Watch out!!

De stylo, et optimo scribendi genere.

For a man to write well, there are required three Necessaries. To reade the best Authors, observe the best Speakers: and much exercise of his owne style. In style to consider, what ought to be written; and after what manner; Hee must first thinke, and excogitate his matter; then choose his words, and examine the weight of either. Then take care in placing, and ranking both matter, and words, that the composition be comely; and to doe this with diligence, and often.

**
But the safest is to returne to our Judgement, and handle over againe those things, the easinesse of which might make them justly suspected. So did the best Writers in their beginnings; they impos'd upon themselves care, and industry. They did nothing rashly. They obtain'd first to write well, and then custome made it easie, and a habit. By little and little, their matter shew'd it selfe to 'hem more plentifully; their words answer'd, their composition followed; and all, as in a well-order'd family, presented it selfe in the place. So that the summe of all is: Ready writing makes not good writing; but good writing brings on ready writing: Yet when wee thinke wee have got the faculty, it is even then good to resist it: as to give a Horse a check sometimes with bit, which doth not so much stop his course, as stirre his mettle. Againe, whether a mans Genius is best able to reach thither, it should more and more contend, lift and dilate it selfe, as men of low stature, raise themselves on their toes; and so oft times get even, if not eminent. Besides, as it is fit for grown and able Writers to stand of themselves, and worke with their owne strength, to trust and endeavour by their owne faculties: so it is fit for the beginner, and learner, to study others, and the best.

(from my master, Ben Jonson, in his "Discoveries on Men and Matter")

(picture from johnsonbanks.co.uk)

Taking Stock: One month to go

Time for a little bit of self-examination.

The last couple of weeks have been extraordinarily hard. Little Red has been his most difficult self, which has sent shockwaves through the rest of the house. I find that my patience is ground paper-thin, and that means that I bark at the kids far more frequently than I'd like.

At the same time, I'm more aware than ever of the influence I have . . . and while it's wonderful, it's also terrifying. The Big Brother appears to be leaning on me more heavily this summer than ever before. If only he knew how tightly he grips my heart. Of course, he can't know that--nor should he. Part of being a child, one of its chief blessings, is not knowing.

The bike is hanging in the garage, unused these past two weeks. That grates on my nerves, big-time. But honestly, it's been all I can do to roll out of bed and deal with the children in the mornings, and this week I've been staggering all over the place, doing well to stay on my feet. So despite my resolutions and my attempts to do some real work on my fitness level this summer, I've met with pretty spotty success. I did best during the first couple of weeks of July. I know that self-recrimination doesn't really help in this situation, but I'm used to the ol' drill sergeant routine with myself. (Hint: It's not always the most effective--if it were, I'd never have had the little mood issue I've had from time to time.)

I simply must find a way to get to work on the academic projects I'm committed to, but I confess to being stuck. I seem to have little time to devote to that kind of work anyway, and when I do try, I find myself spinning my wheels. I'm open to accepting any & all forms of advice here, honestly. (Please?? someone's got to have an idea or two--)

Starting Monday, it's going to have to be approaching a regular work schedule, which will be an adjustment for all of us. I know enough about myself to recognize that I do better when I have a schedule to keep. I've been thinking of how to change my work habits, too--I want to be more efficient. Less Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook will probably help.

I wish I were smarter. Either that, or less apt to be dissatisfied with myself. (oh, stop laughing.)

This is all you need to know about today

Fit is Go!

We purchased "Zippy" exactly one year ago today. I'd make the same purchase a dozen times--I love that little car. It's small, but it's solid as a rock and a hell of a lot of fun to drive. And I like the 07/08 design better than the current redesign--it's simpler.

(Wii like the Wii too, of course)

Who knows what the flight of future days may bring?

"He does nothing that endeavors to do more than is allowed to humanity."

As July rounds to its close, and we've completed our summer "agenda," so to speak, I'm left wondering where it all went. Naturally, I also start wondering what the next season will bring, which may account for my anxiety dreams, my overnight teeth-clenching, the taste of stomach acid that I've experienced most of the day today. There are some more rigorous academic and scholarly demands on me this year, all the more so given what happened last Fall. I've got some other new things I want to try, chief among them an attempt to create a real community of students . . . maybe a reading group is in order, meeting bi-weekly or something? A lot depends on the schedule September presents.

Speaking of which, a year ago I would never have imagined that two months later I'd be as low as I ended up being. I anticipate a far better academic year . . . at least I know myself a lot better--there's something in that.

Still, we never know exactly what's around the bend, do we?

Going retro

The Big Brother has recently gotten into, of all things, Scooby Doo and (what's worse) the old Batman cartoons. We checked out a VHS tape from the library, and wow:



just . . . wow.

And yes, earlier today, he was indeed playing with a Speak & Spell just like the one I had when I was a kid. Not the same one, mind you--I was hard on my toys.

The Pieces Do Not Fit

Walked into my sunday school classroom this morning, and on the table was a schematic for the church's new building project, phase I on one side and phase II on the other. As I began to talk to the teacher of the class, a finance/banking professor at my institution, it became clear that the financial pieces do not fit together at all. The project will cost, when all is said and done, in the neighborhood of $9 million. This church cannot afford that kind of debt burden.

What's worse: it's completely unnecessary. We do not need a 1100-seat facility. We are not situated in a metropolitan suburb--we are just about as rural as it gets. Furthermore, if the local economy tanks any worse (i.e., if the Goodyear plant closes down for good, or if Tyson is forced to make changes, or if my institution's budget situation worsens, etc.), the money just will not be here.

But here's how it's going to play out: those who vote 'yes' on the project will continue to give at the rate they're giving now, hoping that someone is going to come along with big bags of money to take up the slack. Meanwhile, we will be exhorted to "trust God," to "have Faith," to "remember that all things are possible with God" while we knowingly stick our hand in the bear trap. Infuriating. Though you may try to CYA with pious rhetoric, God too knows a fool when God sees one.

Meanwhile, the preacher is continuing his series on Revelation. I've missed all the sermons--and hope to keep that streak alive.

Yardening part 2

The morning's project was the installation of a rain barrel. This involved the use of a hacksaw, level, drill, and various screwdrivers. There was remarkably little cursing. Just like yesterday served as an illustration of an important lesson, so does today: these jobs are generally best done expecting two or three false starts, adjustments, trips to Rural King. If you start the process expecting these things, they don't seem nearly as disastrous when they happen.

And now it's raining, so we'll soon see if it worked.

Yardening

Here's the lesson one learns: you can work every day on it, but there will always be something more to do.

Oh, and I have decided that you can't enjoy a vegetable garden if you want everything neat and clean.

(Yeah, I've not got a lot to say tonight.)

Big Books

So, I finished Neal Stephenson's latest. I can't think of anyone to recommend it to--not because I didn't like it (far from it, indeed), but because I can't think of anyone who'd have patience with it. I've read all of his novels save one, and this was by far the most challenging.

It was also 900+ pages. I'm not bragging, mind you (there's no special merit in reading 900 pages in one book as opposed to several smaller ones)--but it did take a long time.

Many of my favorite books are particularly long: Moby-Dick. The Faerie Queene. Tom Jones. Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell. The War of the End of the World. Infinite Jest. etc. I don't know what it is about my mind that revels in big baggy monsters of books, but there you have it.

So, now it's time for the next book. I could choose to veer from the recent pattern (one long novel, one book of poetry, one scholarly monograph) and pick up a book of nonfiction (one, called Shop Class as Soulcraft, looks like a can't-miss, but I don't have it. Yet). I've got a YA novel that I'd like to get to. Seeing the Harry Potter movie made me want to re-read the last volume in that series. There are three books of essays (one of them by Montaigne, one by Borges, one by David Foster Wallace) I'm considering. Iain Banks, Alastair Reynolds, and Haruki Murakami are calling my name as well.

And then there's War and Peace, which could easily occupy me until Christmas. I wish I could read past midnight every night--but my eyes can never stay open quite that long.

(I should put in hyperlinks for all these titles. But I'm not going to. It's late, and I want to read some before turning out the lights)

occasion

Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie
Which we ascribe to heaven. The fated sky
Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull
Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull.
. . .
The mightiest space in fortune nature brings
To join like likes and kiss like native things.
Impossible be strange attempts to those
That weigh their pains in sense and do suppose
What hath been cannot be.

(All's Well that Ends Well 1.1.199-202, 205-209)

St. Crispin will be pleased

Good news: giant database of medieval English soldiery. So those archers at Agincourt: yup.

(h/t BoingBoing)

Sanctuary 2

Over the weekend, I spent an inordinate and embarrassing amount of time standing in front of these bookshelves, perusing the collection. So much fun! I'm pretty predictable that way--I'm drawn to bookshelves like a moth to the candle flame.

eeehhh, maybe the 'flame' metaphor isn't the most apt when it comes to a book collection.

Sanctuary

Every moment was precious. For all you two are, dearest friends, thank you.

wabi-sabi

I want to be a good man.

The word is "Rotten"

The Big Brother deserves a little update, himself.

Today, after lunch at the campus Chik-fil-A, we had an interesting episode--as we were walking back toward my office, he ran a bit ahead. I caught up with him, then turned around to see where the others were. Turning back around, I find him with his shorts down around his ankles, arcing a substantial stream into the grass.

Um, buddy . . .

"What do I know?"

As Archelaus, king of Macedonia, was passing in the street, someone poured some water on him. Those with him said he should punish the man. "Yes," he said, "but he did not pour water on me, but on the man he thought I was." Socrates said to the man who informed him that people were speaking ill of him: "Not at all; there is nothing in me of what they say."

--Montaigne, "On Some Verses of Virgil"

Notes on Little Red, month 16

• Heard tonight, Spouse addressing Piers: "I'm sorry you have to experience him, when I'm the one who deserves him."
• He has taken up kissing. Most slobbery. He also enjoys waving, dancing, clapping his hands, and manhandling his older brother.
• One mastered concept: "hot." he'll put his hand out, palm toward the hot object, and say "hhhaaaaaa." And then blow on it to cool it off.
• Loves to harvest greeeeeen tomatoes.
• We are reeeeaaaalllly close to actual, "for-real" talking.
• Below: video of the famous Little Red spinning dance (bonus Big Brother BVDs, too)--
  

Disenchanted

"This is water."

#7

The past couple of months have been most frustrating for The Spouse, because whereas I was supplied with a powerful computer (a 13-in. aluminum unibody MacBook), she has been stuck using the Dell desktop or my old trusty 12-in. iBook from ABD days at UNC. Neither of those computers is powerful enough . . .

. . . to run Farm Town.

That's right, the greatest irritation about our aged home computers was not unreliability (though the Dell is so crufty now, it runs like a laboring mule), but their speed in running a Java applet on Facebook. And in fetching email, which also appears to be giving the Dell fits.

So enter the new White MacBook, just arrived today fresh from the farm at Cupertino, or wherever these devices come from. Along with her free (after rebate) iPod touch, she is just swimming in new technology. I'm setting it up now, downloading updates, etc. If it performs as faithfully as Tama-Chan (apologies to R&S) did, it will have been a superb investment.

From this morning's queue:

Sprezzatura.

(from Mr. Brad Miner by way of The Art of Manliness)

No one is born a gentleman. Becoming one is a matter of education, and Castiglione’s “art” is really the practice of the principles that when finally internalized create the man whose urbanity, wit, athleticism, and restraint have sunk into his sinews.

A gentleman practices sprezzatura so that he can get it right. Confucius said that “although the gentleman may not have attained goodness, he acts in such a way so that he might become good.”

Developing sprezzatura is a worthy challenge in a culture that discourages and is suspicious of discretion and restraint. Many people are simply aghast at taciturnity. We tend to distrust anyone we suspect of not being “open.”

But the whole point of restraint, and the etiquette supporting it, is to give us a chance to negotiate slowly and carefully the difference between being strangers and becoming friends.

The handshake developed as a way strangers could show themselves unarmed. It was a sensible and cautious first step towards friendship. We do well to remember that intimacy must be a process, a negotiation, and that who meets a stranger and jumps quickly into bed, so to speak, has a better than even chance of waking up next to an enemy.

The ability to pause before acting and then to act sensibly is manifest prudence, which is the first among the cardinal virtues.

A man who has sprezzatura is content to keep his own counsel. He not only does not need to have his motives understood, he prefers that they not be understood. His actions, including his carefully chosen words, speak for him. It is not necessary for others—save his intimates—to know more.

Although it is not specifically a reason for embracing circumspection, it so happens that a discrete gentleman amasses, over time, a tremendous edge in the affairs of this world. He hears things that others do not, because people of all sorts confide in him, knowing that he will not betray their trust. The knowledge of the human heart that the compleat gentleman thus develops can be a burden, but it is also something of a liberation. It may call upon every bit of his strength to restrain himself from saying or doing more than he ought with knowledge gained from friendship, but there it is.

The art (and depth) of sprezzatura is defined by a man’s power: the stronger and wiser he is, the gentler his manner and the more circumspect his speech; the more, in other words, his true self is hidden.

Of course there is more to sprezzatura than just restraint. There is the quality people refer to when a man is called suave. Cary Grant was usually a gentleman in his film roles because he seemed able to do difficult things with ease and because he seemed a “man of the world,” not only suave but urbane as well. One could not imagine him saying anything inappropriate, and it was inconceivable that he would blurt out an intimacy, perhaps not even to an intimate friend. He knew the difference between a true friend, an acquaintance, and a stranger.

Implicit in sprezzatura is not only an effortless elegance but also a strenuous self-control. In the end, to be a gentleman is to hold Stoically, quietly to the conviction that he not be seen doing his “gentlemanly thing.” Silence really is golden. As Cervantes has Sancho Panza put it: “A closed mouth catches no flies.”

Not hard to guess how/why this caught my eye, huh?

Restraint. Restraint.

My Brother the Artist

Showing at the Ferguson Student Center at the University of Alabama until July 29.

Doing their homework

I may be missing something . . . I certainly don't follow these things super-closely, but I guess I'd never thought that an elected representative would vote on a bill he or she hadn't read. I guess I figure I go to work prepared, I expect my students to come to class prepared, ergo:

Lawmakers, read the bills before you vote - The Boston Globe

Posted using ShareThis

Two look at Two

Love and forgetting might have carried them
A little further up the mountain side
With night so near, but not much further up.
They must have halted soon in any case
With thoughts of a path back, how rough it was
With rock and washout, and unsafe in darkness;
When they were halted by a tumbled wall
With barbed-wire binding. They stood facing this,
Spending what onward impulse they still had
In One last look the way they must not go,
On up the failing path, where, if a stone
Or earthslide moved at night, it moved itself;
No footstep moved it. 'This is all,' they sighed,
Good-night to woods.' But not so; there was more.
A doe from round a spruce stood looking at them
Across the wall, as near the wall as they.
She saw them in their field, they her in hers.
The difficulty of seeing what stood still,
Like some up-ended boulder split in two,
Was in her clouded eyes; they saw no fear there.
She seemed to think that two thus they were safe.
Then, as if they were something that, though strange,
She could not trouble her mind with too long,
She sighed and passed unscared along the wall.
'This, then, is all. What more is there to ask?'
But no, not yet. A snort to bid them wait.
A buck from round the spruce stood looking at them
Across the wall as near the wall as they.
This was an antlered buck of lusty nostril,
Not the same doe come back into her place.
He viewed them quizzically with jerks of head,
As if to ask, 'Why don't you make some motion?
Or give some sign of life? Because you can't.
I doubt if you're as living as you look.'
Thus till he had them almost feeling dared
To stretch a proffering hand -- and a spell-breaking.
Then he too passed unscared along the wall.
Two had seen two, whichever side you spoke from.
'This must be all.' It was all. Still they stood,
A great wave from it going over them,
As if the earth in one unlooked-for favour
Had made them certain earth returned their love.

(Robt. Frost, 1923)

J. Allen

Happy birthday, dad.

For all the ways you sacrificed for us, many of which we'll never know,

Thank you.

Two things that sound like a whole lot of fun.

...from SI's "Ten budget-friendly summer sporting events ruled by oddity"

9. RAGBRAI (July 19 to 25, Iowa)

Ten thousand bicyclists of all shapes, sizes and athletic abilities, pedal the length of Iowa partying along the way. RAGBRAI (Register's Annual Great Bike Race Across Iowa) begins in the western part of the state, and finishes in the east, 472 miles later at the Mississippi River. The tradition is to finish the race by touching your front tire in the river.

The route, which changes yearly, runs through countless one-stoplight towns, sticking to the cornfield-lined back roads. The townsfolk are grateful for the business the event brings to their small communities; they line the streets, holding banners and American flags, cheering, and offering food and water. Home-baked pies are sold in roadside church parking lots. It almost feels like you're Michael J. Fox, getting into the DeLorean, and going back to 1955.

Each night, after the riding is over, you'll be able to nurse your saddle sores in the overnight town. Each RAGBRAI evening becomes the town's biggest bash of the year, as non-bike riding, good-time seeking Iowans pour in to hang out with the riders and take over the small-town watering holes. The event is open to anyone.

Admission: $140 for a week-long rider, $35 for non-riders, $25 for daily passes

1. Tour De Fat (Labor Day Weekend, Fort Collins, Colo.)

The world's most insane biking event is pedaling pandemonium, a rolling rock n' roll carnival and 100-percent chaotic originality. In 2007, the Tour De Fat smashed the previously held Taiwanese world record for the largest bike parade, as more than 4,000 costume-clad participants hit the road for this two-wheeled circus.

New Belgium Brewery is responsible for the Tour De Fat, an event that makes you feel as though you've just stepped into Alice's Wonderland. The event starts at 9:00 a.m., as thousands of people wearing combinations of their past five Halloween costumes congregate at the brewery's starting line with bicycles in tow. These decked-out cyclists have spent weeks outfitting their bikes, so don't be surprised to see couches pedaled down the street or an electronic piano (with someone playing it) pulled behind a BMX.

When the gun sounds, it's a quick two or three mile jaunt around town, as onlookers line the streets to pick out this year's craziest contraption. The route circles back to the brewery for seven hours of Tour De Fat madness -- including fire breathers on stilts, unicycle jousters punishing each other, pancake juggling and live music. The Tour is spreading its wings to various U.S. cities -- check the Web site to find out of there's one in your area.

Admission: $5 suggested donation for bike ride

(did you notice the common theme? hmmm?)

"The secret is not to care"

Another reminder to myself. The secret is not to care:

I think this “secret” is important, because while we can’t exercise complete control over the things we care about, we can take notice, remember that some of our concerns are idiosyncratic, and try to master them where appropriate. Mindfulness! Yikes, mindfulness turns out to be important everywhere I look.

Are there things I shouldn't care about? What a foreign concept!

Honestly, the blog I link above is not something I'm buying 100%, but I'll admit that it's useful to think about happiness as something that can be cultivated, chosen.

(The Happiness Project)

The perfect way to start a Friday

Piers Got a New Camera

. . . thanks to the mother-in-law. Actually, I just got on old one of hers that she was MOST dissatisfied with.

To celebrate, a gallery of boyish mayhem. Several shots (the outdoor ones) are from yesterday. They were taken with the new camera.

How I made the day count

So I was prepared to spend the morning writing and reading, then using the sander to work on the swingset (I looked at Little Red's foot the other day, and to my dismay it was full of splinters). The others were about to head out the door to the library, when The Big Brother peeked back in the door and piped, "Daddy, can you come with us?" Well, I had things planned, but he was pretty convincing. So we went to the library, then several other places around town.

Went to the office for the afternoon, where I read some on Shakespeare.

Came home & pruned the roses.

Exercised tonight, too.

Day One of the Rest of my Summer: so far, so good.

(illustration from James Joyce)

"Well, I'm back"

Now that vacation is done, and now that the teaching is done, it's time to turn my mind to something else. This is where it gets a bit complicated, because by "something else" I mean "somethingS else." June had the advantage, in some ways, of being quite straightforward: three hours of teaching each day of the week, and the associated reading & planning. With the time left over, perhaps some other study, or working in the yard, or going out of town for a funeral.

July is different: I don't have to be anywhere. People will ask me about my summer, and assume that I have free time. I do--sorta. There are chores enough for each day of the week between now and August. I'm trying to formulate a plan for tackling them. But I also have studying to do, and more importantly: writing. That facet of the job was one of the big casualties from this past year (the other was my involvement at church--which is a different story).

Each day represents a chance to redeem the time, to make it meaningful. Each day also represents a chance to retreat inward, to claim fatigue, to waste hour upon hour on this machine. To choose rightly, again and again, without respite--that's the story. And I need success in this, after feeling like I've fallen on my face so often over the past 18 months.

"light up, light up..."

Grass

The Mower's Song

My Mind was once the true survey
Of all these Medows fresh and gay;
And in the greenness of the Grass
Did see its Hopes as in a Glass;
When Juliana came, and she
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.

But these, while I with Sorrow pine,
Grew more luxuriant still and fine;
That not one Blade of Grass you spy'd,
But had a Flower on either side;
When Juliana came, and She
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.

Unthankful Meadows, could you so
A fellowship so true forego,
And in your gawdy May-games meet,
While I lay trodden under feet?
When Juliana came , and She
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.

But what you in Compassion ought,
Shall now by my Revenge be wrought:
And Flow'rs, and Grass, and I and all,
Will in one common Ruine fall.
For Juliana comes, and She
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.

And thus, ye Meadows, which have been
Companions of my thoughts more green,
Shall now the Heraldry become
With which I shall adorn my Tomb;
For Juliana comes, and She
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.

--Andrew Marvell (1621-1678)

Lookout Mountain & Chattanooga

Some new vacation pictures here. Child-centric, of course.

Nice, in some ways, to be without cell & wi-fi service for a few days. I did read a lot.

The Buzzard is Back!

When I consider how my light is spent,

I have to pay attention to the blurriness and pain in my eyeballs, and admit:

It's time for some new glasses, and they'll probably be bifocals. I'm sad, because I love my current pair so much. On the upside, I can get new clip-on sunglasses! Think of it! Two pairs of cool shades! Yet again proving that I'm the coolest (and most likely to use sentence fragments) Shakespeare professor on campus. Ohhh yeah.

Things that are awesome, Vol. 7

The Striped Tie.

Hard to go wrong with a striped tie. It can be colorful, but it doesn't scream "LOOK AT ME" like a garish paisley or something. Don't get me wrong, I like dots, and muted repeating patterns, but they tend to be . . . muted. I don't need a lot of help in that category with what I wear. Stripes allow you to show some panache without looking like you're trying too hard.

Works well with bow ties, as well.

Of course, I say all this knowing full well that I've never been able to buy or wear a tie in my life without the guidance of someone who isn't colorblind.

(picture and main link thanks to Julian's, the iconic Chapel Hill men's store--which is linked to the famous Tar Heel argyle that I featured a while ago.)