I'm back. And now I'm reading.

To restart this thing, I’ll have some conversations with books. Too pretentious. Let’s say I’ll talk to myself about books. There you go.

Please keep in mind that I’m a bit of a jealous reader. I’m not proud of it, but it’s part of my reading experience. I have an underlying current of “if I’d written this, would it have gotten past what my internal editor thinks an external editor would pass on?” Which is a complicated way of saying, “I could have written this,” but not. So it’s a kind of honesty test for me and the text in question.

Don’t get me wrong. I very much enjoy it when what I’m reading is clearly beyond my present capacity or so outside my wheelhouse – “wheelhouse” is a cliché now, no? – that I couldn’t even approach it. If it’s the former then I read to steal (turns of phrase, ways of thinking – if those two are different). If it’s the latter, I’m just amazed.

Franzen’s Kraus Project

Interesting idea. Good for him that he can get this kind of thing published. Just wonder who, other than me, the audience might be. A translation of a fairly obscure writer with personal footnotes that explain concepts and context and offer an interpretation on them.

I have the feeling most people who pick it up do so because they’ve read Franzen before.  I have not, but I have read Kraus before. First a collection of aphorisms, then a “Lesebuch” published by Suhrkamp. Their version of an overview/best of.

(And I’ve read several Tucholsky collections, who is a contemporary who wrote similarly pieces, i.e., a satirical cultural critique published in an independent format, in Tucholsky’s case, Die Weltbühne.)

The pieces in here are new to me. Wait, no. I’ve read the Nestroy thing before.

I’ll just do a little here, today, because I haven’t gotten very far and because I think I won’t see it through if I don’t start.

From note 1: “Although Kraus would probably have hated blogs, Die Fackel was like a blog that pretty much everybody who mattered in the German-speaking world, from Freud to Kafka to Walter Benjamin, found it necessary to read and have an attitude toward.”

A) The Fackel, from what I can tell, was very much like a blog. So, I’m guessing, were other newspaper opinion pieces, from Dr. Johnson’s Rambler through modern online bits. I don’t think he’d have hated the existence of blogs, but he would have disdained the laxity in thinking and spelign. I partially take it back. Maybe he would have hated the sense of entitlement that goes with people publishing their words and expecting immediate affirmation. (Not me, of course, though a comment would be nice.)

B) And “everybody who mattered in the German-speaking world” might need some clarification. I think “who might be remembered by an early 21^st-century American reader” is implied. I’m not sure the trinity of Freud, Kafka, and Benjamin were the great public-opinion shapers we think.

Enough for now. More soon.    

edge of your seat

In Coco's class, the feature of this month's Family Friday was "Edge of Your Seat" stories, stories written and illustrated by the first graders. Madge's (four years ago) was, I think, about the time Coco was briefly lost in Las Vegas. (More like misplaced at a buffet, but still.)

Many of the kids' stories feature adventures involving swimming and, with retroactive memory being what it is, near-drowning experiences.

Coco's was about the time he "Almost got hit by a car." I had the privilege of typing it up, so I already knew the contents. And I didn't agree with some of the facts as they are reported to have transpired, but oh well. I didn't bring it up.

Among the things I didn't agree with was that I apparently said to him, after he was in safety (the danger was never really that great because the car was fairly distant, but the point was there and I admit I harped on it for effect - I figured it was a learning experience), anyway, I was supposed to have said, "You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

I said no such thing, nor would I. Ninja, please.

When Julie asked him about it, Coco freely admitted making that part up to make the story better.

Tell that to all the parents who read his piece and now won't talk to me anymore.*

*I embellished that bit, too, for effect. So I can't really blame him now, can I?

new post, oh my

I know, I know. I'm so busy trying to get my little observations down to a 140 character size that I'm totally neglecting the bloggy blog.

Sorry about that.

New things that are piling up around here, well...

Kids get bigger and outgrow shoes and clothes and all of a sudden look like little adults. Or even not so little adults.

And yet, the end of the school year approaches, which for some reason means half-days are popping up all over the place, as well as end-of-year celebrations and the odd day off. No way really to wrap up the year.

Now I'm even behind on vacation planning. Can that be right?

you from here?

I was out last night, in a neighborhood I don't usually frequent, waiting for a show to start.

Some tourists approached me and said, "Are you from around here?"

Guessing that they'd want local insight from me, I said, "No, not really."

Because, really, I live about 100,000 people away from where I was and I don't know that neighborhood. Or, more specifically, not those blocks of that neighborhood, and in New York (and other cities) that can make all the difference (these people, I think, were not from a city).

Their spokeswoman, a blonde with a southern-ish accent (maybe Missouri) said, "Oh, because you look like you live in New York."

Foolishly (given her intoxication level as indicated by her lack of personal-space-respect and slurred speech), I tried to clarify. "Well, I live in New York, but I don't know this neighborhood."

"Too bad," she said, and then added in a condescending tone "we were hoping you could tell us where we can hear some music without a fifteen dollar cover charge."

I'm New York-y enough to boldly answer something like that. So I did. "Try the subway; the music's pretty good and the cover charge is only $2.25 a person."

culture clash

When the grandparents were here we went to Ellis Island.

Just before we were to board, the kids, as is their wont, got hungry, so I made a quick dash to a nearby hot dog stand. At the stand were some British tourists, discussing what to put on their weenie in a bun.

Wife [to husband]: Do you want mustard or sauce?

Husband: Sauce.

Wife [to vendor]: Two hot dogs, please. One with mustard and one with timahtoe.

See what happened there? Among(st) themselves, they speak of "sauce." Then, to translate the term to American English, they use "timahtoe," their variant of tomato.

Never in the whole exchange did "ketchup" or "catsup" enter the discussion. The vendor was obviously seasoned and took it in stride, giving them both "sauce."

Mary Poppins

I didn't mean to get tipsy during the musical we saw on Broadway, it just kind of turned out that way.

I'm a lightweight drinker, that needs to be stated up front. Then, the details:

We went to see Mary Poppins on Saturday at the New Amsterdam, the matinee at 2 pm. We got inside and saw a snack stand and got some Twizzlers and whatnot.

Then we got upstairs to our balcony area and saw a snack and drink bar. And of course I marveled at the fact that they had real drinks. I say "they," but I should be saying "she," since that may have something to do with the tipsiness.

We found our seats and Madge realized she was thirsty, so I went out to get her some juice and me a Twix bar. And of course I marveled at the fact that they had real drinks.

Then I got back and Coco discovered what happened and got thirsty, too. So I went back again and once more marveled at the fact that they had real drinks. This time she pointed out that if I got a drink now I'd get three bucks off a refill.

I never needed the refill because, I think, all my marveling - which included smiling, cracking jokes, and being as charming as my limited capacity allows me to be - made her pour me a rather strong Scotch and Soda.

Julie said it tasted like lighter fluid. I say it was good. And I'm sure it made the show even more enjoyable.

rhyming

I told the kids, "Give me a good word."

Coco came up with: "Thank you."

Madge came up with: "Perpendicular."

I wanted the word for rhyming purposes, so we'll see what happens.

If manipulative or polite,

there's one thing that boychild gets right.

He thinks, "Words, if I'd have to rank you,

then top of the list would be 'thank you.'"

In mishaps you should be particular.

Avoid crashes quite fast and vehicular.

Best of the batch

is a wee little scratch.

Worst is driver's side, hard, perpendicular.

tadaa!

movies, again

Oh, finally some sun.

Unfortunately, I already promised another trip to the movies.

But at least we won't have to take a car service today, but take a nice walk.

Well, "nice" is yet to be determined.

Time to learn

Often the kids leave plates and cups out with uneaten food and undrunk drinks. I know I shouldn't take a quick bite or sip before I toss them out, but I can't help myself. You know, I'm not really eating sweets or drinking milk if I'm just sampling a bit of theirs.

Well,

the other night Coco had just flossed his teeth and I was clearing a cup from the table and the milk in it seemed a little watery when the couch (peopled by Julie and Coco and Madge) erupted with giggles and I heard,

"Daddy just drank my spit!"

And then there was a half-hour of guffawing. If only I could translate something like that into a stage act, I'd have it made.

sorry, daddy

Last week's Economist has a cover story of a strong Germany in Europe, perhaps implying that this might be a bad thing. Hm. Wonder why?

In unrelated news, Madge is reading historical fiction in her class and every once in a while they talk about the persecution of the Jews.

It's cute in the sense that every time she talks about it she pauses and shrugs before she says, "Nazis" or "Germans." It's cute because she's essentially apologizing to me for bringing up what she fears might be a shameful event in my personal past.

Whereas when they were talking about slavery, she was mostly indignant when talking about it.

Am I to feel more guilty for Germany's history than the U.S.'s? Or is it because it's more recent?

But I'm just being flip. I know she feels bad that it's all anyone over here ever thinks of when the words "Germany" or "Nazis" arise.

Velkomm to ze Klabb.

Old Man L.

That's what I called him, a sort of shorthand for the kids.

He was a ninety-plus gentleman from Vienna whom I read to when his eyesight had gone too far. Until he couldn't concentrate on listening anymore, that is.

The first thing we read was a scene from Goethe's Faust. Then we found some Gottfried Keller, which turned out to be too long for us. Then some Karl Kraus. Then some poetry. Then some music theory by Kauder. But again and again we came back to Goethe.

One day he called me up and recited a poem by Goethe, one that I believe my Oma really liked near the end of her, life, too.

Wanderers Nachtlied

Ueber allen Gipfeln

ist Ruh.

In allen Wipfeln

spuerest du

kaum einen Hauch.

Die Voegelein schweigen im Walde.

Warte nur, balde

ruhest du auch.

(Traveler's Night Song

Above all peaks

is rest.

In all treetops

you feel

hardly a breath.

The little birds hush in the woods.

Just wait, soon

you, too, shall rest.)

What do you say to something like that? I prompted him along as he was reciting it (because I had memorized it after I found out Oma liked it), and then I applauded his memory.

Occasionally when we'd read he'd remember a line or two and anticipate my reading. Always very choice lines: he was an astute person.

Yes, was. You may have already guessed where this was headed. He passed away over the weekend.

One such anticipation was (again Goethe):

Ja! diesem Sinne bin ich ganz ergeben,

Das ist der Wahrheit letzter Schluss:

Nur der verdient sich Freiheit wie das Leben,

Der taeglich sie erobern muss.

(To this meaning I am devoted,

this is Truth's final conclusion:

Only he earns Freedom and Life

Who daily must conquer them.)

Go out and conquer.

family friday shocker

That's the day of the month when parents get to go into the kids' classrooms to see what they're up to.

Coco had writing samples for me to read. Great stuff, really. He seems to be excited about writing because on almost every page he continues past the given lines and writes on the back of the pages. Highly enjoyable.

He still writes things phonetically, so sumtims its a littul hard to figyur owt whut his ritting.

One of his pieces was about "sludding" in the park. The hill needed a bump to be more "iksiting." To his surprise, luckily, "I saw a rape!"

Holy sh*t, I thought, choking and laughing at the same time, what am I introducing him to?

Where was I in all this?

Then I realized that it was his way of writing "ramp."

Phew.

the star of the show

I had a lovely talk with Madge while walking to and from the library last week. Getting her away from distractions like books, screens, and little brothers is the best way to hang out with her. She was fun and silly and open and all those lovely things.

We got to talking about how everyone is the star of the show of their life and other people only have walk-on parts and that we're a walk-on part in the life of almost everyone we see. And not even credited.

Because for me, my life, apparently, is either a movie or a sitcom, not sure which.

Then she said, "Yeah, or my life's a video game and I get to choose everything."

And I said to myself, hang on, your life is a video game?

But of course it is, and for the next generation their life is going to be an iPhone app.

What does this mean for previous generations? Were their lives radio dramas, novels? And earlier than that, my life: the epic poem? My life: the sermon?

But now that it's tax season, it's more like My life: the line item on Schedule F.

movie quotes

Not the newest, I know, but I can't resist. Serafinowicz is great.

lung infection and strep fallout

I don't recommend it, but at least it's an enforced weight-loss program.

And I think I passed some sort of threshold in that respect because some random person on the street yesterday asked me if I was on TV. I was in a bit of a hurry, so I truthfully said "No."

And he apologized. Why would you apologize after an indirect compliment like that.

Wait.

Maybe the lack of food is just making me optimistically light-headed. You see all sorts of characters on TV, don't you?

Shoot.

ack-kpflt

I'm not saying you should feed your cat pop-rocks on purpose, though you may want to just in the name of science.

My sister and nephew sent Coco some German Spongebob lollipop-to-be-dipped-in-sour-pop-rocks treat. (Thanks, Tina and Jannik!) Unfortunately, the lollipop broke during shipping, so I poured everything out on a plate so Coco could still enjoy the sweetness and the head rush.

The cat, of course, bode (really? not bided, spell-check? hm.) his time and sneaked a little taste later in the day. I missed the initial face he made because I was out of the apartment, but I came home to the cat racing around with a puffed tail, and the kids and Julie suppressing laughter.

Who's keeping track? Was that life number three for our cat?

countdown

I'm not saying it's parents vs. kids, mind you, but sometimes...

Parenting, like the last two minutes of a basketball game, has a lot of set plays ready, depending on what the score is. And, in general, the whole day is structured to get into a good position for those crucial last moments.

I'm talking about getting the kids into bed. Daily activities, meals, school work, treats, baths, etc. all line up for that crucial final struggle to bed. On regular days I have things in place for the following exchanges:

Can I still...?

No.

But I just...

No.

But I have to...

Well, you had plenty time earlier. Lesson learned, right?

But I'm still hungry.

You didn't seem hungry at dinner.

And so on.

But when the parents are sick, all of our answers tend to be a mix of "unh" "ack" and "okay, whatever," making bedtime more and more prolonged and the kids less and less rational.

"I wanna sleep in my swimsuit on the dining table."

"ack"

"Can I have some brownies now? And then use the rest of the brownies as my pillow?"

"unh"

"I'm cold. Do you have some fives I can set on fire?"

"Okay, whatever"

In other words, don't ask about last night.

dang me, dang me, they ought to take a rope...

I'm as sorry about Alexander McQueen's death as anyone who has never met the guy and doesn't really know much about him.

But something like that does set you thinking: why is there a difference between hanged and hung.

Both refer to a similar physical act of suspension, right?

Hanged, I looked it up just to make sure, refers to the execution of a death sentence. Then, I don't know when, suicides got tacked on. At least that's how it appears in the dictionaries I've seen. Is it because so many suicidal hangings occurred in jail cells? Or because it is a death sentence to oneself?

Either way, saying "hung" instead of "hanged" seems - nowadays - to be a victimless grammatical crime. I mean, the person whom it most affects is not around to complain. It's like those people who tell me not to call a spider an insect, "It's an arachnid!"

I'll bet spiders don't give a flying filament either way. They probably call themselves a collection of clicks that means "the tribe" or "winners" or some such.

Back to hanging. Sure, it could offend those who passed the death sentence by suspension, but those days are gone, we have more sophisticated methods now.

It makes me wonder, though, having kids, how that word came about.

I'm guessing in the days of the Wild West the lynch-mob justices were as grammatically savvy as Coco when he was three, and when they came home after a hard day of justice-dispensing and were asked what they did, they answered,

"Oh, we hangded a cattle thief."

Latinists Help Out, Please

I'm trying to come up with a truthful family motto, and I think it should be

abbas poena est umquam ridiculus.

But my knowledge of Latin is limited to Asterix comics, so I'm not sure if that works. It's supposed to mean: It's always funny when daddy gets hurt. I tried to make it sound more Latin-y by making it "father's pain is ever laughable" and typing that phrase into an internet translator. Any of you remember Latin from school, those of you who took it and didn't skip too often?

Anyway, yesterday I was listening to my iPod while the kids were watching Star Wars (the one with the Ewoks, III or VI or whatever you want to call it) because Madge was home, sick, and deserved a treat. (Why she chose Star Wars remains a mystery.) I was feeling chilly, so I got a fleece blanket and pulled it over me and

ZAP!

the freaking blanket generated static that shot through the wires into my left ear with a KAPATKAPOWPATANG and a stream of expletives from my mouth and guffaws from the kids.

I'm also taking suggestions for the family crest under which the motto shall appear.

I'm thinking of a silhouette of a man hopping on one foot while holding the other that got injured by a stray toy or table leg. Simpler is better, so I think the crest will avoid children and spouse convulsing in laughter.

(Seriously, do any of you know Latin enough to help out? Should it be semper ridiculus? Is there a way to leave out the inelegant-looking "est"?)

sorry to do this, but:

take a deep breath and listen to this

you're welcome