I'm sort of suspended in time at the moment- nearing the finishing of my chapter but unsure how to end it nicely, nearing the end of my visit to London but still not having seen my three closest transatlantic friends yet (hopefully this weekend).
Last week my mother visited and we had a wonderful time, though I think I may have exhausted her with all the walking, especially when I took her up Tottenham court road where I was convinced there was a wonderful tea house, only to discover the teahouse was in Soho, and also when I confidently took us down Commercial st. in the east end in the wrong direction for four blocks. Don't even get me started on my greatest flub: when I got to the library I told her she could easily get a reader's card since the website says all you need is proof of address and signature. Instead the guy there quizzed her about her research project and asked what specific texts she wanted to see. She didn't know, so he refused to give her a card. Luckily there was still a lot for her to see at the library, so when we met up after I'd finished looking at my rare books she stopped me from groveling. Note to non-academic, formerly academic or partly academic friends: make sure to check out the catalogue and invent a research project before you apply for a reader's card at the BL.
I've seen three plays so far: Michael Frayn's Afterlife at the National- brilliantly written but hampered by its own conceit; The Female of the Species in the W. End- excellently acted by Eilieen Atikins, Anna Maxwell Martin and Sophie Thompson, but ridiculously behind the times and heterosexist. I mean, how can you write a play about feminist criticism and not have heard of Kristeva and Butler? And jazz-age Twelfth Night in Regent's park- not quite jazz-age and a little bit imbalanced. None of them thrillingly good, but all very entertaining.
I've seen a French film (L'heur de l'ete) at the Curzon, had divinely good and affordable Dim Sum (in Paddington, of all places! Better than Royal China and Wong Kei- it's called Pearl Liang and it's transcendental) and returned to Whitechapel for my favorite curry, which was still excellent though I noticed they'd upped their prices by about a pound all around. I also discovered that the bus I take to the British library stops around the corner from the divinely inspired curry place (which is near the Whitechapel Bell Foundry), which means I'll probably get to have the curry twice more before I leave. Yay! I've also spent time with my oldest friend from home and her family, along with family friends old and new, all of whom live or stay in North London.
I still have to return to Islington to my favorite pub, meet up with various friends from the early modern blogosphere, catch a prom, and see the aerially acrobatic Timon at the globe and the Goth Revenger's Tragedy at the National.
And I have to finish this chapter.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Londinium
A selection of random observations about this particular trip to London.
1. The flat I'm occupying is owned by perhaps the nicest 60-ish couple I have met other than my parents. He's a distinguished prof on the West Coast, she's an artist. The flat is large for London, though it doesn't get a lot of light. It's furnished with English antiques and books. There's a small bookcase near the doorway to the bedroom, full of books on the topic of which this professor is an expert. I pulled one off the shelf, thinking I'd learn a bit more about his subject- and discovered that everything in the shelf was authored by him.
This makes eight books published in the US plus 2 or 3 published in Europe, plus a 7 volume translation. Okay, so he collaborated on the most recent book and on the translation. But not one is an edited anthology, so still, it's a phenomenal amount of work for any one professor, and even more when you consider that every one of these books is about the work of the same author. Grand total of books authored, edited and translated by this professor: 18. Grand total of books authored, edited and translated by Pamphilia: 0; 1 in progress. (.75 Down, 17.25 to go).
2. I just finished Michael Chabon's first novel, The Mysteries of Pittsburgh, which was hilarious. There's no television in the flat, so I've been reading novels (not that I'd watch TV in London anyway of course). Anyway, it's sad and hilarious. At one point the hero decides to go on the lam with his partner and they check in to a hotel "under the name of Saunders." Hee- they think they're being obscure and literary but it's Winnie the Pooh.
Anyway, at the back of the book was an essay by Chabon about writing his first novel. He says that there are three parts to being a successful writer: talent, discipline, and luck. And the only thing anyone ever has any control over is discipline. So that became his work ethic. I keep thinking about this while I'm here because I've actually become a lot less disciplined than I used to be. I mean a long time ago, when I was in high school and did all my homework every night and practiced the piano every day for 3 hours. I was fairly disciplined in College too- I don't mean that I drafted my papers in advance, but I did turn them in on time. I wonder what happened- when or where I lost this rigorous discipline. Was it in graduate school when I had the luxury of focusing only on one thing? Or was it living by myself that eroded my discipline- there was no one around to tell me what to do, or to set a good example? In any case, I've resolved to become more disciplined.
3. Taking the bus from where I'm staying to the BL today in the rain (I sat up on top), I overheard a lovely elderly British couple narrating the bus-trip to one another. He was pointing out landmarks to her, so she must have just come in to town. It was sweet the way they talked with wonder about all the newfangled technology taking over the world- cellphones with email and pictures and music and such. When we passed Mme Tussaud's the man said that he went once, but that was "before the War." I don't know which war he meant, but "things were different then."
4. I didn't really know what "Expensive" meant until I had been here a week. "Expensive" is basically the fact that everything that should cost what it would cost anywhere else, is not available for anything less than a ridiculously high price. Sandwiches are $7, and lunch is $30. EVERYWHERE. It's July and lots of things are "on sale." This means that tee-shirts are only $40 instead of $80.
5. The British Library is full of people you think you know, but don't. Everyone looks vaguely familiar and you will inevitably bound toward someone thinking he or she is your friend or colleague and then be embarrassed when they turn around. This meant that when I did see a colleague from a neighboring university, I approached him timidly and barely whispered his name. Which of course meant that our entire conversation was conducted in barely audible whispers because he thought I was being extra polite (sssh, it's a library).
6. Timeout London knows everything. Where else can you find information about the London Bat Watch and nude men's yoga in Islington?
1. The flat I'm occupying is owned by perhaps the nicest 60-ish couple I have met other than my parents. He's a distinguished prof on the West Coast, she's an artist. The flat is large for London, though it doesn't get a lot of light. It's furnished with English antiques and books. There's a small bookcase near the doorway to the bedroom, full of books on the topic of which this professor is an expert. I pulled one off the shelf, thinking I'd learn a bit more about his subject- and discovered that everything in the shelf was authored by him.
This makes eight books published in the US plus 2 or 3 published in Europe, plus a 7 volume translation. Okay, so he collaborated on the most recent book and on the translation. But not one is an edited anthology, so still, it's a phenomenal amount of work for any one professor, and even more when you consider that every one of these books is about the work of the same author. Grand total of books authored, edited and translated by this professor: 18. Grand total of books authored, edited and translated by Pamphilia: 0; 1 in progress. (.75 Down, 17.25 to go).
2. I just finished Michael Chabon's first novel, The Mysteries of Pittsburgh, which was hilarious. There's no television in the flat, so I've been reading novels (not that I'd watch TV in London anyway of course). Anyway, it's sad and hilarious. At one point the hero decides to go on the lam with his partner and they check in to a hotel "under the name of Saunders." Hee- they think they're being obscure and literary but it's Winnie the Pooh.
Anyway, at the back of the book was an essay by Chabon about writing his first novel. He says that there are three parts to being a successful writer: talent, discipline, and luck. And the only thing anyone ever has any control over is discipline. So that became his work ethic. I keep thinking about this while I'm here because I've actually become a lot less disciplined than I used to be. I mean a long time ago, when I was in high school and did all my homework every night and practiced the piano every day for 3 hours. I was fairly disciplined in College too- I don't mean that I drafted my papers in advance, but I did turn them in on time. I wonder what happened- when or where I lost this rigorous discipline. Was it in graduate school when I had the luxury of focusing only on one thing? Or was it living by myself that eroded my discipline- there was no one around to tell me what to do, or to set a good example? In any case, I've resolved to become more disciplined.
3. Taking the bus from where I'm staying to the BL today in the rain (I sat up on top), I overheard a lovely elderly British couple narrating the bus-trip to one another. He was pointing out landmarks to her, so she must have just come in to town. It was sweet the way they talked with wonder about all the newfangled technology taking over the world- cellphones with email and pictures and music and such. When we passed Mme Tussaud's the man said that he went once, but that was "before the War." I don't know which war he meant, but "things were different then."
4. I didn't really know what "Expensive" meant until I had been here a week. "Expensive" is basically the fact that everything that should cost what it would cost anywhere else, is not available for anything less than a ridiculously high price. Sandwiches are $7, and lunch is $30. EVERYWHERE. It's July and lots of things are "on sale." This means that tee-shirts are only $40 instead of $80.
5. The British Library is full of people you think you know, but don't. Everyone looks vaguely familiar and you will inevitably bound toward someone thinking he or she is your friend or colleague and then be embarrassed when they turn around. This meant that when I did see a colleague from a neighboring university, I approached him timidly and barely whispered his name. Which of course meant that our entire conversation was conducted in barely audible whispers because he thought I was being extra polite (sssh, it's a library).
6. Timeout London knows everything. Where else can you find information about the London Bat Watch and nude men's yoga in Islington?
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
John Milton: Sexy Rockstar
So I'm heading off to London today, to catch the tail-end of the Milton conference and mostly really to finish writing my book. That sounds equally satisfying and fictitious, "to finish writing my book," as if I were some sort of creative genuis, when really all I'm doing is finishing a chapter, fixing another up, and writing a new introduction. Hardly qualifies as "book writing."
Waiting for my flight, I decided to catch-up on some older issues of the New Yorker, where I found Jonathan Rosen's little piece on Milton, which I think a colleague had recommended I check out. Much as I love the way a kicky modern word or phrase must be employed where no other will do (like when Rosen describes Satan and Gabriel "trash-talking" for instance), I did find myself biting my lip with disapproval. Rosen portrays Milton as a sexually avid rockstar well-versed in kamasutra and polyamory: "Nevermind that there were actually three Mrs. Miltons, and that Milton, who defended divorce and even polygamy, was a sensuous Purtitan, exquisitely attuned to the "amorous delay" of life in Eden." This is clearly a case of the poet being confused with the poetry.
I mean, really. Just because he happened to have three marriages- hastened not by two tame divorces as Rosen suggests here, but by two tragically premature deaths - and wrote stunningly beautiful passages about angelic and Edenic sex, we are supposed to believe that Milton was great in bed?
"Exquisitely attuned to the 'amorous delay'"? What is that supposed to mean? Milton was Casanova? He knew all about foreplay? (Maybe delay is the reason his first wife ran away for three years).
I, for one, would rather not try to imagine what Milton was like in bed, though I'm sure an historical novel is already in the works (by Philippa Gregory). Suffice it to say, it will not be taking up residence on my nightstand. . . unless some idiot buys it for me.
Waiting for my flight, I decided to catch-up on some older issues of the New Yorker, where I found Jonathan Rosen's little piece on Milton, which I think a colleague had recommended I check out. Much as I love the way a kicky modern word or phrase must be employed where no other will do (like when Rosen describes Satan and Gabriel "trash-talking" for instance), I did find myself biting my lip with disapproval. Rosen portrays Milton as a sexually avid rockstar well-versed in kamasutra and polyamory: "Nevermind that there were actually three Mrs. Miltons, and that Milton, who defended divorce and even polygamy, was a sensuous Purtitan, exquisitely attuned to the "amorous delay" of life in Eden." This is clearly a case of the poet being confused with the poetry.
I mean, really. Just because he happened to have three marriages- hastened not by two tame divorces as Rosen suggests here, but by two tragically premature deaths - and wrote stunningly beautiful passages about angelic and Edenic sex, we are supposed to believe that Milton was great in bed?
"Exquisitely attuned to the 'amorous delay'"? What is that supposed to mean? Milton was Casanova? He knew all about foreplay? (Maybe delay is the reason his first wife ran away for three years).
I, for one, would rather not try to imagine what Milton was like in bed, though I'm sure an historical novel is already in the works (by Philippa Gregory). Suffice it to say, it will not be taking up residence on my nightstand. . . unless some idiot buys it for me.
Friday, July 04, 2008
Sparks of Light
It's Friday the 4th here in the land of legalized fireworks. I'm still getting used to that. People start setting them off a full two weeks before the holiday, in their backyards, on the street. Yesterday evening I wandered over to my colleague's house to say hello and her husband nonchalantly gathered about six or seven (on sale at Walmart!) and lit them in the street. If she hadn't objected, he would have lit them all at once. We sat on the terrace and watched, her four-year-old son rapt.
Tonight the 4th conincided with a local gallery hop, which happens once a month. It's not much- about three blocks of galleries and shops that stay open late with free food and sometimes wine. But I'm very glad it exists. It's nice to see the sub-culture here (aka liberals) getting a chance to strut its stuff.
Going to the gallery night and watching fireworks reminded me of the city where I attended graduate school. It's a place I will always associate with a combination of joy, melancholy and irony. Probably because that's what it feels like to be a graduate student, more than anything else.
I'm pretty sure I've blogged about this before, but it's become the story I tote out once a year on the 4th of July. Like on my birthday when my father tells me the story of the Great Ice Storm of '7_, and how while I snuggled under my mother's arm in the hospital as she slept off the anesthetic, he had to stay at home without power, grading papers in the bathtub surrounded by shabbos candles with the cat on the toilet and the dog on the bathmat.
Anyway, one summer, towards the end of our careers as doctoral students, my friends and I hovered in a liminal state of not-being-quite-done, not knowing where any of us would be in two years time, and I think I was heading to Oxford in a few months.
My dear friend e__ had been volunteering as a docent at a crumbling, dilapidated 19th century former prison- a Panopticon -on the top of a small hill in the city. At the time, the place was applying for historical landmark status, though it was in such a state of ruin that everyone who visited had to wear a hard hat. It was great fun, though- in addition to tours of the cells there were ongoing art installations during the year and film screenings in the summer. Anyway, this friend of mine had keys to the place, and since the lookout tower of the prison was very near the location of the city's main firework display, she contrived to sneak us into the prison and up into the lookout tower. We had brought picnic food, wine and beer too, I think. Since we had to sneak in, we used flashlights. It was still very dark.
It was deliciously thrilling, in that somewhat illicit way that makes you feel like a teenager breaking curfew or a kid playing "ghost in the graveyard" at dusk, near a real graveyard. [Edit: I have since learned that this place is featured on a documentary about real ghost hunters. Apparently the electromagnetic reverberation thingies or whatever they call them are off the charts]. Once we got to the top of the lookout tower, we waited for it to get darker and for the fireworks to start. We saw far-off ones bursting over one of the rivers, little pocks of light. Suddenly they were right overhead. I mean, literally over our heads and larger than any of us had imagined. If it weren't so beautiful, I might have compared it to what I imagine a psychedelic alien abduction might feel like, with lights as big as spaceships reaching their fingers down toward our heads.
This city also had a monthly gallery night, to which I and my friends duly repaired. And I remember for the first time (in early September) wandering into one that was unlike the others. For one, it was completely dark. There were black velvet curtains in the window blocking out all the light. A small card rested on the window sill stating that the gallery's hours were "By chance or appointment." There were velvet curtains in the vestibule (dark purple, I think). It was hushed inside, but there might have been faint, ambient chords struck now and then. At least that is how I remember it.
When I got inside, it was still dark, with black walls illuminated softly by chandeliers, pendant lamps, and sconces constructed out of collected ceramic and metal objects. These lights seemed magical, iconic in a sort-of Jungian way. And funny. A ceramic rabbit standing on two legs dressed in a suit, holding an umbrella made out of a sieve through which tiny points of light sparked. A chandelier like a medusa's head of twisted copper pipes, with tiny flame-shaped bulbs flickering at the end of each snake. And my favorite, a chandelier made entirely from teapots, their spouts pointing down and out away from the center, ending in bulbs the shape of little jets of water.
I know it's still there. But I checked the website and couldn't find the teapot or the rabbit lamps.
Tonight the 4th conincided with a local gallery hop, which happens once a month. It's not much- about three blocks of galleries and shops that stay open late with free food and sometimes wine. But I'm very glad it exists. It's nice to see the sub-culture here (aka liberals) getting a chance to strut its stuff.
Going to the gallery night and watching fireworks reminded me of the city where I attended graduate school. It's a place I will always associate with a combination of joy, melancholy and irony. Probably because that's what it feels like to be a graduate student, more than anything else.
I'm pretty sure I've blogged about this before, but it's become the story I tote out once a year on the 4th of July. Like on my birthday when my father tells me the story of the Great Ice Storm of '7_, and how while I snuggled under my mother's arm in the hospital as she slept off the anesthetic, he had to stay at home without power, grading papers in the bathtub surrounded by shabbos candles with the cat on the toilet and the dog on the bathmat.
Anyway, one summer, towards the end of our careers as doctoral students, my friends and I hovered in a liminal state of not-being-quite-done, not knowing where any of us would be in two years time, and I think I was heading to Oxford in a few months.
My dear friend e__ had been volunteering as a docent at a crumbling, dilapidated 19th century former prison- a Panopticon -on the top of a small hill in the city. At the time, the place was applying for historical landmark status, though it was in such a state of ruin that everyone who visited had to wear a hard hat. It was great fun, though- in addition to tours of the cells there were ongoing art installations during the year and film screenings in the summer. Anyway, this friend of mine had keys to the place, and since the lookout tower of the prison was very near the location of the city's main firework display, she contrived to sneak us into the prison and up into the lookout tower. We had brought picnic food, wine and beer too, I think. Since we had to sneak in, we used flashlights. It was still very dark.
It was deliciously thrilling, in that somewhat illicit way that makes you feel like a teenager breaking curfew or a kid playing "ghost in the graveyard" at dusk, near a real graveyard. [Edit: I have since learned that this place is featured on a documentary about real ghost hunters. Apparently the electromagnetic reverberation thingies or whatever they call them are off the charts]. Once we got to the top of the lookout tower, we waited for it to get darker and for the fireworks to start. We saw far-off ones bursting over one of the rivers, little pocks of light. Suddenly they were right overhead. I mean, literally over our heads and larger than any of us had imagined. If it weren't so beautiful, I might have compared it to what I imagine a psychedelic alien abduction might feel like, with lights as big as spaceships reaching their fingers down toward our heads.
This city also had a monthly gallery night, to which I and my friends duly repaired. And I remember for the first time (in early September) wandering into one that was unlike the others. For one, it was completely dark. There were black velvet curtains in the window blocking out all the light. A small card rested on the window sill stating that the gallery's hours were "By chance or appointment." There were velvet curtains in the vestibule (dark purple, I think). It was hushed inside, but there might have been faint, ambient chords struck now and then. At least that is how I remember it.
When I got inside, it was still dark, with black walls illuminated softly by chandeliers, pendant lamps, and sconces constructed out of collected ceramic and metal objects. These lights seemed magical, iconic in a sort-of Jungian way. And funny. A ceramic rabbit standing on two legs dressed in a suit, holding an umbrella made out of a sieve through which tiny points of light sparked. A chandelier like a medusa's head of twisted copper pipes, with tiny flame-shaped bulbs flickering at the end of each snake. And my favorite, a chandelier made entirely from teapots, their spouts pointing down and out away from the center, ending in bulbs the shape of little jets of water.
I know it's still there. But I checked the website and couldn't find the teapot or the rabbit lamps.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
London Countdown
8 days. God, I cannot WAIT to get there- it is beautiful but almost a wasteland here in the summer, and I seriously think I might go insane here with nothing but the book I'm writing, an internet connection, and the cat.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Addiction
Okay, I'll admit it. I'm totally addicted to Apartment Therapy. I like looking at "sneak peek" slideshows of other people's houses (people and houses far more creative than anyone I know). And I like reading about DIY vintage furniture rehab projects, how to make hanging lights out of mason jars, wacky color combinations and the "smallest coolest apartment" contests. I spend too many hours reading about beer-keg balcony planters and staircases that double as bookcases on blogs like Design Sponge out of Brooklyn, and the twee Oh Joy! out of Philly.
I'm an apartment-geek. I confess it freely. I don't know where this obsession comes from- maybe it derives from living on the cheap in tiny urban apartments over the past 10 years. Or maybe it's because even now that I live in a (tiny) house, I live in the South, where interior design generally falls between suburban "Country" and overstuffed Louis XVI.
Despite the fact that I am insanely jealous of the cute couples who blog about their urban domestic bliss (most of which has to be- just has to be -literary fiction: No one's life is that perfect, and if it were why would you blog about it?), I keep coming back. So I guess maybe this addiction is really about fantasy- that domestic bliss can be had at all.
End of confession.
I'm an apartment-geek. I confess it freely. I don't know where this obsession comes from- maybe it derives from living on the cheap in tiny urban apartments over the past 10 years. Or maybe it's because even now that I live in a (tiny) house, I live in the South, where interior design generally falls between suburban "Country" and overstuffed Louis XVI.
Despite the fact that I am insanely jealous of the cute couples who blog about their urban domestic bliss (most of which has to be- just has to be -literary fiction: No one's life is that perfect, and if it were why would you blog about it?), I keep coming back. So I guess maybe this addiction is really about fantasy- that domestic bliss can be had at all.
End of confession.
Inaugural Gazpacho
First of the summer using (almost*) all local produce, with homemade Minimalist Bread.
*illegal immigrant bell peppers
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Dog-baby Afternoon
Spotted, Saturday afternoon, at Eastern Market:
1. cute guy with baby in snuggly and two dogs, one in each hand.
2. cute guy with baby in snuggly and adorable puppy.
3. Two cute guys, each with baby in snuggly, each with dog(s), buying ice cream for their wives.
Cute guys: 4
Babies in snugglies: 4
Dogs: 5 or 6- who cares any more?
1. cute guy with baby in snuggly and two dogs, one in each hand.
2. cute guy with baby in snuggly and adorable puppy.
3. Two cute guys, each with baby in snuggly, each with dog(s), buying ice cream for their wives.
Cute guys: 4
Babies in snugglies: 4
Dogs: 5 or 6- who cares any more?
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Fun with History: Wikipedia Date Search
I just discovered something neat: Wikipedia date search. Type in a date, any date, and you get a list of happenings around the world. I tried 1327 and got Edward III crowned king of England and Petrarch meeting Laura, plus a list of famous births and deaths.
Type in 1453 and you learn that the Ottoman capture of Constantinople coincided with the end of the Hundred Years War and the invention of Guttenberg's printing press. All in one year.
Being the narcissist I am, of course I typed in the year of my birth. And learned that the first commercial Concorde took off into the air around the time the UN vetoed a resolution to create an independent Palestinian State. Shortly thereafter, Elizabeth II sent the first royal e-mail and the DC Metro opened. In music, the first Eurovision song-contest coincided with the Ramones releasing their first album, U2 getting together for the first time, and the Eagles releasing "Hotel California." Along with the first known outbreak of the Ebola virus and the death of Mao Zedong.
(Supposedly. It is Wikipedia, after all)
So- how old am I? (More importantly, what search term did you enter to find out? Ramones, Mao, or Eurovision?)
Type in 1453 and you learn that the Ottoman capture of Constantinople coincided with the end of the Hundred Years War and the invention of Guttenberg's printing press. All in one year.
Being the narcissist I am, of course I typed in the year of my birth. And learned that the first commercial Concorde took off into the air around the time the UN vetoed a resolution to create an independent Palestinian State. Shortly thereafter, Elizabeth II sent the first royal e-mail and the DC Metro opened. In music, the first Eurovision song-contest coincided with the Ramones releasing their first album, U2 getting together for the first time, and the Eagles releasing "Hotel California." Along with the first known outbreak of the Ebola virus and the death of Mao Zedong.
(Supposedly. It is Wikipedia, after all)
So- how old am I? (More importantly, what search term did you enter to find out? Ramones, Mao, or Eurovision?)
Friday, June 20, 2008
Why I am not (yet) a Miltonist.
Because studying Milton is like studying Kabbalah: it is preferable to do it when you are over 40 and have read and studied everything else there is to read, in every language.
Okay, so I know that's not true, but it's a funny I came up with at Tea and a Real Miltonist told me it was good material.
Milton's a little later than most of the authors I study, and even though I am enraptured by his writing and teach it as often as I can, I just don't quite feel mature enough to write about it. It's not about the Hebrew, Latin and Greek- (sm)all of which I have (boast much, Pamphilia?). It's about the ideas contained therein. Sure, I might reference Milton in my writing now and then, do a reading of a passage, that sort of thing. But a reference does not a Miltonist make.
I think I'll wait to publish anything seriously devoted to Milton till I'm 40. Or after tenure. At this rate, they'll both happen sooner than I'd like to think.
Okay, so I know that's not true, but it's a funny I came up with at Tea and a Real Miltonist told me it was good material.
Milton's a little later than most of the authors I study, and even though I am enraptured by his writing and teach it as often as I can, I just don't quite feel mature enough to write about it. It's not about the Hebrew, Latin and Greek- (sm)all of which I have (boast much, Pamphilia?). It's about the ideas contained therein. Sure, I might reference Milton in my writing now and then, do a reading of a passage, that sort of thing. But a reference does not a Miltonist make.
I think I'll wait to publish anything seriously devoted to Milton till I'm 40. Or after tenure. At this rate, they'll both happen sooner than I'd like to think.
Progress!
The loose ends of my argument are finally coming together. I've also written large chunks of the chapter and I think I might be able to corral them into a solid document quite soon. Finally.
I've got only a few more days here and I'm doing all I can to continue writing and to call up any old books I need to investigate before I leave. It's making me kind of hyper.
I also just e-mailed a Major Important British Scholar, who has done a tiny bit of work on my Material Objects of Study and he a) remembered my critique of a paper he circulated at least 6 years ago at my graduate institution and b) was interested in my project and said he'd love to read more! He also directed me to his latest article on the subject, which just came out, and has helped me even further.
Even more exciting, today I went down to the PRs and finally surveyed the canon of scholarship on one of my Renaissance authors. I was thrilled to learn that there is still very little treatment of this text. More important, a Major Book that examines his work in relation to the sexier of my two Scholarly Territories does not even mention this text. This is a golden elipsis for me! And the other Renaissance author? Not to worry- everyone hates him.
I can feel that this is going to be something big. So much so that I'm having to check my enthusiasm at this point. I want to keep most of what I've found in my research to myself and guard it well, until it's ready for print. This is a new feeling for me, protectiveness of my ideas. I guess it stems from my belief that anyone could make these connections, if they just knew where to look. And the more I read, the more it becomes clear to me that what I am going to say about my genre and my two Scholarly Territories not only needs to be said, but needs to be said now.
Whew! If I smoked, I would definitely reach for a cigarette.
I've got only a few more days here and I'm doing all I can to continue writing and to call up any old books I need to investigate before I leave. It's making me kind of hyper.
I also just e-mailed a Major Important British Scholar, who has done a tiny bit of work on my Material Objects of Study and he a) remembered my critique of a paper he circulated at least 6 years ago at my graduate institution and b) was interested in my project and said he'd love to read more! He also directed me to his latest article on the subject, which just came out, and has helped me even further.
Even more exciting, today I went down to the PRs and finally surveyed the canon of scholarship on one of my Renaissance authors. I was thrilled to learn that there is still very little treatment of this text. More important, a Major Book that examines his work in relation to the sexier of my two Scholarly Territories does not even mention this text. This is a golden elipsis for me! And the other Renaissance author? Not to worry- everyone hates him.
I can feel that this is going to be something big. So much so that I'm having to check my enthusiasm at this point. I want to keep most of what I've found in my research to myself and guard it well, until it's ready for print. This is a new feeling for me, protectiveness of my ideas. I guess it stems from my belief that anyone could make these connections, if they just knew where to look. And the more I read, the more it becomes clear to me that what I am going to say about my genre and my two Scholarly Territories not only needs to be said, but needs to be said now.
Whew! If I smoked, I would definitely reach for a cigarette.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Fish slime and Brine
So without giving anything away, I've been working with English translations of a racy (to early modern people, apparently) text for this book chapter I'm finishing.
This is only a sampling of one terrible Greek-to-English translation from the middle of the 17th century:
"Fish slime and Brine have made thy penance great,
Come now, into my bosome drop thy sweat."
Hmm . . . I think there's actually good reason why it didn't garner as much acclaim as the more famous version.
This is only a sampling of one terrible Greek-to-English translation from the middle of the 17th century:
"Fish slime and Brine have made thy penance great,
Come now, into my bosome drop thy sweat."
Hmm . . . I think there's actually good reason why it didn't garner as much acclaim as the more famous version.
Saturday, June 07, 2008
Archival Interior Decorating: Brûlé à Gant
My room here is HUGE- three large windows facing the street and the front garden, which at the moment is full of lavender, roses and hydrangea plus some kind of huge bush with glossy laurel-shaped leaves, covered with little sprays of white flowers (they look like miniature lilacs) putting out a too-sweet, very heady scent. The room is twice the size of my bedroom at least.
It's got some nice posters on the wall from the library, one an enlarged miniature portrait of Elizabeth which I quite like and couple of John Austen drawings. But directly above the couch is something a little disturbing. Two facsimile engravings. The bottom engraving depicts what I think are French or Belgian Protestant martyrs at the stake, but after being burnt, all charred and skeletal, with bits of hair and everything. A giant lumbering peasant is poking one of them with a pitchfork. The caption says "David et Levina etrangler et brûlé à Gant, Anno 1554." Anyway, it's kind of cool, but a bit gruesome for a bedroom. (If I had little kids, I'd have to hide it).
The top engraving is much less creepy- it's a portrait of Simon Mercier's arrest in a marketplace in 1553. There are some lumbering, drooling catholic friars in the background ready to pounce, but Simon seems in good health. Nonetheless, the caption reads "Simon Mercier, brûlé à Bergue-ap-Loom, Anno 1553." I thought I knew who Simon Mercier was but I googled him and couldn't find anything. And who are David and Levina and why do they have Jewish names?
Don't even get me started on the anti-Catholic woodcut of bishops at a feast over the bed. As a friend said, it's a good thing I'm not Catholic. Or Vegetarian.
It's got some nice posters on the wall from the library, one an enlarged miniature portrait of Elizabeth which I quite like and couple of John Austen drawings. But directly above the couch is something a little disturbing. Two facsimile engravings. The bottom engraving depicts what I think are French or Belgian Protestant martyrs at the stake, but after being burnt, all charred and skeletal, with bits of hair and everything. A giant lumbering peasant is poking one of them with a pitchfork. The caption says "David et Levina etrangler et brûlé à Gant, Anno 1554." Anyway, it's kind of cool, but a bit gruesome for a bedroom. (If I had little kids, I'd have to hide it).
The top engraving is much less creepy- it's a portrait of Simon Mercier's arrest in a marketplace in 1553. There are some lumbering, drooling catholic friars in the background ready to pounce, but Simon seems in good health. Nonetheless, the caption reads "Simon Mercier, brûlé à Bergue-ap-Loom, Anno 1553." I thought I knew who Simon Mercier was but I googled him and couldn't find anything. And who are David and Levina and why do they have Jewish names?
Don't even get me started on the anti-Catholic woodcut of bishops at a feast over the bed. As a friend said, it's a good thing I'm not Catholic. Or Vegetarian.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Major Breakthrough
Hooray, I've made a major breakthrough in researching this final chapter. I don't have the whole thing written yet and I'm still ironing out the kinks in the argument, but I finally know exactly what to do with the second half of it, and I've discovered something really interesting about the text I'm working with.
Today the rain is coming down sideways in sheets. Its green outside and there's thunder and lightning. This library is already fairly dark inside, and I usually prefer to work in the better lit modern wing, but with the storm outside it's dark in there too.
And I can think of nothing more pleasing than being here, with my books, while it storms outside.
Today the rain is coming down sideways in sheets. Its green outside and there's thunder and lightning. This library is already fairly dark inside, and I usually prefer to work in the better lit modern wing, but with the storm outside it's dark in there too.
And I can think of nothing more pleasing than being here, with my books, while it storms outside.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Dogs and Roses
Ah, how good it feels to walk again! I've been exploring my new neighborhood (no longer with cousins, but in one of the library's apartments), and it reminds me a lot of where I lived in grad school, only with more rose gardens and more dogs (if that is even possible). The smell of roses, lavender, clematis, jasmine and honeysuckle is dizzying. But how good it feels to transport oneself on one's legs. And I'm starting to feel more grounded and less tired too- all it took was a week.
Today and yesterday evening I went exploring, and this afternoon I discovered the nearby market, which expands on the weekends to include local farmers, artists, jewelers, craftspeople and a flea market. I picked up some amazing local strawberries and artisanal cheese, and spent the better part of an hour taking in all the people, including many babies, dogs and cute guys, some with babies, some without- is there anything more adorable than a cute guy wearing a snuggly facing out with a wiggly 2 month-old, I ask you? No, there is not. Except maybe if he were also holding a puppy. Then I think I'd faint.
Now it's gotten very dark and thundery, and rain pours down in buckets. The library's only open for another two and a half hours, and there's tea at 3. I had planned to explore a different neighborhood this afternoon, but I do like a good cozy library and a nice cup of tea, especially when it's raining outside.
Today and yesterday evening I went exploring, and this afternoon I discovered the nearby market, which expands on the weekends to include local farmers, artists, jewelers, craftspeople and a flea market. I picked up some amazing local strawberries and artisanal cheese, and spent the better part of an hour taking in all the people, including many babies, dogs and cute guys, some with babies, some without- is there anything more adorable than a cute guy wearing a snuggly facing out with a wiggly 2 month-old, I ask you? No, there is not. Except maybe if he were also holding a puppy. Then I think I'd faint.
Now it's gotten very dark and thundery, and rain pours down in buckets. The library's only open for another two and a half hours, and there's tea at 3. I had planned to explore a different neighborhood this afternoon, but I do like a good cozy library and a nice cup of tea, especially when it's raining outside.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Marionetta
Good Lord, I am Out of Shape. I arrived in DC last night after a lovely 6 hour train journey and today I decided to go for a nice long walk, explore some shopping neighborhoods by metro and then walk back. The metro stop is only a 12-15 minute walk from where my cousins live, but it was 90 degrees in the sun. I was out of breath and sweating by the time I reached the cool, subterranean metro. And then while trying on clothes, I took stock of my figure and noticed flab in places I never thought could get flab before. And the strain in my lower back, oy vey! Since I moved to suburban southern city to teach, I stopped walking for transportation, started driving. According to a recent visit to the doctor, I have gained 10 pounds over the last 2 years in the south. So my body has not been accustomed to this much walking.
I felt like a marionette, my joints swaying with every step I took.
Thankfully, by the end of my five and a half hour expedition I started to feel more grounded and less out of breath.
This month I'll be walking everywhere again, but for good measure I've also decided to purchase an unlimited monthly pass at a yoga studio near Dupont Circle, which offers Ashtanga 3 times a week, along with Pilates and four levels of Vinyasa flow. I intend to go to class 3-4 days a week. I may not lose those 10 pounds, but at least I will feel like a Real Girl again.
So there you have it. My schedule: 9-5 library; 6:30-8 yoga; 8-whenever, blissed out post-exercise happiness.
I felt like a marionette, my joints swaying with every step I took.
Thankfully, by the end of my five and a half hour expedition I started to feel more grounded and less out of breath.
This month I'll be walking everywhere again, but for good measure I've also decided to purchase an unlimited monthly pass at a yoga studio near Dupont Circle, which offers Ashtanga 3 times a week, along with Pilates and four levels of Vinyasa flow. I intend to go to class 3-4 days a week. I may not lose those 10 pounds, but at least I will feel like a Real Girl again.
So there you have it. My schedule: 9-5 library; 6:30-8 yoga; 8-whenever, blissed out post-exercise happiness.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Dramatic Fugues
Yesterday I had a delightful coffee with Hip Colleague, and we talked about our book projects. He's writing his second book and had a question for me about Renaissance drama. One of his chapters is on Tony Kushner's play Homebody/Kabul and he described the way that play (and much of the Kushner oeuvre) explores a theme or issue through one character, then pass the theme on to the next set of characters, who in turn pass it on to the next, etc. He wondered if there was a literary or dramatic term for this.
I thought about it. And truth to tell, I couldn't find it operating in early modern drama or classical drama. I tend to think of political issues in Shakespeare operating in a somatic way (the body politic, the humors, the veins, the trickling down), and I tend to think of ethical dilemmas in Greek drama and tragedy working vertically downwards from the top to the bottom. Nowhere could I find an early modern or classical drama in which a problem is passed from hand to hand the way my friend was describing.
So I volunteered the term "transference," which sort of sounds literary and theoretical, maybe psychoanalytical too, though I have no idea why it popped into my head at the time. This term, of course, made me think of the pattern my colleague described as a kind of viral movement, which would make sense for Angels in America, though perhaps less so for Homebody/Kabul.
Then I thought of music- fugues in particular. In his fugues, suites and partitias, Bach takes a theme, breaks it down to its smallest elements ("motifs") then works it through different voices, inverting it, turning it inside out and upside down, and augmenting it into larger chord progressions. By the time the fugue finishes, we have seen the theme and its motifs carried through a metamorphosis.
And this kind of musical fugue happens on the 20th century stage as well, most notably in American Musicals- for some reason especially those to which Sondheim contributes. In what I consider his best musical, Sweeney Todd, Sondheim takes the opening of bars of the Latin Mass, inverts it and it becomes "The Ballad of Sweeney Todd." Then he takes the Dies Irae and uses it as a repeated counterpoint motif (as musical accompaniment to a different melody) to signify Sweeney's descent into insanity. You can hear it in the background when he sings "We all deserve to die" in "Epiphany" and it appears in the same song when he returns to the tragic fate of his wife ("My Lucy lies in ashes"). It comes back significantly in the very end in the musical surge when he slits the throat of the beggarwoman.
A concurrent motif from the Dies Irae theme is the tritone interval, a diminished fifth known in Medieval and Renaissance music as diablos in musica, or "the devil in the music." The tritone has a hauntingly unresolved feel to it. It's dissonant and begs for a resolution. Sondheim and Bernstein made great use of it in "Maria" and the opening "Rumble" in West Side Story- you can hear the tritone on "Ma-REE-", and it's resolved on the "-ah." But it's really used to much better effect in Sweeney- you could even say the tritone is the main musical calling card of Sweeney Todd. It shows up in the male ingenue Anthony's ballad "Johanna" which is very similar to "Maria," but much creepier because Sondheim doesn't resolve the tritone into a major triad for a several lines; he keeps it suspended longer. And it shows up again in the harmonies of the hilariously macabre duet "A Little Priest," which closes Act I. When Mrs. Lovett joins Sweeney in cadencing the refrain, they are usually a fourth or a tritone apart, and at the very end, the orchestral accompaniment rises to a series of fast syncopated tritones, an antic and uneasy way to pull the curtain down.
So musically, Sweeney Todd passes the themes of demonic possession, Judgement Day (dies irae or day of wrath) and tragic loss from character to character until they culminate in the "Final Sequence," the tragic denouement in which Sweeney kills his wife and learns of Mrs. Lovett's deception too late.*
So I said all this to my friend and he said he had actually spoken to one of our colleagues about musical motifs in Kushner before, which kind of validated what I'd said, even though I was sort of stretching.
I think one of the reasons why I don't write about Renaissance drama (I prefer poetry and book history) is because if I wrote about drama, I'd really prefer to write about American Musical Theatre.
* I highly recommend the Original Broadway Cast recording from 1979 with Angela Lansbury and Len Cariou, though nearly as good is "Sweeney Todd in Concert" (2001) with George Hearn (Sweeney No. 2 on Broadway) and Patti Lupone with the New York Philharmonic and a number of noted opera stars, along with Neil Patrick Harris who is excellent as Toby.
I thought about it. And truth to tell, I couldn't find it operating in early modern drama or classical drama. I tend to think of political issues in Shakespeare operating in a somatic way (the body politic, the humors, the veins, the trickling down), and I tend to think of ethical dilemmas in Greek drama and tragedy working vertically downwards from the top to the bottom. Nowhere could I find an early modern or classical drama in which a problem is passed from hand to hand the way my friend was describing.
So I volunteered the term "transference," which sort of sounds literary and theoretical, maybe psychoanalytical too, though I have no idea why it popped into my head at the time. This term, of course, made me think of the pattern my colleague described as a kind of viral movement, which would make sense for Angels in America, though perhaps less so for Homebody/Kabul.
Then I thought of music- fugues in particular. In his fugues, suites and partitias, Bach takes a theme, breaks it down to its smallest elements ("motifs") then works it through different voices, inverting it, turning it inside out and upside down, and augmenting it into larger chord progressions. By the time the fugue finishes, we have seen the theme and its motifs carried through a metamorphosis.
And this kind of musical fugue happens on the 20th century stage as well, most notably in American Musicals- for some reason especially those to which Sondheim contributes. In what I consider his best musical, Sweeney Todd, Sondheim takes the opening of bars of the Latin Mass, inverts it and it becomes "The Ballad of Sweeney Todd." Then he takes the Dies Irae and uses it as a repeated counterpoint motif (as musical accompaniment to a different melody) to signify Sweeney's descent into insanity. You can hear it in the background when he sings "We all deserve to die" in "Epiphany" and it appears in the same song when he returns to the tragic fate of his wife ("My Lucy lies in ashes"). It comes back significantly in the very end in the musical surge when he slits the throat of the beggarwoman.
A concurrent motif from the Dies Irae theme is the tritone interval, a diminished fifth known in Medieval and Renaissance music as diablos in musica, or "the devil in the music." The tritone has a hauntingly unresolved feel to it. It's dissonant and begs for a resolution. Sondheim and Bernstein made great use of it in "Maria" and the opening "Rumble" in West Side Story- you can hear the tritone on "Ma-REE-", and it's resolved on the "-ah." But it's really used to much better effect in Sweeney- you could even say the tritone is the main musical calling card of Sweeney Todd. It shows up in the male ingenue Anthony's ballad "Johanna" which is very similar to "Maria," but much creepier because Sondheim doesn't resolve the tritone into a major triad for a several lines; he keeps it suspended longer. And it shows up again in the harmonies of the hilariously macabre duet "A Little Priest," which closes Act I. When Mrs. Lovett joins Sweeney in cadencing the refrain, they are usually a fourth or a tritone apart, and at the very end, the orchestral accompaniment rises to a series of fast syncopated tritones, an antic and uneasy way to pull the curtain down.So musically, Sweeney Todd passes the themes of demonic possession, Judgement Day (dies irae or day of wrath) and tragic loss from character to character until they culminate in the "Final Sequence," the tragic denouement in which Sweeney kills his wife and learns of Mrs. Lovett's deception too late.*
So I said all this to my friend and he said he had actually spoken to one of our colleagues about musical motifs in Kushner before, which kind of validated what I'd said, even though I was sort of stretching.
I think one of the reasons why I don't write about Renaissance drama (I prefer poetry and book history) is because if I wrote about drama, I'd really prefer to write about American Musical Theatre.
* I highly recommend the Original Broadway Cast recording from 1979 with Angela Lansbury and Len Cariou, though nearly as good is "Sweeney Todd in Concert" (2001) with George Hearn (Sweeney No. 2 on Broadway) and Patti Lupone with the New York Philharmonic and a number of noted opera stars, along with Neil Patrick Harris who is excellent as Toby.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Blackberries, peaches, figs and plums, oh my!
So this year I decided to fertilize the garden with organic stuff. And in doing that I learned that plants are by no means vegetarians- in March I gave them some bones to crunch on, and in May they get a yummy meal of blood all around (makes me feel a bit like Mrs. Lovett).
And I didn't expect much, but what a world of difference organic fertilizer makes! The fig tree is twice as big and has tiny nubs on every single new leaf bract, which basically means there will be tons of figs cropping up in August. Even more exciting, I discovered a peach tree with fuzzy little green and orange fruits ripening in the far part of the back yard, along with several enormous blackberry brambles (possibly wild ones). And this morning getting the mail I noticed how big the plum tree was getting and was shocked to find about 16 hard little magenta plums on it. I thought it was a flowering plum, but not a fruiting one. And I only fed it with a tiny bit of leftover fertilizer, so now I know it's capable of producing a lot more.
Alas, I'll probably be out of town when the peaches, plums and blackberries ripen so I hope my cat-sitters will pick them and eat them before the birds and squirrels do. But the figs I can enjoy all August, which sweetens the bitter task of having to come back early and do more freshman advising.
And I didn't expect much, but what a world of difference organic fertilizer makes! The fig tree is twice as big and has tiny nubs on every single new leaf bract, which basically means there will be tons of figs cropping up in August. Even more exciting, I discovered a peach tree with fuzzy little green and orange fruits ripening in the far part of the back yard, along with several enormous blackberry brambles (possibly wild ones). And this morning getting the mail I noticed how big the plum tree was getting and was shocked to find about 16 hard little magenta plums on it. I thought it was a flowering plum, but not a fruiting one. And I only fed it with a tiny bit of leftover fertilizer, so now I know it's capable of producing a lot more.
Alas, I'll probably be out of town when the peaches, plums and blackberries ripen so I hope my cat-sitters will pick them and eat them before the birds and squirrels do. But the figs I can enjoy all August, which sweetens the bitter task of having to come back early and do more freshman advising.
Monday, May 12, 2008
I aint got nobody
Feeling sorry for yourself never sounded better- or smarter. From 1940's "Strike up the Band."
Friday, April 25, 2008
The Flowers that Bloom in the Spring (tra la)
Well one thing I sacrificed this week was my health and well-being. I had returned to God's Country (the town where I grew up, which is also Capitol City and State U), to celebrate Passover with my parents and our family friends this past weekend. All of us had a wonderful time, seeing old friends and making new ones. Then, on monday, my mother fell sick. And I mean really, hideously, wretchedly, violently sick. And I took care of her, which was actually fun because she was so grateful and because I was putting off grading lower-division papers and yes I would rather clean vomit off the car than face another dangling participle. Then, after her fever broke and she seemed reasonably on the mend, I flew home. And of course the next day I fell ill (note to self: do not clean vomit off the car. Grade your papers instead). And the day after that, my dad fell ill. And the day after that . . . well, his secretary who also happens to be my massage therapist will have to confirm whether or not she fell ill, but the odds are fairly high that she did.
I'm finally feeling much better today, even nibbling on apple slices and hardboiled egg, after sleeping all day yesterday and literally letting my colleagues push me out of the office and cancel my third class on Wednesday when they noticed I was shivering in a pantsuit and down jacket, when it was 78 and sunny.
Anyway, that was my weekend and my week. And despite all this, I got those papers graded and returned to my students. I also paid my bills, straightened up my house, did 3 loads of laundry, got new car insurance, finally got renter's insurance, secured a flat to rent in London, and (possibly) found a student house-sitter for the summer. And suddently this is all making me feel a bit like a rockstar. Just because it felt impossible two days ago when I couldn't sit up.
I'm finally feeling much better today, even nibbling on apple slices and hardboiled egg, after sleeping all day yesterday and literally letting my colleagues push me out of the office and cancel my third class on Wednesday when they noticed I was shivering in a pantsuit and down jacket, when it was 78 and sunny.
Anyway, that was my weekend and my week. And despite all this, I got those papers graded and returned to my students. I also paid my bills, straightened up my house, did 3 loads of laundry, got new car insurance, finally got renter's insurance, secured a flat to rent in London, and (possibly) found a student house-sitter for the summer. And suddently this is all making me feel a bit like a rockstar. Just because it felt impossible two days ago when I couldn't sit up.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Sacrificial Living
I've been thinking about the sacrifices we make, large and little, for our scholarly livelihoods. Specifically I'm thinking about what we give up in order to finish our books, take those desirable jobs, finish our theses. I started musing about this when I emailed a friend to ask him how he got his first book out so early in his career. Did he give up two extra hours of sleep per day? Skip lunch like my friend when she was on leave at an archive? His modest response was that he had a lot of free time in the first two years. (So the mystery remains).
But accustomed as I am to a comfortable lifestyle, I can't help wondering if I'd get more writing done, more articles finished and more books read if I gave something up. And I'm not counting my current celibacy- that's a consequence of living where I do.
When I was finishing my dissertation I did sacrifice sleep. And also cleaning the house, eating healthfully and doing any grocery shopping or cooking or exercise whatsoever.
What kinds of sacrifices have you made or are willing to make for your scholarship? Would you give up sleep or lunch or television or a spouse just to finish your book? Have you?
Why am I so drawn to sacrifice anyway? Maybe it's because I like to think that if I give something up in the symbolic economy, I'll somehow be rewarded with something else, i.e. book completion. Maybe giving something up would make me feel more pious and less hedonistic. Or maybe it's the influence of my former dissertation adviser, who advises that writing itself ought to be painfully difficult- if it's not, then you're not getting anywhere.
What should I give up this summer in order to finish my book? (Please don't say blogging . . .)
But accustomed as I am to a comfortable lifestyle, I can't help wondering if I'd get more writing done, more articles finished and more books read if I gave something up. And I'm not counting my current celibacy- that's a consequence of living where I do.
When I was finishing my dissertation I did sacrifice sleep. And also cleaning the house, eating healthfully and doing any grocery shopping or cooking or exercise whatsoever.
What kinds of sacrifices have you made or are willing to make for your scholarship? Would you give up sleep or lunch or television or a spouse just to finish your book? Have you?
Why am I so drawn to sacrifice anyway? Maybe it's because I like to think that if I give something up in the symbolic economy, I'll somehow be rewarded with something else, i.e. book completion. Maybe giving something up would make me feel more pious and less hedonistic. Or maybe it's the influence of my former dissertation adviser, who advises that writing itself ought to be painfully difficult- if it's not, then you're not getting anywhere.
What should I give up this summer in order to finish my book? (Please don't say blogging . . .)
Thursday, April 17, 2008
A Whole New You
I have a new name and a new face. It just seemed more fitting. I'd rather be a poet than a source of inspiration. Wouldn't you?
Next up: maybe a new blog name too? I do still have a tendency for embarrassingly funny Freudian slips, but the blog title doesn't exactly fit with my postings of late. So let me know, dear readers, what you think I should do. Should I come up with a new title or leave it be? Any good title suggestions? (More Wrothplay with something like "The Countesse of Mountgomery's Blogographia" or "This Strange Labyrinth" maybe? "Et in Urania Ego"? For some reason I also really like "Discordia Concors," which is how Samuel Johnson described metaphysical conceits).
Next up: maybe a new blog name too? I do still have a tendency for embarrassingly funny Freudian slips, but the blog title doesn't exactly fit with my postings of late. So let me know, dear readers, what you think I should do. Should I come up with a new title or leave it be? Any good title suggestions? (More Wrothplay with something like "The Countesse of Mountgomery's Blogographia" or "This Strange Labyrinth" maybe? "Et in Urania Ego"? For some reason I also really like "Discordia Concors," which is how Samuel Johnson described metaphysical conceits).
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
DC!
I've just learned that I'm also going to spend a month in DC this summer, probably mid-may to mid-June, but it all depends where I stay and whom I hire (or how much I'll pay) to feed the cat. I'm starting to get really, really excited about archival writing again. I tend to get more writing done in libraries away from home, so I've promised myself that this will be the summer when I finally finish the manuscript and send it off.
Apparently this will also be the summer when I get the hell out of this tiny little town for a few months. Hurrah for that!
Apparently this will also be the summer when I get the hell out of this tiny little town for a few months. Hurrah for that!
Thursday, April 10, 2008
London!
Whee- I'm going to London this July. It's just dawned on me, that this is a wonderful, good thing. I'm really going just to have a change of scenery in which to finish my book, but since my summer starts in May and I hope to get a fair amount of writing done in May and June, I might also actually have time for some fun in London as well as long days at the BL. Anyway, I was disappointed to find that the little B&B where I'd stayed last year was all booked up. So instead I booked one a couple of houses down on the same street that actually sounds much better- same tiny rooms, Georgian Terrace, garden in the back, free wireless, but this one also has a shared kitchen and fridge for guests, which is totally necessary given the high exchange rate and the fact that my funding doesn't reimburse for food.
I'm just starting to get excited again. If you'll be there too, let me know. We'll go for a drink. Or else don't tell me, and we'll bump into one another on the 4th floor of the BL and it will be fun.
I'm just starting to get excited again. If you'll be there too, let me know. We'll go for a drink. Or else don't tell me, and we'll bump into one another on the 4th floor of the BL and it will be fun.
Sunday, April 06, 2008
April Showers
Bring more April showers. It has rained nonstop for the past five days. This is good- our state is still in the midst of a drought and we need 8 more inches of water in order to be back to normal. I think we're there by now though. I miss the sun. I need to see the sun.Other rainy-day news: I sat down with turbo-tax today all ready to find out how much the government owed me and was shocked to learn that I owe the government $904. How could this have happened? After taking another 2 and a half hours to pore over my tax returns to make sure I hadn't miscalculated, I realized my university has not been withholding enough for me. This is probably due to the fact that I received a raise in July, one that pushed me up into a different tax bracket. My guess is that the payroll office didn't increase the amount withheld along with the salary. They needed to shave off an extra $150 per month- not a huge deal, not exactly something I would have missed terribly, or anything I could have noticed- until now. But now, at tax time, when I have to pay this enormous lump sum, I'm a little bit annoyed. Especially since I was planning on using my unnecessary rebate for charity. Or at least I was getting a kick out of saying that. Now it's just going to help reduce the amount of what I owe.
Some good things are happening, though- the tulips are up, I've finished one more essay and am nearly done with the third and fourth. I received funding to go to London and finish writing my book (though apparently not to eat- it's all handled by reimbursement and meals will not be covered this year). And on Friday afternoon I painted the hallway green, just to cheer myself up. I love how easy it is to change the look of a place- and one's mood -with paint. Even though I know I'll be moving eventually, it's not a waste. Paint is cheap, and I like doing it. Colors just make me happy. And that's kind of important these days.
Friday, April 04, 2008
In the Blogosphere I'm a Tyrant
I'm sorry if I've deleted some of your comments. I want to explain why here. Do feel free to use the comments section to this post if you'd like to complain or disagree with what I'm about to say (wink, wink).
In all fairness I ought to keep every single comment on the blog even if I find it is not productive or friendly or useful. I ought to, but I know I won't. I wonder if this means The Freudian Petticoat isn't technically an Early Modern Public- because it's beginning to regulate what people say? Then again, it never really was either Early Modern nor Public- discuss.
Here's how I see it: In this strange blog-rinth, everyone steps on everyone's toes now and then. And everyone sticks virtual feet in virtual mouths. I know I have, and a few times my comments have been respectfully removed from others' blogs. And I'm very grateful for that.
That said, here are 10 reasons why I might remove your comment:
1. You make reference to my real-life identity
2. You post something mean and hurtful directed at me or at the other commentators
3. You offend
4. You use the comments section to have a personal argument with me
5. Your comment is unproductive
6. You shill
7. You troll
8. You spam
Hmm, with the exception of the last three these look a bit, I don't know- arbitrary? Subjective? I may allow some of you to trash my scholarship and post offensive jokes, but delete others. And what exactly do I mean by "productive" anyway? And what if I happen to be feeling particularly hypersensitive at the exact moment when I encounter it? What then? Well that brings us to the last two reasons:
9. Your comment just bothers me for some reason I can't explain and
10. I just feel like deleting it.
Sorry, folks. It's my blog, I'll do what I want with it. In the Blogosphere I'm a Tyrant!
For what it's worth, I delete a lot of my own comments. Far more than any others.
In all fairness I ought to keep every single comment on the blog even if I find it is not productive or friendly or useful. I ought to, but I know I won't. I wonder if this means The Freudian Petticoat isn't technically an Early Modern Public- because it's beginning to regulate what people say? Then again, it never really was either Early Modern nor Public- discuss.
Here's how I see it: In this strange blog-rinth, everyone steps on everyone's toes now and then. And everyone sticks virtual feet in virtual mouths. I know I have, and a few times my comments have been respectfully removed from others' blogs. And I'm very grateful for that.
That said, here are 10 reasons why I might remove your comment:
1. You make reference to my real-life identity
2. You post something mean and hurtful directed at me or at the other commentators
3. You offend
4. You use the comments section to have a personal argument with me
5. Your comment is unproductive
6. You shill
7. You troll
8. You spam
Hmm, with the exception of the last three these look a bit, I don't know- arbitrary? Subjective? I may allow some of you to trash my scholarship and post offensive jokes, but delete others. And what exactly do I mean by "productive" anyway? And what if I happen to be feeling particularly hypersensitive at the exact moment when I encounter it? What then? Well that brings us to the last two reasons:
9. Your comment just bothers me for some reason I can't explain and
10. I just feel like deleting it.
Sorry, folks. It's my blog, I'll do what I want with it. In the Blogosphere I'm a Tyrant!
For what it's worth, I delete a lot of my own comments. Far more than any others.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
State of the House Post, or Vintage Budget Living 101
Living Room
Now that I've just completed my spring cleaning, thrown open the windows to the fresh air and allergies, I thought it might be nice to post some photographic updates (especially given the high praise lavished on my house by certain good friends at the Shakespeare conference). It's pretty much the same but there's quite a bit more stuff: I've finally got my stereo system and vintage KLH-17 speakers up and working- the stereo is on a yellow enamel 1950s kitchen cart (neighborhood salvage shop) in the living room; the speakers are in the dining room (the wire runs along the baseboards and up around the doorway). You can also see some fresh new bed linens, a fabulous hall light (ebay purchase), loads more sunlight, a funky 1970s yellow desk chair (also ebay) and the vintage turquoise pottery collection I've started.
Best of all, very little is new- most comes from salvage, ebay and craigslist.
Living Room: Tea and Sugar posters are reproduction "lecons des choses" from Deyrolle. The coffee table is from 1959, teak with rosewood veneer, a salvage find. The glass side table is vintage Design Research and belonged to my parents in the 70s. Over the fireplace is an old printer's case and a Chinese calligraphy brush. In front of the fireplace are a vintage Chinese basket and rice caddy. Chair on the right was found in the trash.Dining Room: The dining table is a vintage Heywood Wakefield junior dining table, a craigslist find. The chairs are vintage Thonet from local salvage.
Hallway, Bath, Bedroom entry with vintage Chinese elm bench and art deco dresser.
My desk is an unfinished wood parsons table that I sanded and painted high gloss white. Bookcases are the ever-dependable Ikea Billy. The Kevi chair I found on ebay for $30.
The kitchen table is the "Odyssey" from CB2, a cheap knock-off Saarinen. Chairs are vintage Thonet from the local Habitat for Humanity Re-store salvage shop.
It's really difficult to photograph the guest bedroom/den. The walls are a chocolatey eggplant or a very blue brown. The daybed is vintage '60s Design Research, belonged to my parents when they were in grad school. The carpet is possibly a Bakhtiar, and is from ebay. It's huge and garish and I love it.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
On Reading By Candlelight
I turned out and unplugged for Earth Hour this evening, but I was all alone. Apparently my friends actually have things to do on Saturday night. (Who knew?). And mine was only one of two houses on the entire block that went dark for an hour.
So after a much needed day of cleaning, I lit candles and Saffron and I kicked back on the couch with the facsimile of Bacon's essays I'd purchased for $1 at the library booksale, for a little reading early-modern style.
The first thing I learned was that people then couldn't have possibly read in bed or on the couch (if they even had sofas in that period), because you'd have to hold the candle aloft yourself and then wax would get all over your fingers and your book.
The second thing I learned was that sitting at a table was only slightly better illuminated than sitting on the couch, trying to hold a flickering candle steady while it drips wax all over your book and fingers. And that it takes at least five or six substantial candles to provide enough light by which to discern colors (okay, so part of my reading experiment involved the latest CB2 catalogue- I confess it freely). So obviously only anyone who could afford an abundance of candles could afford not to go to bed before 8pm.
The third thing I discovered was that propping the book up on its edges rather than setting it to lie flat on the table afforded it almost twice the amount of illumination. So an early modern book stand or even a slanted book rest (like on a lectern) was really necessary for nocturnal reading.
After a while it got cold and my eyes got tired and I started glancing towards the clock, counting the minutes left until I could turn on the lights again. Then I placed the book back down on the table for half a second and the cat decided to sit on it, and that was the end of that.
This led me to my final revelation: Yes I am roundly in favor of reducing the world's carbon emissions and stopping global warming, but I love electricity. Electricity is my friend. And that is one of the many reasons why I am glad I live in the post - rather than early - modern world.
So after a much needed day of cleaning, I lit candles and Saffron and I kicked back on the couch with the facsimile of Bacon's essays I'd purchased for $1 at the library booksale, for a little reading early-modern style.
The first thing I learned was that people then couldn't have possibly read in bed or on the couch (if they even had sofas in that period), because you'd have to hold the candle aloft yourself and then wax would get all over your fingers and your book.
The second thing I learned was that sitting at a table was only slightly better illuminated than sitting on the couch, trying to hold a flickering candle steady while it drips wax all over your book and fingers. And that it takes at least five or six substantial candles to provide enough light by which to discern colors (okay, so part of my reading experiment involved the latest CB2 catalogue- I confess it freely). So obviously only anyone who could afford an abundance of candles could afford not to go to bed before 8pm.
The third thing I discovered was that propping the book up on its edges rather than setting it to lie flat on the table afforded it almost twice the amount of illumination. So an early modern book stand or even a slanted book rest (like on a lectern) was really necessary for nocturnal reading.
After a while it got cold and my eyes got tired and I started glancing towards the clock, counting the minutes left until I could turn on the lights again. Then I placed the book back down on the table for half a second and the cat decided to sit on it, and that was the end of that.
This led me to my final revelation: Yes I am roundly in favor of reducing the world's carbon emissions and stopping global warming, but I love electricity. Electricity is my friend. And that is one of the many reasons why I am glad I live in the post - rather than early - modern world.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Lights Out at 8
I'm turning the lights out and unplugging everything for an hour at 8pm tonight for Earth Hour. I'm actually looking forward to spending an hour with candles and friends and a nice bottle of wine. I had hoped it would be warm enough to sit on the porch, but it's cold and rainy today so that's out. I have no idea if anyone else in this town will be doing this- only one city in the whole state appears to be officially participating, and of course it's only hit the local news today. But I'm hoping I won't be alone.
Friday, March 21, 2008
In Praise of Anonymity
This is why I've decided to try to become more anonymous on the web (and to continue to protect my anonymous friends in the blogosphere). I'm not saying I'm not sharing my identity with my friends, but most of my colleagues and none of my students (so far as I know) read this blog or know it's me, and I'd kind of like to keep it that way.
More on Yummy Mummy
Sorry for the bad pun.
My friend Marie tells us this about early modern mummy consumption:
"As for Jonathan's comment, my understanding is that "mummy" or "mummia" was a brew that involved boiled parts of dead bodies, mixed with other stuff, and that drinking it was thought to ward off death."
Given that some of my own work is about how early modern folk attempt to counteract death and decay through poetry, I wonder if there's more to be said about mummia. In addition to the notion I get from reading Donne that the corpse is an animated body even when it's resurrected for judgement day (see "The Relic"), I'm also thinking about the anxiety/fascination early modern writers seem to have about the affinity between corpses and flowers, especially in Act 4 of The Winter's Tale and in Acts 4-5 of Hamlet.
Ophelia sings about decking a corpse with flowers, is pulled to death with flowers, gets flowers thrown in her grave, "and from her fair and unpolluted flesh may violets spring."
What I'm getting at is that I think the boundary between life (flowers, living bodies) and death (corpses, mummies) was much more tenuous in the early modern period than it is today. Either tenuous and fluid, or organized in a different way. I've been thinking about this because I'm still intrigued by the "Shakespeare and Technology" panel at SAA, which seemed to want to redefine (and sometimes even blur) the boundaries between early modern nature and technology, human and machine.
I know that's kind of a knee-jerk early modern materialist argument, that boundaries were tenuous, everything was less fixed, but I guess I still think we can learn stuff from thinking this way.
My friend Marie tells us this about early modern mummy consumption:
"As for Jonathan's comment, my understanding is that "mummy" or "mummia" was a brew that involved boiled parts of dead bodies, mixed with other stuff, and that drinking it was thought to ward off death."
Given that some of my own work is about how early modern folk attempt to counteract death and decay through poetry, I wonder if there's more to be said about mummia. In addition to the notion I get from reading Donne that the corpse is an animated body even when it's resurrected for judgement day (see "The Relic"), I'm also thinking about the anxiety/fascination early modern writers seem to have about the affinity between corpses and flowers, especially in Act 4 of The Winter's Tale and in Acts 4-5 of Hamlet.
Ophelia sings about decking a corpse with flowers, is pulled to death with flowers, gets flowers thrown in her grave, "and from her fair and unpolluted flesh may violets spring."
What I'm getting at is that I think the boundary between life (flowers, living bodies) and death (corpses, mummies) was much more tenuous in the early modern period than it is today. Either tenuous and fluid, or organized in a different way. I've been thinking about this because I'm still intrigued by the "Shakespeare and Technology" panel at SAA, which seemed to want to redefine (and sometimes even blur) the boundaries between early modern nature and technology, human and machine.
I know that's kind of a knee-jerk early modern materialist argument, that boundaries were tenuous, everything was less fixed, but I guess I still think we can learn stuff from thinking this way.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Fastest Turnover Ever!
I just got an article accepted by a journal not one month after sending it out. I have never had this happen before. It was a long time coming (I think this is the fourth or fifth try), so I'm glad it took so little time for them to decide. Wheee! No more worrying about finding a home for this wayward sister. She's happily settled and will be available for all to see in 2010.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Extended Families
Hans Holbein, More Family PortraitI don't have to teach on Friday! I don't have to teach on Friday! It's something called "Good Friday," for Catholics and Anglicans, I think. But it's also Bach's birthday, so I plan to spend the entire day writing and listening to Bach. I've got two pieces to polish up and send out and I must do it before April comes around. I'm still feeling the remains of post-conference depression. I've managed to e-mail my new friends, finish some conversations, write my thank-you notes, and partially redeem myself virtually, but every day I keep remembering more people I need to write. I'm really glad I had those cheesy business cards made as I'm finally starting to get e-mails from scholars I met at the conference who are interested in my work.
Forgive me for sounding Pollyanaish, but the virtual world being what it is, I think this year it will be easier to stay connected. That is, if I don't disappear completely into my book, which five people in the past week have encouraged me to do (and don't worry five people, I will, I'm dying to!). Still it's nice to know how to reach one's friends & colleagues when stuck or confused or in need of inebriation in London or DC.
The funniest bit of SAA news is that I've discovered that one of my new conference buddies is in my extended family (my artist cousin is his partner- who knew?). I did get a very warm, familial vibe from him at the conference, so maybe I ought to have guessed, but neither of us knew this until after the conference ended.
Forgive me for sounding Pollyanaish, but the virtual world being what it is, I think this year it will be easier to stay connected. That is, if I don't disappear completely into my book, which five people in the past week have encouraged me to do (and don't worry five people, I will, I'm dying to!). Still it's nice to know how to reach one's friends & colleagues when stuck or confused or in need of inebriation in London or DC.
The funniest bit of SAA news is that I've discovered that one of my new conference buddies is in my extended family (my artist cousin is his partner- who knew?). I did get a very warm, familial vibe from him at the conference, so maybe I ought to have guessed, but neither of us knew this until after the conference ended.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
SAA 2008: What I learned
Sometimes it is impossible to learn anything from a conference. Generally all I do is agree, disagree or let my mind wander. Usually my best conference experiences are food-related. But thankfully I actually did learn some things about (gasp!) the early modern period, among others at this conference. In no apparent order they are:1. We need to use our imaginations more, but this doesn't necessarily mean that we have to stop talking about real material things, just that we have to stop thinking about trying to find them and then find them again (I think).
-Mary Bly's delightful and provocative plenary talk.
2. Descartes may have traveled around Europe with a life-size automaton made to resemble his dead daughter, Francine.
-Wendy Hyman's talk for the brilliant "Shakespeare and Technology" roundtable panel, the sleeper hit of the whole conference.
3. Waterwheels shaped the way early modern London sounded and felt.
-Jonathan Sawday's talk for the same panel.
4. "Petard" was not simply an early modern bomb (see fig. 1 above), it also meant a fart.
-Ibid.
5. If Ania Loomba is right (and she frequently is), we still haven't connected colonialism, the mercantile economy, race studies and East and West enough. I keep finding this difficult to believe though, especially because I thought Amanda Bailey's careful and elegant plenary paper did just that. Also: why isn't anyone writing about the sugar trade in Cyprus?
6. People ate mummies (which technically I knew already from David Read's seminar work at last year's SAA but had conveniently forgotten only to be surprised by it again).
7. Stanley Kubrick's first film Fear and Desire appears to brilliantly rework bits of The Tempest, but since it is nearly impossible to see one of the two remaining copies we just had to take Richard Rambuss' word for it.
8. Early modern publics are small, numerous, material and virtual. They self-destruct when they start kicking people out. They can also be eloquently described with Venn diagrams. This lead me to hypothesize that every time an early modern public spontaneously combusts, five others are born. Clap your hands if you believe in early modern publics! (I know I do).
-Steven Mulaney, Paul Yachnin and Katherine McKluskie's "Making Publics" panel
9. A large number of Dallas women may indeed be living proof of the third (or fourth) sex.
10. It is possible to fuse texan with japanese cuisine and produce delicious results, but only at considerable cost. On the other hand, Salvadoran cuisine fused with texmex is yummy and cheap. And apparently texmex itself is very, very cheesy.
11. Everyone has a Shakespeare Quarterly Revise-Resubmit-Reject sob story.
12. Downtown Dallas has a free vintage streetcar system and a gorgeous triplex of art museums yet remains strangely devoid of people. How can this be???
13. If you've blogged about something really cool but want it to remain anonymous, just say it was an MLA paper you gave- that conference is so huge that no one will know the difference. I thought this was a brilliant idea and am taking this to heart.
14. GEMCS is back!
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Dallas, Baby
I'm in Dallas, a day early for a conference, because it was cheaper to fly in early and because it is also my spring break and I need a change of scenery. The plan was originally to wander around and check out the art museum today, but since I had to get up at 5am, I really just want to take a shower and a nap.
Is it wrong to hear the "Dallas" theme song in one's head walking down the street here? I've never been here before, and even though we have a dear family friend who is also a prof down here, musical associations tend to take hold of my brain more powerfully than others. My parents used to let me stay up to watch "Dallas" with them when I was too little to understand that it was about adultery and melodrama. So the music will be forever associated with getting to stay up past 7pm, which was exciting.
The conference begins tomorrow afternoon, and my session is Friday. I'll try to go to some panels and report back from the field. Those of you who know me and will be here, I'll see you soon.
Is it wrong to hear the "Dallas" theme song in one's head walking down the street here? I've never been here before, and even though we have a dear family friend who is also a prof down here, musical associations tend to take hold of my brain more powerfully than others. My parents used to let me stay up to watch "Dallas" with them when I was too little to understand that it was about adultery and melodrama. So the music will be forever associated with getting to stay up past 7pm, which was exciting.
The conference begins tomorrow afternoon, and my session is Friday. I'll try to go to some panels and report back from the field. Those of you who know me and will be here, I'll see you soon.
Sunday, March 02, 2008
3/2, 32
It's my birthday today, so I get to sleep late and spend the day in my pajamas. It's also Saffron's birthday, and she has been playing around in the wrapping paper from the presents my parents sent us both. Right now she's fallen asleep in the Neiman Marcus box under about six layers of tissue paper, but her tail is hanging out over the side.
What kind of birthday is it when the date of your birthday (read in the US format) mirrors your age? It's not a golden birthday, is it? That would have been when I was two, right? Or is it? In any case, I've been told that 32 is an auspicious number in Chinese numerology and in Jewish mysticism (22 letters in the Hebrew alphabet plus the 10 divine attributes).
I'm feeling much less frustrated and depressed today. I've gotten a lot more writing done and funding applications out, plus had a very successful first meeting of the interdisciplinary early modern reading group I created with a friend at a neighboring university.
And it's warm! One lovely thing about living in the south is that it can be 60 degrees on March 2, with crocuses and daffodils and flowering quinces outside. We have a long, slow spring here though, so none of my dogwoods has started to blossom, nor has the plum or the weeping cherry in the backyard. But the two forsythias in the side yard have little yellow buds on them so I'm hoping they'll bloom in the next week or so.
I kind of overdid it this weekend- I invited a bunch of people over for a party last night, but since I'm teaching 3 classes 3 days a week plus everything else, I didn't get to the shopping and cleaning until Friday night and got to bed at 2am. Then yesterday I finished up the cleaning and did all the cooking and prep work but by the time people started arriving at 9, I could barely stand up. I did have a wonderful, blissful time and was totally un self-conscious which was actually a really great feeling. Two of my closest friends stayed until one, and insisted on ringing in my birthday with me at midnight.
Now I understand why no one throws parties until the end of the semester. I slept late this morning, but I feel as if I've just run a marathon! It's a good feeling, but I'll need the rest of the day to recuperate before I can begin prepping for tomorrow's three classes. I guess you could say I finally feel like a grown-up, if being a grown-up means feeling really, really, really tired.
What kind of birthday is it when the date of your birthday (read in the US format) mirrors your age? It's not a golden birthday, is it? That would have been when I was two, right? Or is it? In any case, I've been told that 32 is an auspicious number in Chinese numerology and in Jewish mysticism (22 letters in the Hebrew alphabet plus the 10 divine attributes).
I'm feeling much less frustrated and depressed today. I've gotten a lot more writing done and funding applications out, plus had a very successful first meeting of the interdisciplinary early modern reading group I created with a friend at a neighboring university.
And it's warm! One lovely thing about living in the south is that it can be 60 degrees on March 2, with crocuses and daffodils and flowering quinces outside. We have a long, slow spring here though, so none of my dogwoods has started to blossom, nor has the plum or the weeping cherry in the backyard. But the two forsythias in the side yard have little yellow buds on them so I'm hoping they'll bloom in the next week or so.
I kind of overdid it this weekend- I invited a bunch of people over for a party last night, but since I'm teaching 3 classes 3 days a week plus everything else, I didn't get to the shopping and cleaning until Friday night and got to bed at 2am. Then yesterday I finished up the cleaning and did all the cooking and prep work but by the time people started arriving at 9, I could barely stand up. I did have a wonderful, blissful time and was totally un self-conscious which was actually a really great feeling. Two of my closest friends stayed until one, and insisted on ringing in my birthday with me at midnight.
Now I understand why no one throws parties until the end of the semester. I slept late this morning, but I feel as if I've just run a marathon! It's a good feeling, but I'll need the rest of the day to recuperate before I can begin prepping for tomorrow's three classes. I guess you could say I finally feel like a grown-up, if being a grown-up means feeling really, really, really tired.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Scholarly Melancholy
I'm so glad it's the end of the day. It wasn't a terrible day, just one during which I felt terrible. It's not as if my work has been rejected, though I'm starting to get used to that. But I still have two proposals to submit plus two articles to finish and send off. So my meagre sense of accomplishment last week at finishing one proposal and one letter of recommendation now amounts to nothing at all.
Second, and perhaps a bit more poignantly, I've recently learned that I have lost two junior colleagues to really fine research institutions; one came in with me, the other had yet to arrive from his postdoc. I am happy for them, but I can't seem to shake this negative feeling, which is kind of like having an acrid taste in my mouth or a heaviness around my temples. I can't process what I'm feeling either: Am I sorry to lose two friends (technically, one potential friend), or am I just horrifically envious of their successes? Both seem unfounded- it's not as if I'm in either of their fields, and I'm not on the market. Yet I can't stop feeling awful this evening. I'm also exhausted because I taught three courses for 5 hours today- two one-hour sections plus a 3 hour grad seminar. I wish I didn't have such a heavy course load and could spend more time writing and less time rushing to get research and course proposals turned in, proposals that ideally ought to give me more time to write.
And maybe I feel so terrible because my birthday is around the corner and I never thought I'd be living alone in a small town in the Conservative Baptist South where I still feel so displaced, teaching 3 courses and developing gray hairs the week before my 32nd birthday.
I wish my maternal grandmother were still alive. She'd call me "Sarah Heart-Burn," tell me to stop being so morose and melodramatic and to get back to work. Then her sister (my great aunt) would start to sing "Pick Yourself up, Dust Yourself off, and Start all over again." Then suddenly we'd all be in a technicolor musical number, wearing bright red lipstick and vivid green shoes.
If this is just melancholy, then maybe Burton has a cure- I ought to make myself wetter and hotter by going for a run or something. Instead I'm sipping a Pinot and listening to Couperin. It might be exaccerbating the problem.
Second, and perhaps a bit more poignantly, I've recently learned that I have lost two junior colleagues to really fine research institutions; one came in with me, the other had yet to arrive from his postdoc. I am happy for them, but I can't seem to shake this negative feeling, which is kind of like having an acrid taste in my mouth or a heaviness around my temples. I can't process what I'm feeling either: Am I sorry to lose two friends (technically, one potential friend), or am I just horrifically envious of their successes? Both seem unfounded- it's not as if I'm in either of their fields, and I'm not on the market. Yet I can't stop feeling awful this evening. I'm also exhausted because I taught three courses for 5 hours today- two one-hour sections plus a 3 hour grad seminar. I wish I didn't have such a heavy course load and could spend more time writing and less time rushing to get research and course proposals turned in, proposals that ideally ought to give me more time to write.
And maybe I feel so terrible because my birthday is around the corner and I never thought I'd be living alone in a small town in the Conservative Baptist South where I still feel so displaced, teaching 3 courses and developing gray hairs the week before my 32nd birthday.
I wish my maternal grandmother were still alive. She'd call me "Sarah Heart-Burn," tell me to stop being so morose and melodramatic and to get back to work. Then her sister (my great aunt) would start to sing "Pick Yourself up, Dust Yourself off, and Start all over again." Then suddenly we'd all be in a technicolor musical number, wearing bright red lipstick and vivid green shoes.
If this is just melancholy, then maybe Burton has a cure- I ought to make myself wetter and hotter by going for a run or something. Instead I'm sipping a Pinot and listening to Couperin. It might be exaccerbating the problem.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Fellowship Application Month
It's summer fellowship application month. Most are due at the end of this month and the beginning of next month. And I desperately need them in order to work on my book and start something new. Some are very easy to write as they are dictated by the collections of a particular archive. For others, my book proposal will suffice.
But for one of them, I find myself in the ridiculous position of applying to my institution for the same funding they awarded me last summer, essentially to go back and do more of the same research on the same book project. This is normal- it takes a long time for a manuscript to get "finished" and "publishable." I've been told mine is already "publishable" but it is by no means "finished". And though two weeks in London at the BL last summer may have made it even more "publishable," they did only a little to make it more "finished".
So I've basically got to rewrite my book proposal (which I submitted as a grant proposal last year) to say the same things but somehow make it seem like I'm actually doing different research on a slightly different book project, which is nonetheless the same project I was working on last year. This shouldn't be too difficult- in my research report from last summer I made perhaps too big a point about how little time I actually got to spend with my texts because of how expensive London is (my initial request was almost twice what I was awarded), and how I really need to spend more time with them in order to finish the book and think about my next project. So I can fairly easily make a big todo about how the research I did last summer pointed my book in a "new" direction but I need to go back and finish it up. But that is boring and no fun to write.
I could also write a completely new research proposal for my next project, but it's due this Wednesday, and I'm not sure I could do enough exploratory research to sound like an expert on the new subject. Or I could just condense my book proposal and instead add a section focusing on my other unfinished chapter, the one I wanted to work on but couldn't last summer because I only had 2 weeks in the UK. Ugh, I wish this was easier.
For those of you who have received multiple grants for the same book project over a number of summers, how did you do it? Did you reword the same research proposal? Did you focus on a different chapter each time? Did you make something up? Because let's face it, basically all I need to do is write, but I'd like to be able to write in the British Library, where I could call up all the exact material texts I'm working with.
Right now I'm sitting in my study, looking out the window at daffodil shoots on a greyish day, listening to the divine Karita Matilla sing Manon Lescaut live from the Met, doodling with my current book proposal and hoping to make up my mind this afternoon.
But for one of them, I find myself in the ridiculous position of applying to my institution for the same funding they awarded me last summer, essentially to go back and do more of the same research on the same book project. This is normal- it takes a long time for a manuscript to get "finished" and "publishable." I've been told mine is already "publishable" but it is by no means "finished". And though two weeks in London at the BL last summer may have made it even more "publishable," they did only a little to make it more "finished".
So I've basically got to rewrite my book proposal (which I submitted as a grant proposal last year) to say the same things but somehow make it seem like I'm actually doing different research on a slightly different book project, which is nonetheless the same project I was working on last year. This shouldn't be too difficult- in my research report from last summer I made perhaps too big a point about how little time I actually got to spend with my texts because of how expensive London is (my initial request was almost twice what I was awarded), and how I really need to spend more time with them in order to finish the book and think about my next project. So I can fairly easily make a big todo about how the research I did last summer pointed my book in a "new" direction but I need to go back and finish it up. But that is boring and no fun to write.
I could also write a completely new research proposal for my next project, but it's due this Wednesday, and I'm not sure I could do enough exploratory research to sound like an expert on the new subject. Or I could just condense my book proposal and instead add a section focusing on my other unfinished chapter, the one I wanted to work on but couldn't last summer because I only had 2 weeks in the UK. Ugh, I wish this was easier.
For those of you who have received multiple grants for the same book project over a number of summers, how did you do it? Did you reword the same research proposal? Did you focus on a different chapter each time? Did you make something up? Because let's face it, basically all I need to do is write, but I'd like to be able to write in the British Library, where I could call up all the exact material texts I'm working with.
Right now I'm sitting in my study, looking out the window at daffodil shoots on a greyish day, listening to the divine Karita Matilla sing Manon Lescaut live from the Met, doodling with my current book proposal and hoping to make up my mind this afternoon.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Who Was your Shakespeare Professor?
Today my mother forwarded me this '06 opinion piece from the New York Times, by one of my favorite writers and people, Lorrie Moore. In it, Moore explores why Shakespeare gets most of the credit for inspiring modern writing professors.
Which of course reminded me that my whole career might have been different, had I not been plucked out of my ninth grade English class where I was reading Roll of Thunder Hear My Cry for the third time since age 9, and deposited into the senior Shakespeare elective. I chose Shakespeare not exactly because I loved Shakespeare- I had recently played Ophelia in the local Kids-in-Shakespeare production -but because I had an enormous crush on the goofy boy who had played Hamlet, and I knew he was going to be in the class.
Anyway, here's Lorrie Moore's hilarious article from April 2006: The Modern Elizabethan
My thanks to Muse Maman for sending it to me this morning!
Which of course reminded me that my whole career might have been different, had I not been plucked out of my ninth grade English class where I was reading Roll of Thunder Hear My Cry for the third time since age 9, and deposited into the senior Shakespeare elective. I chose Shakespeare not exactly because I loved Shakespeare- I had recently played Ophelia in the local Kids-in-Shakespeare production -but because I had an enormous crush on the goofy boy who had played Hamlet, and I knew he was going to be in the class.
Anyway, here's Lorrie Moore's hilarious article from April 2006: The Modern Elizabethan
My thanks to Muse Maman for sending it to me this morning!
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Big Scary Liberal English Professor who Wears a Lot of Black
I seem to have only 28 students this semester. Almost as small a number as I had my first semester here, when nobody knew me or wanted to have anything to do with Renaissance poetry or material culture theory.
I have eight shining, eager hardworking faces in my grad seminar; fourteen men and women in section one of my lower division course, plus six gals in section two. We have a lot of fun, and I'm getting to know them much better than my other students.
I don't know why there are only six women in section two, but I'm secretly hoping it's because I scared off everyone else by using the word "feminist" in the course title.
I guess there are perks to being a Yankee professor in the South. Either that or I've just tarnished my sincerity by learning how to manipulate the system.
One of my "virtual ratings" describes me as too strict and serious and supports this with the evidence that I "wear a lot of black." I found this uproariously funny- especially because I always dreamily imagined I could hang with the cool kids in college and grad school, you know- the ones who wear all black and theory glasses and smoke and talk about Bruno Latour and are all a little bit bisexual, but I was too nerdy or guileless ever to get accepted by that gang. It's funny that I get to be one of them here in the South. And I'm starting to learn how to make it work to my advantage.
Now there's really no reason why I can't send out three new articles this semester.
I have eight shining, eager hardworking faces in my grad seminar; fourteen men and women in section one of my lower division course, plus six gals in section two. We have a lot of fun, and I'm getting to know them much better than my other students.
I don't know why there are only six women in section two, but I'm secretly hoping it's because I scared off everyone else by using the word "feminist" in the course title.
I guess there are perks to being a Yankee professor in the South. Either that or I've just tarnished my sincerity by learning how to manipulate the system.
One of my "virtual ratings" describes me as too strict and serious and supports this with the evidence that I "wear a lot of black." I found this uproariously funny- especially because I always dreamily imagined I could hang with the cool kids in college and grad school, you know- the ones who wear all black and theory glasses and smoke and talk about Bruno Latour and are all a little bit bisexual, but I was too nerdy or guileless ever to get accepted by that gang. It's funny that I get to be one of them here in the South. And I'm starting to learn how to make it work to my advantage.
Now there's really no reason why I can't send out three new articles this semester.
Friday, January 11, 2008
How d'you like my New Look?
The Petticoat has a New Look for the New Year!
I'm still trying to figure out how to put the font back to Roman Antique, but I'm loving the new colors. For some reason it matches my dining room. One of my friends said my taste in interior decorating was all about "Museum Exhibition Wall Colors." Evidentally, so is my taste in blog color.
Little Reminders that What I do is Important
Are you familiar with the blog (and the book it spawned) Postsecret? A bit sensationalist for my taste, but nonetheless compelling. Back in graduate school, I imagined that my dissertation and first book would be about "Renaissance Secrecy." I wrote a whole proposal on it. And then promptly scrapped the idea when I realized that I would rather read about secrets than write about them. Anyway, on Postsecret people create their own postcards revealing their personal secrets and then send them in anonymously to the blog's P.O. box, and some of them show up on the blog every week. This one caught my eye and made me smile.
I'm currently stressing out about the syllabus for the graduate course I begin teaching on Wednesday, and fretting too much about having to drag my Could-Not-Be-Less-Interested arse to the two sections of comp I'm also obligated to teach this semester. I have exactly the same number of students as last semester (a petite 40), but I'm teaching 3 days a week. Ugh. I wish spring would come soon. Anyway, I need little reminders like this one to keep me going. We all do.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Student Guilt Trips
It's the end of the semester and this student (a senior in a class of 15 underclassmen) only ever came to see me twice during the semester- both times *after* receiving his papers with grades he did not like (one a B, the other a B-).
In an e-mail sent this evening- a full 3 days after the final paper was due, and 4 days after I returned his paper on PL, which was a grown-up but hardly sophisticated summary of Book IV and which I knowingly inflated from the C it was to a genial B minus, quoth the Student:
"Dr. Muse-
I probably don't need to tell you that I am again disappointed with my paper writing. It's frustrating that I'm doing poorly in the type of class in which I typically thrive, but that happens I guess. I'm sure you have as little free time as I do at this point in the semester and I know that you already have two papers of mine to grade, but I figured I would at least ask if I should try to rewrite this Paradise Lost paper for a better grade or if it's too late and I need to just eat the B-. If there is anything I can do to try and improve my grade in the class, I would be happy to do it, as a poor grade in a class I took just out of interest will certainly raise questions on graduate school applications. Either way, thanks for an enjoyable class and have a good break-
Student"
My initial response:
"Are you trying to make me feel guilty for giving you a B in an intro-level English course and thus poisoning your grad school applications? Give it a f***king break!"
My second response:
"Yeah, you can rake my yard and give my cat a bath. And when you're done you can give me $500 for a ticket to Montreal."
I know, I know, I'm a meanie. But only in my imagination and on this blog.
In the end, I wrote him a kind, sympathetic e-mail telling him that yes, it was too late for a revision, that I still had his final paper and his revised other paper to mark, and that I'd be happy to sit down with him next semester and discuss where and how he could improve his argumentation.
In an e-mail sent this evening- a full 3 days after the final paper was due, and 4 days after I returned his paper on PL, which was a grown-up but hardly sophisticated summary of Book IV and which I knowingly inflated from the C it was to a genial B minus, quoth the Student:
"Dr. Muse-
I probably don't need to tell you that I am again disappointed with my paper writing. It's frustrating that I'm doing poorly in the type of class in which I typically thrive, but that happens I guess. I'm sure you have as little free time as I do at this point in the semester and I know that you already have two papers of mine to grade, but I figured I would at least ask if I should try to rewrite this Paradise Lost paper for a better grade or if it's too late and I need to just eat the B-. If there is anything I can do to try and improve my grade in the class, I would be happy to do it, as a poor grade in a class I took just out of interest will certainly raise questions on graduate school applications. Either way, thanks for an enjoyable class and have a good break-
Student"
My initial response:
"Are you trying to make me feel guilty for giving you a B in an intro-level English course and thus poisoning your grad school applications? Give it a f***king break!"
My second response:
"Yeah, you can rake my yard and give my cat a bath. And when you're done you can give me $500 for a ticket to Montreal."
I know, I know, I'm a meanie. But only in my imagination and on this blog.
In the end, I wrote him a kind, sympathetic e-mail telling him that yes, it was too late for a revision, that I still had his final paper and his revised other paper to mark, and that I'd be happy to sit down with him next semester and discuss where and how he could improve his argumentation.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
New Obsession: German Botanical Charts
I covet these charts. They are affordable at 16 euros unmounted (mounted classroom use they are 40-60 euros), gorgeous and would look great framed. I'm especially attracted to the black background. I already have two wonderful lecons des choses that a dear family friend brought me back from Deyrolle in Paris- Tea and Sugar charts. But now I want more and I want these German botanicals.
Jung, Koch and Quentell Charts online
Hannukah Ham
According to Jewish humor site bangitout.com, this is an actual advertisement in the window of the Manhattan gourmet institution, Balducci's. I can't decide whether it's an intentional joke or not.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Anthropologie: Clothing Academics Since 1999
Whoever writes copy for Anthropologie obviously knows the customer base better than I thought. Case in point:
(I must have these) Tenure Trousers
Hmm. Maybe if I don't get tenure I can go write for Anthropologie.
(I must have these) Tenure Trousers
Hmm. Maybe if I don't get tenure I can go write for Anthropologie.
Why I Sometimes Love the South
Reasons Nos. 14 and 15:
The Camellia in front of my porch is blooming:
And there are mid-November figs from the tree in the garden:
The Camellia in front of my porch is blooming:
And there are mid-November figs from the tree in the garden:
Friday, November 16, 2007
Personality and Perspective
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a Professor in possession of a good English Degree must necessarily be a charming and genial person.
Yet for some reason, a list of irritating professor types has surfaced in the blogosphere. I cannot possibly fathom what kinds of deplorable people might have contributed to such a fictitious document. I post it here for your perusal. Please take a look at the comments section below as well (especially those by "Professor Ingenue").
List of Irritating Professor Types
It's funny, when I read this I immediately started treating it like the DSM IV, looking to diagnose myself and my department. Thankfully, we weren't there.
Yet for some reason, a list of irritating professor types has surfaced in the blogosphere. I cannot possibly fathom what kinds of deplorable people might have contributed to such a fictitious document. I post it here for your perusal. Please take a look at the comments section below as well (especially those by "Professor Ingenue").
List of Irritating Professor Types
It's funny, when I read this I immediately started treating it like the DSM IV, looking to diagnose myself and my department. Thankfully, we weren't there.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Carigueya
Carigueya, Seu Marsupiale Americanum Masculum. Or, The Anatomy of a Male Opossum: In a Letter to Dr Edward Tyson, from Mr William Cowper, Chirurgeon, and Fellow of the Royal Society, London. To Which are Premised Some Further Observations on the Opossum; And a New Division of Terrestrial Brute Animals, Particularly of Those That Have Their Feet Formed Like Hands. Where an Account is Given of Some Animals Not Yet Described by Edward Tyson, M. D. Fellow of the College of Physicians and of the Royal Society. London: 1698.
As seen on the Mulberry from my study window this evening. And yes, it has feet formed remarkably like hands. And a strange, joker-ish smile. It was rather small, though not a baby, and surprisingly cute (I learned later that the fur is remarkably soft, they never stay in one place for more than three days, and they eat mice and cockroaches and are generally good for the environment).
Friday, October 26, 2007
Fantasy Desk
I've just finished installing a shiny white desk, faded red kilim and knock-off Jielde desk lamp in my milk-colored study. The desk is a simple white parson's table, 5 feet long. I bought it unfinished and disassembled, painted it and nearly destroyed my shoulders and knuckles putting it together (you try screwing sixteen three-inch screws into two thick pieces of solid birch).
But sometimes I like to dream. And on Friday afternoons, after I have packed up my laptop, the three or four books I'll need over the weekend, and filled my bag with file folders crammed with student papers and various articles and drafts of things-in-progress, shut off the light and driven home, I like to pour myself a cup of tea and lick the ebay window. I don't really know what else to call it- "browsing" is too noncommittal. So I've chosen to anglicize the French idiom for window shopping- leche vitrine, or "window licking."
During a recent mid-century modern furniture foray, I came upon this graceful, utterly useful 6 foot desk. It is smooth and polished and slopes, like a piano. It has storage and lots of table space and it is Very Long. It is a desk to dream about. It is also $7500. Sometimes Ebay is like a decorative arts museum.
Edward Wormley Desk on Ebay
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Book Envy
I've been buying up new books. Not just any new books, mind you, but new books written by old grad school classmates of mine. It is kind of scary to know that friends from grad school already have their books out. The one I am thinking of, which came out in June, is spectacular. It has a gorgeous (color) cover, a beautiful, catchy two-part title (I thought we weren't allowed to do that anymore!), and six elegant chapters.
This is the first time I am actually able to see the progress from dissertation to book, and it's still kind of magical, despite me constantly prodding and pricking myself with reminders about how difficult it was for this scholar to get the dissertation written, to get a job, to get fellowships, to finish the book, and to get a great second job. I saw this person struggle from the first: I remember when she presented a version of a chapter at our bi-weekly reading group, and how tough everyone was on her. I remember her telling me about the first time our adviser made her cry, and I remember thinking of her words the first time our adviser made me cry (a rite of passage).
I remember watching her wrestle with finishing her dissertation and looking for a job, and I remember when she returned to our reading group several years later, in the middle of a tenure track job, already moving on to the next one. At that meeting, she shared a draft of her book's introduction, which was freshly written, experimental and very messy. I believe our adviser told her to scrap the whole thing and she laughingly agreed. All of this is to say that I saw her struggle. I saw how difficult this project was, and I saw how hard she worked. I saw her skip lunch for an entire year on fellowship just to get more time to write and revise. And now ironically there is this beautiful, transparent book glittering away all on its own, which makes us forget all about the struggle. Sprezzatura indeed, and book author (if you are reading this or if someone points you to this) I congratulate you.
{Coincidentally, but not related at all to this particular book, what does it take to get mentioned in the acknowledgments section of a book by a friend, adviser, colleague or former graduate student peer? I'm not disappointed that I haven't been acknowledged yet, but some of my friends have, and they haven't contributed any more to the discussion, or commented on any more drafts than I have. We've all run the discussion seminar at one point in our time as graduate students. So what do I have to do to get mentioned? Be nicer? Be meaner? Be further along in my career and more published? I'm just saying.}
I began this post planning to write about how much I envy this scholar her beautiful book and beautiful job, but in writing it I've realized that I don't. I'm proud of her and I'm glad I got to see how hard and painful and stressful and long the whole process is. Lunch, adieu.
This is the first time I am actually able to see the progress from dissertation to book, and it's still kind of magical, despite me constantly prodding and pricking myself with reminders about how difficult it was for this scholar to get the dissertation written, to get a job, to get fellowships, to finish the book, and to get a great second job. I saw this person struggle from the first: I remember when she presented a version of a chapter at our bi-weekly reading group, and how tough everyone was on her. I remember her telling me about the first time our adviser made her cry, and I remember thinking of her words the first time our adviser made me cry (a rite of passage).
I remember watching her wrestle with finishing her dissertation and looking for a job, and I remember when she returned to our reading group several years later, in the middle of a tenure track job, already moving on to the next one. At that meeting, she shared a draft of her book's introduction, which was freshly written, experimental and very messy. I believe our adviser told her to scrap the whole thing and she laughingly agreed. All of this is to say that I saw her struggle. I saw how difficult this project was, and I saw how hard she worked. I saw her skip lunch for an entire year on fellowship just to get more time to write and revise. And now ironically there is this beautiful, transparent book glittering away all on its own, which makes us forget all about the struggle. Sprezzatura indeed, and book author (if you are reading this or if someone points you to this) I congratulate you.
{Coincidentally, but not related at all to this particular book, what does it take to get mentioned in the acknowledgments section of a book by a friend, adviser, colleague or former graduate student peer? I'm not disappointed that I haven't been acknowledged yet, but some of my friends have, and they haven't contributed any more to the discussion, or commented on any more drafts than I have. We've all run the discussion seminar at one point in our time as graduate students. So what do I have to do to get mentioned? Be nicer? Be meaner? Be further along in my career and more published? I'm just saying.}
I began this post planning to write about how much I envy this scholar her beautiful book and beautiful job, but in writing it I've realized that I don't. I'm proud of her and I'm glad I got to see how hard and painful and stressful and long the whole process is. Lunch, adieu.
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