Pass the Bakhtin, please

Perhaps the greatest serendipity yesterday happened when I opened a book on High Russian Literary Theory  (Mikhail Bakhtin:  Creation of a Prosaics)  and encountered this amazing passage:

In "Toward a Philosophy of the Act," he argues that each self is unique because each aggregate of the related and the unrelated is different.  There can be no formula for integrity, no substitute for each person's own project of selfhood, no escape from the ethical obligations of every situation at every moment.  Or, as Bakhtin often sums up the point:  "There is no alibi for being."

And then this morning, I read this:

Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are and
I renounce the blessed face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice

Eliot, "Ash Wednesday" (1930)

  
as Auden puts it later, "What else am I made for, believing or not believing?" 

"Ay, think so, till experience change thy mind."

During interviews yesterday for the university scholars program, a topic came up that veered toward church and church-going.  One of the students, a particularly strong woman who was totally unafraid to speak her mind, pointed out that she didn't need a specific religion to be good.  "I'm a good person," she proclaimed, quite sure of herself.  I thought it was touching, and appreciated her willingness to openly speak her mind.  She was a remarkable interviewee.  

Since that interview, I've been preoccupied with how life eventually catches up with us and teaches us otherwise.  Life and time always win.

We're therefore obligated to show mercy, be kind, be humble.
 
Give every man his due, Hamlet says, and who shall escape whipping?

My Mom Says Some Days are Like That

...Even in Australia:

Gerontion

After such knowledge, what forgiveness?  Think now
History has many cunning passages, contrived corridors
And issues, deceives with whispering ambitions,
Guides us by vanities.  Think now
She gives when our attention is distracted
And what she gives, gives with such supple confusions
That the giving famishes the craving.  Gives too late
What's not believed in, or is still believed,
In memory only, reconsidered passion.  Gives too soon
Into weak hands, what's thought can be dispensed with
Till the refusal propagates a fear.  Think
Neither fear nor courage saves us.  Unnatural vices
Are fathered by our heroism.  Virtues
Are forced upon us by our impudent crimes.
These tears are shaken from the wrath-bearing tree.

(T. S. Eliot, 1920)

Yesterday, teaching Sunday School.  The topic:
"When I make bad choices."

Yardening, 2010 Edition, Volume 4

 Almost all of this is yesterday's harvest from our burgeoning tomato & pepper plants.  Our feeble attempts to prop up the tomato plants have continued to prove inadequate...I had to re-situate the roma bush this morning.  We may be reduced to using tent stakes and twine to counterbalance the weight pulling them over.

I add our ineptitude to demonstrate that I'm not bragging about our green-thumbness . . . if it were a matter of skill, we'd be getting maybe 10-12 tomatoes for the entire summer.

The longer we have this yard, and the more things we try to cultivate, we realize that in order to have a showcase yard, you have to be willing to put all of your energy and time into weeding & feeding & pruning & japanese-beetle-exterminating (which brings to mind the most disgusting experience I've had in a long time--let's just say it involved several-day-old bags full of dead & half-dead beetles).

The new addition is a double-lane slip & slide that actually works.  Pictures are verboten, but I can attest to The Spouse's skill in slip/sliding.

In which Piers prepares for Star Wars reenactment

The office now contains representatives of both the Galactic Empire and the Rebel Alliance.  Unfortunately for Luke there, a Landspeeder is woefully short on armaments.

as a bonus, note the juxtaposition of the "serious" and the "frivolous," what with all those books in the background.

And thus our first puppy experiment endeth.

It appears that we've been able to find a family that wants the dog, so I'm driving her down to Jackson at dawn's early crack tomorrow . . . said family lost a Great Pyrenees puppy recently, almost the same age as this dog, so it's a pretty good deal for them. 

And a good deal for us, who have not been able to give her the attention she needs--so she's been dragging our shoes around, grabbing large pieces of the mulch to play with, etc. etc.  It's been so hot that it's been frankly pretty unpleasant all the way around.  And since the children are afraid of her, we can't really send them outside to play.  As a result, we're all grouchy.  It's like the dog days of summer (no pun intended), but summer has just begun.  *wipes off sweat*

We're not getting into the dog rescue business, nosiree.

LXXXVIII

The question has sometimes been posed whether these liberal studies make a man a better person.  But in fact they do not aspire to any knowledge of how to do this, let alone claim to do it.  Literary scholarship concerns itself with research into language, or history if a rather broader field is preferred, or, extending its range to the very limit, poetry.  Which of these paves the way to virtue?  Attentiveness of words, analysis of syllables, accounts of myths, laying down the principles of prosody?  What is there in all this that dispels fear, roots out desire or reins in passion?

...

'But it's a nice thing, surely, to be familiar with a lot of subjects.'  Well, in that case let us retain just as much of them as we need.  Would you consider a person open to criticism for putting superfluous objects on the same level as really useful ones by arranging on display in his house a whole array of costly articles, but not for cluttering himself up with a lot of superfluous furniture in the way of learning?  To want to know more than is sufficient is a form of intemperance.  Apart from which this kind of obsession with the liberal arts turns people into pedantic, irritating, tactless, self-satisfied bores,  not learning what they need simply because they spend their time learning things they will never need.  The scholar Didymus wrote four thousand works:  I should feel sorry for him if he had merely read so many useless works.

--Seneca

Precedents and Probabilities

Listening to the sermon on Sunday, part of which dealt with Stephen, the apostolic martyr, I was struck with the absurdity of holding him out as some sort of model for the rest of us.  Hear me out:  Stephen had zeal and courage, no doubt, and being stoned is a horrible way to die.  The blood of the martyrs feeds the very roots of the church, and we are right to honor those who have made the ultimate sacrifice.  However, I expect that most Christians, when faced with the stark choice between recanting and standing firm, would choose the latter no matter what. 

I would submit, however, that there's a far more dangerous, heroic path that gets very little attention, and that it applies far more readily to the rest of us:  instead of standing firm when the lines are clearly drawn between light and darkness, we have to finish an ultramarathon.

"In headaches and in worry / Vaguely life leaks away," mutters Auden, and he's right:  and it is in the world where the "Crack in the teacup / Opens a lane to the land of the dead," the world where King David gets to see his children raped and murdered before him, the world where Isaac is swindled by his own son, the world where light switches need to be replaced, the world where gardens have to be watered, the world where kitty barf has to be gotten up, that we have to prove our mettle.  Much harder to live and persevere for a lifetime than turn and face a giant at twenty-five.

So don't inspire me with a heroic martyrdom.  Most of us don't get that option.

Yardening, 2010 Edition, Volume 3

One of the fun things about "volunteer" Impatiens--you get all kinds of different colors.  And the Japanese Beetles don't care to eat these.

Popillia japonica

We've got a bad infestation this year . . . much worse than years previous.  Really, the number is quite astounding.  We set out a couple of pheromone traps this past week, and the bags filled up disconcertingly quickly.  And I'll tell you what's nasty:  the smell of thousands of dead beetles, cooking in 95 degree sunshine.  What's even nastier is when the dog drags out a full trap and messes around in it.  After mowing the grass yesterday evening, I found a pile of rotting beetle carcasses in the middle of the grass where we'd recovered the plastic bag housing the beetle bags.  I suppose they'll create a nicely-fertilized spot of yard, but good heavens, do they stink. 

Apparently, the traps do more to attract the damn things than they do to control them.

I tell you, Popillia japonica, Ixodes scapularis, and Diodia virginiana L. are arguments against a benevolent God.

x3

Happy Father's Day To Me

The Spouse has kindly allowed me to pick out & purchase a white bike helmet.

The Boys kindly chose the following as the other gift:

I ain't sayin there aren't positive trade-offs.

Among the things you better not be all that interested in if you live in a smallish house with two cats and three little boys:

1.  neatness.
2.  having a clean carpet.
3.  regular, purposeful, intense exercise.
4.  quiet.
5.  gourmet cooking.
6.  substantial reading of books without pictures.
7.  films.
8.  conversation.
9.  privacy.
10.  objects d'art.
11.  having a manicured yard.
12.  keeping dirt off the car seats.
13.  study.

In which Piers hopes for a phone call

Well, our adventure for today started relatively early:  while on her run, The Spouse was adopted by a yellow lab mutt of some kind.  The dog has a collar, so we believe she belongs to someone and just got lost or ran off.

Said puppy (we are not naming her, for if we name her, we start to get attached to her) is now in Piers's back yard.  We have put out announcements in every location we know, hoping that someone will claim the dog.  Well, Piers is hoping someone claims the dog . . . The Spouse and The Boys appear to be quite fond of her (and she of them, I might add).

We are not thinking about what will happen if someone doesn't step forward to claim said Canis lupus familiaris

In which Piers gets into an epic battle

Warning!  Some of the following footage may be too graphic for younger viewers, or viewers with heart conditions:

In which Piers gets drawn in by old photographs

In preparing the previous blog post, I happened upon pictures of Little Red when he was, er, littler:

Well, he certainly got all the recessive genes at once, didn't he?  As similar as the other two look, Little Red once again proves to be unique.

Our pediatrician says he was put on Earth to make us laugh.  I think our pediatrician is probably right.  

Sofa, retired.

We dropped off the old sofa at We Care (the local thrift/ministry store), thanks to Papa and his truck being in town for a brief while.  We put it down right at the storefront, and as we looked back, I said, "my lord, that thing looks awful."  And it sure did. 

But!  It gave us many years of great service (14, to be precise).  It'll make a great college apartment sofa for someone.  It is noisy, though, so some discretion in choice of activities may be advisable.

The picture is from 2006 . . . i.e., when we were a one-child family.  It also demonstrates why the sofa got to the point where it needed to be replaced!  Note, too, that Big Brother was already a bookworm by that point (not yet two years old).

There are new ground rules for the new sofa, needless to say.

and, just because I think it's funny: 

(the cats aren't allowed liberty of the new sofa, either)

Yardening, 2010 Edition, Volume 2

Yes, that is Little Red falling asleep while he rides in my lap while I'm mowing the grass.

An apple a day, nothing!

Epic pediatrician visit yesterday, and here's the verdict:

Big Brother has the Barking Cough because he's having allergy trouble (more Claritin and Nasonex for him, and stop being lazy about giving it to him, Piers).  A vaporizer will help some.

Little Red has Asthma, officially.  Claritin and Nasonex no help.  A vaporizer really no help.  Dr. B, the pediatrician, suggests purchase of an air purifier.  Check, and running as I type.

Vulcan Beebee was worrying us that he had an ear infection--wouldn't let us lay him down on Thursday night.  Screamed bloody murder.  Seemed to only be comfortable when upright.  Dr. B says:  oh, he was just playing you.  Good to know.

The other part of the verdict: $100 in copays in the last two weeks!  I'm getting my premiums' worth.

Foxes and Lions

Machiavelli, from The Prince:  

"Therefore a wise lord cannot, nor ought he to, keep faith when such observance may be turned against him, and when the reasons that caused him to pledge it exist no longer.  If men were entirely good this precept would not hold, but because they are bad, and will not keep faith with you, you too are not bound to observe it with them . . . . he who has known best how to employ the fox has succeeded best.

But it is necessary to know well how to disguise this characteristic, and to be a great pretender and dissembler; and men are so simple, and so subject to present necessities, that he who seeks to deceive will always find someone who will allow himself to be deceived."   

Piquant, isn't it?

Can't help but wonder if he who trusts too much is more to blame than the one who proves untrustworthy.  Is it, after all, really that surprising?  Can you blame a person for taking advantage when a target offers himself up like a John Littlewit at Bartholomew Fair?

(image:  the dividing of territory in the opening scenes of Kurosawa's Ran)

In which Piers ponders a night dining out

Our little town has a new restaurant!  It's going in at the end of our street, right next to the brand new Hampton Inn!  It's sure to be something positioned to fill the mid-range dining option gap here!  It's . . .

loose bits

 I had to complete an exercise the other day in which I listed three things about myself (two true, one false).  It got me thinking:  are there other interesting things about me that might not be general knowledge?  These are all true:

1.  I've flown in the cockpit of a commercial airliner.
2.  I've sung karaoke . . . in Japan.
3.  I've fed pigeons in Trafalgar square.
4.  I've stood for "Dixie" while it was being played by a British military band.
5.  I've fallen off my bike while stopped at a stoplight.
6.  I've owned (and tried to play) what many consider the worst video game ever made.
7.  I've done a scuba dive on a sunken hotel.
8.  I've waded several miles in waist-deep floodwater . . . and then squished directly into McDonald's for dinner.
9.  I've stood on the spot where Magellan was supposedly slain.
10.  I know first-hand what an APC-mounted 14.5 mm heavy machine gun sounds like.

I don't have any idea why I made this list . . . these things were just rattling around in my brain. 

"The power of discipline"

Read Dr. Helen's reaction to a book preaching its virtues.

I'm not ready to give up on it entirely, but has my devotion to discipline lived up to its promise?

In a word, no.  Read Herbert's "The Collar," or "The Bunch of Grapes."  I wish I had his faith.

"This sure ain't no great Valhalla / Coming closer each turn of the wheel"

"What then?"

His chosen comrades thought at school
He must grow a famous man;
He thought the same and lived by rule,
All his twenties crammed with toil;
'What then?' sang Plato's ghost.  'What then?'

Everything he wrote was read,
After certain years he won
Sufficient money for his need,
Friends that have been friends indeed;
'What then?' sang Plato's ghost.  ' What then?'

All his happier dreams came true -
A small old house, wife, daughter, son,
Grounds where plum and cabbage grew,
poets and Wits about him drew;
'What then.?' sang Plato's ghost.  'What then?'

The work is done,' grown old he thought,
'According to my boyish plan;
Let the fools rage, I swerved in naught,
Something to perfection brought';
But louder sang that ghost, 'What then?'

--William Butler Yeats, 1938 

turn the wheel again--abandon not your post. 

In which Piers does improv

Quick!  You've prepared a syllabus based on the first edition of your textbook, and your students have been provided with the second edition!  GO!

The volume editor took out two of my core selections, the son of a gun.  Good thing I'm fast on my feet!  (*audience laughs*)

Longbourn

Visited a colleague (JG) and his family at their house on Friday; it was a wonderful evening.  Their (four!!) daughters were quite accommodating of our little brood of boys, and the house was pleasantly active and noisy.  The dogs added to the feeling of festivity.  I mentioned to him that their house (what a house!) reminded me so much of the house in the A&E Pride & Prejudice that it wasn't funny.  He demurred that they don't have the "staff" that the Bennetts had.  Still:  a lovely time, and all the more rare because the five of us (three barbaric boys included) hardly ever go to anyone else's place other than grandparents' and Uncle B's. 

In other news, we have two cherry tomato plants, one roma, and two "jet star" tomato plants.  Well.  The cherry tomato plants are almost five feet tall, no joke.  One fell over today, and I don't know if it's going to make it through the remainder of the growing season, even though we've tied it up every which way we know.  A good stiff windstorm may very well take out the entire tomato patch.  Finding a good tomato cage is a trick, apparently.  Especially when they grow five feet tall!  Ridiculous!

Targeted Ads

Sometimes the ads on Facebook make me laugh. 

This one, for instance:  since those online doctorates are so valuable and all. 

If there's some algorithm that determines which ads are targeted at me, this one's a real winner--I've been looking for a fourth postsecondary degree, really I have.

Hey, at least the model has a nice smile.

Google Earth

Doing some research for a travel study a colleague and I are offering next May, I opened up Google Earth to see the location of some of the spots we wanted to visit.  I then surfed over to look at places I've visited:  Salzburg, Luxembourg, Zurich, Rudolstadt, Brussels, Huizingen, Amsterdam, Weimar . . . such good good memories.  I think I loved Salzburg best of all, though our brief stay in Zurich was also pretty hard to beat.   Of course, that was twenty years ago--which doesn't seem possible, but there you have it. 

The question is, if I go with JG and a whole group to the UK for a travel study, will they be able to get me back on the plane to return to West Tennessee?