Hmmm.... A meme, as I have just been told, is "In Blogspeak, a meme is an idea that is shared and passed from blog to blog, like a question posted in one blog and answered in many other blogs." So I am supposed to write ten weird things about me. And Titletroubles says I have to surprise her with at least one. There are of course more than 10, these are just the ones that occurred to me first.
1. I am weirdly strong.
2. Unlike my contemporaries, I seem to have avoided all kinds of physical and mental issues like PMS, bad feet, bad joints, phobias, issues with depression, major allergies, bad back, digestive issues, hypoglycemia... I can not eat for days without feeling icky. When I hear the litany of can’t do this’s and that’s from others I am just puzzled. Maybe I’m a Cylon (though I rarely catch colds etc either).
3. I can drink an entire bottle of wine in an evening with no ill effect, though that is something I very rarely do.
4. I have had 35 cats, and no it is not that unpleasant, though less is a lot easier. (I do not have so many cats now)
5. I used to stand on the outside ledges of my 3rd floor apartment windows to clean the windows when I lived in New York City. We had ten foot ceilings and it was actually 4 floors down to the street, so it was high above pavement.
6. I can see a little ways into the supposedly invisible to human UV spectrum, yet have a hard time telling some shades of navy blue from black, a peculiar allele of blue-sensitive receptor I suppose.
7. Though I like sex quite well indeed, I think I found my virginity decades ago.
8. Long empty well-lit corridors often make me want to do cartwheels down their length, and I have never been able to do cartwheels.
9. I strongly dislike the color yellow.
10. When I was a child I ate sand from the playground, and peeled gum off the sidewalk and chewed it.
Ok, will that do?
And, I am tagging (with permission) Emano.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Friday, February 16, 2007
Winter
I wanted winter, and it seemed it would never come. Now it is here and is as cold and beautiful as I could want. It is 5 (farenheit) right now, and it has not been above freezing in 20 days. They say it will on Tuesday. So it has been cold, but until this week, there was little snow. Then we got a nice big storm on the 13th and 14th. In this place of typically snowy winters the road crews have had an oddly hard time cleaning this up. To be honest, it took me two and a half hours to shovel my driveway on Wednesday though. I shoveled once on tuesday night moved a nice light fluffy 6 or 8 inches, but the next 6 inches had a heavy layer of sleet fall on top. The University actually closed though, so I had plenty of time. A snow day!
It was like a little mini-Christmas in the middle of the term.
Everything sparkles with pearls and diamonds and platinum of real winter, glittering
The big storm on February 13th and 14th! First in the evening as the snow gets going, then in heavy fall at night, Christmas lights turned on just so that I can see them once in snow, then in the afternoon on Valentines day.
Ice refracting light from the sky on the 15th.
It was like a little mini-Christmas in the middle of the term.
Everything sparkles with pearls and diamonds and platinum of real winter, glittering
The big storm on February 13th and 14th! First in the evening as the snow gets going, then in heavy fall at night, Christmas lights turned on just so that I can see them once in snow, then in the afternoon on Valentines day.
Ice refracting light from the sky on the 15th.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Airports
I was in Atlanta Georgia yesterday. I had a 6:20 a.m. flight out on Saturday Morning. I left my house at 2:30 a.m. to go to my office to make copies of some handouts for the genetics seminar I was giving. It took longer than I anticipated and I didn't hit the road to Pittsburgh until 4 a.m. I got to the airport at 5 and had plenty of time to make through security and get on my flight luckily. Last time I was at PIT 1.5 hours was not enough. I flew back on Sunday morning on a slightly more humane 8:10 a.m. flight leaving the hotel on their 6:30 shuttle.
I will not do the whole rant here, but I find the new security measures to be intrusive, obstructive, and cause travel to be MUCH less pleasant than earlier, and I don't feel any safer. I just feel that I am living in a totalitarian state, not America anymore.
In spite of airport security invasions, I LIKE airports. I like the long corridors, the shops, and often good coffee, sometimes good food. Detroit is notable for the stores in its big concourse, a museum store, several art/designer boutiques, unique shops. Mineapolis is like a mall, with many standard mall chain stores with regular mall prices. Chicago’s has Chicago pizza, including frozen ones in insulated bags you can fly home with an cook in your own oven. Phoenix has decent southwestern food and good margeritas.
I like the atmosphere of airports, the sense of both hurry and waiting. I like the thoughts of travel to distant places. I like being alone in a crowd. One can people watch, or settle with a good cup of coffee and a good book, or do work with a laptop.
I like the design of many airports and the expanses of windows looking out at sky and planes. I like the long concourses and vaulted spaces.. I really like that many airports have doubled as galleries often for modern art, sometimes for science and technology.
In Atlanta I discovered it wasn't necessary to take the tram to get out. You can, in fact, walk through long underground corridors. I could stand to walk, having gained an alarming amount of weight over the 3 week break. It was a fairly long ways, and most of the tunnel was odd, fluorescent lights hanging at angles from the ceiling, loosely held by cables. Red tags hung from them with text assuring that they were in fact affixed and not going to fall.
The reward for the walk was in the last corridor, between terminal A and the main entrance and baggage claim. It was a gallery of contemporary Africa sculpture. Most of it was in stone.
What struck me was the creative use of the stone. In most case it was a dark stone used, that when polished was deep black or dark gray. When left rough it was lighter, the finishing of the stone provided color contrast of smooth dark skin, pattern cloth, and the roughness of nappy hair sometimes indicated by entirely unfinished stone.
The pieces were often inward looking and contemplative, several depicted the support of community or family, a group of friends, a protective father, a cluster of children.
Others held joy, dance, flight. I liked them.
It is too bad that most people take the tram and do not get to see these.
I will not do the whole rant here, but I find the new security measures to be intrusive, obstructive, and cause travel to be MUCH less pleasant than earlier, and I don't feel any safer. I just feel that I am living in a totalitarian state, not America anymore.
In spite of airport security invasions, I LIKE airports. I like the long corridors, the shops, and often good coffee, sometimes good food. Detroit is notable for the stores in its big concourse, a museum store, several art/designer boutiques, unique shops. Mineapolis is like a mall, with many standard mall chain stores with regular mall prices. Chicago’s has Chicago pizza, including frozen ones in insulated bags you can fly home with an cook in your own oven. Phoenix has decent southwestern food and good margeritas.
I like the atmosphere of airports, the sense of both hurry and waiting. I like the thoughts of travel to distant places. I like being alone in a crowd. One can people watch, or settle with a good cup of coffee and a good book, or do work with a laptop.
I like the design of many airports and the expanses of windows looking out at sky and planes. I like the long concourses and vaulted spaces.. I really like that many airports have doubled as galleries often for modern art, sometimes for science and technology.
In Atlanta I discovered it wasn't necessary to take the tram to get out. You can, in fact, walk through long underground corridors. I could stand to walk, having gained an alarming amount of weight over the 3 week break. It was a fairly long ways, and most of the tunnel was odd, fluorescent lights hanging at angles from the ceiling, loosely held by cables. Red tags hung from them with text assuring that they were in fact affixed and not going to fall.
The reward for the walk was in the last corridor, between terminal A and the main entrance and baggage claim. It was a gallery of contemporary Africa sculpture. Most of it was in stone.
What struck me was the creative use of the stone. In most case it was a dark stone used, that when polished was deep black or dark gray. When left rough it was lighter, the finishing of the stone provided color contrast of smooth dark skin, pattern cloth, and the roughness of nappy hair sometimes indicated by entirely unfinished stone.
The pieces were often inward looking and contemplative, several depicted the support of community or family, a group of friends, a protective father, a cluster of children.
Others held joy, dance, flight. I liked them.
It is too bad that most people take the tram and do not get to see these.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
I'm Dreaming of a White... day in January?
I love snow. We had a nice little fall of maybe 6 inches back in early December. It was lake enhanced, light and fluffy and full of glittering, lacey, perfect snowflacks. It lasted a few days. Usually in late December or early January the cold sets in and it snows and stays. Temperatures do not get above freezing sometimes for weeks. Right now it is bright and sunny and in the 50s (F). Our temperatures are not projected to make it down to the average HIGHS for the forseeable future. That projection is into mid-january, the coldest time of the year here. No snow.
I want a roaring fire and hot spiced wine, or a hot buttered rum on a snowy night. I want the lovely hush of falling snow. This winterlessness is making me cranky.
I just put brand new snow tires on my car. I will be driving back and forth accross the Alleghenies and Pocanoes in the next few weeks, who knows, maybe there will be some snow up there and I'll need them.
Glodal warming, El Nino, whatever, one of our four seasons may be missing this year. There is still live lettuce and chard down in my vegetable garden. I suppose I should eat some of it.
I want a roaring fire and hot spiced wine, or a hot buttered rum on a snowy night. I want the lovely hush of falling snow. This winterlessness is making me cranky.
I just put brand new snow tires on my car. I will be driving back and forth accross the Alleghenies and Pocanoes in the next few weeks, who knows, maybe there will be some snow up there and I'll need them.
Glodal warming, El Nino, whatever, one of our four seasons may be missing this year. There is still live lettuce and chard down in my vegetable garden. I suppose I should eat some of it.
Sunday, December 31, 2006
For Emano (again)
Alpacas from our county fair back in September. These one had been fairly recently shorn, except the tops of their heads.
Friday, December 29, 2006
Saturday, December 23, 2006
More Christmas Music
I have been listening to WYSU playing jazz as they do every Friday and Saturday evening (and yes they stream). Tonight they have been playing Christmas music non-stop, all cool jazz. This I could listen to for a very long time too. I actually got more done in my living room then I thought I would.... out of sheer unwillingness to leave the room with the wonderful stereo playing jazz. "I'll Be Home for Christmas" "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas" etc. ... mostly just jazz instrumental. The tree is finally up and decorated. Also today I finally got cherry tree outside lit, and this year I did the Paw-Paw on the other side of the driveway. The icicle lights have been up for over a week. I wish there was snow, but there is only rain. My poor neighbor was driven to tears today by something, probably her husband. Holidays can be hard on families. Christmas is amazingly easy and pleasant on one's own, though I am sad not to be traveling to see my parents and others this year. I am getting things done and all is lovely.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Creativity Embodied
In todays New York Times, by Penelope Green:
"Studies are piling up that show that messy desks are the vivid signatures of people with creative, limber minds (who reap higher salaries than those with neat “office landscapes”) and that messy closet owners are probably better parents and nicer and cooler than their tidier counterparts. It’s a movement that confirms what you have known, deep down, all along: really neat people are not avatars of the good life; they are humorless and inflexible prigs, and have way too much time on their hands."
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/12/21/garden/21mess.html?_r=1&8dpc&oref=slogin
I think I will be smiling all day.
And my house is significantly cleaner than it was a few days ago. I DO need to finish cleaning the liiving room and get my Christmas decorations up, however......
"Studies are piling up that show that messy desks are the vivid signatures of people with creative, limber minds (who reap higher salaries than those with neat “office landscapes”) and that messy closet owners are probably better parents and nicer and cooler than their tidier counterparts. It’s a movement that confirms what you have known, deep down, all along: really neat people are not avatars of the good life; they are humorless and inflexible prigs, and have way too much time on their hands."
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/12/21/garden/21mess.html?_r=1&8dpc&oref=slogin
I think I will be smiling all day.
And my house is significantly cleaner than it was a few days ago. I DO need to finish cleaning the liiving room and get my Christmas decorations up, however......
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Christmas Music
I found myself carrying in bags of presents and humming “Lully, Lullay” tonight. I immediately went to my computer and CDs looking for Christmas music. I discovered that I had left “December Stillness” by the Dale Warland Singers at work. I was pretty sure I had a Cambridge Singer’s Christmas music CD, but haven’t unearthed it yet. I went to iTunes and the internet looking for more Christmas music. I was thwarted in my desires as usual.
When I was growing up my parents had an absolutely loved two record set of Christmas music by a madrigal octet. It is old and scratchy now. I need to ask them the name of the singers. My parents live in Eugene Oregon and have neighbors who love to sing go from door to door caroling in pretty harmony. I sang alto in the church choir (or sometimes tenor or soprano if there was a need, my voice is not fabulous, but it has a range). Our choir was small, a dozen voices well used to each other. Our congregation, like most Lutherans, loved to sing in general. The service is sung, the pastor sings, the old book had all the harmony parts written in for those of use who can read music and like to sing in harmony. The newer book only has the melody. I have always wondered why they took out the harmony.
This Christmas eve, here, thousands of miles away from that little church, I will wander down to the big ELCA Lutheran church a mile or so from here on Christmas eve for the candlelight service. I hope to sing many carols with the congregation, remembering the harmony part for most, and will undoubtedly find myself nearly in tears at the beauty of singing “Silent Night” softly at the end in a sanctuary lit only by candles.
Last year, while I was shopping at a mall in Cleveland, a quartet of professional singers strolled about singing carols in gorgeous 4 part harmony, each voice distinct, each one blending warmly with the others. I stopped my rushing about to listen to the perfect music with absolute delight.
So, hunting for Christmas music.... Christmas to me is about giving and peace, and wonder. I always hope for glittering snow on Christmas, though I have never managed to be in a white Christmas in my life, this year looks to be no exception. Nonetheless, the Christian religious meaning of the birth of Christ, blends neatly in my head with the pagan celebration of winter solstice, and the knowledge of the earth's turning and tilting as it orbits the sun, the longest night and the sun’s return. Here in the advent of winter in this northern place the earth takes a breath, takes a break, and awaits the new year coming. We celebrate birth and wonders, angels, a new star bold in the sky. Was it a comet, standing on it's tail like a sword? Was it a supernova, a star exploding in a last blaze and lighting the way?
I do not like pop Christmas, or crazed consumer frenzy Christmas, or plastic Christmas, nor cutesy Christmas. This is a Holy time.
So, once again, hunting for Christmas music. I do not like much pop music at Christmas, nor country. I do not mind hearing “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” or “Blue Christmas” or even “Grandma got Run Over By a Reindeer” once or twice in the season, but it is not what I look for. I do not mind huge chorales singing “Angels we Have Heard on High” with pomp and bombast. I do rather mind opera singers belting out songs like “What Child is This” with excessive drama and vibratos wide enough to drive tractor trailers through. What I really WANT is the pure harmonies of a small group of singers, a quartet or an octet, blending beautifully, singing old and new hymns.
I like some of the Anonymous 4, but they are all women, and though their voices are pure and clear as icicles they wear on me when uninterrupted by deeper tones. I love the Cambridge Singers for their boy sopranos and the grounding of mature voices. I have sat in the chill stone expanse of King’s College Chapel in Cambridge with my parents, watching a tear run down my father’s face while the boys sang Taverner’s “The Lamb” with unearthly clarity and beauty. But that choir too can slip into indulgent bombast on occasion. The Dale Warland Singers are also quite close to what I want. But why can’t I find a small group singing the classic carols? Perhaps a group of eight voices, or four, men and women, singing “Lully Lullay”, “What Child is This”, “O Little Town of Bethleham”, “We Three Kings”, all the standards, and some more early songs, and some recent ones that blend, uncommon ones.... there is one by Charles Ive’s (A Christmas Carol) that can make the hairs stand up on the back of my neck... Quink! I must look up Quink! They sang it .... and then, at the end, sing “Silent Night" while I think of snowfalls and candlelight.
When I was growing up my parents had an absolutely loved two record set of Christmas music by a madrigal octet. It is old and scratchy now. I need to ask them the name of the singers. My parents live in Eugene Oregon and have neighbors who love to sing go from door to door caroling in pretty harmony. I sang alto in the church choir (or sometimes tenor or soprano if there was a need, my voice is not fabulous, but it has a range). Our choir was small, a dozen voices well used to each other. Our congregation, like most Lutherans, loved to sing in general. The service is sung, the pastor sings, the old book had all the harmony parts written in for those of use who can read music and like to sing in harmony. The newer book only has the melody. I have always wondered why they took out the harmony.
This Christmas eve, here, thousands of miles away from that little church, I will wander down to the big ELCA Lutheran church a mile or so from here on Christmas eve for the candlelight service. I hope to sing many carols with the congregation, remembering the harmony part for most, and will undoubtedly find myself nearly in tears at the beauty of singing “Silent Night” softly at the end in a sanctuary lit only by candles.
Last year, while I was shopping at a mall in Cleveland, a quartet of professional singers strolled about singing carols in gorgeous 4 part harmony, each voice distinct, each one blending warmly with the others. I stopped my rushing about to listen to the perfect music with absolute delight.
So, hunting for Christmas music.... Christmas to me is about giving and peace, and wonder. I always hope for glittering snow on Christmas, though I have never managed to be in a white Christmas in my life, this year looks to be no exception. Nonetheless, the Christian religious meaning of the birth of Christ, blends neatly in my head with the pagan celebration of winter solstice, and the knowledge of the earth's turning and tilting as it orbits the sun, the longest night and the sun’s return. Here in the advent of winter in this northern place the earth takes a breath, takes a break, and awaits the new year coming. We celebrate birth and wonders, angels, a new star bold in the sky. Was it a comet, standing on it's tail like a sword? Was it a supernova, a star exploding in a last blaze and lighting the way?
I do not like pop Christmas, or crazed consumer frenzy Christmas, or plastic Christmas, nor cutesy Christmas. This is a Holy time.
So, once again, hunting for Christmas music. I do not like much pop music at Christmas, nor country. I do not mind hearing “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” or “Blue Christmas” or even “Grandma got Run Over By a Reindeer” once or twice in the season, but it is not what I look for. I do not mind huge chorales singing “Angels we Have Heard on High” with pomp and bombast. I do rather mind opera singers belting out songs like “What Child is This” with excessive drama and vibratos wide enough to drive tractor trailers through. What I really WANT is the pure harmonies of a small group of singers, a quartet or an octet, blending beautifully, singing old and new hymns.
I like some of the Anonymous 4, but they are all women, and though their voices are pure and clear as icicles they wear on me when uninterrupted by deeper tones. I love the Cambridge Singers for their boy sopranos and the grounding of mature voices. I have sat in the chill stone expanse of King’s College Chapel in Cambridge with my parents, watching a tear run down my father’s face while the boys sang Taverner’s “The Lamb” with unearthly clarity and beauty. But that choir too can slip into indulgent bombast on occasion. The Dale Warland Singers are also quite close to what I want. But why can’t I find a small group singing the classic carols? Perhaps a group of eight voices, or four, men and women, singing “Lully Lullay”, “What Child is This”, “O Little Town of Bethleham”, “We Three Kings”, all the standards, and some more early songs, and some recent ones that blend, uncommon ones.... there is one by Charles Ive’s (A Christmas Carol) that can make the hairs stand up on the back of my neck... Quink! I must look up Quink! They sang it .... and then, at the end, sing “Silent Night" while I think of snowfalls and candlelight.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
"..them seemed to make no sense..."
I am finishing my various class grades for Fall semester. The grades are due by tomorrow at 10. I had about 300 students enrolled in 6 different classes to finish grades for. Some of those classes were entirely mine, others were in classes that I taught half of, or a third of. Nonetheless, there were a lot of items to grade, and numbers to enter. I am not a very good bureaucrat. I long for the days when professors had secretaries, or the systems in which professors do little grading.
One of the classes I teach is a modular “Explorations in the Sciences” class that is required for non-majors. The class has no pre-requisite, is taken mainly by freshmen, and we are an open admission University. One quarter of the student’s five week module grade is based on a written report. I have slogged through about 60 of the 70 I need to evaluate. This is the one I am stuck on at the moment:
This is not an English class. There are no prerequisites.
This is not an English class. There are no prerequisites.
This is not an English class. There are no prerequisites.
One of the classes I teach is a modular “Explorations in the Sciences” class that is required for non-majors. The class has no pre-requisite, is taken mainly by freshmen, and we are an open admission University. One quarter of the student’s five week module grade is based on a written report. I have slogged through about 60 of the 70 I need to evaluate. This is the one I am stuck on at the moment:
“The Experiment was all about cats. There color and their types. There was a wide variety of colors that involved the cats. Some of the colors were black, blue, white, lilac, cream, and red. My Group, liking the colors black and blue, chose them to analyze. At first these colors did not make much sense. There was so much data to take in it was hard. There was a lot of different factors them seemed to make no sense at all. The whites and the color lilac were really throwing me off. Them seemed to pop up all over the place.”
This is not an English class. There are no prerequisites.
This is not an English class. There are no prerequisites.
This is not an English class. There are no prerequisites.
Friday, December 08, 2006
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Stony
This is the end of my fall term, It is a time of writing tests, and grading. Snow falls in bits, freezes come and go. The sky is mainly gray though a lovely patch of cool moonlight lit me as I arrived home from work a few days ago. This is always a time of year for thought, analysis, and a shortage of sleep. I have a serious post about grading “rubrics” partially written. But that is not what I am going to write about now.
A number of my friends are having hard times. Some money troubles, some ill parents, some unusually hard work stress, one’s alcoholic husband fell off the wagon and she finds she does not much care whether she kicks him out or not. He can try to get himself together, but she is tired of betrayals, be they small or large. Another friend turns 50 shortly and I have not spoken to him in a while. Both his parents are dead and I am afraid he will take it hard. My life is the same as my life always is, steady, expected hard work for the moment, a good break soon. I have had unexpected expenses, but I am tenured, there will be more money to replace the money gone. My parents are currently in good health though they are far away and I will not get to see them at Christmas.
There seems little I can do for my friends though. I cannot remove their stressors, and I am afraid that I am not very good at being comforting. I am not even always successful at simply being here for them. Rian calls me a stone and although rocks may be solid and strong they are not much comfort either. I am pretty sure she does not think of it that way, but I see myself that way at times. I analyze, ponder, approach a problem as scientifically as I can. Then I may write a poem about it, yes, or feel slighted myself, so I am not entirely stony, but closer than most. Alas, I cannot pass on my stonyness to others.
My kittens have just knocked a bouquet of this past summer’s lavender onto the floor. I picked them up and put them back in their container, but leaves have fallen on the carpet, an appropriately purple carpet. The leaves are green and a bit spiky under my bare feet, but they smell lovely. I will leave them there for now.
Lavender. I am reminded of Narrisch’s beautiful picture of the last lavender emerging from a drift of snow.
I finger lovely blue stone beads with a stonewear pendant attached, and crush a lavender leaf in my hand. Breathe in the scent.
May everything go well for you. All of you.
A number of my friends are having hard times. Some money troubles, some ill parents, some unusually hard work stress, one’s alcoholic husband fell off the wagon and she finds she does not much care whether she kicks him out or not. He can try to get himself together, but she is tired of betrayals, be they small or large. Another friend turns 50 shortly and I have not spoken to him in a while. Both his parents are dead and I am afraid he will take it hard. My life is the same as my life always is, steady, expected hard work for the moment, a good break soon. I have had unexpected expenses, but I am tenured, there will be more money to replace the money gone. My parents are currently in good health though they are far away and I will not get to see them at Christmas.
There seems little I can do for my friends though. I cannot remove their stressors, and I am afraid that I am not very good at being comforting. I am not even always successful at simply being here for them. Rian calls me a stone and although rocks may be solid and strong they are not much comfort either. I am pretty sure she does not think of it that way, but I see myself that way at times. I analyze, ponder, approach a problem as scientifically as I can. Then I may write a poem about it, yes, or feel slighted myself, so I am not entirely stony, but closer than most. Alas, I cannot pass on my stonyness to others.
My kittens have just knocked a bouquet of this past summer’s lavender onto the floor. I picked them up and put them back in their container, but leaves have fallen on the carpet, an appropriately purple carpet. The leaves are green and a bit spiky under my bare feet, but they smell lovely. I will leave them there for now.
Lavender. I am reminded of Narrisch’s beautiful picture of the last lavender emerging from a drift of snow.
I finger lovely blue stone beads with a stonewear pendant attached, and crush a lavender leaf in my hand. Breathe in the scent.
May everything go well for you. All of you.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
half full?
I was talking to a friend on the phone tonight about various people and their half-full or half-empty approaches to life. After she also described her view I paused and thought for a couple of seconds.
I think I would pour the contents of the glass into a graduated cylinder and measure it. Then I would fill the glass with water, to the brim, and pour that into a second cylinder and measure that. Then I could express as a fairly accurate fraction what the volume had been in the glass compared to capacity. I would also add that it is relative. If the glass only held the original amount, then it would have been full, if the glass held ten times as much then the glass would be mostly empty. Then question those around, “would you choose to have an entirely full glass? One that has an equal amount of free space? or one that is mostly empty, but all three with the same volume?
My answer? If there is a good red wine involved, best if the glass is large and mostly empty, so the wine can breathe.
I think I would pour the contents of the glass into a graduated cylinder and measure it. Then I would fill the glass with water, to the brim, and pour that into a second cylinder and measure that. Then I could express as a fairly accurate fraction what the volume had been in the glass compared to capacity. I would also add that it is relative. If the glass only held the original amount, then it would have been full, if the glass held ten times as much then the glass would be mostly empty. Then question those around, “would you choose to have an entirely full glass? One that has an equal amount of free space? or one that is mostly empty, but all three with the same volume?
My answer? If there is a good red wine involved, best if the glass is large and mostly empty, so the wine can breathe.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
So Cool!
A new genome project is in the works. Technology has advanced to the point that DNA can be recovered from samples that are tens of thousands of years old. Specifically the genome of Homo sapiens neanderthalensis is being analyzed. How closely are they related to us? Do we have any descent from them or not?
As reported by Nicholas Wade in the New York Times http://www.nytimes.com/2006/11/15/science/16neanderthalcnd.html?hp&ex=1163653200&en=4da982bcdbc824fa&ei=5094&partner=homepage
"The archaic human species that dominated Europe until 30,000 years ago is about to emerge from the shadows. With the help of a new DNA sequencing machine that operates with firefly light, the bones of the Neanderthals have begun to tell their story to geneticists.
One million units of Neanderthal DNA have already been analyzed, and a draft version of the entire genome, 3.2 billion units in length, should be ready in two years, said Dr. Svante Paabo, the leader of the research project at the Max-Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology in Leipzig, Germany.
Biologists expect knowledge of the Neanderthal genome to reveal, by its differences with the human genome, many distinctive qualities of what it means to be human. Researchers also hope to resolve such questions as whether the Neanderthals spoke, what their hair and skin color were, and whether they interbred at all with the modern humans who first arrived on their doorstep 45,000 years ago, or were driven to extinction without leaving any genetic legacy.
Dr. Paabo has shared some of his precious sample of Neanderthal DNA with Edward M. Rubin of the Joint Genome Institute in Walnut Creek, Calif., whose team has identified 62,250 units of Neanderthal DNA by a different method. The two teams report their results in the journals Nature and Science respectively, saying they have independently demonstrated that recovery of the Neanderthal genome is now possible."
About a million of the estimated 3 billion base pairs have been sequenced, as reported in the Journal Nature http://www.nature.com/nature/journal/v444/n7117/abs/nature05336.html
The estimate is that we diverged from them about 500,000 years ago. For many thousands of years both species of man were around.
I was telling everyone who walked into my office.
"It is SOOOO cool!" I said
My students looked at me with a profound lack of interest. Sad.
Imagine what it was like when there were two intelligent species of people at the same time.
As reported by Nicholas Wade in the New York Times http://www.nytimes.com/2006/11/15/science/16neanderthalcnd.html?hp&ex=1163653200&en=4da982bcdbc824fa&ei=5094&partner=homepage
"The archaic human species that dominated Europe until 30,000 years ago is about to emerge from the shadows. With the help of a new DNA sequencing machine that operates with firefly light, the bones of the Neanderthals have begun to tell their story to geneticists.
One million units of Neanderthal DNA have already been analyzed, and a draft version of the entire genome, 3.2 billion units in length, should be ready in two years, said Dr. Svante Paabo, the leader of the research project at the Max-Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology in Leipzig, Germany.
Biologists expect knowledge of the Neanderthal genome to reveal, by its differences with the human genome, many distinctive qualities of what it means to be human. Researchers also hope to resolve such questions as whether the Neanderthals spoke, what their hair and skin color were, and whether they interbred at all with the modern humans who first arrived on their doorstep 45,000 years ago, or were driven to extinction without leaving any genetic legacy.
Dr. Paabo has shared some of his precious sample of Neanderthal DNA with Edward M. Rubin of the Joint Genome Institute in Walnut Creek, Calif., whose team has identified 62,250 units of Neanderthal DNA by a different method. The two teams report their results in the journals Nature and Science respectively, saying they have independently demonstrated that recovery of the Neanderthal genome is now possible."
About a million of the estimated 3 billion base pairs have been sequenced, as reported in the Journal Nature http://www.nature.com/nature/journal/v444/n7117/abs/nature05336.html
The estimate is that we diverged from them about 500,000 years ago. For many thousands of years both species of man were around.
I was telling everyone who walked into my office.
"It is SOOOO cool!" I said
My students looked at me with a profound lack of interest. Sad.
Imagine what it was like when there were two intelligent species of people at the same time.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Morality
We all have different ideas of what exactly is moral and what isn’t. Even within that, who among us measure up to our internal standards? None of us are perfect.
Recently I have found myself thinking frequently of morality, and hypocrisy, and what are the best choices and whether certain belief systems make one more or less prone to deviating from a moral code.
Examples:
1) Tom Haggard, the pastor of a Christian conservative mega church, who appears to have lied and cheated on his wife with a man who used to be a prostitute. If he hadn’t been so convinced that homosexuality was terribly evil, or that people are weak and tempted by the devil, would this have happened? I was raised a Christian. I remember reading repeatedly in the bible how Jesus valued peace and love, and values poverty and was basically not favorable towards material wealth. I do not remember Jesus saying anything about homosexuals. In spite of this, Christian conservative have no problem with war or wealth, yet hold huge hatred of homosexuality. Many Americans apparently do. Witness the passage of so many state constitutional amendments defining marriage as only between a man and a woman. Why? In my view, whether a gay couple can or cannot get married should only matter to gay couples. And as a biologist I think that monogamy should be encouraged. It reduces the spread of disease, and marriage vows hopefully help encourage monogamy.
I think we need to take responsibility for our own actions. Saying you were tempted is a bad excuse.
2) Speaking of marriage vows and monogamy, I mentioned that Bill Clinton might be an interesting person to have dinner with. He is someone I have always wanted to meet. The person I said that to shuddered in response. I was surprised. President Clinton is a smart man, and charismatic, and concerned about the welfare of the world and the poor and education. I imagine he would be a very very interesting person to talk to over dinner. No, I was told, he is morally reprehensible, and that was that. I was dumbfounded. Yeah, he let an eager woman give him blowjobs, and he shouldn’t have, and he tried to weasel out of admitting it. But I wasn’t talking about DATING him. And yet somehow this tawdry little bit of info, which we would never know about in other people, completely over whelmed any interest in all of the global concerns and projects that Clinton is involved in. Why? Am I some kind of moral idiot to think well of the man for all he has done and said on fronts that are morally important to me because he did something wrong that would cause me to break up with him if I was dating him, or drag him off to a marriage councilor if he was my husband? He did something he shouldn’t have. So did Monica. In my eye they are equally to blame. But among the terrible things one could do, it is not at the top of my list.
The person I had this conversation with is someone I think very highly of. So, now I feel somehow dirtied. Am I wrong? Does one failure taint everything that one does? Even if the failure causes only personal hurt in the family, while good works save lives of thousands? Does my friend screen her dinner companions this way generally? Would she shun artists and musician and philosophers because they had been unfaithful? Have none of her personal friends ever slipped? Are all things equal? Or are they not?
3) A kitten that I sold as a pet last April, a very very sweet and beautiful Blue eyed white Oriental, contracted FIP and was put to sleep a week ago. She lived as an only cat. The virus that killed her likely came from my house, and the genes that made her susceptible to the disease came from one or both of her parents, I own both. As a bit of background, this virus is ubiquitous in places where there are a number of cats, shelters, cat shows, and breeders. Anyone with more than one cat may have a situation with cats passing it back and forth.
The virus is usually harmless. Once in a while, estimated overall at 5% of the time, a cat develops a fatal immune system reaction to the virus and dies. This misfiring of the immune system in response to a mutation in the virus appears to be genetic. A genetic susceptibility. It is the reaction that is FIP, not the virus. Over the decades that I have had cats, I have not had a lot of cases of FIP, and until recently I had sent only 1 kitten out that had contracted FIP and died. In the past 2 years 4 kittens, out of 21 have left my house, only to get FIP some months later. Three of those four went to multi-cat households, but sweet Tink was an only cat.
I have 12 very young kittens in my house. Seven of them are half-siblings of one of the cats that died (10 full sibs are fine and healthy), 5 are nieces and nephews of the same cat. Someone who’s opinion is important to me asked if I was going to keep all the kittens, not sell them or place them, as they stand a chance of getting the disease. I was astonished. One of eleven died. That is one too many, but it is less than 10%. Now I have half sibs and nieces and nephews. Am I worried that they could be susceptible? You bet. Do I think it likely that any individual kitten of this group will get FIP? No. Do I think I should keep these 12 kittens for the rest of their lives in my house because I worry that one or another might be susceptible, or might not be? No. I think it is more fair to the kittens to let them go out and be people’s pets. But because I have been questioned about it I am fretting about it.
I cannot guarantee the life span of any cat that I place. I have had people have cats from me live into their late teens. Others have not made ten. The longest-lived cat on record was a pedigreed cat, but in general I suspect pedigreed cats live somewhat less long on average than moggies. If I had a crystal ball and the right skills, perhaps I could tell someone, THIS cat will live only 8 years, and THAT one will live 18, and you can’t have the pretty one in your lap because she will get FIP and die before she is a year old. But I can’t do that. So I have a guarantee in my sales contract. If the cat dies due to a developmental or hereditary problem, I will replace. That, I can do. My cats are special, they bring joy. They love attention. Should they stay here with only the attention they can get from me? Should I not breed them at all? I try to be careful. I am a geneticist. I do not inbreed, I try to use and produce healthy cats. It is my hobby, and they are a great joy to me.
Am I not moral enough? Most of the time I find myself thinking, “I wouldn’t do that” when some friend or another is telling me what they are doing in some gray area. I try to do the right thing. What should I be doing? What are better choices?
Recently I have found myself thinking frequently of morality, and hypocrisy, and what are the best choices and whether certain belief systems make one more or less prone to deviating from a moral code.
Examples:
1) Tom Haggard, the pastor of a Christian conservative mega church, who appears to have lied and cheated on his wife with a man who used to be a prostitute. If he hadn’t been so convinced that homosexuality was terribly evil, or that people are weak and tempted by the devil, would this have happened? I was raised a Christian. I remember reading repeatedly in the bible how Jesus valued peace and love, and values poverty and was basically not favorable towards material wealth. I do not remember Jesus saying anything about homosexuals. In spite of this, Christian conservative have no problem with war or wealth, yet hold huge hatred of homosexuality. Many Americans apparently do. Witness the passage of so many state constitutional amendments defining marriage as only between a man and a woman. Why? In my view, whether a gay couple can or cannot get married should only matter to gay couples. And as a biologist I think that monogamy should be encouraged. It reduces the spread of disease, and marriage vows hopefully help encourage monogamy.
I think we need to take responsibility for our own actions. Saying you were tempted is a bad excuse.
2) Speaking of marriage vows and monogamy, I mentioned that Bill Clinton might be an interesting person to have dinner with. He is someone I have always wanted to meet. The person I said that to shuddered in response. I was surprised. President Clinton is a smart man, and charismatic, and concerned about the welfare of the world and the poor and education. I imagine he would be a very very interesting person to talk to over dinner. No, I was told, he is morally reprehensible, and that was that. I was dumbfounded. Yeah, he let an eager woman give him blowjobs, and he shouldn’t have, and he tried to weasel out of admitting it. But I wasn’t talking about DATING him. And yet somehow this tawdry little bit of info, which we would never know about in other people, completely over whelmed any interest in all of the global concerns and projects that Clinton is involved in. Why? Am I some kind of moral idiot to think well of the man for all he has done and said on fronts that are morally important to me because he did something wrong that would cause me to break up with him if I was dating him, or drag him off to a marriage councilor if he was my husband? He did something he shouldn’t have. So did Monica. In my eye they are equally to blame. But among the terrible things one could do, it is not at the top of my list.
The person I had this conversation with is someone I think very highly of. So, now I feel somehow dirtied. Am I wrong? Does one failure taint everything that one does? Even if the failure causes only personal hurt in the family, while good works save lives of thousands? Does my friend screen her dinner companions this way generally? Would she shun artists and musician and philosophers because they had been unfaithful? Have none of her personal friends ever slipped? Are all things equal? Or are they not?
3) A kitten that I sold as a pet last April, a very very sweet and beautiful Blue eyed white Oriental, contracted FIP and was put to sleep a week ago. She lived as an only cat. The virus that killed her likely came from my house, and the genes that made her susceptible to the disease came from one or both of her parents, I own both. As a bit of background, this virus is ubiquitous in places where there are a number of cats, shelters, cat shows, and breeders. Anyone with more than one cat may have a situation with cats passing it back and forth.
The virus is usually harmless. Once in a while, estimated overall at 5% of the time, a cat develops a fatal immune system reaction to the virus and dies. This misfiring of the immune system in response to a mutation in the virus appears to be genetic. A genetic susceptibility. It is the reaction that is FIP, not the virus. Over the decades that I have had cats, I have not had a lot of cases of FIP, and until recently I had sent only 1 kitten out that had contracted FIP and died. In the past 2 years 4 kittens, out of 21 have left my house, only to get FIP some months later. Three of those four went to multi-cat households, but sweet Tink was an only cat.
I have 12 very young kittens in my house. Seven of them are half-siblings of one of the cats that died (10 full sibs are fine and healthy), 5 are nieces and nephews of the same cat. Someone who’s opinion is important to me asked if I was going to keep all the kittens, not sell them or place them, as they stand a chance of getting the disease. I was astonished. One of eleven died. That is one too many, but it is less than 10%. Now I have half sibs and nieces and nephews. Am I worried that they could be susceptible? You bet. Do I think it likely that any individual kitten of this group will get FIP? No. Do I think I should keep these 12 kittens for the rest of their lives in my house because I worry that one or another might be susceptible, or might not be? No. I think it is more fair to the kittens to let them go out and be people’s pets. But because I have been questioned about it I am fretting about it.
I cannot guarantee the life span of any cat that I place. I have had people have cats from me live into their late teens. Others have not made ten. The longest-lived cat on record was a pedigreed cat, but in general I suspect pedigreed cats live somewhat less long on average than moggies. If I had a crystal ball and the right skills, perhaps I could tell someone, THIS cat will live only 8 years, and THAT one will live 18, and you can’t have the pretty one in your lap because she will get FIP and die before she is a year old. But I can’t do that. So I have a guarantee in my sales contract. If the cat dies due to a developmental or hereditary problem, I will replace. That, I can do. My cats are special, they bring joy. They love attention. Should they stay here with only the attention they can get from me? Should I not breed them at all? I try to be careful. I am a geneticist. I do not inbreed, I try to use and produce healthy cats. It is my hobby, and they are a great joy to me.
Am I not moral enough? Most of the time I find myself thinking, “I wouldn’t do that” when some friend or another is telling me what they are doing in some gray area. I try to do the right thing. What should I be doing? What are better choices?
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Yes
"The pursuit of truth and beauty is a sphere of activity in which we are permitted to remain children all our lives." - Albert Einstein
Sunday, October 22, 2006
My Father's 80th
I flew to California for my father and his twin's 80th birthday party. My parents drove down from Oregon, my brother and family flew out from Colorado, and my unts and uncles and cousins drove in from their various locales in the Bay Area. The party was at my youngest cousin Eileen's house in Walnut Creek. Her father Bill is my father's twin brother.
It was a lovely afternoon party, the weather was perfect, clear and warm. After breakfast we went to a street art festival in the town I lived in for three years, Danville. The art festival was huge and had a wide range from lovely to tacky stuff. I picked up a present for my weekend cat sitter there.
Then we went to the party. It was a lovely afternoon party, the weather was perfect, clear and warm. My father and his brother and their two older sisters were all there. The eldest, Peggy, remaried at 80 almost 9 years ago. She is lively and spry. Virgina, the middle child, is in an assisted living/retirement home, but she spends all her time with her current boyfriend there. She needs canes to walk now, and her grandson Howard said she has on and off days. I immediately went over and talked to her, she asked me who all the people were who she didn't recognize, my brother's new wife and ihs step-kids. She seemed fairly on the ball to me.
The big surprise was her eldest son, Howards father, Rick. He had had a bypass surgury gone wrong, and strokes and I had heard that he was bedridden and barely functional. He was there, looking physically fit, a little halting in his conversation, hunting for words and names, but often coming up with snappy remarks, and pleased, pleased, pleased to be there and see everyone. Big hugs for cousins not seen in a long time.
His son Howard is an angel. He has two kids of his own, and takes care of his father, and his grandmother Virginia, and manages to be cheerful, sensible, and strong. He's a real Mensch.
This picture is of the four siblings in order of age, my father, his brother Bill, sister Virginia, then Peggy. We are talking of getting together again next year for Peggy's 90th.
Afterwords we came back to the hotel and my parents and brother and wife and I sat talking for a long time, then I went to my room and got some grading done. I am way behind on grading already. Today, San Fransicso!
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Yes
About the self:
“The big self is mondo stable. But the small self — we’re blowing about like dry leaves in the wind.”
About Time:
“It’s going backward and forward, and it’s slippery.”
-David Lynch to the New York Times
“The big self is mondo stable. But the small self — we’re blowing about like dry leaves in the wind.”
About Time:
“It’s going backward and forward, and it’s slippery.”
-David Lynch to the New York Times
Thursday, September 28, 2006
New York New York with Hobblings
Left to right: Fedwren, Emma, Someone Else, Q (front), Lars (back), Rian, Skits, Daisy, Me (back), Keppet (front), Dana, Biped
First a disclaimer: Although I lived in New York city for 10 years I lived way uptown and knew the west side quite well, but rarely ventured to the east side, and rarely went all the way downtown. Plus I lived there 14 years ago, and it was very overcast so my sense of North/South etc way downtown was not good. On top of that my sense of time is... well, impossible.
I intended to leave Ohio as soon as I finished teaching at noon, but I had forgotten that had to give a seminar to the grad students and senior capstone students. After this and that, I was not able to leave work until 4, so instead of hitting the highway at 3:00, I did not get on the road until 7:00, with a seven hour drive to New York City in front of me. It was 2 in the morning when I crossed the Hudson River on the lower level of the George Washington Bridge (aka “Martha”). I saw the Port Authority bus terminal Rising up on the Manhattan side, and remembered it’s white interior, the candy counter with chocolate covered marshmallow bars (“blech “ says Rian) and the perpetual cluster of middle aged Hispanic men around the OTB counter. The memory was so strong, chocolate breaking softly, bright light, careworn faces......
I passed under the station and curled down onto the Harlem River Drive, the road as rutted and narrow as ever, the black water of the east river reflecting city lights. A physical longing for the City grabbed me, twisting in my chest. On some level I was and always will be a New Yorker though I did not move there until I was in my 20’s and do not plan to ever live there again.
Needless to say it was very very late by the time I went to sleep..... in an apartment with no alarm clock. I am a light sleeper, I assumed I would wake up in time to make the meeting place at 11:00 on Saturday morning.
Well, I woke up when I meant to. I had time to get ready and my estimated half an hour to walk from 81st between 2nd and 3rd avenue, through central park and up to 106th, with a stop at Starbucks for coffee of course. (“Of course” says Rian). And, of course, I miss-judged the time it would take. In spite of walking with some speed through the occasional rain it took me 45 minutes. As I passed by the lovely rocks and trees of the North-west side of Central Park I saw a familiar figure in the distance in front of me. Keppet, who I had never met, but who was entirely familiar. She had convinced an old friend to come along, poor friend.
Due to the rain, and the fact that our recent “Accomplice” information required us to be at the South street seaport at 2:00, plans to picnic in Central Park had been scrapped. The new plan was to meet somewhere n Chinatown for lunch. Others of the group had gone rouse Rian and Co. and were somewhere in the middle of Manhattan. Only one member of the group actually currently lives in NYC, although not in Manhattan and she is not a longtime NY resident, so it turned out that I might have the best working knowledge of the island.
I suggested we meet at Canal and Mott in the heart of Chinatown. We took the subway down to Canal street and pressed though the crowd to Mott. I restrained myself from looking at the 10$ knockoff Rolexes and assorted shiny attractive things. I also restrained from stopping for a roast pork bun, a bean cake, or a curried vegetable roll from my favorite Chinese bakeries.
We finally joined up with the group. I had never met Fedwren or Q or Lars or Daisy or Keppet before. The others were familiar from Paris (ah! Paris). Fedwren had scoped out a Chinese (Pan Asian actually) restaurant with plenty of room for us all for lunch. We were crowded around a huge round table with a big Lazy Susan in the middle on which our food was placed. We could spin around to what we wanted to try.
In the restaurant
Outside the restaurant
Thus fortified we headed out to the Southstreet Seaport for our Accomplice event.
I glanced at a map and headed us south, and the streets turned and After a brief glance at a map and a few words with Fedwren, the only current New Yorker of the lot of us, I turned us onto another street and sent us walking in absolutely the wrong direction, through a part of China town I had never been in before.
By the time I figured out our mistake we had quite a ways to backtrack. We were late to the South Street Seaport, and then took a bit to find our meeting place. When we got there a narrow man in a suit slid up to us, said we were LATE and had to go away for a half an hour. So, we did, had a drink and watched a man with dreadlocks and an island accent perform amazing yoga type contortions in black and yellow patterned spandex.
Rian said “I can do that.” and “I can do that too” Then he did something else and she fell silent.
Keppet and Dana
Accomplice was fun, sending us here and there through increasingly inventive means, to a Bra Bar using photographs, to a fountain with a message rolled into a cigarette, to Chinatown (back to Mott and Canal) with a fortune cookie. We found out that handsome live frogs can be purchased in Chinatown, and that drunks aren’t always drunks, and that in spite of the crowds and the San Gennaro festival in little Italy a table with bottles of wine was held for Accomplice participants, complete with drunk (perhaps) Russian, who waved over a plate of appetizers and good crusty bread. Some of the actors were a real surprise. I surprised myself by having fun playing along with the story with the loony red-head outside the church. Thankfully we had the sense not to try to give the frog to the parishoners.....
Keppet and Skit do not appear to take the mobster seriously
The Bra Bar (no that wasn't it's name) with Lars' head oddly sticking horizontally into the frame
Rian tackling Someone Else
The Frog
Skittledog prepares to bike up the Brooklyn Bridge
The Blind Beggar delivers his clues
The Russian offers wine and advice on dating
By the time it was over we just had time to subway uptown to Carmine’s on the upper west side. They still serve their after dinner expresso with a bottle of galliano and a twist of lemon peel. Yum!
Rian's Hidden Talent and Narrisch's lovely hair
I ended my night with Dana and Lars at a nice bar, where I discovered pomegranite martinis.... Mmmmmm. The rest of the Hobblings had faded and gone to bed.
And that was just Saturday.
First a disclaimer: Although I lived in New York city for 10 years I lived way uptown and knew the west side quite well, but rarely ventured to the east side, and rarely went all the way downtown. Plus I lived there 14 years ago, and it was very overcast so my sense of North/South etc way downtown was not good. On top of that my sense of time is... well, impossible.
I intended to leave Ohio as soon as I finished teaching at noon, but I had forgotten that had to give a seminar to the grad students and senior capstone students
I passed under the station and curled down onto the Harlem River Drive, the road as rutted and narrow as ever, the black water of the east river reflecting city lights. A physical longing for the City grabbed me, twisting in my chest. On some level I was and always will be a New Yorker though I did not move there until I was in my 20’s and do not plan to ever live there again.
Needless to say it was very very late by the time I went to sleep..... in an apartment with no alarm clock. I am a light sleeper, I assumed I would wake up in time to make the meeting place at 11:00 on Saturday morning.
Well, I woke up when I meant to. I had time to get ready and my estimated half an hour to walk from 81st between 2nd and 3rd avenue, through central park and up to 106th, with a stop at Starbucks for coffee of course. (“Of course” says Rian). And, of course, I miss-judged the time it would take. In spite of walking with some speed through the occasional rain it took me 45 minutes. As I passed by the lovely rocks and trees of the North-west side of Central Park I saw a familiar figure in the distance in front of me. Keppet, who I had never met, but who was entirely familiar. She had convinced an old friend to come along, poor friend.
Due to the rain, and the fact that our recent “Accomplice” information required us to be at the South street seaport at 2:00, plans to picnic in Central Park had been scrapped. The new plan was to meet somewhere n Chinatown for lunch. Others of the group had gone rouse Rian and Co. and were somewhere in the middle of Manhattan. Only one member of the group actually currently lives in NYC, although not in Manhattan and she is not a longtime NY resident, so it turned out that I might have the best working knowledge of the island.
I suggested we meet at Canal and Mott in the heart of Chinatown. We took the subway down to Canal street and pressed though the crowd to Mott. I restrained myself from looking at the 10$ knockoff Rolexes and assorted shiny attractive things. I also restrained from stopping for a roast pork bun, a bean cake, or a curried vegetable roll from my favorite Chinese bakeries.
We finally joined up with the group. I had never met Fedwren or Q or Lars or Daisy or Keppet before. The others were familiar from Paris (ah! Paris). Fedwren had scoped out a Chinese (Pan Asian actually) restaurant with plenty of room for us all for lunch. We were crowded around a huge round table with a big Lazy Susan in the middle on which our food was placed. We could spin around to what we wanted to try.
In the restaurant
Outside the restaurant
Thus fortified we headed out to the Southstreet Seaport for our Accomplice event.
I glanced at a map and headed us south, and the streets turned and After a brief glance at a map and a few words with Fedwren, the only current New Yorker of the lot of us, I turned us onto another street and sent us walking in absolutely the wrong direction, through a part of China town I had never been in before.
By the time I figured out our mistake we had quite a ways to backtrack. We were late to the South Street Seaport, and then took a bit to find our meeting place. When we got there a narrow man in a suit slid up to us, said we were LATE and had to go away for a half an hour. So, we did, had a drink and watched a man with dreadlocks and an island accent perform amazing yoga type contortions in black and yellow patterned spandex.
Rian said “I can do that.” and “I can do that too” Then he did something else and she fell silent.
Keppet and Dana
Accomplice was fun, sending us here and there through increasingly inventive means, to a Bra Bar using photographs, to a fountain with a message rolled into a cigarette, to Chinatown (back to Mott and Canal) with a fortune cookie. We found out that handsome live frogs can be purchased in Chinatown, and that drunks aren’t always drunks, and that in spite of the crowds and the San Gennaro festival in little Italy a table with bottles of wine was held for Accomplice participants, complete with drunk (perhaps) Russian, who waved over a plate of appetizers and good crusty bread. Some of the actors were a real surprise. I surprised myself by having fun playing along with the story with the loony red-head outside the church. Thankfully we had the sense not to try to give the frog to the parishoners.....
Keppet and Skit do not appear to take the mobster seriously
The Bra Bar (no that wasn't it's name) with Lars' head oddly sticking horizontally into the frame
Rian tackling Someone Else
The Frog
Skittledog prepares to bike up the Brooklyn Bridge
The Blind Beggar delivers his clues
The Russian offers wine and advice on dating
By the time it was over we just had time to subway uptown to Carmine’s on the upper west side. They still serve their after dinner expresso with a bottle of galliano and a twist of lemon peel. Yum!
Rian's Hidden Talent and Narrisch's lovely hair
I ended my night with Dana and Lars at a nice bar, where I discovered pomegranite martinis.... Mmmmmm. The rest of the Hobblings had faded and gone to bed.
And that was just Saturday.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
