribs, sausage, and all the other varieties. But there's nothing that can match a good pile of pulled pork, either on a bun or off it. Naturally, one wants slaw (proper slaw--not that vinegary mess that folks around here call slaw), hush puppies (with butter, if you're a Tar Heel), and brunswick stew to go along with it. Sauce can be anything, though the less sweet the better. Ideally, the runny, spicy style they favor far East of here.

Really, though, I'll take it any way I can get it. I'm a sucker for it (I'm a sucker for a lot of things, I know--but this is high on the list). The smoky taste of the meat combined with the zing of the sauce, then the slightly sweet crunch of the slaw . . . and then lots of sweet sweeeeet tea to wash it down. As a bonus, most barbecue joints have excellent desserts, so if you like pecan pie, for instance . . .

It's probably no coincidence that we host a pig picking here at our house every October. I'm just that devoted.

plunge

Here's what has to happen this weekend:
1. The Big Brother goes to a birthday party
2. The Brian Brown 5k
3. dozens of papers from English 112 graded
4. papers from English 490 graded
5. Paradise Lost Book X read
6. yard fertilized
7. azaleas fertilized
8. roses fertilized
9. UNC National Champs 2009 merch ordered
10. a couple of other assignments

let no one say I don't live a thrilling life!

**
I've thought a lot about scuba diving recently. Not sure why.

**
One of the many things I'm amazed at is the way everything in one's mind & heart is so intricately connected. One thing goes wrong in one tiny area, and the tremors get shot out over all sorts of strands of the web. The mind rebels, or falls into a trance--and the body follows, taking with it the emotions, one's ability to react positively or constructively. Mental or emotional exertion, whether over the course of a month, a week or a few hours, can be far more tiring, even debilitating, than a 30-mile bike ride. And we all know heartsickness is the worst kind of all.

**
The Big Brother helped me mow the grass today, standing between my legs on the platform of the mower. We did the entire front yard that way. Little Red stood at the picture windows at the front of the house and screeched and yelled at us. He loved watching. And I loved watching his face light up when we would swing around in front of the house.

Aw, pshaw.

It has been suggested that I stop with the self-deprecation. I agree that it sounds like a good idea, but the problem is that most, if not all of my humor, is self-deprecating! Without it, I'd only be left with curmudgeonliness and wry, dry commentary. Well, that and the quoting of movies like The Three Amigos or Robin Hood: Men in Tights. That's not quite enough.

I'm always amazed at people who brim with self-confidence. I've always been attracted to them, actually, because they're fun, bright, exciting, interesting. They seem to have what I don't see in myself. I can't remember many times when I've felt truly confident--and even then I've not been comfortable with it. So it's amazing to watch those bright, singular souls that do not question, do not hesitate. Or at least they don't appear to.

So it could be that what appears to be self-deprecation for reasons of humor or manipulation is in fact honest self-examination! After all, surely it's a safer course to measure oneself too harshly than not harshly enough. But not battling oneself all the time would be nice too, I guess.

Things that are awesome, Vol. 1

Especially after the last post, I need to demonstrate to some of my readers that I can be more than merely a gloomy Gus. I've decided to start a series of occasional posts on things I find awesome. Now, we can all agree that pirates & ninjas & bacon are all awesome, but this list will be a bit more, um, idiosyncratic.















Cheerwine!

Oh, yes. It's a red, super-sweet, cherry-flavored soft drink that you find mostly in the Carolinas. I've had more than one person ask how it is that I complain that regular Coke is too sweet, but I'll guzzle a can of Cheerwine without a second thought, and end with a smile on my face. Well, maybe it's the name: cheer and wine both sound like things that are good, and should make you smile. Well then. And there's the cherryness of the drink, too. No 'cola' to mix up the flavors or anything. And it calls to mind memories of the free Cheerwine stand at the NC State Fair, where they gave out free cups of . . . Cheerwine. And it calls to mind memories of NC, period. If you've not had one, you should do yourself a favor and get ahold of one. Rumor has it that cases of Cheerwine have been seen in grocery stores in middle TN.

I've got a few empty cans proudly on display in my office.

Some Friendly Advice

don't touch
don't trip
don't look
don't speak
don't turn around
don't look down
don't let on
don't let up
don't think too hard
don't take it for granted
don't be so sure
don't let go
don't hang on too long
don't go there
don't push
don't grab
don't be a stranger
don't look away
don't lose focus
don't give up
don't throw your pearls before swine
don't forget

Breathe, Listen

Little Red got a breathing machine today, so he can start taking breathing treatments. He'd probably just as soon send it back, but I suppose time will make it customary. Evidently, he inherited my lungs. I used to be regularly knocked on my back for 3-5 days at a time, sleeping propped up, wheezing, too weak to do much more than breathe--which was work enough in itself. I remember one weekday, in the house in Buckhead we briefly inhabited, I was laid up in my upstairs bedroom that overlooked a church parking lot. I guess I must have been staring out the window, because I see a couple of cars pull up, and a girl get out of one and into the other (or vice-versa; it may have been the boy). They appeared to be talking very closely to one another for a while, then they did the most extraordinary thing: they both got in the back seat! I could not for the life of me figure out what they would want to do back there. I mean, who sits around in the back seat of a car?

The Big Brother decided that he didn't like the noise of the machine or of Little Red squalling, so he made sure to give orders that the treatment be done in another room. He also was good at giving orders last night; he asked me to play "Legos" with him, which doesn't mean really building anything--not yet--it means playing with the little minifigures as action figures. So we had a little platoon of men (and one droid) that went on several reconaissance missions around the room. He was sure to give me precise and repetitive orders, so as to make sure that I did things the right way. I really really want to build that spaceship that he recently got from Grammie and Pappy, but I keep reminding myself: no, Piers, that's not yours.

Easter

RISE heart ; thy Lord is risen. Sing his praise
Without delayes,
Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise
With him mayst rise :
That, as his death calcined thee to dust,
His life may make thee gold, and much more just.

Awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part
With all thy art.
The crosse taught all wood to resound his name
Who bore the same.
His stretched sinews taught all strings, what key
Is best to celebrate this most high day.

Consort both heart and lute, and twist a song
Pleasant and long :
Or since all music is but three parts vied,
And multiplied ;
O let thy blessed Spirit bear a part,
And make up our defects with his sweet art.

**
I got me flowers to strew thy way ;
I got me boughs off many a tree :
But thou wast up by break of day,
And brought’st thy sweets along with thee.

The Sunne arising in the East,
Though he give light, and th’ East perfume ;
If they should offer to contest
With thy arising, they presume.

Can there be any day but this,
Though many sunnes to shine endeavour ?
We count three hundred, but we misse :
There is but one, and that one ever.

(Geo. Herbert, 1633)

Haulin'

I just came across this article talking about the Chevy El Camino and Ford Ranchero. I see an El Camino every time I drive down toward McKenzie, and I still say that I'd be the coolest Shakespeare teacher in town if I tooled around in one. For some reason, this gets the most awful looks of scorn from my friends and associates, especially of the female persuasion. But! think of the advantages: I could use it as a platform for some float in the Soybean Festival Parade. The Big Brother could stand in the back and hurl candy at other children. I could use it to haul stuff. You know, all that stuff that I tend to need to haul. Yeah, that stuff. I could offer to use it in helping friends move, but since they'd look with suspicion on my automobile, I'd get credit for offering without actually having to do anything. I could use it as a stargazing platform. I could use it to transport my bike to places I wanted to ride it, since it makes a lot of sense to drive your bike somewhere in order to ride. Actually, sometimes it does make sense, now that I think about it. I could put one of those ridiculously complicated rail systems in the back to accommodate a bike carrier, and with the bike upright in the bed, I'd get double--nay, triple!!--the cool points, only to be exceeded if I put a sticker that reads "OBX" or "26.2" or "Mossy Oak" on the back.

Ah, well. I wouldn't trade my little Honda for anything, anyway, so you can stop sneering at me. I mean, try to find an El Camino with an auxiliary audio port for my Shuffle!

**
Unrelated but funny: Heard at my table tonight: no weapons at the table. Such is life with little boys, as the previous post illustrates in a sort of indirect way. We are learning that the younger is a climber where the elder was not, the elder was a talker and a watcher in the way that the younger is not. Lots of proto-language going on with the younger, though.

Laughter

yeah, the whole point here is the laughter of Little Red and the mugging of The Little Boy.

To be obnoxious for just a minute

I did not know, when we drove the truck into Chapel Hill on June 27, 1997, and had to spend the night in that super-sketchy motel in Durham, just how profoundly the town and the school would affect me.

Take basketball, for instance. I imagine it's common to love one's alma mater, but I came to UNC with a BA in hand. I spent eight years there as a grad student--and you never know how a grad student's loyalty is going to land. Well, it took only a year or so before we were completely reeled in. And then, when we moved on campus and could walk to the Dean Dome in about 5 minutes, it just got that much more powerful. We watched Brendan Haywood and Ed Cota. We watched Julius Peppers, Joseph Forte, and Kris Lang in the famous 'blizzard' victory over Maryland, in which the Heels came back from 17 down. We watched a blowout loss to Dook, then a thrilling win over Dook when Marvin Williams tipped in a missed free throw (that was prelude to the 2005 national championship). Speaking of which, we watched Capel, Manuel, Lang, & Williams lose to Hampton in the opener of the infamous 8-20 season. We saw games against Georgia Tech, Miami, Florida State, UConn, Clemson . . . and it all came flooding back last night as we watched the Heels play. We've not seen any of these men play in person, but still--to say I am emotionally involved in it is an understatement.

They're Tar Heels, I'm a Tar Heel. They're more famous (and welcome to it), but we all bleed the same color. And I couldn't be prouder.

(picture from the UNC GAA)

The Wind Blows Where it Will

What's needed is the ability to accept misfortune and/or good fortune without being mastered by it.

**
Shake that bag out onto the table, so you can see all the loose pieces at once. Look at each one, turning it over, weighing it, asking: what's it worth? How does it fit?

The thing is the willingness to discard the pieces that no longer fit. Perhaps easier for some than for others.

**
If one always has one's nose in a book, is one learning a lot, or is one avoiding that thing that everyone else considers "life"?

**
The ritual of drinking and eating. Coffee is a ritual, as is tea: the process of making, of heating water, of pulling out cups or mugs--often for more than one. But if only for one, often related to the start of the day. Sharing a meal, also: to sit down with another, or with several, at a meal can be a ritual of intimacy.

**
To live constantly in the present--
To keep one's mind on what one is doing--
always??

**
To begin is hard enough. If, however, after some hard-won progress, you find it all wiped out--undone--to begin again is almost too much to bear.

Sunshine

Looking

On my floor, right now:
1. a singing, talking lawn mower
2. a duck with wheels for feet that you push with a stick
3. five wooden puzzles in a metal storage rack
4. a ball popper that makes a lot of noise
5. a "Little Einsteins" ball
6. a fat tabby cat with a white belly
7. a plastic car with really big wheels
8. a Land's End catalog
9. some board books
10. the letters "M" and "X"

In my head, right now:
1. the stairwell at the hospital smells just like old public school stairwells
2. I want to watch a movie. But as usual, it won't be tonight
3. I think either Lucky Jim or The Bad Girl is the next book
4. snippets of songs from Over the Rhine
5. I wonder what good new music I could find
6. hmm . . . I wonder about those recommendations I promised
7. too bad I don't have more time

Just a little catching up

There are two things I mean to do every day:

1. Write in my journal
2. Post a blog entry

Neither has been happening. Usually, when my routine (and a morning routine is something I need) is disrupted, it means that something else is askew. A typical reason is that I've gotten behind in my work, or that I'm out of town. This time: well, I wish I could put my finger on it.

**
I should really be exercising. As I continue to shrink, that becomes even more crucial. But frankly: even the idea of getting out on the bike doesn't really hold that much interest. It's too cold in the early morning, and by the time I get home in the afternoon, I'm like a wrung-out sponge. Not to mention the time pressures in the evening as well. Pretty soon, I'll look like Redcrosse Knight when he is brought up out of Orgoglio's dungeon! What will be interesting to see is how the next episodes play out.

I hesitate, for fear of seeming obsessive. But the fact is that physically speaking, I've not felt very good for a month now. I think it's all related.

**
On the plus side:
I get to choose a new book to start reading! The one I want to read isn't in my possession, so I have to choose among my many other options.
Little Red is now growling, which makes for hilarious moments. He's also good at sign language, pointing to food and then pointing to his mouth.
The Little Boy played through an entire level on Lego Star Wars all by himself yesterday afternoon; he did it quickly, little fingers flying around on the control pad.
He also has drawn a picture of me; expect to see a reproduction soon.
In my 8:00 class yesterday, I ragged one of the students about her Fb status. The ensuing conversation led the student sitting right in front of me to ask, incredulity in her voice, "you're friends??"
Carolina in the Final Four. This time last year I was wearing Carolina ties, shirts, posting newspaper front pages on the door to my office . . . this year, nothing. I'm sure that signifies something. If only I knew what.

**
My mind is slow as molasses these days; even this little bit has taken me forever.