Enjoy Roy.
This week I guess I'm taking him microbial instead of viral.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Friday, December 29, 2006
Circus footage
We went to the Big Apple Circus two days ago.
The best part, hands down, was the way the kids watched.
Ah, parenthood.
Incidentally, the kid next to Madge (not Coco) was whooping by the middle of the first half of the show and near tears and paroxysms by the second half, by which time I had given him some napkins to help with the spilled ketchup from his jumbo hot dog. All around, a great experience.
The best part, hands down, was the way the kids watched.
Ah, parenthood.
Incidentally, the kid next to Madge (not Coco) was whooping by the middle of the first half of the show and near tears and paroxysms by the second half, by which time I had given him some napkins to help with the spilled ketchup from his jumbo hot dog. All around, a great experience.
Coco Tuesday on Friday (sorry)
I realize I missed Coco Tuesday this week, but everything has been topsy-turvy lately. This last week was when we took him off his seizure medicine entirely and now we need to keep an extra-close watch on him. But, man, a scientific experiment this is not.
It would be nice if the lack of medicine would be the only thing different in his routine. But, no, it was the last week of school before vacation, going straight into vacation, grandparents arriving, Christmas mayhem, and general sugar and movie and soda and stay-up-late and go-to-Manhattan and see-the-circus insanity.
Is he acting differently? Well, duh. Is the lack of medicine the cause? Who knows. Did he have any seizures? He would never admit it. He fell down a few times, but not in the same kind of way. And what sugared-up overtired three-year-old doesn’t?
He had an EEG yesterday and a visit with his neurologist. The result: come back in two months and do it again. Keep watching him.
As much as extra activities are fun, it’d be nice to have a “normal” week. But the next time such a week might present itself, someone is sure to be sick.
Ah, parenthood.
It would be nice if the lack of medicine would be the only thing different in his routine. But, no, it was the last week of school before vacation, going straight into vacation, grandparents arriving, Christmas mayhem, and general sugar and movie and soda and stay-up-late and go-to-Manhattan and see-the-circus insanity.
Is he acting differently? Well, duh. Is the lack of medicine the cause? Who knows. Did he have any seizures? He would never admit it. He fell down a few times, but not in the same kind of way. And what sugared-up overtired three-year-old doesn’t?
He had an EEG yesterday and a visit with his neurologist. The result: come back in two months and do it again. Keep watching him.
As much as extra activities are fun, it’d be nice to have a “normal” week. But the next time such a week might present itself, someone is sure to be sick.
Ah, parenthood.
Another U Fable
Thank you, dear commentators, for suggesting
The Urbanite and the Unicorn
The unicorn said to the urbanite, “What’re you lookin’ at, bub?”
Replied the urbanite, “What’s with the attitude? I thought you were supposed to be calm.”
Said the unicorn, “If I’m not calm, you’re obviously not a virgin.”
“Touche,” said the urbanite. “And, to answer your question, I’m looking at your lion’s tail, your buck’s legs, and the red and black on the horn. I thought you were supposed to be a horse with a golden horn.”
Said the unicorn, “I guess you ain’t so smart after all, city boy.”
Said the urbanite, “Well, I do know you don’t exist.”
And with that, the city and everything in it disappeared.
The Urbanite and the Unicorn
The unicorn said to the urbanite, “What’re you lookin’ at, bub?”
Replied the urbanite, “What’s with the attitude? I thought you were supposed to be calm.”
Said the unicorn, “If I’m not calm, you’re obviously not a virgin.”
“Touche,” said the urbanite. “And, to answer your question, I’m looking at your lion’s tail, your buck’s legs, and the red and black on the horn. I thought you were supposed to be a horse with a golden horn.”
Said the unicorn, “I guess you ain’t so smart after all, city boy.”
Said the urbanite, “Well, I do know you don’t exist.”
And with that, the city and everything in it disappeared.
Year-end stuff
Amazon has a "Best of 2006" list, of course.
"Best of" lists hardly ever match up. The items with the best reviews, for example, don't match the most frequently purchased items.
I'm surprised, that the "most wished for" and "most given" do match in a few categories. People gave the iPods asked for, the "Pirates of the Caribbean" DVD, auto-wrenches, as well as jewelry. Not bad. It appears the wish lists work.
As far as personal grooming goes, there's a slight discrepancy. It appears men think that all they need to do to be groomed is to shave.
But
the item they get is a pedometer.
Is there a message there?
"Best of" lists hardly ever match up. The items with the best reviews, for example, don't match the most frequently purchased items.
I'm surprised, that the "most wished for" and "most given" do match in a few categories. People gave the iPods asked for, the "Pirates of the Caribbean" DVD, auto-wrenches, as well as jewelry. Not bad. It appears the wish lists work.
As far as personal grooming goes, there's a slight discrepancy. It appears men think that all they need to do to be groomed is to shave.
But
the item they get is a pedometer.
Is there a message there?
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Dropping like flies
Man, what a week. Everyone’s passing away. First James Brown, then Gerald Ford, and now Braguinha, the composer of “Yes, We Have No Bananas.” (A song defiled in Germany as an ad for Maggi: “Die fuenf-minuten-Terrine von Maggi, ‘ne tolle Idee.” It’s only because Braguinha’s song is of such genius that the stupid ad still comes to mind.)
Road Sign Metaphor
I was running the other day (about time, lardo!) and noticed that there's a road sign that's rather insightful concerning the relation of mental acuity to political inclination.
Though you can probably guess the sign, I'll give it to you (sorry I couldn't find an image online that I could download):
Slower Traffic Keep Right
(This train of thought brought to you from someone without a car.)
Though you can probably guess the sign, I'll give it to you (sorry I couldn't find an image online that I could download):
Slower Traffic Keep Right
(This train of thought brought to you from someone without a car.)
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Monday, December 25, 2006
Madge Monday
Wow, anticipation is not Madge’s strong suit. But today is Christmas, and the wait is over. She’s been losing a lot of sleep this past week. So much so that she was feeling sick by the end of the week and I let her stay home on Friday. (She had a slight fever and her grandparents were coming soon and I didn’t want to push things. It was actually a nice day.) Hopefully, we can catch up now.
She is a sweet, thoughtful and generous gift giver. The generosity is easy for her since she’s not footing the bill. But the point is that she doesn’t skimp on quality and can recognize quality without looking at a price tag first.
But, at age seven, I don’t think she can help making gift-pile comparisons. To her disadvantage, of course, because it seems that the general rule is: the younger the kid, the larger the toy. Choking hazards are small, after all. And a lot of rubber duckies can be purchased for the price of a computer game. Still, the whole day went by quite peacefully.
As I’ve noted, the grandparents are here (for a week) and there was some initial attention-jealousy, but now that we’ve passed out stopwatches and tally-sheets, everything should go well. Once I’ve explained the concept of interest and its accrual to Madge, I think we’ll be set.
But really, considering the emotional turmoil that Christmas entails, she’s holding up remarkably well.
Much better than I did at that age, I’m sure.
Oh, and I almost forgot, we went to the Nutcracker Ballet on Saturday. Lincoln Center. My first time. (She went last year with Julie and YaiYai – but they left during the intermission because of illness – it might even have been mentioned in an insert in the program: “Due to illness, the role of ‘spectator in the fourth tier balcony’ will be played by an understudy or even left blank after the intermission. We regret any confusion this may cause.”)
Boy, is she a squirmy ballet-watcher. Super-cute, don’t get me wrong. She just wants to dance, too, I think. She hums along, waves her arms, hops up and down, claps wildly when things are exciting, and is good company during the intermission. Only getting there is a little rough – see the anticipation difficulties above. We got there early and got to our seats early and waited there rather than in the lobby. Oh, well.
And, on the subway ride there, she put her legs on the seat next to her and accidentally brushed the leg of her neighbor, who took personal offense at the matter. Borderline loony, I assume, or trying to go without medication or cigarettes or something. More grumpy than a regular day would entail, in other words. But who knows what people on the subway are going through? Ever ride on public transportation after something went horribly wrong for you and get pissed off at everyone around you? That kind of a day, I think.
And, on the way back, she was sprawled out as if she were on the couch at home and the lady across from me motioned to me that Madge should probably close her legs.
She had a point, but that’s really not something I want to have to think about.
But the ballet: awesome. I even fell asleep briefly. No, wait. That should say, “I was transported.”
She is a sweet, thoughtful and generous gift giver. The generosity is easy for her since she’s not footing the bill. But the point is that she doesn’t skimp on quality and can recognize quality without looking at a price tag first.
But, at age seven, I don’t think she can help making gift-pile comparisons. To her disadvantage, of course, because it seems that the general rule is: the younger the kid, the larger the toy. Choking hazards are small, after all. And a lot of rubber duckies can be purchased for the price of a computer game. Still, the whole day went by quite peacefully.
As I’ve noted, the grandparents are here (for a week) and there was some initial attention-jealousy, but now that we’ve passed out stopwatches and tally-sheets, everything should go well. Once I’ve explained the concept of interest and its accrual to Madge, I think we’ll be set.
But really, considering the emotional turmoil that Christmas entails, she’s holding up remarkably well.
Much better than I did at that age, I’m sure.
Oh, and I almost forgot, we went to the Nutcracker Ballet on Saturday. Lincoln Center. My first time. (She went last year with Julie and YaiYai – but they left during the intermission because of illness – it might even have been mentioned in an insert in the program: “Due to illness, the role of ‘spectator in the fourth tier balcony’ will be played by an understudy or even left blank after the intermission. We regret any confusion this may cause.”)
Boy, is she a squirmy ballet-watcher. Super-cute, don’t get me wrong. She just wants to dance, too, I think. She hums along, waves her arms, hops up and down, claps wildly when things are exciting, and is good company during the intermission. Only getting there is a little rough – see the anticipation difficulties above. We got there early and got to our seats early and waited there rather than in the lobby. Oh, well.
And, on the subway ride there, she put her legs on the seat next to her and accidentally brushed the leg of her neighbor, who took personal offense at the matter. Borderline loony, I assume, or trying to go without medication or cigarettes or something. More grumpy than a regular day would entail, in other words. But who knows what people on the subway are going through? Ever ride on public transportation after something went horribly wrong for you and get pissed off at everyone around you? That kind of a day, I think.
And, on the way back, she was sprawled out as if she were on the couch at home and the lady across from me motioned to me that Madge should probably close her legs.
She had a point, but that’s really not something I want to have to think about.
But the ballet: awesome. I even fell asleep briefly. No, wait. That should say, “I was transported.”
Christmas post
Happy post-gift-unwrapping stock-taking, everyone!
Generally, when you give a toy for Christmas only to learn that the figurines shown on the package and vital for play with said toy are not included, you end up not a little ashamed at your gift and upset at the toy manufacturer. But when your child has a birthday within a month after Christmas, it’s a blessing in disguise.
Generally, when you give a toy for Christmas only to learn that the figurines shown on the package and vital for play with said toy are not included, you end up not a little ashamed at your gift and upset at the toy manufacturer. But when your child has a birthday within a month after Christmas, it’s a blessing in disguise.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
U Fable(s)
A little late, but therefore get more (a variant of "not only was the food bad, but the portions were tiny").
The Ulcer and the Ultimatum
And ultimatum and an ulcer were at yet another meeting with their marriage counselor. They were saying the stereotypical things. The ultimatum kept pressuring the counselor to resolve their issues soon, or else. The ulcer just kept groaning.
Finally, the counselor gave up on his fee and spoke some words of truth. “Look. Clearly you guys need each other and fulfill one another. Dys- or not, what you’ve got functions.”
“Oh,” they said together and briefly disappeared.
The Ukelele and the Uncle Rule
A man went into a pawn shop, where a charming little ukulele caught his eye. He was about to purchase it when the pawn broker showed him the Uncle Rule, which stated: “I hereby solemnly declare never to procreate and to plague nieces and nephews with awful renditions of ‘Tiptoe Through The Tulips’ in perpetuity.”
Finally, the fabulist regrets not thinking of any cool animals beginning with the letter “U.”
The Ulcer and the Ultimatum
And ultimatum and an ulcer were at yet another meeting with their marriage counselor. They were saying the stereotypical things. The ultimatum kept pressuring the counselor to resolve their issues soon, or else. The ulcer just kept groaning.
Finally, the counselor gave up on his fee and spoke some words of truth. “Look. Clearly you guys need each other and fulfill one another. Dys- or not, what you’ve got functions.”
“Oh,” they said together and briefly disappeared.
The Ukelele and the Uncle Rule
A man went into a pawn shop, where a charming little ukulele caught his eye. He was about to purchase it when the pawn broker showed him the Uncle Rule, which stated: “I hereby solemnly declare never to procreate and to plague nieces and nephews with awful renditions of ‘Tiptoe Through The Tulips’ in perpetuity.”
Finally, the fabulist regrets not thinking of any cool animals beginning with the letter “U.”
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Congratulations, I guess
This picture arrived in my inbox the other day.
I get the joke, but still.
Who orders wedding cakes with figurine toppers?
Oh, wait, that question wasn’t rhetorical.
Brides’ mothers.
Now. Would you marry a woman whose mother has this opinion of her?
I get the joke, but still.
Who orders wedding cakes with figurine toppers?
Oh, wait, that question wasn’t rhetorical.
Brides’ mothers.
Now. Would you marry a woman whose mother has this opinion of her?
New Chinese adoption regulations
Remember how you used to read books as a kid and say to yourself, "Man, how cool it must be to be adopted. Those guys have all the fun."
Well, it just got better, apparently.
(Don't forget to close your gaping mouth after you're done reading the article.)
Well, it just got better, apparently.
(Don't forget to close your gaping mouth after you're done reading the article.)
What are you?
I seem to be forgetting all the choice encounters and conversations, and my hands have been too full with shopping bags to whip out my notepad, so you’ll have to make do with my brain-remnants.
The kids and I ate out tonight. Nibbled out, really. It’ll be a while before we repeat that experiment, unless I’ve starved them for a day and a half beforehand.
At a table near us sat a youngish woman who was stared at profusely by my issue (I love that term). The reason: she was letting her inner Frida Kahlo out. In other words, her facial hair did not match the kids’ gender expectations.
And, man, kids are not subtle about staring. Their necks kept zipping around so fast, I got whiplash just being near them.
Oh, and whispering? Not one of their talents.
Coco wanted me to talk to “him.” I said I think it’s a she. “Really?” Madge burst out. “But he has a beard.”
“It’s called a mustache,” came out of my clenched teeth.
And here’s one of my prouder lines of the week: “It’s not polite to talk about people’s looks.”
Okay, that part wasn’t so bad, but I couldn’t resist the follow-up: “When they can hear you.”
And then it was hard to keep myself from laughing at my own joke. (I haven’t had an adult audience in a while.)
Needless to say, I now have a lot of ssplainin’ to do.
But, in our defense, I did get the kids to talk to her. I helped. Of course she was really nice. And Madge was duly impressed that I was able to look past the facial hair to discern the gender.
Of course another problem arose. When the kids asked her name, the answer I heard (as did Madge) was “Alan.”
The kids and I ate out tonight. Nibbled out, really. It’ll be a while before we repeat that experiment, unless I’ve starved them for a day and a half beforehand.
At a table near us sat a youngish woman who was stared at profusely by my issue (I love that term). The reason: she was letting her inner Frida Kahlo out. In other words, her facial hair did not match the kids’ gender expectations.
And, man, kids are not subtle about staring. Their necks kept zipping around so fast, I got whiplash just being near them.
Oh, and whispering? Not one of their talents.
Coco wanted me to talk to “him.” I said I think it’s a she. “Really?” Madge burst out. “But he has a beard.”
“It’s called a mustache,” came out of my clenched teeth.
And here’s one of my prouder lines of the week: “It’s not polite to talk about people’s looks.”
Okay, that part wasn’t so bad, but I couldn’t resist the follow-up: “When they can hear you.”
And then it was hard to keep myself from laughing at my own joke. (I haven’t had an adult audience in a while.)
Needless to say, I now have a lot of ssplainin’ to do.
But, in our defense, I did get the kids to talk to her. I helped. Of course she was really nice. And Madge was duly impressed that I was able to look past the facial hair to discern the gender.
Of course another problem arose. When the kids asked her name, the answer I heard (as did Madge) was “Alan.”
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
And a one and a, uh, er
Headline in the WashPost: Short Workouts Can Slow Decline Of Aging Minds, Study Indicates
I’m not sure my kind of mental workout is what they have in mind (no pun intended), though: having my brain run in circles.
As a matter of fact, my mind has exercised too much because it keeps getting ahead of me, lately (pun intended, but probably not registered).
I guess a final exam is a sort of bulimic exercise for the mind – you stuff it full of delectables and then regurgitate and forget about it. Does that count, too?
I’m not sure my kind of mental workout is what they have in mind (no pun intended), though: having my brain run in circles.
As a matter of fact, my mind has exercised too much because it keeps getting ahead of me, lately (pun intended, but probably not registered).
I guess a final exam is a sort of bulimic exercise for the mind – you stuff it full of delectables and then regurgitate and forget about it. Does that count, too?
Coco Tuesday
Our Christmas tree looks funny, because it needs to accommodate the warring forces of Coco and Baci. Coco’s aesthetic ideal requires all ornaments to be placed within his reach, on one side of the tree; Baci’s aesthetic ideal requires all ornaments to be airborne. The immovable object and the irresistible force: endless hours of fun.
The contrast between Coco and Madge is quite pronounced in these anxious pre-unwrapping days. Coco doesn’t have a concept of time or urgency about he upcoming bonanza, so he leaves presents wrapped. He simply enjoys that they’re there for him. Madge, on the other hand, is losing sleep over the matter. Literally.
In general, I can’t help noticing that the time before vacation and holidays is anything but relaxing for the stay-at-home parent. My schedule is completely manic, and all in preparation for less time off than ever before. Because, remember, vacation for everyone else is anything but the same for the one who stays at home – for me it’s an invasion. At least the invaders are friendly and have good intentions, so it should be great, but still. I play catch-up as it is. Now I’m behind on Christmas before it has even begun. And I have no idea when I’ll start wrapping things. That reminds me: I need to get more paper. Correction: some paper.
The contrast between Coco and Madge is quite pronounced in these anxious pre-unwrapping days. Coco doesn’t have a concept of time or urgency about he upcoming bonanza, so he leaves presents wrapped. He simply enjoys that they’re there for him. Madge, on the other hand, is losing sleep over the matter. Literally.
In general, I can’t help noticing that the time before vacation and holidays is anything but relaxing for the stay-at-home parent. My schedule is completely manic, and all in preparation for less time off than ever before. Because, remember, vacation for everyone else is anything but the same for the one who stays at home – for me it’s an invasion. At least the invaders are friendly and have good intentions, so it should be great, but still. I play catch-up as it is. Now I’m behind on Christmas before it has even begun. And I have no idea when I’ll start wrapping things. That reminds me: I need to get more paper. Correction: some paper.
India goes nucular
Headline: Bush Signs U.S. - India Nuclear Deal
Of course he does. How else can the 24-hr call-centers in Bombay answer the frustrated calls from power-plant workers stateside?
(I'm not the only one thinking in terms of Homer and Apu, am I?)
I wonder if Bush finds the way they pronounce it odd? “New-clee-urr? Heh, heh. You guys are too funny.”
Of course he does. How else can the 24-hr call-centers in Bombay answer the frustrated calls from power-plant workers stateside?
(I'm not the only one thinking in terms of Homer and Apu, am I?)
I wonder if Bush finds the way they pronounce it odd? “New-clee-urr? Heh, heh. You guys are too funny.”
Monday, December 18, 2006
Madge Monday
Madge has been the Queen of the Playdate lately. The phone list is off the wall and every afternoon she tries to learn a new number by heart as she dials away and asks if she can play with yet another friend.
It’s cute, really. And I allowed her to have an insight the other day, when I suggested something.
Her response was, “You mean I can have a playdate with a boy? Oh.”
Some fallout from the playdate-o-rama is that the cat has figured out the phone, to a degree. He has so far managed to get it off the hook a few times after it rang, and he has managed to change it from touch-tone to pulse dialing. How, I’m not quite sure.
She is missed, though, when she is gone. Most severely by Coco, but on the weekends also by Julie.
And now I feel guilty because I enjoy the extra bit of “quiet” time, though the last session backfired because Coco missed her too much and needed to be entertained the whole time.
And something – I believe it’s Christmas – is causing her to have sleepless nights. This does not bode well for the night of the 24th. I may have to introduce her to wonders of egg nog and whiskey. How else do you end up dreaming of sugarplum fairies?
It’s cute, really. And I allowed her to have an insight the other day, when I suggested something.
Her response was, “You mean I can have a playdate with a boy? Oh.”
Some fallout from the playdate-o-rama is that the cat has figured out the phone, to a degree. He has so far managed to get it off the hook a few times after it rang, and he has managed to change it from touch-tone to pulse dialing. How, I’m not quite sure.
She is missed, though, when she is gone. Most severely by Coco, but on the weekends also by Julie.
And now I feel guilty because I enjoy the extra bit of “quiet” time, though the last session backfired because Coco missed her too much and needed to be entertained the whole time.
And something – I believe it’s Christmas – is causing her to have sleepless nights. This does not bode well for the night of the 24th. I may have to introduce her to wonders of egg nog and whiskey. How else do you end up dreaming of sugarplum fairies?
Lookit, Lookit
Look. You can read some of my stuff in a new location as well.
Nifty, nifty, I tell you.
Check it out, leave a comment, and stop by CrunchGear often.
Now I need to work on getting Calvin Trillin's gig for The Nation. He's gotta retire sometime, right?
Nifty, nifty, I tell you.
Check it out, leave a comment, and stop by CrunchGear often.
Now I need to work on getting Calvin Trillin's gig for The Nation. He's gotta retire sometime, right?
Sunday, December 17, 2006
year-end review
This blog has provided a service I wouldn’t have the patience for. A compilation of the infamous and highly proliferated (as you’ll be able to see when you follow the link) lists of best of (best ofs? bests of?) in the realm of music.
In short, if you want to keep up to date, buy everything. But, by the time you’ve listened to a quarter of it, it’s already out of date and at that point you’ll be listening to has-beens or classics, depending on your take.
If offer a different “best of” list. More manageable. It’s the best of the books I actually finished this year. I start a lot of books and read about even more of them, but it’s rare I actually finish a book. But here are three I stuck around for and which actually paid off.
Idylls of the King, by Alfred Lord Tennyson. Not nearly as hoity-toity as it sounds. I came to this in a circuitous way. I was reading Anne of Green Gables (before the crying) and figured I’d read the original of what she reenacted on the river. So I started the Idylls of the King at the “Lancelot and Elaine” chapter (as I call it – I don’t know the proper term - sub-epic? poem?). I recommend beginning there, mostly because all tellings of the Arthurian saga begin with the ascendancy of Arthur, and that is not where Tennyson is at his most inventive. (Though, to be fair, the opening chapter is very good in that it gives several different versions of Arthur’s arrival.) Still, Lancelot has always been the most fascinating of the Round Table Knights. (I could have done without the epilogue, but still, who am I to judge?)
Imaginary Obligations, by Frank Moore Colby. I found this author in A Subtreasury of American Humor. Colby’s essays aren’t laugh-out-loud funny, but what written humor really is, anyway? He’s got great insights, though, and his main point is that you can’t judge people by what they say, since they feel obligated to put up a public front. What I remember offhand is that he points out, in an essay about evening entertainments, that much entertainment succeeds in emptying the audiences mind from the troubles and worries of the day, but a good production inserts new thoughts in this void. Of course he says it much better than I did. (Downside: you’ll have to get a used copy since it’s out of print. But you’ll get to surf around www.alibris.com or www.abebooks.com.)
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes and But Gentlemen Marry Brunettes, by Anita Loos. Don’t watch the movie, if you can avoid it. The movie is completely miscast, if you ask me. Marilyn Monroe just can’t pull off the conniving innocence necessary for the character of Lorelei Lee. Without looking, I remember one of the lines that made me want to pick up the book in the first place (I had read an excerpt in A Subtreasury of American Humor – a book I’d recommend if I’d finished it – look for a recommendation next year). She’s talking about her gentleman friend who doesn’t bore her and always makes good conversation. For example, the other day, he gave her the cutest diamond bracelet.
There you go. Look them up if you have the time. I don’t think you’ll be complaining about wasted time.
In short, if you want to keep up to date, buy everything. But, by the time you’ve listened to a quarter of it, it’s already out of date and at that point you’ll be listening to has-beens or classics, depending on your take.
If offer a different “best of” list. More manageable. It’s the best of the books I actually finished this year. I start a lot of books and read about even more of them, but it’s rare I actually finish a book. But here are three I stuck around for and which actually paid off.
Idylls of the King, by Alfred Lord Tennyson. Not nearly as hoity-toity as it sounds. I came to this in a circuitous way. I was reading Anne of Green Gables (before the crying) and figured I’d read the original of what she reenacted on the river. So I started the Idylls of the King at the “Lancelot and Elaine” chapter (as I call it – I don’t know the proper term - sub-epic? poem?). I recommend beginning there, mostly because all tellings of the Arthurian saga begin with the ascendancy of Arthur, and that is not where Tennyson is at his most inventive. (Though, to be fair, the opening chapter is very good in that it gives several different versions of Arthur’s arrival.) Still, Lancelot has always been the most fascinating of the Round Table Knights. (I could have done without the epilogue, but still, who am I to judge?)
Imaginary Obligations, by Frank Moore Colby. I found this author in A Subtreasury of American Humor. Colby’s essays aren’t laugh-out-loud funny, but what written humor really is, anyway? He’s got great insights, though, and his main point is that you can’t judge people by what they say, since they feel obligated to put up a public front. What I remember offhand is that he points out, in an essay about evening entertainments, that much entertainment succeeds in emptying the audiences mind from the troubles and worries of the day, but a good production inserts new thoughts in this void. Of course he says it much better than I did. (Downside: you’ll have to get a used copy since it’s out of print. But you’ll get to surf around www.alibris.com or www.abebooks.com.)
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes and But Gentlemen Marry Brunettes, by Anita Loos. Don’t watch the movie, if you can avoid it. The movie is completely miscast, if you ask me. Marilyn Monroe just can’t pull off the conniving innocence necessary for the character of Lorelei Lee. Without looking, I remember one of the lines that made me want to pick up the book in the first place (I had read an excerpt in A Subtreasury of American Humor – a book I’d recommend if I’d finished it – look for a recommendation next year). She’s talking about her gentleman friend who doesn’t bore her and always makes good conversation. For example, the other day, he gave her the cutest diamond bracelet.
There you go. Look them up if you have the time. I don’t think you’ll be complaining about wasted time.
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