You know it’s going to be a long day when you are quietly perusing the 67 emails that have come in over night and the temple of your very expensive glasses snaps off. Most consist of “Save 40% now” “write a me a letter of recommendation; it is due in two days” “Bake something for a kid event tomorrow” or “You forgot to fill out a form that was due yesterday.” Note that these glasses have survived being run over by an SUV, running in sultry Virginia summers, being tossed around at the swimming pool, and the not infrequent head butt from a tantruming child. But Athleta’s promise that really I can wear yoga pants all the time and save 40% was too much for these. So there was much cursing during which a few of the people closest to me who shall remain nameless assumed that my border-line hysteria was a fashion emergency, Manuel drove me to the optician when it opened. It did not seem like a good sign when the recalcitrant screw on the glasses temple takes two people to fix it. SEVENTY-FIVE minutes later I left with repaired glasses and instructions to come back and get new ones soon before they break. To add to the fun I carefully put my reading glasses case in my bag so that I could at least drown my sorrows in a trashy novel or perhaps read a work related book. But alas I failed to put the actual glasses in the case. So I was twiddling my thumbs when Nurse Brown from school called to tell me that Rebecca was in her office with malaise. Nurse Brown and I are good buddies as Rebecca has a history of malaise. It’s not unlike the academic malaise that led me to spend a good portion of high school chatting with my guidance counselor who was more interesting than what was going on in class.
And now for a public service announcement: while we are in the business of reforming healthcare, can we also make insurance pay for good glasses for people who need them. Mine are covered by neither insurance nor the state’s program for the visually impaired. That program is very interested in giving me special spatulas to flip pancakes and mirrors to put on eye make up (eye make up looks great on people with 5X bifocals) I am fortunate that I am able to afford the thousands of dollars it takes to keep me in multiple glasses. And no, the price is not in the frames and cheaper ones wont do the trick.
And for a history of science lesson, Spectacles have, of course, been around since the ancient world in some form. By the fifteenth century lenses that were used to counter the effects of myopia began to appear. By 1462 the Milanese ambassador to Florence explained that “they are made more perfectly there than any other place in Italy. Florence was then known for its production of lenses with progressive powers in five-year intervals from age 30-70.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Strep etc.
Can someone please explain to me why when I’m home with a sick kid they either throw up on me multiple times or they have something like pink eye where they actually feel fine but are contagious and must be quarantined. When Manuel is home on the other hand he gets the kid who has a nice mild case of strep and is happily reading in her bed very psyched to have a day at home with her Dad, just feverish enough to be a cuddly and malleable but not actually miserable. So far we’ve had three cases of strep in the last two weeks and presumably cases four and five (Jonathan and I) will come just after Manuel leaves for Brazil on Sunday night. Jonathan may be spared as the fact of his sisters illness already causes him great pain to the tune of a one hour tantrum last nigh because he could not possibly go to school without “my companion”
Strep aside I had seriously divine twenty-four hours to myself. (thanks mom and Manuel) and made more progress on my book in one day than I often do in a week. I can’t remember the last time I actually had that much time with no one to take care of and it’s amazing how that brain space can help with visualizing a larger argument. I’m also probably made great progress on raising our heating bill—the first thing I did when Manuel and the kids left was crank the heat way up. I did have a few minor interruptions to do important things like buy new running shoes and have rock band practice. When They got back the kids asked if I had been lonely and if I had gone to the bus stop. (lonely is not in the vocabulary of a mother of three small children)
This was coming off a rather exhausting weekend, which began with one of the more shall we say unique gigs of my life. In short, I found myself in a pavilion sporting a cocktail dress, talking about Thomas Jefferson and playing a Marcello sonata on the viola and accompanying a grad student singing Jefferson Satires to the tune of the Star Spangled Banner on the piano. (The grad student was great) As it turns out if you don’t play piano much a few stanzas of Francis Scott key can do your little wrists in. There was also fortified wine in Jefferson cups involved. We also took the kids to ladino music. The boys made it through about ten minutes of this cultural experience. But Rebecca found it very “moving” and very primly introduced herself to Flori Jaggoda and explained that the entire second grade had sung her Hanukah song. The low point was probably Eli turning his water bottle into a weapon and pointing it at the guy who runs the Virginia Foundation for the Humanities. Rebecca was also responsible that night for one of those bizarre kid juxtapositions.
R:What’s the Holocaust
Me: What do you think it is
R: What time is our soccer game
We chose this year to skip the Tu Bishvat seder in which last year the kids had to look at but not taste about fifteen different kinds of fruit. Jonathan however made up for that at Sunday School. When the rabbi asked how people were like tree his response was “well actually in Norse mythology people descended from trees.”
Strep aside I had seriously divine twenty-four hours to myself. (thanks mom and Manuel) and made more progress on my book in one day than I often do in a week. I can’t remember the last time I actually had that much time with no one to take care of and it’s amazing how that brain space can help with visualizing a larger argument. I’m also probably made great progress on raising our heating bill—the first thing I did when Manuel and the kids left was crank the heat way up. I did have a few minor interruptions to do important things like buy new running shoes and have rock band practice. When They got back the kids asked if I had been lonely and if I had gone to the bus stop. (lonely is not in the vocabulary of a mother of three small children)
This was coming off a rather exhausting weekend, which began with one of the more shall we say unique gigs of my life. In short, I found myself in a pavilion sporting a cocktail dress, talking about Thomas Jefferson and playing a Marcello sonata on the viola and accompanying a grad student singing Jefferson Satires to the tune of the Star Spangled Banner on the piano. (The grad student was great) As it turns out if you don’t play piano much a few stanzas of Francis Scott key can do your little wrists in. There was also fortified wine in Jefferson cups involved. We also took the kids to ladino music. The boys made it through about ten minutes of this cultural experience. But Rebecca found it very “moving” and very primly introduced herself to Flori Jaggoda and explained that the entire second grade had sung her Hanukah song. The low point was probably Eli turning his water bottle into a weapon and pointing it at the guy who runs the Virginia Foundation for the Humanities. Rebecca was also responsible that night for one of those bizarre kid juxtapositions.
R:What’s the Holocaust
Me: What do you think it is
R: What time is our soccer game
We chose this year to skip the Tu Bishvat seder in which last year the kids had to look at but not taste about fifteen different kinds of fruit. Jonathan however made up for that at Sunday School. When the rabbi asked how people were like tree his response was “well actually in Norse mythology people descended from trees.”
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Sexual Harrassment and Standardized Testing
Dear Provoust office when you complete your disability sensitivity training i will take your dumb harassment quiz. And, fyi, people who pass it still harass.
The first time I failed the sexual harassment quiz at UVa I thought it was kind of funny. It’s true that I once, in a state of new mother exhaustion, accidentally played footsie with a young male grad student whom I mistook for a table leg,. And I do in the end probably hug more of my students than most professors. But I’m the least of the sexual harassment problems in any institution I’ve ever been a part of. I know I’m not the only female faculty member who gets more than their share of disturbing stories running the gauntlet from inappropriate eroticism in the classroom to too much touching and even biting. (ok, on the last one I may be one of a few but still…). And I was once reprimanded for leaving a harassment workshop early because I had to teach. The facilitator was in the middle of one of her favorite stories about a Med School Professor who had apparently thought it was ok to put his penis on the shoulder of his secretary. The workshop had been called because of some issues in my department, and this story allowed the group listening to feel pretty good because they knew THAT was inappropriate. (and yes of course I’ve been harassed,patted on the head,propositioned, touched inappropriately, threatened by male students etc... as has just about every other woman I know)
We handle sexual harassment at UVa like we handle everything else, with an online module designed to protect the University against legal action. I’m quite sure that just about every faculty member who has sexually harassed passed the quiz.
There’s also a drinking quiz that seems to have worked wonders on alcohol related violence. No doubt the fact that faculty who want to serve one bottle of wine to their colleagues have learned actual blood alcohol level numbers stops binge drinking by students in university-sanctioned housing.
I’m not sure why I’m digging my heels in about this, but the test is harassing me. I have attempted it a few times but multiple choice has never worked for me. The computer test is the adult equivalent of the SRA test we took in elementary school. All my friends got in the 90th percentile, and I hovered at the low IQ 40th percentile. In high school ETS lost my large type periodic table of the elements and thus tanked my AP chemistry test. They later lost my large type verbal GRE, and I'm fairly certain I have the lowest verbal GRE of any tenured professor I know. And by the way, the usual ways of, shall we say, outsmarting the test are not available to those without a good visual memory. This starts to feel like tenth grade where almost everyone but me cheated on French quizzes. I failed to cheat not out of a superior moral compass but out of inferior eyes through which to see the cheat sheets. (If you’re reading this and you were in madam whoever’s class at T.C. Williams don’t deny it…) And by the way, my guess is that my French now exceeds that of my classmates who aced those silly quizzes.
But back to sexual harassment. If you don’t take the quiz, you are offered a two-hour workshop that I’m also not willing to attend. I can only hope it would include such gripping tales as the above-mentioned penis-on-the-shoulder story. I also always like the skits about offering to give your students better grades if they go out to dinner with you. I will try very hard to remember not to do that next time. But it’s also worth noting that the workshop would no doubt be two hours of power point; which I will not be able to see. I usually handle such encounters by very aggressively text messaging on my large type cell phone.
And in the realm of potentially inappropriate humor see below for my husband’s response to the note I did not send to the provost's office.
Dear Professor Gordon,
We note that you have not yet completed the harassment training test that is REQUIRED of all legally blind small female faculty. We understand that you cannot pass computer standardized tests, and we are happy to offer a special seminar for people with your intellectual limits. Please meet this Friday evening at 9:30 pm in JPJ Arena for 3.5 hour special seminar. The class is longer than the normal because we take into account that you are somewhat slow sometimes. Don't worry, all visuals will be projected on the scoreboard screen.
The first time I failed the sexual harassment quiz at UVa I thought it was kind of funny. It’s true that I once, in a state of new mother exhaustion, accidentally played footsie with a young male grad student whom I mistook for a table leg,. And I do in the end probably hug more of my students than most professors. But I’m the least of the sexual harassment problems in any institution I’ve ever been a part of. I know I’m not the only female faculty member who gets more than their share of disturbing stories running the gauntlet from inappropriate eroticism in the classroom to too much touching and even biting. (ok, on the last one I may be one of a few but still…). And I was once reprimanded for leaving a harassment workshop early because I had to teach. The facilitator was in the middle of one of her favorite stories about a Med School Professor who had apparently thought it was ok to put his penis on the shoulder of his secretary. The workshop had been called because of some issues in my department, and this story allowed the group listening to feel pretty good because they knew THAT was inappropriate. (and yes of course I’ve been harassed,patted on the head,propositioned, touched inappropriately, threatened by male students etc... as has just about every other woman I know)
We handle sexual harassment at UVa like we handle everything else, with an online module designed to protect the University against legal action. I’m quite sure that just about every faculty member who has sexually harassed passed the quiz.
There’s also a drinking quiz that seems to have worked wonders on alcohol related violence. No doubt the fact that faculty who want to serve one bottle of wine to their colleagues have learned actual blood alcohol level numbers stops binge drinking by students in university-sanctioned housing.
I’m not sure why I’m digging my heels in about this, but the test is harassing me. I have attempted it a few times but multiple choice has never worked for me. The computer test is the adult equivalent of the SRA test we took in elementary school. All my friends got in the 90th percentile, and I hovered at the low IQ 40th percentile. In high school ETS lost my large type periodic table of the elements and thus tanked my AP chemistry test. They later lost my large type verbal GRE, and I'm fairly certain I have the lowest verbal GRE of any tenured professor I know. And by the way, the usual ways of, shall we say, outsmarting the test are not available to those without a good visual memory. This starts to feel like tenth grade where almost everyone but me cheated on French quizzes. I failed to cheat not out of a superior moral compass but out of inferior eyes through which to see the cheat sheets. (If you’re reading this and you were in madam whoever’s class at T.C. Williams don’t deny it…) And by the way, my guess is that my French now exceeds that of my classmates who aced those silly quizzes.
But back to sexual harassment. If you don’t take the quiz, you are offered a two-hour workshop that I’m also not willing to attend. I can only hope it would include such gripping tales as the above-mentioned penis-on-the-shoulder story. I also always like the skits about offering to give your students better grades if they go out to dinner with you. I will try very hard to remember not to do that next time. But it’s also worth noting that the workshop would no doubt be two hours of power point; which I will not be able to see. I usually handle such encounters by very aggressively text messaging on my large type cell phone.
And in the realm of potentially inappropriate humor see below for my husband’s response to the note I did not send to the provost's office.
Dear Professor Gordon,
We note that you have not yet completed the harassment training test that is REQUIRED of all legally blind small female faculty. We understand that you cannot pass computer standardized tests, and we are happy to offer a special seminar for people with your intellectual limits. Please meet this Friday evening at 9:30 pm in JPJ Arena for 3.5 hour special seminar. The class is longer than the normal because we take into account that you are somewhat slow sometimes. Don't worry, all visuals will be projected on the scoreboard screen.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Soccer and Green Flecks
I’ve been on a body double/stunt double kick all week. I had one of those moments where I reread Gagliano’s preface to La Dafne for the seemingly 80 millionth time and finally noticed something cool. When I wrote my dissertation I liked it because of the young female singer who had to undergo a virginity test and later died an untimely death of small pox. And of course what twenty something feminist can’t come up with something to say about a girl who in order to escape rape gets her Dad to turn her into a tree—Dafne. This time around, looking for another more peculiar document I came across it on Google books—my new best friend—and noted that the production needed two Apollo’s: one to kill the python and one to sing. Apparently the fencing and acrobatics of slaying prevented good singing.
And low and behold we had our own body double feat going on here. After two years of completely refusing any team sports Rebecca announced she wanted to play indoor soccer. The team was already full so the kids decided they would share the shirt and sub in and out for each other. At home this involved practice costume changes. They had the shirt switch down to a science. Rebecca also had to put on just the right pair of boys athletic shorts, hair bands to match the shirt, and stud earrings. Jonathan left the house in his usual boot cut cords and lime green cowboy boots but by the time we got to the game both had acquired new shin guards. Let’s just say that while some kids are already clearly preparing for NCAA scots on the U8 league ours our not headed in that direction. One regularly skips on the soccer court and the other runs like a girl and neither have the killer instinct.
I actually went to the game as I thought it might be a one time only occurrence. As a rule I consider team sports to be a Daddy activity. I can’t bear even the threat of being a soccer mom and I was tormented in my youth by my inability to play anything with balls. The playground is not a kind space for those without depth perception. Indeed I run because after one week of field hockey tryouts the coach gently suggested I get myself to a sport without sticks or balls. It looks like there will be more opportunities to see the Lerdau twins in action…….
The truly momentous event of yesterday involved Jonathan eating pizza with green flecks on it. Any mother of a kid with serious food issues will understand the significance of this. We are not talking run of the mill picky eater here—we ‘re talking about a kid whose twin had the skills to be a feeding therapist by age 4. We took the kids to a fancy pizza joint and while we enjoyed our brick oven almost Italian like pizza Jonathan and Rebecca had a cheese pizza which came with, lord help us, fleks of parsley. Jonathan’s response was “someone needs to remove this.” Rebecca and their friend explained in their best, we are good kids and you are dumb voice, that the green flecks had no taste. I spent a few minutes dutifully using my well honed skills at removing green but gave up and said “dam it Jonathan just eat the pizza” and as it turned out he did.
This was also the lunch where while our pretentious seven year olds debated whether the pizza was the same as in Rome I suggested we just think of it as a different genre. My daughter responded with “mommy do you even KNOW what a genre is…….”
And low and behold we had our own body double feat going on here. After two years of completely refusing any team sports Rebecca announced she wanted to play indoor soccer. The team was already full so the kids decided they would share the shirt and sub in and out for each other. At home this involved practice costume changes. They had the shirt switch down to a science. Rebecca also had to put on just the right pair of boys athletic shorts, hair bands to match the shirt, and stud earrings. Jonathan left the house in his usual boot cut cords and lime green cowboy boots but by the time we got to the game both had acquired new shin guards. Let’s just say that while some kids are already clearly preparing for NCAA scots on the U8 league ours our not headed in that direction. One regularly skips on the soccer court and the other runs like a girl and neither have the killer instinct.
I actually went to the game as I thought it might be a one time only occurrence. As a rule I consider team sports to be a Daddy activity. I can’t bear even the threat of being a soccer mom and I was tormented in my youth by my inability to play anything with balls. The playground is not a kind space for those without depth perception. Indeed I run because after one week of field hockey tryouts the coach gently suggested I get myself to a sport without sticks or balls. It looks like there will be more opportunities to see the Lerdau twins in action…….
The truly momentous event of yesterday involved Jonathan eating pizza with green flecks on it. Any mother of a kid with serious food issues will understand the significance of this. We are not talking run of the mill picky eater here—we ‘re talking about a kid whose twin had the skills to be a feeding therapist by age 4. We took the kids to a fancy pizza joint and while we enjoyed our brick oven almost Italian like pizza Jonathan and Rebecca had a cheese pizza which came with, lord help us, fleks of parsley. Jonathan’s response was “someone needs to remove this.” Rebecca and their friend explained in their best, we are good kids and you are dumb voice, that the green flecks had no taste. I spent a few minutes dutifully using my well honed skills at removing green but gave up and said “dam it Jonathan just eat the pizza” and as it turned out he did.
This was also the lunch where while our pretentious seven year olds debated whether the pizza was the same as in Rome I suggested we just think of it as a different genre. My daughter responded with “mommy do you even KNOW what a genre is…….”
Friday, December 24, 2010
Four Year Old Santa Envy
Can someone please explain to me why despite the Jewish preschool, Sunday school, and EIGHT NIGHTS of Hanukkah Eli still thinks Santa will arrive at our house. We have a serious Santa Fixation on our hands. A couple of weeks ago he informed the barber that Santa had already been to his house for Hanukah. He’s been obsessively watching the newspaper and neighbors houses for Santa Sightings. Did you know that Santa has been scoping out parkway sort of fly by style? The blow up Santa across the street may turn real at any moment. Santa also sometimes delivers the newspaper. When we explained patiently for the umpteenth time that we don’t celebrate x-mass the response was “well santa can come anyway….. I want chwistmas pwesents”
His siblings have always gone the other way. In Kindergarten they spent a train ride to Alexandria explaining to people that we don’t “observe Christmas because we do not believe that Jesus Christ is our savior” That was also the train where they sweetly asked every African American person in our car if they “observed Kwanza” And each year when we gather up toys to donate to kids whose parents can’t afford to buy them toys I’m told we should really give them to Jews and Muslims since the Christian kids have Santa to take care of them. Last night Rebecca was looking at her Renaissance Art Go Fish game and proclaimed that Raphael’s Transfiguration was inappropriate because we don’t believe in Jesus and there he is turning from man to God. (yes I admit it I really did buy my children a Renaissance Art go fish game when they were three) This then led to a long discussion about the possibility of separating artistic taste from theology. I explained that I’m pretty sure that thanks to musicology I know the Latin Mass and various feast days better than most practicing Catholics. This is the child who in Rome was completely obsessed with the Mommy’s and the Babies.
His siblings have always gone the other way. In Kindergarten they spent a train ride to Alexandria explaining to people that we don’t “observe Christmas because we do not believe that Jesus Christ is our savior” That was also the train where they sweetly asked every African American person in our car if they “observed Kwanza” And each year when we gather up toys to donate to kids whose parents can’t afford to buy them toys I’m told we should really give them to Jews and Muslims since the Christian kids have Santa to take care of them. Last night Rebecca was looking at her Renaissance Art Go Fish game and proclaimed that Raphael’s Transfiguration was inappropriate because we don’t believe in Jesus and there he is turning from man to God. (yes I admit it I really did buy my children a Renaissance Art go fish game when they were three) This then led to a long discussion about the possibility of separating artistic taste from theology. I explained that I’m pretty sure that thanks to musicology I know the Latin Mass and various feast days better than most practicing Catholics. This is the child who in Rome was completely obsessed with the Mommy’s and the Babies.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Hulk in the City
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.
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.
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.
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