In which Piers sees a heartbreaking episode

At Jonathan's karate class tonight, one of the newer boys had an episode that was painful to watch.  He is a bit of a free spirit, and shows a marked lack of self-control--i.e., he finds it hard to remember to stand still, to follow directions, etc.  Well, tonight was his belt graduation night.  However, he got off to a really rough start in the drills for the day.  By the time his "test" came up, he had already used up all the chances the instructor was going to give.  During a sparring round, he started to kick and punch, caught up in the pleasure and excitement of the moment.  Instructor R made him sit down and informed him that he was not going to graduate to the next belt tonight.  The poor kid begged for yet another chance, but Instructor R was implacable.  He cried and cried, and called himself a loser.  Instructor R said, "no.  You just need to follow instructions.  No one can do that for you but you." 

At the end of the class, Instructor R had the little boy go apologize to his parents and tell them that he would do better next time.  The dad didn't move a muscle--didn't even change expression.  That was the part that broke my heart.  That little boy desperately wants his father's approval and maybe a glimmer of encouragement.  He got nothing.


I'm not perfect, but even I can tell when a little boy needs a dad's hug or pat on the back.  Anything.  Life will beat the boy down in time anyway--why not give him a boost while you still can?

Pains in the neck

I've had a crick in my neck that won't go away. . . and in fact, it appears to be getting worse, sending shooting pains down the middle of my back.  The Runner thinks it's stress because I'm carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders.



Let's examine, shall we?


1.  Keeping up with an online class is a bigger job than one thinks it might be, and it's made that much worse by the utter disaster that is Blackboard 9.  What a bloated, crappy piece of software.

2.  I have a student who is trying to finish her degree but keeps coming to class with stories like this:  "he came into the house last night, punched a hole in the wall, and threw me across the room."  whaaaa?

3.  I have another student whose end-of-class writings include things like, "I like to be in class because when it's over I have to go home to my girlfriend," and "I cook every night because apparently she can't."  whaaaaa?

4.  I know I should exercise, but honestly:  I have no energy.  I think it's time I did something about this set of drugs.  And yes, I know I keep talking about it without doing anything about it.

5.  There are marriages in our immediate circle of acquaintances that are in various stages of breaking up.  

...and these are just some of the immediate things in my little bitty world.  I'm not even going to address the news.

In which Piers has an outburst

One of the most trying things this semester has been the long, drawn-out process of searching for new faculty members:  one department chair, one Spanish professor, and one assistant English professor.  I somehow managed to avoid all the search committees, but still, the work has been weighing on us all to some extent.  In the department meeting on Friday in which we met to discuss the final set of candidates for the chair position, it became clear that one of them would win almost by default (the other two had been seriously deficient in one way or another).  During the discussion, I griped about the presentation of one of the candidates, loudly insisting that what she delivered was undergraduate quality.

But that wasn't the outburst . . . just a warm-up to the main event.  When one of my colleagues (who, I'll admit, I find off-putting in some instances) pointed out a problem in the "process" of the previous vote (the one my good friend JVG won by a scant margin), allowing some of our colleagues to apparently "abuse" the vote.  It was at that point that I barked out a challenge, asking him if he was accusing someone of actually abusing a vote in the department.  He affirmed that he was, whereupon I barked again that I'd like him to reveal which of his colleagues he was leveling the accusation at.  He said he didn't know.  I then demanded, "well, you must have some idea.  Was it one of us?  Perhaps somebody in this room fraudulently voted??"  He didn't back down, but did later come over and try to clear the air with me (by saying I'd misunderstood, and yet again repeating the same things he'd already said).  I assured him that I must have gotten the wrong idea.

I don't like losing my temper in a situation like that.  It leaves me far too exposed.

n.b.:  I'm not a fool.  I know quite well that when people start wanting to revise the process of a vote, it's because they didn't like the outcome.  Just like I know that when people start squawking about being "civil" they really just want to be able to control the argument though their ideas are losing.  And yes, I have historical precedent to prove it.

There are times when it's hard to come up with stuff to say.

Apparently, this week has been one of those times.  But I'm not dead!

Having the windows open at the house is nice.

The evening breezes are cool, and the fresh air helps the house feel less cramped.

The boys enjoy their time outside.  Yesterday evening, for instance, after getting home from Tae Kwon Do class, the elder two went to the swingset . . . I pushed Little Red while The Kindergartner swung himself and sang at the top of his lungs.

The downside:  See the picture.

Every day confirms anew the importance of this question

Given that I have a limited supply,
and that lots of things are pulling at it,
and that I lack the optimism I once had,

what is really worth my effort and attention?

Burton knows how it goes.

This Spring Break (almost over, as fate would have it) puts this in mind:

Voluntary solitariness is that which is familiar with melancholy, and gently brings on like a Siren, a shoeing-horn, or some sphinx to this irrevocable gulf, [1559]a primary cause, Piso calls it; most pleasant it is at first, to such as are melancholy given, to lie in bed whole days, and keep their chambers, to walk alone in some solitary grove, betwixt wood and water, by a brook side, to meditate upon some delightsome and pleasant subject, which shall affect them most; amabilis insania, et mentis gratissimus error: a most incomparable delight it is so to melancholise, and build castles in the air, to go smiling to themselves, acting an infinite variety of parts, which they suppose and strongly imagine they represent, or that they see acted or done: Blandae quidem ab initio, saith Lemnius, to conceive and meditate of such pleasant things, sometimes, [1560]present, past, or to come, as Rhasis speaks. So delightsome these toys are at first, they could spend whole days and nights without sleep, even whole years alone in such contemplations, and fantastical meditations, which are like unto dreams, and they will hardly be drawn from them, or willingly interrupt, so pleasant their vain conceits are, that they hinder their ordinary tasks and necessary business, they cannot address themselves to them, or almost to any study or employment, these fantastical and bewitching thoughts so covertly, so feelingly, so urgently, so continually set upon, creep in, insinuate, possess, overcome, distract, and detain them, they cannot, I say, go about their more necessary business, stave off or extricate themselves, but are ever musing, melancholising, and carried along, as he (they say) that is led round about a heath with a Puck in the night, they run earnestly on in this labyrinth of anxious and solicitous melancholy meditations, and cannot well or willingly refrain, or easily leave off, winding and unwinding themselves, as so many clocks, and still pleasing their humours, until at last the scene is turned upon a sudden, by some bad object, and they being now habituated to such vain meditations and solitary places, can endure no company, can ruminate of nothing but harsh and distasteful subjects.

(Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy, Pt. 1, Sec. 2, Memb. 2, Subs. 6)

Add to this my reading Ishiguro's The Remains of the Day (a beautiful book).

Tenure & Promotion Watch, 2011

I was at the coffee shop this morning and in walks my dean, Prof. A.  She says, "I just finished approving your tenure application!"  Now it goes to the office of the VCAA (a.k.a. "provost") for final institutional approval. 

Looking like One Little Victory:

Lord have mercy.

Picture:  Ray Morimura

The world's a wonderful place--
If you don't mind laughing at your mistakes
If you don't mind feeling like you've lost your brakes
And if you don't mind
A touch of hell
Every now and then--
--Harrod & Funck



How long, O LORD? wilt thou hide thyself for ever? shall thy wrath burn like fire?
Remember how short my time is: wherefore hast thou made all men in vain?
--Psalm 89: 46-47






Certainly praise; let song mount again and again
For life as it blossoms out in a jar or a face,
For vegetal patience, for animal courage and grace:
Some have been happy; some, even, were great men.

But hear the morning's injured weeping and know why:
Ramparts and souls have fallen; the will of the unjust
Has never lacked an engine; still all princes must
Employ the fairly-noble unifying lie.

History opposes its grief to our bouyant song,
To our hope its warning.  One star has warmed to birth
One puzzled species that has yet to prove its worth:

The quick new West is false, and prodigious but wrong
The flower-like Hundred Families who for so long
In the Eighteen Provinces have modified the earth.


--W. H. Auden, "Sonnets from China" XI

Falcon

I've got a dozen or so fountain pens of varying quality; I like to rotate them with different colors, etc. 

I've decided that another fountain pen with a M or F steel nib is the last thing I need; what I should focus on now is writing instruments with some kind of character to them--either 18k or 14k gold nibs, or vintage provenance (like my 1972 Pilot), or special writing properties.  Like the item on the left, the Namiki Falcon...a pen famous for having an extra-flexible nib. 

Maybe I'll treat myself at some point.  Or if any reader is looking for a gift to get me, this or an italic nib Pelikan would do nicely.

Farewell, Simon

We had to throw Simon out of the house.  He deliberately swiped at and scratched the baby one too many times.  He's angry about it, and isn't getting along with Garage Kitty, so I don't know what we're going to do other than show that we're bigger and more stubborn than he is.  I don't like it, but I'm not going to accept our cat taking shots at the children.  Alas.

Know anyone who would like an affectionate 20-pound tabby?

Adventures with Students, vol. 27

This should actually be named, "adventures with my own mind."

I can tell I'm tired and stressed, and tired due to stress, because I'm even more scatterbrained than usual.  For instance, toward the end of a discussion of "Upon Appleton House" today, I referenced the following:



That was effectively the end of class.

3.

Weekend Update, Little Red birthday eve edition

The Runner is in Texas tonight, so she can help her family lay Boompaw (Boompa? Boombox?) to rest.  Apparently 103 years were plenty for him.  One hundred and three hard-livin' years, I might add:  digging oil wells in Texas and Latin America, not to mention the grocery business, etc.

We haven't done too poorly for ourselves here, even though the weather outside has been a bit cold.  Both days, the boys went out for a little bit.  Today they decided that they'd add painting to their list of activities, so I had to dig out the tempera paints and the paintbrushes and the paper and some shirts to use as smocks . . . I had three colors to offer them, so they used red, white, and blue.  The result was as one might expect:  a range of purple to pink blotches of color.

I watched an Akira Kurosawa film last night, and felt really virtuous until I realized that I was watching one I'd already seen.  Should have chosen Rashomon over Sanjuro, darn the luck.

Speaking of movies, the boys really enjoyed watching The Lion King 1-1/2 yesterday and today.  It's fun to hear them get tickled at stuff. And then repeat it approximately 28583 times.

I'm distressed by two things: 
1)  I just haven't gotten enough done this weekend. 
2) Apparently, several of my friends and colleagues have decided to become ass-heads for the time being.  It's possible I'm just being a crank, but I've heard and read some incredibly stupid stuff the past couple of days.  I keep stifling my responses, knowing that communicating my scorn is highly unlikely to help matters. 

Little Red's birthday is tomorrow.  We're going to keep that detail on the down low until The Runner can get back.  He won't know the difference. We will, but that's part of the parenting deal.

Don Colacho’s Aphorisms: #2,888

#2,888

The sinister uniformity that threatens us will not be imposed by a doctrine, but by a uniform economic and social conditioning.

Escolios a un Texto Implícito: Selección, p. 462

via don-colacho.blogspot.com

dystopia: not at the muzzle of a gun.

It'll Never Work!

It would fill the world with innumerable immoralities and give such occasion for intrigues as people can not meet with. You would have a couple of lovers make a midnight assignation upon the top of the monument and see the cupola of St. Paul's covered with both sexes like the outside of a pigeon house. Nothing would be more frequent than to see a beau flying in at a garret window or a gallant giving chase to his mistress like a hawk after a lark.

- Joseph Addison. [Concerns about where manned flight might lead (1713)]

via lhup.edu

Joseph Addison wasn't convinced that manned flight would be a good (moral!) idea.

Adventures with Students, vol. 26

Or, "the mystery admirer."

Much was made of this in my class yesterday:

• there is a billboard in the university center asking, "what do you like about UTM?"
• my name is written on that billboard.
• someone drew a heart around my name.