Last night’s entertainment involved cutting and pasting from various versions of hopefully uncorrupted documents. Once I figured out that none of what I wrote would see the light of day because the little beach ball of doom would undoubtedly show up, it became kind of fun. I could do things like For example after a nice story from Galileo about a Hermit killing a cicada in search of sound why not insert the phrase from my new favorite Tweeterer, Feminist Hulk: HULK NOT HAVE TIME TO STRETCH FIRST, PULL MUSCLE WHEN SMASHING BIOLOGICAL ESSENTIALISM. SMASH GO WELL, BUT HULK NEED HEAT PAD? And indeed as it turns out a bit of a riff on the Lyra Barberini goes very nicely with LONG WEEK OF SMASH LEAD TO WEEKEND OF LAUNDRY. POST-LAUNDRY, HULK UNWIND, WRITE SONGS ON GUITAR. WHAT RHYME WITH CIXOUS? And a footnote on livery works with HULK SEW "WHAT WOULD ANGELA DAVIS DO?" PATCH ON LITTLE PURPLE SHORTS. This was only slightly more thrilling than getting very excited about hooking a pick up to a viola and then hooking said pick up to an amp and getting completely stuck on the pick up spot. When it looked like we would have to scrape away at the bridge my technical support who is excellent in a lab and in a tree canopy decided I needed a professional. Given my new obsession with the HULK I was looking very forward to making some serious noise.
The 60 hour jaunt to the city ranged from the ridiculous to the fabulous. The ridiculousness started with a cancelled plane, and while I was in a completely inconsolable bratty mood on the phone my friend suggested I get off said phone and get my butt to the train, which left in 20 minutes. Remarkably (and with help from HomeTechSupport [HTS]), I got from running clothes to train in 18 minutes. Note that I very carefully planned the trip for weekdays so that the children would be in school and HTS (Manuel) would have an easier time. But Charlottesville had a serious snowpocalypse of at least 1.5 inches, which kept them out of school for two days. It was clear by Friday early afternoon that if I did not make my way to the StarLight express bus on time I would have a really cranky husband. And lest anyone think I was completely oblvious to snow troubles, my son did call me while I was at MOMA to share a full screaming tantrum about the fact that he did not have snow boots for said one inch of snow. “Terrible things happen whenever you go away….I refuse to wear my cowboy boots. I am not a cowboy…. This is a travesty for my feet….” were a few of the choice lines.
There is no place in the world better for someone who can’t drive than New York or Rome and nothing more delicious for a mother of three small children than a quiet and gorgeous apartment. (thanks uncle earl) I was slightly startled every time I pushed the remote control button that made the tv come out of the bookcase—James Bond. (It was not, however, as startling as the time I was there in grad school and some how traffic from outside set off a light bulb clapper and every light in the apartment went on and my middle of the night sleep state made me think I was being invaded).
But the reason I went was my grandparents and that was also the sad part. I feel compelled to visit them a few times a year although I’m not sure they are always cognizant of who it is. I’m most often confused with my mother. And admittedly I always plan some fun things and some good solitary work time while I’m there. They are at best shadows or shells of what they once were. That they were not much older than I am now when I was born means that I have vivid memories of them in their 50’s. I’m not sure at what point this happened and at what point it became clear that they are simply not really here any more. I know that when Rebecca and Jonathan were born almost eight years ago they were still sentient and able to take pleasure. My grandfather could still walk me to the NICU and express his doctorly wisdom. He could also suggest that the introduction to my Monteverdi book used too many words he did not know. When the kids were six months old my grandmother could still get down on the floor and play with them and when they were a year old she could still come out to our house in Port Jefferson and sit in the backyard while they climbed on her. One of my mother’s friends commented that I am a very good granddaughter. Well, the thing is, they were wonderful grandparents.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
Rage against the Machine
“With every tool man is perfecting his own organs, whether motor or sensory or is removing the limits to their functioning.” I thought this was a cool quotation from Freud a week ago. Now not so much….. On Friday I started having problems with the document that is in effect chapter one of my book. (don’t worry there are other chapters and other portions but this is chapter one as in ready to be a book chapter one) After getting the revolving beach ball on drugs for a few hours I then spent a few hours on the phone with microscoft word. The automated service by the way does not understand the words “fu****ers” or the phrase “do not apologize for the inconvenience any more” Eventually my microsoft friend Bob who sounded like an automated phone informed me that my document was clearly corrupt and that the way to write a book is to do absolutely no formatting until the end—and by the way it is a bad idea to cut and paste between documents. I sat down on Sunday to mess around with the corrupted document again only to find that the power cord to the mac had somehow been fried—so the computer was completely out of juice. Today’s technological insult involved dropping my phone in the toilet—don’t even ask. As it turns out the thing survived being RUN OVER by an SUV but not drowning by toilet.
Thankfully the fabulous Lauren was babysitting and drove the boys and I to the Verizon store during rush hour.(where on earth are people going here at rush hour?) Note that both were tantruming by the time we left the house and the only thing that stopped it was endless knock knock jokes. The boys loved the Verizon store especially the ipads on which Joanthan was somehow searching for what bathing suit is best for your body type. (his body type is scrawny) Eli had to do his email and blog and when we all left the Verizon store thinking he’d follow he in fact called our bluff and kept on doing his business on the ipad. I got the updated version of the “easy use phone” as in the phone for blind old people which has very large buttons, does nothing fancy and has the red 911 button which children are prone to press. During the car ride Eli solved the problem of what to get Papa for his birthday. “a gun” We spent quite a bit of time listening to the rings on my new phone and the kids wondered if we could get “gavotte” on it.
Now one of the many ironies in all of this is that the reason I have I have a Freud quotation at the tips of my fingers is because I am writing a book about Castrati, technology and machines. In theory I’m exploring the interface between human and machines and chapter one has a section entitled “instrumental excursis” which stretches from Aristotle to Freud on the potential of technology to extend the limits of the sensory.
On an un-related note Jonathan and Rebecca’s Friend Kiren got a new brother last week. We are very very happy that the baby is so precious and even more happy that it’s not at our house. Jonathan and Eli were both fairly quick to burst the new brothers bubble. When Kiren explained how cute his brother was J responded with “you know pretty soon that baby is going to steal your leggos. ” Eli want to build a baby house with baby weapons but seemed more impressed with Kiren’s new legos than Kiren’s new baby. Eli seems generally weak on concept these days. He also explained to the barber on Saturday that Santa had already come to our house for Hanukkah.
“With every tool man is perfecting his own organs, whether motor or sensory or is removing the limits to their functioning.” I thought this was a cool quotation from Freud a week ago. Now not so much….. On Friday I started having problems with the document that is in effect chapter one of my book. (don’t worry there are other chapters and other portions but this is chapter one as in ready to be a book chapter one) After getting the revolving beach ball on drugs for a few hours I then spent a few hours on the phone with microscoft word. The automated service by the way does not understand the words “fu****ers” or the phrase “do not apologize for the inconvenience any more” Eventually my microsoft friend Bob who sounded like an automated phone informed me that my document was clearly corrupt and that the way to write a book is to do absolutely no formatting until the end—and by the way it is a bad idea to cut and paste between documents. I sat down on Sunday to mess around with the corrupted document again only to find that the power cord to the mac had somehow been fried—so the computer was completely out of juice. Today’s technological insult involved dropping my phone in the toilet—don’t even ask. As it turns out the thing survived being RUN OVER by an SUV but not drowning by toilet.
Thankfully the fabulous Lauren was babysitting and drove the boys and I to the Verizon store during rush hour.(where on earth are people going here at rush hour?) Note that both were tantruming by the time we left the house and the only thing that stopped it was endless knock knock jokes. The boys loved the Verizon store especially the ipads on which Joanthan was somehow searching for what bathing suit is best for your body type. (his body type is scrawny) Eli had to do his email and blog and when we all left the Verizon store thinking he’d follow he in fact called our bluff and kept on doing his business on the ipad. I got the updated version of the “easy use phone” as in the phone for blind old people which has very large buttons, does nothing fancy and has the red 911 button which children are prone to press. During the car ride Eli solved the problem of what to get Papa for his birthday. “a gun” We spent quite a bit of time listening to the rings on my new phone and the kids wondered if we could get “gavotte” on it.
Now one of the many ironies in all of this is that the reason I have I have a Freud quotation at the tips of my fingers is because I am writing a book about Castrati, technology and machines. In theory I’m exploring the interface between human and machines and chapter one has a section entitled “instrumental excursis” which stretches from Aristotle to Freud on the potential of technology to extend the limits of the sensory.
On an un-related note Jonathan and Rebecca’s Friend Kiren got a new brother last week. We are very very happy that the baby is so precious and even more happy that it’s not at our house. Jonathan and Eli were both fairly quick to burst the new brothers bubble. When Kiren explained how cute his brother was J responded with “you know pretty soon that baby is going to steal your leggos. ” Eli want to build a baby house with baby weapons but seemed more impressed with Kiren’s new legos than Kiren’s new baby. Eli seems generally weak on concept these days. He also explained to the barber on Saturday that Santa had already come to our house for Hanukkah.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Emails that should not be written
I think I’m going to have to turn the blog over to my husband. Today’s post will be two pieces of his handwork. If you’re getting this through facebook you already know that as of today I’m pretty much done with male academics. I’m sure that just about every man I know is an exception to this rule but the general population I’d say has been irritating oppressing etc… for twenty years and I’m done.
My husband of course committed his fair share of male academic sins this week, but he has made up for them in all kinds of ways. He did take some time out of a busy day today to rewrite for me two emails. They each represent templates of messages that I or another female scholar I know received at least three of in the last few weeks. At rock band rehearsal last night we each identified another four people who are proficient in the genre and have used it this month—that makes 12 more. In other words you cannot possibly figure out whom they are from because they are SO REPRESENTATIVE. This is in other words a conventional genre. It is as one of my friends pointed out concerning that he can so easily inhabit the personae, which these represent. He claims they only took him two minutes each and did not take time out from his work or from crucial household tasks.
A Response to an essay:
Ms. Gordon,
I have read the piece that you sent me recently in October, 2003, and I enjoyed your clear and cogent style. I am afraid, however, that I have certain methodological concerns. It appears that you have not written the work you should have, which would have been the work I would have written had I thought of it. Instead, you have a piece that reflects your own understanding and interpretation, and you thus do not focus sufficiently on the key theoretical and conceptual insights that I would have brought to this piece had I written it. Let me offer one brief example. On page 7 of your essay, you argue for the development of an intellectual framework that does not at all reference my seminal contributions; I would never have left out such a crucial scholar as I, and the rest of your paper suffers accordingly.
I hope this is helpful, and I would be happy to work with you more closely over the coming decade so that you can more fully appreciate my erudition and experience.
All the best,
Me.
Email from deadbeat graduate student.
Dear professor Gordon,
sorry to have been out of touch recently. Here is a chapter of my brilliant dissertation. As you may recall, my dissertation focuses on my towering intellect. My working title is, "A work of unspeakable beauty and sublimity." This chapter is called, "Genius, pure but perhaps not simple enough for my readers." I hope you have time to read it in the next 20-25 minutes and send me fawning compliments, though I doubt you have the wisdom or depth to fully appreciate this grand accomplishment. I will be in my office awaiting your boundless praise.
sincerely,
your best student ever
My husband of course committed his fair share of male academic sins this week, but he has made up for them in all kinds of ways. He did take some time out of a busy day today to rewrite for me two emails. They each represent templates of messages that I or another female scholar I know received at least three of in the last few weeks. At rock band rehearsal last night we each identified another four people who are proficient in the genre and have used it this month—that makes 12 more. In other words you cannot possibly figure out whom they are from because they are SO REPRESENTATIVE. This is in other words a conventional genre. It is as one of my friends pointed out concerning that he can so easily inhabit the personae, which these represent. He claims they only took him two minutes each and did not take time out from his work or from crucial household tasks.
A Response to an essay:
Ms. Gordon,
I have read the piece that you sent me recently in October, 2003, and I enjoyed your clear and cogent style. I am afraid, however, that I have certain methodological concerns. It appears that you have not written the work you should have, which would have been the work I would have written had I thought of it. Instead, you have a piece that reflects your own understanding and interpretation, and you thus do not focus sufficiently on the key theoretical and conceptual insights that I would have brought to this piece had I written it. Let me offer one brief example. On page 7 of your essay, you argue for the development of an intellectual framework that does not at all reference my seminal contributions; I would never have left out such a crucial scholar as I, and the rest of your paper suffers accordingly.
I hope this is helpful, and I would be happy to work with you more closely over the coming decade so that you can more fully appreciate my erudition and experience.
All the best,
Me.
Email from deadbeat graduate student.
Dear professor Gordon,
sorry to have been out of touch recently. Here is a chapter of my brilliant dissertation. As you may recall, my dissertation focuses on my towering intellect. My working title is, "A work of unspeakable beauty and sublimity." This chapter is called, "Genius, pure but perhaps not simple enough for my readers." I hope you have time to read it in the next 20-25 minutes and send me fawning compliments, though I doubt you have the wisdom or depth to fully appreciate this grand accomplishment. I will be in my office awaiting your boundless praise.
sincerely,
your best student ever
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Erev Thanksgiving
First of all, I am currently writing from my new Mac, which has been returned from its maker with a new logic board and a new heating something. I can think of quite a few people who could use new logic boards...
Whenever school vacations occur Rebecca and Jonathan get in their weird gemelli groove, spending much of their time in a fantasy world, which is these days heavily infused with Harry Potter. Africa and Mark were back today and seemed to be studying potions at Hogwarts. There was a small battle because Rebecca accused Jonathan of sitting on Africa. It made me feel better to hear another adult say “Jonathan, leave Africa alone.” Rebecca informed us that Africa was hard to see because she is a “little puddians.” After some discussion we figured out she meant Lilliputians from Gulliver’s travelers. Jonathan, meanwhile, announced as we passed a certain muffler store “hey it’s the Greek God Midas (with an ‘i’ like in pit) “you know the greek god who turns things to gold and has ass ears as in ears of an ass”
And last night we had a rockin rock band practice. Yes, I am now a complete and total cliché—the middle aged musicologist who joins a rock band. I believe I’m in some pretty distinguished company. I like to think of it as an extension of a Stony Brook style Baroque ensemble—think baroque power cords, dissonances pushed just past their limit, and French rhythmic flexibility. And, as it turns out, rock bands also do not tune to A-440. The Rock Band has some pragmatic appeal. Practices can be after the kids go to bed, as opposed to every other gig in Charlottesville, which occurs during dinner and bed-time. And if sight-reading becomes more and more of a problem with age, rock music takes care of that—there is no music to read. (Yes I did in fact sustain another head injury sight reading Pleyel viola duets the other night. Rock is apparently safer)
This has some serious dork factor going. I’ll keep my bandmates anonymous but let’s just say that I’m not the only one who has gotten in trouble for using the words “score” and “oeuvre” in practice. However, should anyone need things transposed quickly, those of us who use words like score and oeuvre can accomplish the task in a matter of seconds. And let’s just say that while I do not share my $1K glasses, reading glasses were passed around for use with setting up PA’s and looking at lyrics. The drums in the basement are of course a huge hit with the four year old set, and somehow Eli has already internalized the blank stare of the percussionist.
Whenever school vacations occur Rebecca and Jonathan get in their weird gemelli groove, spending much of their time in a fantasy world, which is these days heavily infused with Harry Potter. Africa and Mark were back today and seemed to be studying potions at Hogwarts. There was a small battle because Rebecca accused Jonathan of sitting on Africa. It made me feel better to hear another adult say “Jonathan, leave Africa alone.” Rebecca informed us that Africa was hard to see because she is a “little puddians.” After some discussion we figured out she meant Lilliputians from Gulliver’s travelers. Jonathan, meanwhile, announced as we passed a certain muffler store “hey it’s the Greek God Midas (with an ‘i’ like in pit) “you know the greek god who turns things to gold and has ass ears as in ears of an ass”
And last night we had a rockin rock band practice. Yes, I am now a complete and total cliché—the middle aged musicologist who joins a rock band. I believe I’m in some pretty distinguished company. I like to think of it as an extension of a Stony Brook style Baroque ensemble—think baroque power cords, dissonances pushed just past their limit, and French rhythmic flexibility. And, as it turns out, rock bands also do not tune to A-440. The Rock Band has some pragmatic appeal. Practices can be after the kids go to bed, as opposed to every other gig in Charlottesville, which occurs during dinner and bed-time. And if sight-reading becomes more and more of a problem with age, rock music takes care of that—there is no music to read. (Yes I did in fact sustain another head injury sight reading Pleyel viola duets the other night. Rock is apparently safer)
This has some serious dork factor going. I’ll keep my bandmates anonymous but let’s just say that I’m not the only one who has gotten in trouble for using the words “score” and “oeuvre” in practice. However, should anyone need things transposed quickly, those of us who use words like score and oeuvre can accomplish the task in a matter of seconds. And let’s just say that while I do not share my $1K glasses, reading glasses were passed around for use with setting up PA’s and looking at lyrics. The drums in the basement are of course a huge hit with the four year old set, and somehow Eli has already internalized the blank stare of the percussionist.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Birthday weekend
First, we survived Eli’s fourth birthday and this is not trivial. How by the way did my baby get to be four. The festivities began when we realized on Thursday that we had no present for him and zipped out on a date to the bike store for a push-bike. This has the double effect of thrilling thing 3 and we hope of getting him to ride a bike, which will then shame thing 1 and 2 into learning themselves. I know very little about where we are going in china but I know they all ride bikes. It is currently his favorite means of getting around the house and he wears the helmet 24/7. You can’t be too careful. My favorite arrival of the day was the fabulous Thing 1-3 t-shirts from Uncle Michael and Aunt Lynn, which the things all promptly put on. This is the favorite uncle who lets me drive his various cars and promises to visit us in China. I also loved it when Brian, a former babysitter/close family friend called me at 9 in the morning to ask how I felt about foam swords. Note that the kid turns everything into a weapon and that the 30 year old kid on the phone has been taking him out for battle practice since he was two. Too little too late? The birthday was also relatively painless thanks to global warming which allows a thanksgiving week party to be outside. The boys, Sid, Charlie, Sam and Eli did a lot of running around. (his other friend is Solomon and yes it does sound like a bunch of old men in Florida) The key item in the household for that age group is currently the drum set with the percussion player in my band has parked in my basement. He claims that as long as the kids don’t get peanut butter on it things are fine. The older siblings mostly tried to boss the little ones around and Rebecca organized a “pin the nose on the snow man” which she made herself.
The birthday boy had to sit out Harry Potter which he was very pissed off about. “I need to see the movie. I wed the book twee times. I am a big big boy” The big kids have been counting the days until this major motion picture event and can spout harry potter trivia the way their father and his buds can still quote Lord of the Rings. Rebecca has been obsessively reading the book because she wanted to finish before she saw the movie—this involved hiding in the bathtub after bedtime reading under the table at dinner etc… She was so not scared that she wanted to sit with her friend Reid not me. I was slightly nervous, as Jonathan has never made it through a motion picture. Up was to scary for him and The Frog Princess landed him in my lap for most of it. He every so often has to run out of the room in curious George but when the man in the yellow hat approaches. Remarkably he watched almost all of it though much it was facing the back of his seat with hand clutched over ears. (think Kierkegaard and Don Giovanni) and for about five minutes we had to run out of the theater. He kept a fairly constant dialogue about what was “wrong” about the movie. The girls claimed not to be scared at all. I wonder if the overall extremely dark mood with traumatic fantasies mob evil and soul searching is simply lost on them.
I haven’t decided what I think about the New York Times Counter -Tenor article from this morning. I’m used to no one outside of our tiny little world of early modern musicologists caring about what I do. So my original thought was “I’ve been scooped by the times. Dam it.” I’m working on a more intelligent and thought out response. This will come tomorrow when I’ve transitioned out of the make a birthday cake, make 24 ice cream cone cupcakes, have a total of 12 kids in and out of house all weekend, state. For this pivot chord modulation I’m turning Sunday night into editing other people’s work night. I assume I’m not the only one out there who finds it much easier to fix someone else’s prose than to generate their own….
The birthday boy had to sit out Harry Potter which he was very pissed off about. “I need to see the movie. I wed the book twee times. I am a big big boy” The big kids have been counting the days until this major motion picture event and can spout harry potter trivia the way their father and his buds can still quote Lord of the Rings. Rebecca has been obsessively reading the book because she wanted to finish before she saw the movie—this involved hiding in the bathtub after bedtime reading under the table at dinner etc… She was so not scared that she wanted to sit with her friend Reid not me. I was slightly nervous, as Jonathan has never made it through a motion picture. Up was to scary for him and The Frog Princess landed him in my lap for most of it. He every so often has to run out of the room in curious George but when the man in the yellow hat approaches. Remarkably he watched almost all of it though much it was facing the back of his seat with hand clutched over ears. (think Kierkegaard and Don Giovanni) and for about five minutes we had to run out of the theater. He kept a fairly constant dialogue about what was “wrong” about the movie. The girls claimed not to be scared at all. I wonder if the overall extremely dark mood with traumatic fantasies mob evil and soul searching is simply lost on them.
I haven’t decided what I think about the New York Times Counter -Tenor article from this morning. I’m used to no one outside of our tiny little world of early modern musicologists caring about what I do. So my original thought was “I’ve been scooped by the times. Dam it.” I’m working on a more intelligent and thought out response. This will come tomorrow when I’ve transitioned out of the make a birthday cake, make 24 ice cream cone cupcakes, have a total of 12 kids in and out of house all weekend, state. For this pivot chord modulation I’m turning Sunday night into editing other people’s work night. I assume I’m not the only one out there who finds it much easier to fix someone else’s prose than to generate their own….
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Biblical Morality and the Hungry Child
You know It’s going to be a long day when you hear your children talking about coveting and then accusing each other of breaking the ten commandments. While Rebecca and Jonathan were cleaning their room Eli was doing his usual routine of messing it up, taking their toys and generally getting in the way. This devolved into “Eli do you covet?” Eli rightly looked at them like they were nuts and they proceeded to say “yes you do covet you do not follow the Ten Commandments we’re talking about the cove one. And by the way you are not so good on the honor thy father and mother either.” I’m all for honoring the parents and I’d like to see more of it but I’m not especially comfortable with throwing biblical morality around before breakfast. The day got even more delightful when Manuel informed me that the hot water heater was out again. Once again I pranced across the street in my bathrobe to my neighbor’s house to take a hot shower all the way feeling like a cross between a wife on madmen and a UVa undergrad living on the lawn. (for non UVa folks that’s a big honor here which involves living in a Jeffersonian room without indoor plumbing. Not my kind of honor). The trailer shares that lack of plumbing and I always love getting soaked by the water falling off the metal roof on the way to the bathroom.
The pinnacle of the day was of course the call in my office from the principle, the school nurse and Jonathan’s teacher. Thing two had somehow forgotten his lunch and we had failed to check. Apparently no food in the school would do. He told me this on the phone as I was sitting in the trailer at UVA with no car and Manuel was teaching also with no car so there was nothing we could do. As I understand it Rebecca, Marietta and Ian all tried to give him food and reason with him including the girls telling him that “sometimes change is hard.” Ms Keiser and Nurse Brown are for the most part fairly unflappable so I’m sure this was a dramatic J food meltdown. This is a kid who had feeding therapy for years and about whose eating habits I lost many nights sleeping. But once he got on the growth charts and started to read I figured he could be as short and skinny as he wanted and it would some day be someone else’s problem. Meanwhile his first grade teacher happened to be in the office and asked if I cared if he ate crackers and cheese. My response was basically you are a saint and I don’t give a hoot what he eats at this point or if he eats at all……” The other irony is that I’m currently coordinating the donation of side dishes and prizes for the school sponsored Thanksgiving dinner in the low income housing neighborhood.
Now it’s time to go back to recommendations. I think we just call November national recommendation month.
The pinnacle of the day was of course the call in my office from the principle, the school nurse and Jonathan’s teacher. Thing two had somehow forgotten his lunch and we had failed to check. Apparently no food in the school would do. He told me this on the phone as I was sitting in the trailer at UVA with no car and Manuel was teaching also with no car so there was nothing we could do. As I understand it Rebecca, Marietta and Ian all tried to give him food and reason with him including the girls telling him that “sometimes change is hard.” Ms Keiser and Nurse Brown are for the most part fairly unflappable so I’m sure this was a dramatic J food meltdown. This is a kid who had feeding therapy for years and about whose eating habits I lost many nights sleeping. But once he got on the growth charts and started to read I figured he could be as short and skinny as he wanted and it would some day be someone else’s problem. Meanwhile his first grade teacher happened to be in the office and asked if I cared if he ate crackers and cheese. My response was basically you are a saint and I don’t give a hoot what he eats at this point or if he eats at all……” The other irony is that I’m currently coordinating the donation of side dishes and prizes for the school sponsored Thanksgiving dinner in the low income housing neighborhood.
Now it’s time to go back to recommendations. I think we just call November national recommendation month.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Bust Weekend
oopes last night i loaded up the unedited unpunctauted version...
I logged on to the preschool blog to find a dialogue featuring my husband and youngest child. The same child was recently featured as part of a rock band comprised of four short little boys with bossy older sisters. Their signature tune seemed to be Bye Bye Miss American Pie with a kind of punk grit. My kid’s active blog life combined with my actually having custody of a functioning computer inspired me to re-enter the blogosphere. This is also a weekend that features the elementary school sock hop, final soccer game, piano recital, and a baby shower dinner party for thirty-eight so there might be stuff to write about.
The sock hope has been conquered although four Lerdau men from the ages of 4-83 were done long before Rebecca was ready to leave, and we had to leave her with another family to bring her home later. Luckily only one of the Lerdau men expressed himself by lying down on the floor of the library and kicking and screaming. Next year our big PTO fundraiser should be selling moonshine on the playground. I would have happily paid $20 for a beer or shot of tequila by about 20 minutes into it. The excitement of the actual dancing is only exceeded by the scholastic book fair, for which each child has already created a wish list. While I was in the library earlier this week helping the kindergarteners I was especially thrilled to find that the most popular literature choices were Barbie, Make me a Beautiful Princess and a biography of Justin Bieber. I’d never heard of him, and he appears to have no relationship to the 17th century Biber whom I familiarized myself with while preparing or my comprehensive exams in graduate school.
Rebecca is playing her own composition on her piano recital, and it comes with many glissandos, dissonances, quirky little minimalist patters, and, most importantly, dramatic gestures. In addition to this precocious little number, she’s also developed some rather poor practice dkills. She is especially proud of having read harry potter while learning Gavotte and couldn’t understand why I didn’t think her piano teacher would find this impressive. She also, unfortunately, figured out how to cram. When I am out of town very little mail is opened and very little practicing is done. When I returned I said she had to play the recital piece ten times a day. The results of one day of this prompted the piano teacher to congratulate her on her effective drilling of the hard parts—oops.
Eli and Manuel’s dialogue is below. For the full effect imagine Eli “helping” Manuel push his collectors’ item 1980-something orange mountain bike (a gorgeous orange Stumpjumper Sport with original Shimano friction shifters [ML]). He would have been wearing either saddle shoes or red cowboy boots—the only footwear he wears these days.
dialogue between Dad and Eli...
Eli: Daddy, I'm a pwe-schooler
Dad: Yup
E: Do you know why?
D: No, Why?
E: 'Cause I go to pwe-school
D: Oh. That makes sense
E: Daddy, I'm a Jew.
D: Yup
E: Do you know why?
D: No, Why?
E: 'Cause I go to Jew school
I logged on to the preschool blog to find a dialogue featuring my husband and youngest child. The same child was recently featured as part of a rock band comprised of four short little boys with bossy older sisters. Their signature tune seemed to be Bye Bye Miss American Pie with a kind of punk grit. My kid’s active blog life combined with my actually having custody of a functioning computer inspired me to re-enter the blogosphere. This is also a weekend that features the elementary school sock hop, final soccer game, piano recital, and a baby shower dinner party for thirty-eight so there might be stuff to write about.
The sock hope has been conquered although four Lerdau men from the ages of 4-83 were done long before Rebecca was ready to leave, and we had to leave her with another family to bring her home later. Luckily only one of the Lerdau men expressed himself by lying down on the floor of the library and kicking and screaming. Next year our big PTO fundraiser should be selling moonshine on the playground. I would have happily paid $20 for a beer or shot of tequila by about 20 minutes into it. The excitement of the actual dancing is only exceeded by the scholastic book fair, for which each child has already created a wish list. While I was in the library earlier this week helping the kindergarteners I was especially thrilled to find that the most popular literature choices were Barbie, Make me a Beautiful Princess and a biography of Justin Bieber. I’d never heard of him, and he appears to have no relationship to the 17th century Biber whom I familiarized myself with while preparing or my comprehensive exams in graduate school.
Rebecca is playing her own composition on her piano recital, and it comes with many glissandos, dissonances, quirky little minimalist patters, and, most importantly, dramatic gestures. In addition to this precocious little number, she’s also developed some rather poor practice dkills. She is especially proud of having read harry potter while learning Gavotte and couldn’t understand why I didn’t think her piano teacher would find this impressive. She also, unfortunately, figured out how to cram. When I am out of town very little mail is opened and very little practicing is done. When I returned I said she had to play the recital piece ten times a day. The results of one day of this prompted the piano teacher to congratulate her on her effective drilling of the hard parts—oops.
Eli and Manuel’s dialogue is below. For the full effect imagine Eli “helping” Manuel push his collectors’ item 1980-something orange mountain bike (a gorgeous orange Stumpjumper Sport with original Shimano friction shifters [ML]). He would have been wearing either saddle shoes or red cowboy boots—the only footwear he wears these days.
dialogue between Dad and Eli...
Eli: Daddy, I'm a pwe-schooler
Dad: Yup
E: Do you know why?
D: No, Why?
E: 'Cause I go to pwe-school
D: Oh. That makes sense
E: Daddy, I'm a Jew.
D: Yup
E: Do you know why?
D: No, Why?
E: 'Cause I go to Jew school
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