The clock strikes as many times as it wants

5:40pm: Song lyric o' the day
Shoplift ideology, so at a loss for leaders
When the flame-retardant books came out
They had to burn the readers

--Mary Prankster, "Brave New Baby"

11:02pm: I said, 'Let me let you let me down again.' And she said, 'No.'
I'm just endlessly entertained by my own Interests list. And it's maybe--no joke--one of the most enduring things I've ever written, or will ever write. It's diary by buzzword. Like I'll be able read it in thirty years and come away with dozens and dozens of distinct, important memories of myself. I think it's distilled awesome...more than that, I think it's about as good an articulation of my personality and inner life as you could hope to find. (So I should really update it more regularly. Not my journal. Just the Interests.)

Is that sad? Or is that, y'know, really sad?

6:29pm: They even made a T-shirt.
God rest ye, Knights of Prosperity.

11:08am: Anyone who speaks German can't be a bad man.
What is it with attorneys and their unholy aversion to definite articles?

3:37pm: When you called Chet "Daddy," I thought that's what he was. Your daddy.
Out of all the "J" names in the world, why do people so consistently mistake me for a Josh?

11:18am: Bleargh.
With life going as well as it is, I should be in a sunnier mood today than I am.

10:29am: Croatoan
From the New York Times:

This winter, in more than 20 states, beekeepers have noticed that their honeybees have mysteriously vanished, leaving behind no clues as to their whereabouts. There are no tell-tale dead bodies either inside colonies or out in front of hives, where bees typically deposit corpses of dead nestmates. What’s more, the afflicted colonies tend to be full of honey, pollen and larvae, as if all of the workers in the nest precipitously decamped on some prearranged signal.

Wow, it's just like the Marie Celeste. And the hive's pot roast lay half-eaten and hastily abandoned on the kitchen table...

So long, and thanks for all the pollen.

2:26pm: Going back now would be like doing Hollywood Squares.
Thanks to a thread on the Dope, I just realized that I graduated high school fifteen years ago this June. How odd. I'm very disconnected with my time in high school, which took place in a small town on the Southern Oregon coast with 125 people in my class, all of whom were older than me. It's no exaggeration to say that I remain in contact with literally none of them, and haven't for years. Still, fifteen years. That's a while.

I also realized something else today. For much of high school I had a massive and unrequited crush on my best friend. She was a wonderful girl who was sarcastic, silly, smart, and (as it happens) Mormon. I just did some googling to see if I could track down any of my high school classmates (out of a half-formed desire to see if there's any sort of reunion planned and a quarter-formed desire to actually attend), and I stumbled across the webpage of her husband, who she met in college and who's also Mormon. And looking back, I don't remember ever making the connection that one reason she might not have reciprocated my romantic feelings was our different outlooks on, y'know, religion and faith. It just never occurred to me that that might be an issue. Which is good, in a way, that I didn't view such things as insurmountable barriers...but it also betokens a strange kind of naïveté as to the way the world works, due in large part, no doubt, to the fact that my parents raised my brothers and I in an entirely counter-dogmatic household, where morality was impressed upon us for its own sake, divorced from any structured system of belief, and where religious holidays were celebrated either for their ceremonial or secular trappings (menorahs at Hanukkah, trees at Christmas, eggs at Easter, matzoh at Passover) or not at all. Maybe if I'd understood more about things, I'd have realized that a romantic relationship with my best friend was largely futile and expended those energies and anxieties on something or someone else instead. And then maybe I'd have married young, stayed in that tiny coastal town, and be working in the local lumber mill right now, daydreaming in some sawdusty office and planning my class's fifteen-year reunion. Huh.

I like ending my LJ posts with wild and unfounded leaps of logic.

12:00pm: Shooting for the stars and hitting the roof
Wow. This is indescribably beautiful.

Full-res image here.

9:49am: Your hair drives me crazy.
A list of those who will be first up against the wall when the revolution comes:

1) People who use the elevator to travel one floor when there are luxurious and clearly visible stairs not twenty-five feet away.

That is all.

5:18pm: Go away, Cookie Man
I received an e-mail this afternoon from a gentleman named Solomon Bacon. It was entitled, "some captain but shagging be highwayman be armageddon it's barney."

Also, Doreen Dobson has this to say: "it bitch or civet, butterfly be diehard some pretend."


I love spam.

9:52am: Otis...did you read this book?
A meme that I can get behind, courtesy of greyathena. Here're the first lines of a dozen or so of my favorite books (novels, short stories, and suchlike). How many can you identify? I'll update the entry with correct guesses as they're made.

1. It was love at first sight. Catch-22 by Joseph Heller. Guessed by tigermelp and skipmagic.

2. There were four of us---George, and William Samuel Harris, and myself, and Montmorency. Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog) by Jerome K. Jerome. Guessed by greyathena.

3. It seems increasingly likely that I really will undertake the expedition that has been preoccupying my imagination now for some days.

4. The primroses were over. Watership Down by Richard Adams. Guessed by skipmagic.

5. The snow in the mountain was melting and Bunny had been dead for several weeks before we came to understand the gravity of our situation. The Secret History by Donna Tartt. Guessed by katetherobot and chaneybear.

6. Of all the high players this country ever sees, there is no doubt but that the guy they call The Sky is the highest. "The Idyll of Miss Sarah Brown" by Damon Runyon. Guessed by greyathena.

7. It was a bright, defrosted, pussy-willow day at the onset of spring, and the newlyweds were driving cross-country in a large roast turkey. Skinny Legs and All by Tom Robbins. Guessed by skipmagic.

8. I write this sitting in the kitchen sink. I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith. Guessed by greyathena.

9. Papa is in his easy chair, reading the Sunday sports page.

10. As the Milvains sat down to breakfast the clock of Wattleborough parish church struck eight; it was two miles away, but the strokes were borne very distinctly on the west wind this autumn morning.

11. Heads. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead by Tom Stoppard. Guessed by greyathena.

12. She had known all along that she was a queen, and now the crown proved it. The Silver Crown by Robert C. O'Brien. Guessed by skipmagic.

13. On page 22 of Liddell Hart's The History of World War I, you will read that an attack against the Serbe-Montauban line by thirteen British divisions (supported by 1,400 artillery pieces), planned for the 24th of July, 1916, had to be postponed until the morning of the 29th.

14. Castle, ever since he had joined the firm as a young recruit more than thirty years ago, had taken his lunch in a public house behind St. James's Street, not far from the office. The Human Factor by Graham Greene. Guessed by tigermelp.

Have at ye.

11:04pm: All that time and energy put into Saturday morning cartoons...I just find it depressing.
Okay, if you had to pick the "best-known" of Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poems, would it be:

a) Christabel
b) Kubla Khan
c) The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
d) Leaves of Grass

Thus far, in an admittedly small sample size, the answers have reflected an interesting disparity: women (and English majors) say one thing, men (and non-English majors) say another. Your thoughts?

10:02am: We're art history majors and we're real cute
From the Associated Press:

Justice Samuel Alito told a University of Virginia class on Wednesday that the U.S. Supreme Court will eventually have at least as many female justices as it does male.

Alito -- who replaced Justice Sandra Day O'Connor last year -- was answering a student's question on why the court has just one woman, Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg.

Alito noted most law schools today have enrollments of at least 50 percent women, and that a greater number of women lawyers and judges will advance to higher courts within a generation.

"You don't get there when you're young," he said. "There's a considerable amount of lag time."


Justice Alito makes a decent point. After all, it did take a few decades after women got the vote for them to achieve parity in federal and state legislatures. But now, thanks to the inexorable march of progress, tourists can file into the Capitol Building while Congress is in session and see this nation's 220 congresswomen and 53 female senators hard at work. It's like a regular damn quilting bee in there.

10:45am: I dabble in a little English
An informal grammar poll, at least one question of which I may have raised with you good folk at some point in the past:

1) When typing, how many spaces go after a period?

2) Serial comma, yea or nay? Today I had a beer, a glass of wine, and a shot of tequila. Yesterday I had a champagne cocktail, a vodka martini and a hot buttered rum. On which day am I insufferably wrong?

3) James has a pet emu. How would you describe the emu in reference to James?

Feel free to editorialize, but I'm mostly interested in how the answers correlate with one another, if at all.

11:18am: Mister Book Club, 2/7/07
I'm in the midst of rereading The Brothers K by David James Duncan. I always forget how gobsmackingly wonderful this book is; it's easily one of my favorite novels. Beautiful, breathtaking, funny...pick it up, I implore you.

Or borrow my copy. Whichever.

9:00am: Beer. They have good beer.
You know it's going to be an interesting day when you wake up to find yourself unexpectedly quoted by the Sydney Morning Herald.

9:30pm: Who's the child?
Also, I got carded twice in fifteen minutes at the same blackjack table last Friday, once by the pit boss and once by a dealer. Pat, who was also playing, did not.

I submit that for your consideration.

8:53pm: Mister Book Club, 1/29/07
I wanted to share a couple of passages from a novel I read over the weekend. The author is apparently a part-time poet, and it shows. The prose explodes. I want to marry it. It's like if Tom Robbins was a Scottish guy who wrote detective stories and was a great deal less sex-obsessed and slightly less precious.

Macey was coming towards him, walking not quite tall in his platform shoes. He had on his greay striped suit with the four-lane lapels, red shirt and a tie that might have doubled as a table-cover. Macey believed in hiding his bushel under a light. The youthful face, well fed but with a nose you could have shaved with, was brightly interested in everything. Born and brought up in Govan, living in Drumchapel, he seemed to be saying to himself about everywhere else, "Fancy me bein' here."

******

This should have been a Saturday but it didn't feel like one to Harkness. This had to be the eighth day of some deformed week, a kind of thirty-first of June. It didn't fit. Maybe the moon had blown a fuse.

--The Papers of Tony Veitch, William McIlvanney

10:36pm: What kind of name is Yossarian?
Excerpts from a recent restaurant review in one of D.C.'s Metro dailies, presented with minimal comment:

Sub-headline: No-frills Armenian fare is the stuff Grandma makes

First paragraph: "When an Armenian acquaintance mentioned that an Armenian restaurant named xxxx had opened [nearby], I marked it down as a must-go. Rare in Washington, Armenian food is an interesting composite of Greek, Turkish, and Persian influences, resulting in sturdy, basic fare replete with grilled meats, flat breads, yogurt, wheat and rice pilafs, and loads of vegetables."

Second paragraph, entitled "The food and drink": "As it turns out, xxxx does not serve Armenian food at all; instead, an Armenian owns the cafe-as-deli-as-wine bar, and what you find is fine deli fixings turned into sandwiches, paninis, pizzas, salads and, if you drop in early morning, breakfast fare. . . ."

[The third through fifth paragraphs discuss the breakfast menu of smoothies, egg sandwiches, and omelets, which the author of the article didn't try.]

[The sixth and seventh paragraphs discuss the restaurant's crab cakes, which the author characterizes as "not particularly firm" and lacking "the crispy exterior of a fine-dining cake," and its gelato.]

Final paragraph, entitled "The last word": "Perhaps it lacks the glamour and fire of Thai cooking, but what could be more appealing than a diet of no-frills Armenian food in this health-conscious age? It's the stuff of Granny's cooking, but with a different name."

------
So...who wants to bet that the author wrote her conclusion before even visiting the restaurant, and didn't bother to change it afterward? Hilarious.

12:49pm: I've inherited a tragedy. It's like a venereal disease, a birthday at this point.
I keep meaning to share with everyone the hilarity of The Armenian Food That Wasn't. (Pat and Mel know what I'm talking about.) This is my reminder to myself to do so. Hopefully tonight before Clique-ish and Immature Chef with Little Artistic Vision and a Stunted Palate.

Also, Knights of Prosperity? Surprisingly good.

12:09pm: Sucks to you, capitalism.
So Studio 60 is back tonight with a new episode, and I'm one of approximately six people nationwide who's been anticipating its return in something other than a morbid, I-am-rooting-for-this-show-to-fail-so-I-can-dance-gleefully-on-its-unlamented-grave kind of way. Yeah, it's no West Wing. Sure, it's no Sports Night. But I find it consistently well-written, engaging, and entertaining. It's fun to watch the Sorkinese fly. And here's the thing: When did I start writing in predominantly short, declarative sentences? How odd. No, here's the thing: Let's say everyone's right and it's a not particularly good show. Even so, it's my not particularly good show. Most of the shows out there aren't particularly good. They're just not particularly good in a way that appeals to more people. I don't demand excellence in According to Jim or CSI: Paducah. They're not my thing, but I don't begrudge them of others. Predictable storylines, limp writing, and wafer-thin characters can be found every night on every network. Millions tune in, and the shows stay safely on the air. But Studio 60's narrative failings are---or were, until everyone just started assuming that it had no place on the airwaves---examined and derided in minute detail. Now that The Wire's finished up its season, I'm down to Studio 60, The Office, and (somehow) Top Chef as my only television oases. Why not let me have my fun as well? (The myriad reasons why it makes perfect sense for the networks not to let me have my fun are being ignored for the purposes of this post.)

This has turned out far longer than I intended, but I'm reminded of a brilliant review I once read of O Brother Where Art Thou?, which likened that movie to intellectual cotton candy. No heft or substance, ultimately, but immaculately crafted to be immersive and fun for a particular segment of the movie-going public that might be less entertained, on the whole, by the antics of Adam Sandler or Martin Lawrence. It's a shame that there's less a place on network television for that kind of endeavor, that (for lack of a better phrase) "intelligent-yet-flimsy" programs tend to lead such precarious lives and die such quick deaths.

Alternately, I'm just a snob with strange taste in television and an imperfect appreciation of the free market. And a penchant for declarative sentences. (I mean, seriously. I feel like I'm being scripted by Preston Sturges.)

9:30am: Done properly, LiveJournal interests can be a fascinating window into your psyche. Or rather, my psyche.

10:20am: I missed this the first time around
I love my senators:

Sen. Gordon Smith, a moderate Oregon Republican, broke sharply with the Bush administration over the war in Iraq in an emotional speech on the Senate floor Thursday night in which he called for a U.S. pullout.

"I, for one, am at the end of my rope when it comes to supporting a policy that has our soldiers patrolling the same streets in the same way, being blown up by the same bombs day after day," he said. "That is absurd. It may even be criminal. I cannot support that anymore."

Go Gordon.

12:55pm: Someday somebody's going to ask you
Finally, I happened to see my birth certificate when I was home (weight: 6 pounds, 12 ounces; place of birth: Yuba Pass). At 31, I'm now as old as my dad was when I was born. I'm the oldest; he became a father pretty late.

I really want kids someday, and it makes me sad that, by any reasonable measure, it's not going to happen for at least another two or three years, and probably longer.

I'd be a good father, dammit. I just... *sigh*

...So ends my triumvirate of inward-facing New Year's posts.