In this installment, we find out that I know nothing of what happens in Air Force basic training. So I've just sort of roughed this bit in and I'll do more research later to make it more accurate. Again, I'm just trying to get the first draft done, people! [Note the appearance of additional dialogue. Still not great stuff, but at least it's there.]
Beans had always been a staple in Bernie's diet. His momma would take the hog fat after pig slaughtering season and boil up the biggest batch of red beans the stove would allow. By the time the family got to the end of the pot, they never wanted to see another red bean again. But of course, a few weeks later, there would be more beans. Basic training wasn't much different. He marked the days in San Antonio by the beans they ate —red, white, black, refried, butter.
"Ronnie, I don't think I can eat any more beans," he said to his bunk mate sitting beside him with his own plate of beans.
"You won't have to. They don't serve beans in Wichita Falls."
The voice came from behind Bernie, so he had to turn around awkwardly in a tiny space. People were always materializing behind you in the Air Force. It was annoying.
"What's in Wichita Falls?" Bernie asked the runner who was standing there with an envelope with what Bernie assumed were, at long last, his orders.
"Apparently you will be soon. Your assignment." The airman held out the envelope to Bernie, who took it and pulled out the next four years of his life. "Congratulations. You tested high in engineering and electronics."
The airman started to walk away and then called back over his shoulder, "By the way, that means, no war zones for you. You'll be building radars and antennas in oil fields and deserts. You hit the jackpot."
Bernie looked at the papers transferring him to training for his new job.
"You got your papers last week, didn't you?" he asked Ronnie.
"Yup."
"What are you doing?"
"Living up to my dad's idea that I'm an idiot."
Bernie tilted his head to the side in an unspoken, "what?"
"Military Police," Ronnie answered before finishing his beans. "Guess I didn't test high in anything."
Military police is where they stuck everyone who couldn't do anything else — not just those who didn't test high in specialties like engineering or logistics, but those who weren't even competent enough to work in support; to fill roles like, "historian," "public affairs," or even the ubiquitous "manpower". Nobody wanted to be MP.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Friday, June 08, 2007
Love at first lay
I've never had lofty goals. And my new dream is no different. My new dream is to own this bed, known to me and my cops reporter as "The Space Ship Bed". (Actual name: The Transport.) It has a water mattress and sound and light system. Of course, it also costs $12,000.
The round bed comes full circle (L.A. Times)
Even dealing drugs, midgets are funny
So I totally stole this from Gawker, but it IS the best lede ever:
June 8, 2007 -- The short, troubled life of a drug-dealing Harlem midget came to a violent end yesterday when he was gunned down while guzzling beer and shooting dice outside a housing project. (New York Post)
June 8, 2007 -- The short, troubled life of a drug-dealing Harlem midget came to a violent end yesterday when he was gunned down while guzzling beer and shooting dice outside a housing project. (New York Post)
Thursday, June 07, 2007
My Space update
So today I got five request from total strangers who want to be my friend. Fourteen people have viewed my profile. (Last night it was at 5.)
Three people's profiles were erased by the end of the day. One girl is the lead singer of some band. And oddly the fourth person lives down the street from me — Anthony, a Latino male, 32, whose My Space page is all pictures of barely dressed, well endowed women.
[Sigh]
I've declined them all. So far it's not going well.
Three people's profiles were erased by the end of the day. One girl is the lead singer of some band. And oddly the fourth person lives down the street from me — Anthony, a Latino male, 32, whose My Space page is all pictures of barely dressed, well endowed women.
[Sigh]
I've declined them all. So far it's not going well.
What's next for the briny deep?
On this, the most hallowed eve of the great O13 opening, I present to you some potential sequels* (mostly courtesy of my friend Linus):
1) $7.50 + $6.50 = 14. Ocean's 14: The Quest for Melinda's Money for Ocean's 12 & 13. [Explanation: This is funny only because Melinda once — and we were very drunk — famously told the director of Oceans 11-13 that she did not like Oceans 12 and could she have her $7.50 back. M does not have high hopes for 13, either.]
2) Four words: Oceans New York: The Series (which of course will follow Ocean's 15: Ocean Takes Manhattan).
3) Oceans 20: Ocean versus Predator
4) Oceans 101 Dalmatians
and of course:
5) Oceans 1-10, The Prequels.
*Not a comprehensive list or a low fat food. Please feel free to add your own sequel suggestions.
1) $7.50 + $6.50 = 14. Ocean's 14: The Quest for Melinda's Money for Ocean's 12 & 13. [Explanation: This is funny only because Melinda once — and we were very drunk — famously told the director of Oceans 11-13 that she did not like Oceans 12 and could she have her $7.50 back. M does not have high hopes for 13, either.]
2) Four words: Oceans New York: The Series (which of course will follow Ocean's 15: Ocean Takes Manhattan).
3) Oceans 20: Ocean versus Predator
4) Oceans 101 Dalmatians
and of course:
5) Oceans 1-10, The Prequels.
*Not a comprehensive list or a low fat food. Please feel free to add your own sequel suggestions.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Take that Mr. Corporate Newspaper Man
Until recently I didn't even notice the "Next Blog" tab at the top of the page. Now that it has been pointed out to me, I like to hit occasional to see where I wind up. Most of the time it seems I wind up on a non-English language site. But tonight....ah, tonight...I found someone who shares my heart.
http://screwsubwalls.blogspot.com/
He/she hates those damn subscription requirements that newspapers have installed on their sites as much as me. Thank you faceless person. Thank you.
http://screwsubwalls.blogspot.com/
He/she hates those damn subscription requirements that newspapers have installed on their sites as much as me. Thank you faceless person. Thank you.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Baby Neighbor
I know I'm blogging a lot today...well this month in general...but I have lot going on and plus I'm stuck inside, hiding from the neighbor remember.
Anyway, I hear some new neighbor I'm familiar with outside my window with her daughter, who sounds about 3 or 4. The little girl is named Trinity.
Somebody liked "The Matrix" a little too much.
Anyway, I hear some new neighbor I'm familiar with outside my window with her daughter, who sounds about 3 or 4. The little girl is named Trinity.
Somebody liked "The Matrix" a little too much.
Writing the novel: Part 2
In which we discuss dialogue.
Specifically my lack thereof.
Is it possible that journalism has destroyed my ability to use dialogue? I think I have in my head the idea that quotes are used as gravy and don't quote what you can better paraphrase — which those of you who are journalists will recognize as fairly standard advice to each and every Journalism 101 student to every pass through a college gate. And so while I know dialogue should be used to build narrative tension and to create immediacy and intimacy, I can't make myself put dialogue onto the page. I keep thinking, "I can tell this story better than the characters."
This is a bad thought to have. So I have forced some dialogue into my story because I think in my head there should be some, but I feel wrong about putting it in as I'm writing. And as a result I feel it is awkward and someone will look at and go, "What tha...that doesn't belong there!" (Wait, isn't that an example of dialogue? What can't I get that into the story?!) So here I present to you the next installment of the untitled novel, complete with totally tacked on stilted dialogue.
I just keep telling myself to finish the first draft. You can go back and revise it when you're done. Then you can worry about the dialogue.
[ps- After Googling "dialogue" I learned that the more common North American spelling is dialog. I do that a lot. I think it's my English genes.]
_________________________
With the first order of business taken care of, Bernie drove to his girlfriend Eileen's house. She was an older woman with not the cleanest reputation in town. But then again, it was a small town and any hint of gossip was just gossip enough for those who kept up with those things. She was what was once referred to as a handsome woman. Not beautiful or fair or even pretty, but also not unattractive. Her face was lived in and she had the air and look of someone used to hard times, though she'd had a relatively uneventful life. Eileen did nothing to hide her fondness for liquor and smoke, which didn't help her reputation in a dry, evangelical Christian town like Collins. She was, at that moment, smoking a cigarette on the porch of small two-bedroom shotgun house. It was attached to its twin where her cousin and his wife lived with their two young children. The kids, who looked like little pillows with hats bundled up in their winter coats, were playing in the yard when Bernie arrived.
Eileen greeted him with a long kiss and when they parted Bernie took her hand and pulled her inside. They sat at the kitchen table and he told her about the draft and the Air Force and that he reported for basic training in February. She took it with a straight face, which was one of the things Bernie liked so much about her. She was not a hysterical woman. Then he asked her to marry him. She thought about it carefully, but only for a moment and then accepted.
That was how it was between them. They didn't expend a lot of words.
Their wedding would be a small, church affair with family and a few friends. Rushed, but then again they didn't have a lot to prepare for. This was never, even under the best circumstances, going to be an event to remember. Years later, no one in town would talk about the wedding except to comment on how unmemorable it was and to wonder, if they had been able to remember, if there had been any sign then of the trouble that was to come.
"Are you staying for dinner?" she asked, getting up and making her way to the sink where the red beans were soaking.
"Might as well." He stared off into space as Eileen drained the beans.
"The toilet's acting up again. Can you take a look at it? Since you're here."
He got up and went into the bathroom. He flushed the toilet a few times and it seemed fine. So he just sat down to be alone while the beans cooked.
Specifically my lack thereof.
Is it possible that journalism has destroyed my ability to use dialogue? I think I have in my head the idea that quotes are used as gravy and don't quote what you can better paraphrase — which those of you who are journalists will recognize as fairly standard advice to each and every Journalism 101 student to every pass through a college gate. And so while I know dialogue should be used to build narrative tension and to create immediacy and intimacy, I can't make myself put dialogue onto the page. I keep thinking, "I can tell this story better than the characters."
This is a bad thought to have. So I have forced some dialogue into my story because I think in my head there should be some, but I feel wrong about putting it in as I'm writing. And as a result I feel it is awkward and someone will look at and go, "What tha...that doesn't belong there!" (Wait, isn't that an example of dialogue? What can't I get that into the story?!) So here I present to you the next installment of the untitled novel, complete with totally tacked on stilted dialogue.
I just keep telling myself to finish the first draft. You can go back and revise it when you're done. Then you can worry about the dialogue.
[ps- After Googling "dialogue" I learned that the more common North American spelling is dialog. I do that a lot. I think it's my English genes.]
_________________________
With the first order of business taken care of, Bernie drove to his girlfriend Eileen's house. She was an older woman with not the cleanest reputation in town. But then again, it was a small town and any hint of gossip was just gossip enough for those who kept up with those things. She was what was once referred to as a handsome woman. Not beautiful or fair or even pretty, but also not unattractive. Her face was lived in and she had the air and look of someone used to hard times, though she'd had a relatively uneventful life. Eileen did nothing to hide her fondness for liquor and smoke, which didn't help her reputation in a dry, evangelical Christian town like Collins. She was, at that moment, smoking a cigarette on the porch of small two-bedroom shotgun house. It was attached to its twin where her cousin and his wife lived with their two young children. The kids, who looked like little pillows with hats bundled up in their winter coats, were playing in the yard when Bernie arrived.
Eileen greeted him with a long kiss and when they parted Bernie took her hand and pulled her inside. They sat at the kitchen table and he told her about the draft and the Air Force and that he reported for basic training in February. She took it with a straight face, which was one of the things Bernie liked so much about her. She was not a hysterical woman. Then he asked her to marry him. She thought about it carefully, but only for a moment and then accepted.
That was how it was between them. They didn't expend a lot of words.
Their wedding would be a small, church affair with family and a few friends. Rushed, but then again they didn't have a lot to prepare for. This was never, even under the best circumstances, going to be an event to remember. Years later, no one in town would talk about the wedding except to comment on how unmemorable it was and to wonder, if they had been able to remember, if there had been any sign then of the trouble that was to come.
"Are you staying for dinner?" she asked, getting up and making her way to the sink where the red beans were soaking.
"Might as well." He stared off into space as Eileen drained the beans.
"The toilet's acting up again. Can you take a look at it? Since you're here."
He got up and went into the bathroom. He flushed the toilet a few times and it seemed fine. So he just sat down to be alone while the beans cooked.
For Your Consideration
A friend of mine recently gave me all the DVDs I could carry home. He was getting rid of some of his that he said he would never watch again. I scored some good stuff, I think. (He was appalled at my selection of "The Professional", though. He said, "I want you to know your supporting child pornography. He was totally exploiting that little girl. I want you to think about the fact that Luc Besson wanted to have sex with 14-year-old Natalie Portman when he made that. Plus nothing with Gary Oldman can be good." — Though he did concede my point that Jean Reno is incredible and you should watch everything he does, even if it's "One Man Steel Magnolias".)
Anyway, I realized after I got them home and was slotting them into my collection that about half were stamped with: "For Your Consideration". This is odd, I thought.
Then it dawned on me. He's a member of the Academy. These are Oscar screeners.
For a movie buff like me, that was a pretty cool revelation.
Anyway, I realized after I got them home and was slotting them into my collection that about half were stamped with: "For Your Consideration". This is odd, I thought.
Then it dawned on me. He's a member of the Academy. These are Oscar screeners.
For a movie buff like me, that was a pretty cool revelation.
Trapped in my apartment
I was about to take Roland out for a walk (I worked the shift of a normal person today) and then I heard my creepy neighbor outside on his cell phone. Now I don't want to go out because he'll ask me to dinner. He won't take no for an answer (as I've said before) and so I'd rather just not face him. I'm like hiding on the floor under the window with the lights out typing this. I've got to pay someone to play my boyfriend. It'll be like the sequel to the "Wedding Date" — "Keeping the Neighbor at Bay".
Ugh. It's worse because he's out there chain smoking, like right by my window, which is open and so the smoke is coming in and I can't close it. Damn. This is a nightmare. Seriously. This really SHOULD be cause to break a lease.
Ugh. It's worse because he's out there chain smoking, like right by my window, which is open and so the smoke is coming in and I can't close it. Damn. This is a nightmare. Seriously. This really SHOULD be cause to break a lease.
Warning: Oceans 13 spoiler
From Jerry Weintraub, the film's producer:
"This movie is all about Darfur," he said. "It's all about these guys (in the cast) that have been in the Sudan. They want to bring a spotlight on it."
Who knew?
"This movie is all about Darfur," he said. "It's all about these guys (in the cast) that have been in the Sudan. They want to bring a spotlight on it."
Who knew?
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Writing the novel: Part 1
Writing this novel is very hard for me. Despite people saying I have a "unique voice" in my writing and being constantly reassured that I'm any good, I don't believe it. And it paralyzes my writing. It's why I sucked so bad at project writing and why I never tried long form fiction before. But I'm determined to finish this damn book (though I've only just started). I need to be pushed, though. So I'm asking all of you, dear friends, not to let me chicken out of this.
I'm posting what is currently the beginning of the story below. If you'd like to read more, periodically, let me know.
The story is a love story. Fiction based on the real story of how my parents met and fell in love. I thought this would be easy because they have a story tailor made for Hollywood. The problem is separating your characters from the real people...because I was not raised to imagine one's parents being affectionate and, you know, having sex. These are all important elements of a romance story.
The other challenge is I want to skip straight to the interesting part, but know I have to build the characters and the situation. Also, my journalism training makes me want to tell the entire story in 30 inches instead of 350 pages (arbitrary number — I need goals, remember).
Anyway, I'd appreciate a discussion on writing and all feedback is welcomed. Just don't tell me how much I suck because even if this is like Vogon poetry, I'd still like to finish it.
___________________
Bernie stood on Main Street, drawing the last iota of life out of the cigarette at his lip. In his left shirt pocket he had the piece of paper that had come that morning. It was a small, unassuming piece of paper asking him in unpretentious type to please report to the Army in thirty days. Bernie knew what the little piece of paper meant to say was, please report directly to Vietnam.
To call the Air Force recruiter's office in Collins, Mississippi, an office was to stretch the truth a little. What it really was, was a cubbyhole tucked away in a building with a hardware store and a hair salon that happened to have it's own door. Main Street Collins was actually called Main Street, and all the other formula institutions of the small town South were on display there. There was a soda fountain where Bernie used to take the nickel his father gave each of the kids on Fridays and buy a malted milkshake. There was a bank that Bernie had never set foot inside. And there was a grocery store that sold giant dill pickles, pickled pigs feet, pickled quail eggs and anything else you could conceivably pickle and stick in a giant jar on the counter near the register. Kids in the big city, in Jackson, might like candy from their grocery stores, but in Collins they were still crazy for pickles.
The office into which Bernie stepped was cramped, but orderly. He didn't really look around, though, because he didn't really care. There was no choice to be made here, and neat or messy, he was in if they'd let him.
The recruiter looked up from his desk and nodded. Bernie took this for a welcome and didn't bother with small talk. He took the paper from his pocket and presented it to the recruiter along with these words: "Look, I just got this draft notice. Can I still join the Air Force?"
The recruiter stood up, ignored the piece of paper and answered, "Yes sir, you can."
Bernie signed up on the spot.
Afterward, as he walked back to his car, Bernie didn't do a lot of soul searching. He wasn't one to reflect on his feelings and to be honest, at this moment, he didn't have any. As a poor, high school drop out from the country, he didn't have a lot of options open to him. He knew enlisting in the Air Force was his best chance. He wasn't stupid. He was actually quite smart. Good at math, strong grades when he was in school, good with his hands. He was satisfied with what he had done. He could still go to Vietnam, he knew that. But it was much less certain.
There were still some signs of Christmas lingering about Main Street. But the short-lived glow of the holiday had clearly warn off for most in town. Too many people were gone. Not all to Vietnam. One of Bernie's best friends, who had enlisted, was sent to Italy. But most were in Vietnam. Another friend, Tommy, who had also enlisted was there. He'd already been shot. Both boys, who were younger than Bernie, had enlisted out of small town boredom. They had all three dropped out of high school (Bernie years earlier than the other two) and were running around town, not doing much of anything at all. Bernie had decided, boredom was one thing. Dead was another. He chose boredom. But the other came gunning for him anyway.
It was a hell of a way to start a new year. 1962.
I'm posting what is currently the beginning of the story below. If you'd like to read more, periodically, let me know.
The story is a love story. Fiction based on the real story of how my parents met and fell in love. I thought this would be easy because they have a story tailor made for Hollywood. The problem is separating your characters from the real people...because I was not raised to imagine one's parents being affectionate and, you know, having sex. These are all important elements of a romance story.
The other challenge is I want to skip straight to the interesting part, but know I have to build the characters and the situation. Also, my journalism training makes me want to tell the entire story in 30 inches instead of 350 pages (arbitrary number — I need goals, remember).
Anyway, I'd appreciate a discussion on writing and all feedback is welcomed. Just don't tell me how much I suck because even if this is like Vogon poetry, I'd still like to finish it.
___________________
Bernie stood on Main Street, drawing the last iota of life out of the cigarette at his lip. In his left shirt pocket he had the piece of paper that had come that morning. It was a small, unassuming piece of paper asking him in unpretentious type to please report to the Army in thirty days. Bernie knew what the little piece of paper meant to say was, please report directly to Vietnam.
To call the Air Force recruiter's office in Collins, Mississippi, an office was to stretch the truth a little. What it really was, was a cubbyhole tucked away in a building with a hardware store and a hair salon that happened to have it's own door. Main Street Collins was actually called Main Street, and all the other formula institutions of the small town South were on display there. There was a soda fountain where Bernie used to take the nickel his father gave each of the kids on Fridays and buy a malted milkshake. There was a bank that Bernie had never set foot inside. And there was a grocery store that sold giant dill pickles, pickled pigs feet, pickled quail eggs and anything else you could conceivably pickle and stick in a giant jar on the counter near the register. Kids in the big city, in Jackson, might like candy from their grocery stores, but in Collins they were still crazy for pickles.
The office into which Bernie stepped was cramped, but orderly. He didn't really look around, though, because he didn't really care. There was no choice to be made here, and neat or messy, he was in if they'd let him.
The recruiter looked up from his desk and nodded. Bernie took this for a welcome and didn't bother with small talk. He took the paper from his pocket and presented it to the recruiter along with these words: "Look, I just got this draft notice. Can I still join the Air Force?"
The recruiter stood up, ignored the piece of paper and answered, "Yes sir, you can."
Bernie signed up on the spot.
Afterward, as he walked back to his car, Bernie didn't do a lot of soul searching. He wasn't one to reflect on his feelings and to be honest, at this moment, he didn't have any. As a poor, high school drop out from the country, he didn't have a lot of options open to him. He knew enlisting in the Air Force was his best chance. He wasn't stupid. He was actually quite smart. Good at math, strong grades when he was in school, good with his hands. He was satisfied with what he had done. He could still go to Vietnam, he knew that. But it was much less certain.
There were still some signs of Christmas lingering about Main Street. But the short-lived glow of the holiday had clearly warn off for most in town. Too many people were gone. Not all to Vietnam. One of Bernie's best friends, who had enlisted, was sent to Italy. But most were in Vietnam. Another friend, Tommy, who had also enlisted was there. He'd already been shot. Both boys, who were younger than Bernie, had enlisted out of small town boredom. They had all three dropped out of high school (Bernie years earlier than the other two) and were running around town, not doing much of anything at all. Bernie had decided, boredom was one thing. Dead was another. He chose boredom. But the other came gunning for him anyway.
It was a hell of a way to start a new year. 1962.
Neighbors do not = friends
I don't know why suddenly I have so much to say. I should get out more. Though, then there's always a chance of bumping into my neighbor. Yesterday he was behind our complex and started calling my name (the door to my balcony was open so the cat could lounge out there), so I went out and he threw a cookie at me. It was a huge cookie and it's icing was made to look like a baseball with the Mets symbol in the middle. He said something like, "Peace offering since your team is kicking my teams butt."
Then he asked me to go to dinner with him at a Thai restaurant that's on Main Street. He didn't really take no for an answer. He kept insisting, saying, "We should hang out. We're neighbors."
Clearly he did not look the definition of neighbor up in dictionary. Hint: It is NOT "add water, instant girlfriend" or even "best friends for life"
I wish I could move.
Then he asked me to go to dinner with him at a Thai restaurant that's on Main Street. He didn't really take no for an answer. He kept insisting, saying, "We should hang out. We're neighbors."
Clearly he did not look the definition of neighbor up in dictionary. Hint: It is NOT "add water, instant girlfriend" or even "best friends for life"
I wish I could move.
Summer rain, sweet olive and coffee
I'm a few days late reading this...and then posting it, but it's still pretty fresh.
Finding his way home: A city, a people and twisted love
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Chris Rose
I have been off work for a long time. For a month, I was out of town and blissfully unplugged from the New Orleans news cycle, and while I was gone, I had the same recurring notion, every day, over and over, unwavering and intractable.
It was this: I need to get out of New Orleans. I need to leave. For my health, my sanity, my family, my sobriety, my chakra, my feng shui and everything else, real and imagined, nostalgic and unpronounceable.
You don't need me to list the reasons. They're the same ones everyone has in a town where people steal from public schools, no one uses trash cans and federal flood protection is a Big Lie.
I had an appointment at my eye doctor shortly after I returned to New Orleans and while he was shining that little blue torch into my retinas he told me he lives in St. Charles Parish and his homeowners insurance before the Thing was $2,700 a year and now it's $9,000 and he said: "I swear it's like they want to make it impossible to live here, like they want us all to leave. It's like they want to clear all the people out of south Louisiana and minimize the risk."
In a less civil society, the masses would rise up and parade the scalawags from Allstate and their fellow profiteers through the town square in shackles and let their aggrieved victims -- er, clients -- have their way with them, but this is America, the wellspring of democracy and due process, so instead we gripe about it at work to no end and somebody somewhere sets up a committee to look into it and in five years they'll tell us mistakes were made.
But here's the thing: We're not leaving. Not my eye doctor. Not me. Not because of a corrupt insurance industry or incompetent federal engineers or murderous children. And if you read that sentence, it makes absolutely no sense to stay here, especially as experts forewarn of a particularly turbulent storm season in the offing.
But I had a conversation the other night with a woman who likened living in New Orleans to an abusive relationship where you bear the obvious scars of a love all wrong and everyone knows it but you.
You leave once and you leave again -- if not physically, then emotionally -- but for reasons not entirely clear to you (nor your friends, family or psychiatrist), you keep coming back even though your mental condition could best be described as marathon episodes of "Cops," "Cheaters" and "Punk'd" playing on an endless loop on the giant cognitive plasma screen
in your head.
And you tell them -- those who do not understand: You don't know her other side. You've never experienced her soft bedroom manner or seen her when she's not all wound up in a blue rage and throwing dishes around the trailer. She's so creative and empathetic; all artists are temperamental. She's so romantic. And she doesn't smell like anyone else.
New Orleans, she smells like summer rain, sweet olive and coffee.
For the past two weeks, I have been back here in town living the life. I went on two field trips with my kids, one to Café du Monde and one to Gelato, a new Italian deli and glacerie on Oak Street, and I was thinking: In most towns, they take the kids to museums on field trips. Here, they take them to eat.
The final day of classes began just like every other day at Lusher Elementary, my kids' school: The music teachers plugged in their guitar and violin and led the entire student body in a song at the morning assembly.
Every morning at my kids' school begins with a history lesson in rock 'n' roll. They make movies out of ideas like this.
And as often as not, the composition is drawn from the New Orleans musical pantheon -- Fats or the Nevilles or all that Iko Iko, Hey Pocky Way stuff -- and on the last day this year they sang "Don't You Just Know It" by Huey Piano Smith and all the kids went crazy on the chorus and its "ooba dooba dooba dooba" refrain and I realized that our kids speak a different musical
language than children in other places and we have cultural icons named after keyboards, obesity, amphibians and witch doctors.
I was in the Quarter last Tuesday night, trying to get to a movie at Canal Place, but it never happened. I was 40 minutes early, so I crawled around the neighborhood looking for a cup of coffee, and I came upon a guy who was singing while he cleaned the streets.
He works for the new garbage contractor downtown and his name is Melvin Holmes. "As in Sherlock?" I asked him and he responded: "Holmes -- just like Inspector Clouseau," and I don't think he was trying to be ironic, postmodern or even funny. He was just being so classically New Orleans, getting it all wrong in just the right way.
He was singing a Luther Vandross torch song, the kind that makes women love you for a lifetime. And he was nailing the song, just killing it, just calling out the doves and stars and blooming jasmine of the night.
And he was cleaning the street. Because that's his job. And as he did, a local talent agent drove by once, then twice, then made the block again and pulled over and gave Melvin Holmes his business card and told him to give him a call some time and he would make him a star.
Is the next American Idol sweeping cigarette butts and go-cups off our streets tonight? Stranger things have happened.
Holmes said to me: "People see me sweeping up trash in the street and they hear me sing and I know what they're thinking: Another man with talent who doesn't want to put it to use. But that's just what I'm doing. I'm putting it to use out here on the street. I just love to make people smile. The people holding hands, they walk by and then turn and look at me and they understand what it is I am saying."
What Mr. Holmes is saying, of course, springs from the vocabulary of music and of love. The language of the streets of New Orleans -- even if it is Luther Vandross and not Frogman Henry he's singing.
I was trying to get to Canal Place, but when I left Melvin Holmes to his singing and sweeping, I was caught by the sound of an acoustic guitar springing out of a fairly new supper and music club called 300 Decatur.
Inside, on a big and beautiful stage, a guy named Chip Wilson was picking at his guitar and this guy, he plays crazy good. He's got the look of the Woodstock Generation, long gray hair and a slight paunch of a life well-lived and his music matches the look; he introduced a song by Steve Winwood as his personal anthem during the year he was in exile from New Orleans, the song he held onto to keep him alive back in that winter of our discontent.
The song is called "Can't Find My Way Home" and it just kills me, reduces me to jelly even when you don't put it in the context of Katrina, but when you do I'm on the bus to Teardrop City.
Like I said, I never made it to the movie last Tuesday night. I spent the evening listening to Melvin Holmes and Chip Wilson, two undiscovered planets here in this remarkable musical constellation.
So I tried to get to the movie again Thursday night -- I really want to see this Julie Christie film -- but I got to walking around again before going to Canal Place and one thing led to another and pretty soon I was sitting in the back courtyard at Napoleon House, eating a muffeletta and Zapp's potato chips and listening to the laughter of all the strangers around me, and I sat there and wondered how it was I had come to the conclusion just a few weeks ago that I needed to leave New Orleans.
Something simple like a pile of heated Italian meats and cheeses and classical music playing in a tiled, ancient and decadent courtyard can reduce me to tears and that's something that a good barbecue in Memphis or peach cobbler in Atlanta will never do to me.
Never. Not unless I'm eating them there and wishing I were here, back in New Orleans, where I can't find my way anywhere but home.
But it's not for everyone, this living in New Orleans thing. Just this week, three more friends of mine are leaving town for greener pastures, brighter lights or whatever it is out there in the Great Elsewhere.
It's been another rash of goodbyes -- always goodbye, every day goodbye. I don't blame them and I wish them well and their reasons are all legit; they leave for jobs, safety, security and love, though I wonder what love is like in another place and it cannot be as good as it is here. Can it?
Hurricane season starts Friday and maybe you've heard: The experts tell us it's going to be a banner year, maybe like the time we ran through all the names in the alphabet and had to start naming storms after Greek letters, and if Allstate and the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers aren't making it clear that they don't want us living here, maybe God will.
But here's the thing: We're not leaving. Not my eye doctor. Not Melvin Holmes (unless he goes Hollywood). Not me. And not so many others.
I was looking at all the other parents around me at that final morning assembly last week at Lusher and they're staying -- most of them, at least -- and investing their time, energy and children in a New Orleans public school, and if that isn't insanity, I don't know what is.
But we love our school -- it is a reason we still live here -- and it runs all the way through 12th grade now, so I'll be standing next to these people for a long, long time.
I look at them as my involuntary friends now, my brothers and sisters of circumstance, we Parents of the Children of the Storm. Whether we're fighting hurricanes, crime or head lice, we are soldiers in the same army now, bearing the physical and emotional scars of this abusive relationship with a lover named New Orleans.
But we remain true to her. It is in the words to every love song ever written. We have found our way home.
. . . . . . .
Columnist Chris Rose can be reached at chris.rose@timespicayune.com, or (504) 826-3309 or (504) 352-2535.
Finding his way home: A city, a people and twisted love
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Chris Rose
I have been off work for a long time. For a month, I was out of town and blissfully unplugged from the New Orleans news cycle, and while I was gone, I had the same recurring notion, every day, over and over, unwavering and intractable.
It was this: I need to get out of New Orleans. I need to leave. For my health, my sanity, my family, my sobriety, my chakra, my feng shui and everything else, real and imagined, nostalgic and unpronounceable.
You don't need me to list the reasons. They're the same ones everyone has in a town where people steal from public schools, no one uses trash cans and federal flood protection is a Big Lie.
I had an appointment at my eye doctor shortly after I returned to New Orleans and while he was shining that little blue torch into my retinas he told me he lives in St. Charles Parish and his homeowners insurance before the Thing was $2,700 a year and now it's $9,000 and he said: "I swear it's like they want to make it impossible to live here, like they want us all to leave. It's like they want to clear all the people out of south Louisiana and minimize the risk."
In a less civil society, the masses would rise up and parade the scalawags from Allstate and their fellow profiteers through the town square in shackles and let their aggrieved victims -- er, clients -- have their way with them, but this is America, the wellspring of democracy and due process, so instead we gripe about it at work to no end and somebody somewhere sets up a committee to look into it and in five years they'll tell us mistakes were made.
But here's the thing: We're not leaving. Not my eye doctor. Not me. Not because of a corrupt insurance industry or incompetent federal engineers or murderous children. And if you read that sentence, it makes absolutely no sense to stay here, especially as experts forewarn of a particularly turbulent storm season in the offing.
But I had a conversation the other night with a woman who likened living in New Orleans to an abusive relationship where you bear the obvious scars of a love all wrong and everyone knows it but you.
You leave once and you leave again -- if not physically, then emotionally -- but for reasons not entirely clear to you (nor your friends, family or psychiatrist), you keep coming back even though your mental condition could best be described as marathon episodes of "Cops," "Cheaters" and "Punk'd" playing on an endless loop on the giant cognitive plasma screen
in your head.
And you tell them -- those who do not understand: You don't know her other side. You've never experienced her soft bedroom manner or seen her when she's not all wound up in a blue rage and throwing dishes around the trailer. She's so creative and empathetic; all artists are temperamental. She's so romantic. And she doesn't smell like anyone else.
New Orleans, she smells like summer rain, sweet olive and coffee.
For the past two weeks, I have been back here in town living the life. I went on two field trips with my kids, one to Café du Monde and one to Gelato, a new Italian deli and glacerie on Oak Street, and I was thinking: In most towns, they take the kids to museums on field trips. Here, they take them to eat.
The final day of classes began just like every other day at Lusher Elementary, my kids' school: The music teachers plugged in their guitar and violin and led the entire student body in a song at the morning assembly.
Every morning at my kids' school begins with a history lesson in rock 'n' roll. They make movies out of ideas like this.
And as often as not, the composition is drawn from the New Orleans musical pantheon -- Fats or the Nevilles or all that Iko Iko, Hey Pocky Way stuff -- and on the last day this year they sang "Don't You Just Know It" by Huey Piano Smith and all the kids went crazy on the chorus and its "ooba dooba dooba dooba" refrain and I realized that our kids speak a different musical
language than children in other places and we have cultural icons named after keyboards, obesity, amphibians and witch doctors.
I was in the Quarter last Tuesday night, trying to get to a movie at Canal Place, but it never happened. I was 40 minutes early, so I crawled around the neighborhood looking for a cup of coffee, and I came upon a guy who was singing while he cleaned the streets.
He works for the new garbage contractor downtown and his name is Melvin Holmes. "As in Sherlock?" I asked him and he responded: "Holmes -- just like Inspector Clouseau," and I don't think he was trying to be ironic, postmodern or even funny. He was just being so classically New Orleans, getting it all wrong in just the right way.
He was singing a Luther Vandross torch song, the kind that makes women love you for a lifetime. And he was nailing the song, just killing it, just calling out the doves and stars and blooming jasmine of the night.
And he was cleaning the street. Because that's his job. And as he did, a local talent agent drove by once, then twice, then made the block again and pulled over and gave Melvin Holmes his business card and told him to give him a call some time and he would make him a star.
Is the next American Idol sweeping cigarette butts and go-cups off our streets tonight? Stranger things have happened.
Holmes said to me: "People see me sweeping up trash in the street and they hear me sing and I know what they're thinking: Another man with talent who doesn't want to put it to use. But that's just what I'm doing. I'm putting it to use out here on the street. I just love to make people smile. The people holding hands, they walk by and then turn and look at me and they understand what it is I am saying."
What Mr. Holmes is saying, of course, springs from the vocabulary of music and of love. The language of the streets of New Orleans -- even if it is Luther Vandross and not Frogman Henry he's singing.
I was trying to get to Canal Place, but when I left Melvin Holmes to his singing and sweeping, I was caught by the sound of an acoustic guitar springing out of a fairly new supper and music club called 300 Decatur.
Inside, on a big and beautiful stage, a guy named Chip Wilson was picking at his guitar and this guy, he plays crazy good. He's got the look of the Woodstock Generation, long gray hair and a slight paunch of a life well-lived and his music matches the look; he introduced a song by Steve Winwood as his personal anthem during the year he was in exile from New Orleans, the song he held onto to keep him alive back in that winter of our discontent.
The song is called "Can't Find My Way Home" and it just kills me, reduces me to jelly even when you don't put it in the context of Katrina, but when you do I'm on the bus to Teardrop City.
Like I said, I never made it to the movie last Tuesday night. I spent the evening listening to Melvin Holmes and Chip Wilson, two undiscovered planets here in this remarkable musical constellation.
So I tried to get to the movie again Thursday night -- I really want to see this Julie Christie film -- but I got to walking around again before going to Canal Place and one thing led to another and pretty soon I was sitting in the back courtyard at Napoleon House, eating a muffeletta and Zapp's potato chips and listening to the laughter of all the strangers around me, and I sat there and wondered how it was I had come to the conclusion just a few weeks ago that I needed to leave New Orleans.
Something simple like a pile of heated Italian meats and cheeses and classical music playing in a tiled, ancient and decadent courtyard can reduce me to tears and that's something that a good barbecue in Memphis or peach cobbler in Atlanta will never do to me.
Never. Not unless I'm eating them there and wishing I were here, back in New Orleans, where I can't find my way anywhere but home.
But it's not for everyone, this living in New Orleans thing. Just this week, three more friends of mine are leaving town for greener pastures, brighter lights or whatever it is out there in the Great Elsewhere.
It's been another rash of goodbyes -- always goodbye, every day goodbye. I don't blame them and I wish them well and their reasons are all legit; they leave for jobs, safety, security and love, though I wonder what love is like in another place and it cannot be as good as it is here. Can it?
Hurricane season starts Friday and maybe you've heard: The experts tell us it's going to be a banner year, maybe like the time we ran through all the names in the alphabet and had to start naming storms after Greek letters, and if Allstate and the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers aren't making it clear that they don't want us living here, maybe God will.
But here's the thing: We're not leaving. Not my eye doctor. Not Melvin Holmes (unless he goes Hollywood). Not me. And not so many others.
I was looking at all the other parents around me at that final morning assembly last week at Lusher and they're staying -- most of them, at least -- and investing their time, energy and children in a New Orleans public school, and if that isn't insanity, I don't know what is.
But we love our school -- it is a reason we still live here -- and it runs all the way through 12th grade now, so I'll be standing next to these people for a long, long time.
I look at them as my involuntary friends now, my brothers and sisters of circumstance, we Parents of the Children of the Storm. Whether we're fighting hurricanes, crime or head lice, we are soldiers in the same army now, bearing the physical and emotional scars of this abusive relationship with a lover named New Orleans.
But we remain true to her. It is in the words to every love song ever written. We have found our way home.
. . . . . . .
Columnist Chris Rose can be reached at chris.rose@timespicayune.com, or (504) 826-3309 or (504) 352-2535.
My Space
Apparently all the college friends I never talk to any more have MySpace pages.
I was trying to send them messages and failed miserable. So I started my own page to send them messages. Then I remembered that I'm single. So what the hell. I might as well as MySpace it, right?
Although my Memphis friends seem to favor Friendster. Should I start a Friendster account too? I should create some uber software that allows you to blend all your e-mail, blogs, and 'ster/'space pages into one super site, so it's much, much easier to keep track of. Then, also, I could retire at 31 because I'd be super rich.
Santorini anyone?
I was trying to send them messages and failed miserable. So I started my own page to send them messages. Then I remembered that I'm single. So what the hell. I might as well as MySpace it, right?
Although my Memphis friends seem to favor Friendster. Should I start a Friendster account too? I should create some uber software that allows you to blend all your e-mail, blogs, and 'ster/'space pages into one super site, so it's much, much easier to keep track of. Then, also, I could retire at 31 because I'd be super rich.
Santorini anyone?
Wait. Should I be worried?
Former E! host Jules Asner sold her first novel to Harvey Weinstein.
Publishers Lunch calls Whacked "about a screenwriter in LA writing for a TV crime series whose increasingly obsessive and paranoid behavior in the wake of a boyfriend's betrayal leads her to cross the line between real life and the life and world of the characters she has created..."
Publishers Lunch calls Whacked "about a screenwriter in LA writing for a TV crime series whose increasingly obsessive and paranoid behavior in the wake of a boyfriend's betrayal leads her to cross the line between real life and the life and world of the characters she has created..."
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Roland gets his day in the sun
Today was the big Animal Shelter Appreciation Day's "Beacon Barks!" parade and street fair. Roland and I were there with a co-worker and his dog, Kate. We had a great time peeing on all the trees (Roland), drinking coffee (me) and sniffing dog's butts (your guess).
As a result, Roland has hit the big time. He's been blogged about by someone other than me.
You know it's time for a new job when...
I just found out that on my income in New York state, I qualify for a Habitat for Humanity home. That's just depressing.
As is the fact that I need a second job to pay the bills. Half my salary goes to rent and I'm actually thinking about dropping my health insurance because the co-pays are so high. I found out recently that most of the people who aren't in upper management at my job DON'T have health insurance because they can't afford it. I work for the Wal-Mart of newspaper companies. Again. Just depressing.
As is the fact that I need a second job to pay the bills. Half my salary goes to rent and I'm actually thinking about dropping my health insurance because the co-pays are so high. I found out recently that most of the people who aren't in upper management at my job DON'T have health insurance because they can't afford it. I work for the Wal-Mart of newspaper companies. Again. Just depressing.
Friday, June 01, 2007
To Melinda, With Love
Min, daaaaaaaaling!
Why do you keep denying my love for you? Do you not see how lonely I am without you? How I cannot hold down a relationship? How I can't even bother to bring my own date to a movie premier? Please, please, please...why won't you love me?
Yours forever (if you'd just have me),
George!
Why do you keep denying my love for you? Do you not see how lonely I am without you? How I cannot hold down a relationship? How I can't even bother to bring my own date to a movie premier? Please, please, please...why won't you love me?
Yours forever (if you'd just have me),
George!
Thursday, May 31, 2007
A man after my own heart
Is it too late to become an international negotiator and corporate lawyer?
A Garden in Miami, a Loft in Athens
A Garden in Miami, a Loft in Athens
The Buckster poses a question...
How do you find a job you like?
Not just for a little while, but that you get up every day wanting to go to? How do I find that job? I'm tired of looking for it.
I did like this job. I remember liking it when I got here. I want to blame it on the new editor, because that coincided with my dislike of what I do. But maybe it's not him. Maybe it's just me. I mean, I have disliked ALL of my newspaper jobs. At some point it gets to be the person right? It's me. It has to be me.
I just need a new career.
And a hobby.
And probably a boyfriend.
Okay. I need a lot of stuff.
Not just for a little while, but that you get up every day wanting to go to? How do I find that job? I'm tired of looking for it.
I did like this job. I remember liking it when I got here. I want to blame it on the new editor, because that coincided with my dislike of what I do. But maybe it's not him. Maybe it's just me. I mean, I have disliked ALL of my newspaper jobs. At some point it gets to be the person right? It's me. It has to be me.
I just need a new career.
And a hobby.
And probably a boyfriend.
Okay. I need a lot of stuff.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
The City that finally sleeps
The absolute best time to be in New York City is a long holiday weekend in the spring or summer when everyone has abandoned the city and you can walk along without being suffocated. I was up at 8 a.m. Monday and me and my friend were absolutely alone on the streets. It was amazing. At the same time, things are open, so it's not like there isn't anything to do.
Later in the day, there were more people, especially sailors — it's fleet week and so sailors abound — but still much fewer than usual. There were places to sit in the parks, tables open at restaurants, people were nicer and employees attentive. It was one of the best weeknds I've had since being here.
Later in the day, there were more people, especially sailors — it's fleet week and so sailors abound — but still much fewer than usual. There were places to sit in the parks, tables open at restaurants, people were nicer and employees attentive. It was one of the best weeknds I've had since being here.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
And the best tourists in the world are...
This article immediately caught my attention because it reminded me of a discussion I had a few years ago when I was covering the opening of a new biotech company in Memphis.
The execs were in town from England and I had a long conversation with one gentleman in particular that wandered far off topic. (He was very funny and entertaining to talk to — not at all what you would expect from a biotech exec.) We were arguing over which made worst tourist Americans or English. I said Americans — thinking of those Americans who go to foreign countries and then insist on eating at McDonalds and complaining loudly about how things are better back home.
He said no, "There's nothing worse than the English working class on holiday." It was funny, as was his description of them bemoaning the lack of a good fish and chips wherever they go.
It turns out, he was right. I was wrong.
Wed May 23, 2007 9:49AM EDT
LONDON (Reuters) - The best tourists in the world are the Japanese, followed by Americans and the Swiss, a survey based on views from hoteliers across Europe said Wednesday.
Japanese tourists stood out for being polite and tidy, securing 35 percent more votes than the Americans who came second.
Swiss tourists were commended for being quiet and considerate, unlike the Britons who were judged to be the fifth worst tourists because of rude behavior, noise and a miserly attitude to tipping.
But despite their faults, hoteliers do look favorably upon British spending habits voting them the third biggest holiday spenders after Americans and Russians.
Based on responses from 15,000 European hoteliers, the survey carried out on behalf of travel Web site Expedia showed that the worst tourist nation was France, followed by India, China and Russia.
Britain was second in the worst-dressed tourist table which was headed by the Americans, and fifth in the least-generous table which was headed by the Germans.
The execs were in town from England and I had a long conversation with one gentleman in particular that wandered far off topic. (He was very funny and entertaining to talk to — not at all what you would expect from a biotech exec.) We were arguing over which made worst tourist Americans or English. I said Americans — thinking of those Americans who go to foreign countries and then insist on eating at McDonalds and complaining loudly about how things are better back home.
He said no, "There's nothing worse than the English working class on holiday." It was funny, as was his description of them bemoaning the lack of a good fish and chips wherever they go.
It turns out, he was right. I was wrong.
Wed May 23, 2007 9:49AM EDT
LONDON (Reuters) - The best tourists in the world are the Japanese, followed by Americans and the Swiss, a survey based on views from hoteliers across Europe said Wednesday.
Japanese tourists stood out for being polite and tidy, securing 35 percent more votes than the Americans who came second.
Swiss tourists were commended for being quiet and considerate, unlike the Britons who were judged to be the fifth worst tourists because of rude behavior, noise and a miserly attitude to tipping.
But despite their faults, hoteliers do look favorably upon British spending habits voting them the third biggest holiday spenders after Americans and Russians.
Based on responses from 15,000 European hoteliers, the survey carried out on behalf of travel Web site Expedia showed that the worst tourist nation was France, followed by India, China and Russia.
Britain was second in the worst-dressed tourist table which was headed by the Americans, and fifth in the least-generous table which was headed by the Germans.
Chickens in the NY Times
I read this article when it came out last week.
I was bothered then by how stupid this woman from the City was when it came to chickens. I suppose I should have realized that anyone who has chickens in an apartment in Manhattan is stupid to begin with, but some of the stuff this woman says in her article...Seriously. You don't have to have raised chickens like we did when I was a kid to know that ALL chickens are female, right?
It was this point that really started to bother me the other day when I was in the kitchen washing dishes. My mind tends to wander when I'm doing dishes and it wandered back to this article. And I just wanted some confirmation that it doesn't take proximity to chickens to know that to have baby chickens one needs a ROOSTER, right?
Key excerpts from the article below:
We decided that Cheep was a girl, with that bouffant hairdo that made her look twice her size, and Chirp was a boy, because he was the epitome of the gallant male.
About six months after their arrival, I was in my office, just back from a meeting, picking up my messages. “Mom, there’s something wrong with Cheep. She’s sitting in a corner and won’t come out. She’s making all this noise and I can’t get her to stop.” On the second call, Isabella was holding back tears. “Mom, she’s really in pain. Please come home. I think she may be dying.” Third call, a completely new tone in her voice, at once serene, excited and very proud: “Mom, I can now confirm that Cheep is a girl.”
She had laid an egg, right on top of the pile of newspapers I can never quite keep up with, while Chirp paced nervously up and down beside her. When I came home that night, Isabella, beaming, held out the miraculous object, cradled in her hands. It was a delicate sandy rose, worthy of a Farrow & Ball paint chip.
Then, a week later, to our great surprise, Chirp laid an egg, also choosing the newspaper pile for the occasion. Suddenly, we had to revise our whole concept. We had two female chickens, which meant no babies (only fertilized eggs can grow into chicks).
Apparently she never learns that roosters are the males. Idiot.
Other annoying tidbits from the article:
— Who knew chickens could fly? (You can see how little time I’ve spent in barnyards.)
— Intriguing fact: chickens like to sleep standing up. Ours invariably nodded off right next to each other.
I was bothered then by how stupid this woman from the City was when it came to chickens. I suppose I should have realized that anyone who has chickens in an apartment in Manhattan is stupid to begin with, but some of the stuff this woman says in her article...Seriously. You don't have to have raised chickens like we did when I was a kid to know that ALL chickens are female, right?
It was this point that really started to bother me the other day when I was in the kitchen washing dishes. My mind tends to wander when I'm doing dishes and it wandered back to this article. And I just wanted some confirmation that it doesn't take proximity to chickens to know that to have baby chickens one needs a ROOSTER, right?
Key excerpts from the article below:
We decided that Cheep was a girl, with that bouffant hairdo that made her look twice her size, and Chirp was a boy, because he was the epitome of the gallant male.
About six months after their arrival, I was in my office, just back from a meeting, picking up my messages. “Mom, there’s something wrong with Cheep. She’s sitting in a corner and won’t come out. She’s making all this noise and I can’t get her to stop.” On the second call, Isabella was holding back tears. “Mom, she’s really in pain. Please come home. I think she may be dying.” Third call, a completely new tone in her voice, at once serene, excited and very proud: “Mom, I can now confirm that Cheep is a girl.”
She had laid an egg, right on top of the pile of newspapers I can never quite keep up with, while Chirp paced nervously up and down beside her. When I came home that night, Isabella, beaming, held out the miraculous object, cradled in her hands. It was a delicate sandy rose, worthy of a Farrow & Ball paint chip.
Then, a week later, to our great surprise, Chirp laid an egg, also choosing the newspaper pile for the occasion. Suddenly, we had to revise our whole concept. We had two female chickens, which meant no babies (only fertilized eggs can grow into chicks).
Apparently she never learns that roosters are the males. Idiot.
Other annoying tidbits from the article:
— Who knew chickens could fly? (You can see how little time I’ve spent in barnyards.)
— Intriguing fact: chickens like to sleep standing up. Ours invariably nodded off right next to each other.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Not Much To Blog About Today
Yesterday I did a lot of sleeping and some reading. Friday night I watched Pan's Labyrinth.. It was very good, but I didn't expect the gore. I think it was there to contrast the harshness of the main character's real world with that of the imaginary world of fawns and fairies. But my god! There was a scene were the Captain smashes a peasant's face in with a bottle. I was shocked. I guess it was because I wasn't expecting it.
The Hat Parade, which I mentioned in passing or in e-mails to some of you, got rained out Saturday. And anyway, I had to go into work at 8:30 a.m. because a reporter — one that we have countless problems with — called in sick. She said she was vomiting. She was supposed to cover a college graduation that morning. I managed to convince the evening reporter to work 11 a.m. to 7 p.m. and then I went in and did the cop calls and updated the Web site. And now she's called in sick again today with Strep throat, which an editor above me has also called in sick with and my immediate supervisor has also called in sick today. So I got a call from the managing editor asking me to come in and work. I didn't really have anything planned for today, but still. Who wants to work on their day off?
The Hat Parade, which I mentioned in passing or in e-mails to some of you, got rained out Saturday. And anyway, I had to go into work at 8:30 a.m. because a reporter — one that we have countless problems with — called in sick. She said she was vomiting. She was supposed to cover a college graduation that morning. I managed to convince the evening reporter to work 11 a.m. to 7 p.m. and then I went in and did the cop calls and updated the Web site. And now she's called in sick again today with Strep throat, which an editor above me has also called in sick with and my immediate supervisor has also called in sick today. So I got a call from the managing editor asking me to come in and work. I didn't really have anything planned for today, but still. Who wants to work on their day off?
Monday, May 14, 2007
Is it just me...
...or does the word "library" seem like something that has never before been paired with the words "George W. Bush"?
UNIVERSITY PARK, Tex., May 13 — The prospect of the George W. Bush Presidential Library’s being built on the campus of Southern Methodist University received a lift over the weekend when voters in this Dallas suburb passed a proposition that paves the way for the city to sell a piece of parkland to the university.
UNIVERSITY PARK, Tex., May 13 — The prospect of the George W. Bush Presidential Library’s being built on the campus of Southern Methodist University received a lift over the weekend when voters in this Dallas suburb passed a proposition that paves the way for the city to sell a piece of parkland to the university.
Spanish: 1; Neighbor: 0
First, I made a 93 on my Spanish final. So despite my teacher's best efforts to un-teach me, I managed to pull through with an A in the class. I had a 94 average.
Second, last night as I was making pasta...around 9 p.m...there was a knock at my door. One guess who it was.
He had his dog with him and when I opened the door, the dog immediately came in and start sniffing the cat. The cat, for her part, was like, "What the hell is mop doing sniffing my butt?" The neighbor meanwhile, "We were wondering if Roland could come out to play." So I said sure, put his collar back on and sent him out.
A few minutes later there was a knock again and I opened the door and Roland came in. Luckily I was on the phone and thus avoided any real small talk or having the neighbor invite himself in. He just said, "He didn't want to stay outside without his mommy." I laughed appropriately and then waved goodbye and closed the door.
Finally, in other news, I applied for a job putting together a company news letter for a cancer hospital in the city. I have no hope of actually getting the job, though I am way over qualified for it. But I wrote a pretty good cover letter, I think, which makes me feel a little more confident about applying for other jobs as well. Now if I can just find those jobs....I need something that pays more than what I'm making now. Also, I'd like to get away from the overbearing and crazy new editor. I told someone at work this weekend, it's like he and the managing editor are getting bonuses for every person they drive away.
Second, last night as I was making pasta...around 9 p.m...there was a knock at my door. One guess who it was.
He had his dog with him and when I opened the door, the dog immediately came in and start sniffing the cat. The cat, for her part, was like, "What the hell is mop doing sniffing my butt?" The neighbor meanwhile, "We were wondering if Roland could come out to play." So I said sure, put his collar back on and sent him out.
A few minutes later there was a knock again and I opened the door and Roland came in. Luckily I was on the phone and thus avoided any real small talk or having the neighbor invite himself in. He just said, "He didn't want to stay outside without his mommy." I laughed appropriately and then waved goodbye and closed the door.
Finally, in other news, I applied for a job putting together a company news letter for a cancer hospital in the city. I have no hope of actually getting the job, though I am way over qualified for it. But I wrote a pretty good cover letter, I think, which makes me feel a little more confident about applying for other jobs as well. Now if I can just find those jobs....I need something that pays more than what I'm making now. Also, I'd like to get away from the overbearing and crazy new editor. I told someone at work this weekend, it's like he and the managing editor are getting bonuses for every person they drive away.
Friday, May 11, 2007
And the winner of state with most pickup trucks is...
You'll be surprised. From an interesting article in the New York Times today:
By dint of its climate, size, population, lengthy growing season, increasingly long commutes and, perhaps, its casual lifestyle, California is a road-debris leader. It is also home to the country’s largest number of registered vehicles — 32 million, twice that of No. 2 Texas — and roughly four million pickup trucks, the most of any state, according to the Alliance of Automobile Manufacturers in Washington.
Who knew?!
By dint of its climate, size, population, lengthy growing season, increasingly long commutes and, perhaps, its casual lifestyle, California is a road-debris leader. It is also home to the country’s largest number of registered vehicles — 32 million, twice that of No. 2 Texas — and roughly four million pickup trucks, the most of any state, according to the Alliance of Automobile Manufacturers in Washington.
Who knew?!
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Que horrible
The good news: I am done with Spanish 201.
The bad news: The final was, as expected, bad (though not as bad as I thought it might be).
The worst news: The teacher announces before we take our exam that despite what it says in the catalogue, SHE will be teaching the next class — SPA 202 — and not the really cool, funny and...oh...extremely talented-as-a-teacher teacher that we all thought we were going to have. A mix of horror and panic fills the classroom. You can read the thoughts of...can I still rearrange my schedule to drop Spanish next semester.
I am stuck since that's all I take. I mentioned in an earlier post that I was considering taking a second, much harder class that was Spanish for native speakers. I looked at the teacher's syllabus the other day and had almost successfully talked myself out of taking it...waiting another semester. Now I think I have two options.
1. Look up the nearest four-year SUNY campus's schedule and see if any 202's fit my schedule and then drive the extra distance to take it there.
2. Skip 202 and go straight to SPA 902, using the summer to teach myself the future tense, which I will need in the class. The class description follows. Check out the oral presentations...that's what I'm in a blind panic over.
Well at least I have a few months before I have to decide.
Course Guidelines
Course description:
Spanish 902 is designed for Hispanic students who speak Spanish or have lived in a Spanish speaking, but educated in English. The students had a limited exposure to instruction in Spanish outside the home and desire formal training to acquire a truly bilingual-bicultural proficiency. An important aspect of the course is to explore and foster an appreciation of the Hispanic/Latino culture and heritage.
Spanish 902 introduces reading, writing skills and emphasizes the practice to complex grammatical structures through the
reading and writing of compositions and short essays. Classroom time is devoted primarily to developing spelling, enhancing vocabulary and developing reading strategies. The student also develops writing at the paragraph level using correct sentence structure. Our work in class along with the assigned homework will be based on the textbook, although occasionally we will discuss different subjects regarding Hispanic/Latino culture not present in your book.
During this course we will also view some videos and/or movies to introduce you to different aspects of the language and culture. You will also be required to write short dialogues or essays on material assigned in class. Oral participation in class is required. The frequency and quality of your participation will allow me to know how well you prepare for your lesson.
Goals:
By the end of Spanish 902 you will be expected to demonstrate the following:
a) SPEAKING: Use essentially correct pronunciation, narrate and describe in the present, future and past tenses, discuss
and/or relate topics related to personal or factual episodes.
b) LISTENING: Understand a variety of pronunciations and dialects.
c) READING: Read and interpret authentic texts (literature, poetry, articles) as native speakers do.
d) WRITING: Develop the writing of narratives (e.g., short stories, biographical information, etc.) and expository texts
(e.g., comparisons and contrasts). Use verb tenses correctly and adopt a variety of vocabulary and idiomatic expressions.
Oral presentations:
Students will prepare individual in-class oral presentations, which must include the use of acceptable grammar and
pronunciation. The topic of the presentation will be given from a list by your professor. The presentation will not be a reading exercise, but an exposition of interesting and engaging facts about a particular topic, in order to stimulate class discussion. As a memory aid, you may use a small reference card. Before the presentation, the speaker will provide the professor and the rest of the classmates with a brief outline (in Spanish!) of the presentation. You will be graded on diction and effectiveness of communication, in addition to pronunciation, grammatical structures, vocabulary and fluency.
Homework:
Exercises from the textbook will be assigned during and at the end of each chapter. Exercises (ejercicios escritos)
will be collected and graded. Written homework is to be neatly done and handed in on time. Write your name on top of
your sheet and staple pages together. I will NOT accept late homework. It is your responsibility to complete and to hand
in homework on time. If you cannot attend class, it is your responsibility to ensure that I receive the homework before our
next class meeting. Missing assignments will be given a grade of zero.
Tests and Exams:
There will be three tests during the semester session on dates that appear in this syllabus. There will be two major
exams: the mid-term and the final. The final exam will cover the material of the entire semester, with a concentration on the latest chapters. The content material of the tests will be announced the class session before their scheduled date. If you are absent, it is your responsibility to make up the exam as soon as possible (only one make-up is allowed). Make-up exams are given only in extreme circumstances. Exams not taken will automatically count as zero. All work will be evaluated and be part of your final grade.
Ensayos:
Students will write two essays during the semester on subjects assigned by the instructor.
The bad news: The final was, as expected, bad (though not as bad as I thought it might be).
The worst news: The teacher announces before we take our exam that despite what it says in the catalogue, SHE will be teaching the next class — SPA 202 — and not the really cool, funny and...oh...extremely talented-as-a-teacher teacher that we all thought we were going to have. A mix of horror and panic fills the classroom. You can read the thoughts of...can I still rearrange my schedule to drop Spanish next semester.
I am stuck since that's all I take. I mentioned in an earlier post that I was considering taking a second, much harder class that was Spanish for native speakers. I looked at the teacher's syllabus the other day and had almost successfully talked myself out of taking it...waiting another semester. Now I think I have two options.
1. Look up the nearest four-year SUNY campus's schedule and see if any 202's fit my schedule and then drive the extra distance to take it there.
2. Skip 202 and go straight to SPA 902, using the summer to teach myself the future tense, which I will need in the class. The class description follows. Check out the oral presentations...that's what I'm in a blind panic over.
Well at least I have a few months before I have to decide.
Course Guidelines
Course description:
Spanish 902 is designed for Hispanic students who speak Spanish or have lived in a Spanish speaking, but educated in English. The students had a limited exposure to instruction in Spanish outside the home and desire formal training to acquire a truly bilingual-bicultural proficiency. An important aspect of the course is to explore and foster an appreciation of the Hispanic/Latino culture and heritage.
Spanish 902 introduces reading, writing skills and emphasizes the practice to complex grammatical structures through the
reading and writing of compositions and short essays. Classroom time is devoted primarily to developing spelling, enhancing vocabulary and developing reading strategies. The student also develops writing at the paragraph level using correct sentence structure. Our work in class along with the assigned homework will be based on the textbook, although occasionally we will discuss different subjects regarding Hispanic/Latino culture not present in your book.
During this course we will also view some videos and/or movies to introduce you to different aspects of the language and culture. You will also be required to write short dialogues or essays on material assigned in class. Oral participation in class is required. The frequency and quality of your participation will allow me to know how well you prepare for your lesson.
Goals:
By the end of Spanish 902 you will be expected to demonstrate the following:
a) SPEAKING: Use essentially correct pronunciation, narrate and describe in the present, future and past tenses, discuss
and/or relate topics related to personal or factual episodes.
b) LISTENING: Understand a variety of pronunciations and dialects.
c) READING: Read and interpret authentic texts (literature, poetry, articles) as native speakers do.
d) WRITING: Develop the writing of narratives (e.g., short stories, biographical information, etc.) and expository texts
(e.g., comparisons and contrasts). Use verb tenses correctly and adopt a variety of vocabulary and idiomatic expressions.
Oral presentations:
Students will prepare individual in-class oral presentations, which must include the use of acceptable grammar and
pronunciation. The topic of the presentation will be given from a list by your professor. The presentation will not be a reading exercise, but an exposition of interesting and engaging facts about a particular topic, in order to stimulate class discussion. As a memory aid, you may use a small reference card. Before the presentation, the speaker will provide the professor and the rest of the classmates with a brief outline (in Spanish!) of the presentation. You will be graded on diction and effectiveness of communication, in addition to pronunciation, grammatical structures, vocabulary and fluency.
Homework:
Exercises from the textbook will be assigned during and at the end of each chapter. Exercises (ejercicios escritos)
will be collected and graded. Written homework is to be neatly done and handed in on time. Write your name on top of
your sheet and staple pages together. I will NOT accept late homework. It is your responsibility to complete and to hand
in homework on time. If you cannot attend class, it is your responsibility to ensure that I receive the homework before our
next class meeting. Missing assignments will be given a grade of zero.
Tests and Exams:
There will be three tests during the semester session on dates that appear in this syllabus. There will be two major
exams: the mid-term and the final. The final exam will cover the material of the entire semester, with a concentration on the latest chapters. The content material of the tests will be announced the class session before their scheduled date. If you are absent, it is your responsibility to make up the exam as soon as possible (only one make-up is allowed). Make-up exams are given only in extreme circumstances. Exams not taken will automatically count as zero. All work will be evaluated and be part of your final grade.
Ensayos:
Students will write two essays during the semester on subjects assigned by the instructor.
Monday, May 07, 2007
And now for something compeltely different
This is really freaky!
May 7, 2007
The New York Times
Beam It Down From the Web, Scotty
By SAUL HANSELL
PASADENA, Calif. — Sometimes a particular piece of plastic is just what you need. You have lost the battery cover to your cellphone, perhaps. Or your daughter needs to have the golden princess doll she saw on television. Now.
In a few years, it will be possible to make these items yourself. You will be able to download three-dimensional plans online, then push Print. Hours later, a solid object will be ready to remove from your printer.
It’s not quite the transporter of “Star Trek,” but it is a step closer.
Three-dimensional printers have been seen in industrial design shops for about a decade. They are used to test part designs for cars, airplanes and other products before they are sent to manufacturing. Once well over $100,000 each, such machines can now be had for $15,000. In the next two years, prices are expected to fall further, putting the printers in reach of small offices and even corner copy stores.
The next frontier will be the home. One company that wants to be the first to deliver a 3-D printer for consumers is Desktop Factory, started by IdeaLab, a technology incubator here. The company will start selling its first printer for $4,995 this year.
Bill Gross, chairman of IdeaLab, says the technology it has developed, which uses a halogen light bulb to melt nylon powder, will allow the price of the printers to fall to $1,000 in four years.
“We are Easy-Bake Ovening a 3-D model,” he said. “The really powerful thing about this idea is that the fundamental engineering allows us to make it for $300 in materials.”
Others are working on the same idea.
“In the future, everyone will have a printer like this at home,” said Hod Lipson, a professor at Cornell University, who has led a project that published a design for a 3-D printer that can be made with about $2,000 in parts. “You can imagine printing a toothbrush, a fork, a shoe. Who knows where it will go from here?”
Three-dimensional printers, often called rapid prototypers, assemble objects out of an array of specks of material, just as traditional printers create images out of dots of ink or toner. They build models in a stack of very thin layers, each created by a liquid or powdered plastic that can be hardened in small spots by precisely applied heat, light or chemicals.
3D Systems, a pioneer in the field, plans to introduce a three-dimensional printer later this year that will sell for $9,900.
“We think we can deliver systems for under $2,000 in three to five years,” said Abe Reichental, the company’s chief executive. “That will open a market of people who are not just engineers — collectors, hobbyists, interior decorators.”
Even at today’s prices, uses for 3-D printers are multiplying.
Colleges and high schools are buying them for design classes. Dental labs are using them to shape crowns and bridges. Doctors print models from CT scans to help plan complex surgery. Architects are printing three-dimensional models of their designs. And the Army Corps of Engineers used the technology to build a topographical map of New Orleans to help plan reconstruction.
Entrepreneurs like Fabjectory are beginning to find interest in 3-D printing among aficionados of online games, like Second Life and World of Warcraft, in which players design their own characters. Electronic Arts hopes to offer a similar service to create three-dimensional models of characters in Spore, a game to be introduced later this year.
Eventually, 3-D design software will let people make sculptures and design housewares at home.
But 3-D printers may be useful for people who do not want to learn how to use such sophisticated programs.
IdeaLab hopes companies will sell three-dimensional designs over the Internet. This would allow people to print out replacements for a dishwasher rack at home. And it would open up new opportunities for toys.
“You could go to Mattel.com, download Barbie, scan your Mom’s head, slap the head on Barbie and print it out,” suggests Joe Shenberger, the director of sales for Desktop Factory. “You could have a true custom one-off toy.”
How many people will want such a thing? It is impossible to say for sure, but some who work with the current crop of 3-D printers say they will be very attractive when the price puts them in reach of home users.
“When laser printers cost more than $5,000, nobody knew they needed desktop publishing,” said A. Michael Berman, chief technology officer for the Art Center College of Design in Pasadena, which has a half-dozen 3-D printers for its students to use. “The market for 3-D printing isn’t as big as for laser printers, but I do believe it is huge.”
And Desktop Factory’s version is meant to be compact enough for a home office — 25 by 20 by 20 inches — with a weight of less than 90 pounds.
The origin of Desktop Factory was not so much a desire to print Barbies as a frustration with the Internet. After making a lot of money starting Internet companies like CitySearch, IdeaLab lost even more with flops like eToys. With its investors disgruntled, the company shrank, slowed down and turned its attention from the Web to technologies like solar energy and robotics.
“We traded bits for atoms,” Mr. Gross said.
IdeaLab’s new interest in things required it to build a machine shop, and eventually Mr. Gross bought a 3-D printer from Stratasys. IdeaLab engineers kept the machine going around the clock, experimenting with designs.
Mr. Gross even downloaded a model of an octopus to print out for a project on vertebrates in his daughter’s eighth-grade biology class.
This convinced Mr. Gross that there was a market for 3-D printers, especially if the price could be cut.
At first, the prospects looked difficult. The three leading 3-D printer companies all used different technologies, but none seemed simple enough to be modified for inexpensive home devices. Stratasys makes models out of liquid plastic using a very expensive heated print head that resembles a glue gun. 3D Systems uses lasers to harden liquid polymers. And the Z Corporation, a unit of the private equity group EQT, builds models by squirting a sort of glue over layers of sandlike plaster.
In a brainstorming session, Kevin Hickerson, an IdeaLab engineer, proposed the method the company would ultimately choose. First the machine spreads a powdered plastic over a roller, which is heated to just below the plastic’s melting point. Then a sharply focused beam of light melts dots of plastic on the roller. After the unmelted powder is brushed off, the roller deposits the hot plastic onto a platform. This process is repeated until the object is assembled from the bottom up.
It took IdeaLab a year to prove that the basic approach would work and a second year to develop the technology to get the layers to stick to each other properly. (The model is gently squished, as in a sandwich press, after each layer is applied.) And it has taken two more years to write the required software and to create a working design for the first production model.
IdeaLab has made about 10 of the printers so far. It is preparing to begin production at its combination office and factory in an industrial building half a mile from the company’s headquarters. This summer it will start to deliver its initial test machines to the 200 customers who have agreed to buy them.
Desktop Factory says the machines pose no hazard to users because they use a safe nylon-based material.
Some in the 3-D printer industry say Desktop Factory may have cut too many corners. Its first model makes objects with rather jagged edges because it applies layers that are 0.01 inch thick, two to three times thicker than many other machines’. Moreover, it uses a nylon mixed with aluminum and glass that produces gray objects, with a rather sandy finish that many do not find attractive.
Kathy Lewis, the chief executive of Desktop Factory, said the company saw enormous initial demand among small engineering firms that simply cannot afford the larger printers, as well as high schools and colleges that teach computer-aided design.
To appeal to the home market, she said, the company is trying to develop new materials — a smoother plastic and a very soft, bendable substance suitable for toys.
Much of the research in the field is about how to develop materials of various properties that can be applied in tiny digital specs. Cornell’s 3-D printer, called Fab@Home, is particularly suited to those experiments because it moves a syringe in three dimensions that can be filled with any substance. So far, it has built objects out of silicone, plaster, Cheez Whiz and Play-Doh.
Noy Schaal, a high-school freshman in Louisville, modified the design with a heated syringe to extrude a chocolate bar, decorated with the letters KY for Kentucky. (Koba Industries has started selling kits with all the parts needed to make the Fab@Home design for about $3,000.)
Professor Lipson said researchers are developing ways to use the process to build parts with more complex functions. They have preliminary designs for batteries, sensors, and parts that can bend when electricity is applied.
“A milestone for us would be to print a robot that would get up and walk out of the printer,” Professor Lipson said. “Batteries included.”
May 7, 2007
The New York Times
Beam It Down From the Web, Scotty
By SAUL HANSELL
PASADENA, Calif. — Sometimes a particular piece of plastic is just what you need. You have lost the battery cover to your cellphone, perhaps. Or your daughter needs to have the golden princess doll she saw on television. Now.
In a few years, it will be possible to make these items yourself. You will be able to download three-dimensional plans online, then push Print. Hours later, a solid object will be ready to remove from your printer.
It’s not quite the transporter of “Star Trek,” but it is a step closer.
Three-dimensional printers have been seen in industrial design shops for about a decade. They are used to test part designs for cars, airplanes and other products before they are sent to manufacturing. Once well over $100,000 each, such machines can now be had for $15,000. In the next two years, prices are expected to fall further, putting the printers in reach of small offices and even corner copy stores.
The next frontier will be the home. One company that wants to be the first to deliver a 3-D printer for consumers is Desktop Factory, started by IdeaLab, a technology incubator here. The company will start selling its first printer for $4,995 this year.
Bill Gross, chairman of IdeaLab, says the technology it has developed, which uses a halogen light bulb to melt nylon powder, will allow the price of the printers to fall to $1,000 in four years.
“We are Easy-Bake Ovening a 3-D model,” he said. “The really powerful thing about this idea is that the fundamental engineering allows us to make it for $300 in materials.”
Others are working on the same idea.
“In the future, everyone will have a printer like this at home,” said Hod Lipson, a professor at Cornell University, who has led a project that published a design for a 3-D printer that can be made with about $2,000 in parts. “You can imagine printing a toothbrush, a fork, a shoe. Who knows where it will go from here?”
Three-dimensional printers, often called rapid prototypers, assemble objects out of an array of specks of material, just as traditional printers create images out of dots of ink or toner. They build models in a stack of very thin layers, each created by a liquid or powdered plastic that can be hardened in small spots by precisely applied heat, light or chemicals.
3D Systems, a pioneer in the field, plans to introduce a three-dimensional printer later this year that will sell for $9,900.
“We think we can deliver systems for under $2,000 in three to five years,” said Abe Reichental, the company’s chief executive. “That will open a market of people who are not just engineers — collectors, hobbyists, interior decorators.”
Even at today’s prices, uses for 3-D printers are multiplying.
Colleges and high schools are buying them for design classes. Dental labs are using them to shape crowns and bridges. Doctors print models from CT scans to help plan complex surgery. Architects are printing three-dimensional models of their designs. And the Army Corps of Engineers used the technology to build a topographical map of New Orleans to help plan reconstruction.
Entrepreneurs like Fabjectory are beginning to find interest in 3-D printing among aficionados of online games, like Second Life and World of Warcraft, in which players design their own characters. Electronic Arts hopes to offer a similar service to create three-dimensional models of characters in Spore, a game to be introduced later this year.
Eventually, 3-D design software will let people make sculptures and design housewares at home.
But 3-D printers may be useful for people who do not want to learn how to use such sophisticated programs.
IdeaLab hopes companies will sell three-dimensional designs over the Internet. This would allow people to print out replacements for a dishwasher rack at home. And it would open up new opportunities for toys.
“You could go to Mattel.com, download Barbie, scan your Mom’s head, slap the head on Barbie and print it out,” suggests Joe Shenberger, the director of sales for Desktop Factory. “You could have a true custom one-off toy.”
How many people will want such a thing? It is impossible to say for sure, but some who work with the current crop of 3-D printers say they will be very attractive when the price puts them in reach of home users.
“When laser printers cost more than $5,000, nobody knew they needed desktop publishing,” said A. Michael Berman, chief technology officer for the Art Center College of Design in Pasadena, which has a half-dozen 3-D printers for its students to use. “The market for 3-D printing isn’t as big as for laser printers, but I do believe it is huge.”
And Desktop Factory’s version is meant to be compact enough for a home office — 25 by 20 by 20 inches — with a weight of less than 90 pounds.
The origin of Desktop Factory was not so much a desire to print Barbies as a frustration with the Internet. After making a lot of money starting Internet companies like CitySearch, IdeaLab lost even more with flops like eToys. With its investors disgruntled, the company shrank, slowed down and turned its attention from the Web to technologies like solar energy and robotics.
“We traded bits for atoms,” Mr. Gross said.
IdeaLab’s new interest in things required it to build a machine shop, and eventually Mr. Gross bought a 3-D printer from Stratasys. IdeaLab engineers kept the machine going around the clock, experimenting with designs.
Mr. Gross even downloaded a model of an octopus to print out for a project on vertebrates in his daughter’s eighth-grade biology class.
This convinced Mr. Gross that there was a market for 3-D printers, especially if the price could be cut.
At first, the prospects looked difficult. The three leading 3-D printer companies all used different technologies, but none seemed simple enough to be modified for inexpensive home devices. Stratasys makes models out of liquid plastic using a very expensive heated print head that resembles a glue gun. 3D Systems uses lasers to harden liquid polymers. And the Z Corporation, a unit of the private equity group EQT, builds models by squirting a sort of glue over layers of sandlike plaster.
In a brainstorming session, Kevin Hickerson, an IdeaLab engineer, proposed the method the company would ultimately choose. First the machine spreads a powdered plastic over a roller, which is heated to just below the plastic’s melting point. Then a sharply focused beam of light melts dots of plastic on the roller. After the unmelted powder is brushed off, the roller deposits the hot plastic onto a platform. This process is repeated until the object is assembled from the bottom up.
It took IdeaLab a year to prove that the basic approach would work and a second year to develop the technology to get the layers to stick to each other properly. (The model is gently squished, as in a sandwich press, after each layer is applied.) And it has taken two more years to write the required software and to create a working design for the first production model.
IdeaLab has made about 10 of the printers so far. It is preparing to begin production at its combination office and factory in an industrial building half a mile from the company’s headquarters. This summer it will start to deliver its initial test machines to the 200 customers who have agreed to buy them.
Desktop Factory says the machines pose no hazard to users because they use a safe nylon-based material.
Some in the 3-D printer industry say Desktop Factory may have cut too many corners. Its first model makes objects with rather jagged edges because it applies layers that are 0.01 inch thick, two to three times thicker than many other machines’. Moreover, it uses a nylon mixed with aluminum and glass that produces gray objects, with a rather sandy finish that many do not find attractive.
Kathy Lewis, the chief executive of Desktop Factory, said the company saw enormous initial demand among small engineering firms that simply cannot afford the larger printers, as well as high schools and colleges that teach computer-aided design.
To appeal to the home market, she said, the company is trying to develop new materials — a smoother plastic and a very soft, bendable substance suitable for toys.
Much of the research in the field is about how to develop materials of various properties that can be applied in tiny digital specs. Cornell’s 3-D printer, called Fab@Home, is particularly suited to those experiments because it moves a syringe in three dimensions that can be filled with any substance. So far, it has built objects out of silicone, plaster, Cheez Whiz and Play-Doh.
Noy Schaal, a high-school freshman in Louisville, modified the design with a heated syringe to extrude a chocolate bar, decorated with the letters KY for Kentucky. (Koba Industries has started selling kits with all the parts needed to make the Fab@Home design for about $3,000.)
Professor Lipson said researchers are developing ways to use the process to build parts with more complex functions. They have preliminary designs for batteries, sensors, and parts that can bend when electricity is applied.
“A milestone for us would be to print a robot that would get up and walk out of the printer,” Professor Lipson said. “Batteries included.”
Uhg! Neighbors
I could spend all day writing about these people. What is wrong with them. I leave to go to the grocery store, all is well with the world. I get back an hour later and it's like my building had imploded. I pull in next to this car that has a crush beer cartoon on the back of it. And cans all around it. Like there had been a party or something in the hour I was gone.
I hear from inside the middle building (our "building" is actually three buildings. If you are looking at it, I'm in the far right. The washing machine is in the middle building. The car with the beer belongs to people who live in the basement of that building) So I hear from inside the middle building a woman screaming bloody murder. At the top of her lungs she's screaming, "Get the hell out of here" Get the fuck out!" And then she just screams. I realize it's from the upstairs of the building. (There are three floors - basement, ground [which I am on] and up.) So for the last hour this has been going on.
Then I go to take the trash out and guess what, oh yes you guessed it, creepy neighbor finds me. Roland went and found his dog while I was throwing away the garbage and the neighbor (his name is Danny, I suppose it will be easier to call him by his name than by creepy neighbor) came around the front looking for me.
After awkward small talk (awkward because I wouldn't look at him, nor make complete sentences), he asked me, "Is anything wrong? You seem tense." Clearly he's not catching on. In this conversation he also asked me how old I was and what kind of movies I liked. Then he said, "We should kill some time together, watch a movie. Be neighborly."
I'm uncomfortable with his definition of neighborly.
I hear from inside the middle building (our "building" is actually three buildings. If you are looking at it, I'm in the far right. The washing machine is in the middle building. The car with the beer belongs to people who live in the basement of that building) So I hear from inside the middle building a woman screaming bloody murder. At the top of her lungs she's screaming, "Get the hell out of here" Get the fuck out!" And then she just screams. I realize it's from the upstairs of the building. (There are three floors - basement, ground [which I am on] and up.) So for the last hour this has been going on.
Then I go to take the trash out and guess what, oh yes you guessed it, creepy neighbor finds me. Roland went and found his dog while I was throwing away the garbage and the neighbor (his name is Danny, I suppose it will be easier to call him by his name than by creepy neighbor) came around the front looking for me.
After awkward small talk (awkward because I wouldn't look at him, nor make complete sentences), he asked me, "Is anything wrong? You seem tense." Clearly he's not catching on. In this conversation he also asked me how old I was and what kind of movies I liked. Then he said, "We should kill some time together, watch a movie. Be neighborly."
I'm uncomfortable with his definition of neighborly.
More on my neighbors
I came to the conclusion today that most of them do not seem to work. I say seem, though I know, in fact, that many of them do not have jobs. This includes the afore mentioned downstairs neighbor. He used to own a restaurant with his ex-wife and recently said "Screw it!" and let her have it. He's looking for work now, I think.
The other downstairs neighbor doesn't seem to work either. She has the world's loudest dachshund, which she never takes outside. I don't know where he goes to the bathroom. She doesn't have a car, as far as I can tell, and she is often outside waiting for a ride. She is an older woman. She also seems to be gone for days at a time, leaving behind the yapping dog.
There's also a woman in the building next to me. She has a poodle and two sons, who are in their 20s. The older one is off at college and works full time. He does not live at home. The younger son, who I think is only just 20, lives at home and does not go to college, nor does he work. Instead, he hangs out with his girlfriend, friends or fights very loudly with his mother, whom he often calls a bitch. The mother also does not work. She is on public assistance, though she does watch a child after school at her apartment for a friend who pays her. Whenever the son needs something, he asks his mother for it. This includes not just food and clothes, but gifts for the girlfriend. He is, perfectly capable of working, but is lazy (according to his mother).
There is a mixed race couple with a little baby girl and a boxer (dog), I think. I'm not good with dog breeds. I don't know their story and only lately have begun speaking with the man (he seems really young, and I hesitate to call him a man) because he is often out with the dog and I'm out with my dog and the dogs want to sniff each other, leaving us either awkward silence or small talk. Today he was doing his laundry when I went down to do mine and he had taken all of his clothes down in black garbage bags, which he threw away after loading the clothes into the wash. He also sprayed Lysol in the washing machine and dryer before using them. I found both of these behaviors odd.
Anyway, those are the people I'll start with. In the next edition, I'll discuss Jeremy my neighbor across the hall who seems to both have a girlfriend and be gay, and also is never home. And the retired WWII vet and his wife who recently moved here from North Carolina (sometimes I think the old man is hitting on me and that creeps me out way worse than the downstairs neighbor).
The other downstairs neighbor doesn't seem to work either. She has the world's loudest dachshund, which she never takes outside. I don't know where he goes to the bathroom. She doesn't have a car, as far as I can tell, and she is often outside waiting for a ride. She is an older woman. She also seems to be gone for days at a time, leaving behind the yapping dog.
There's also a woman in the building next to me. She has a poodle and two sons, who are in their 20s. The older one is off at college and works full time. He does not live at home. The younger son, who I think is only just 20, lives at home and does not go to college, nor does he work. Instead, he hangs out with his girlfriend, friends or fights very loudly with his mother, whom he often calls a bitch. The mother also does not work. She is on public assistance, though she does watch a child after school at her apartment for a friend who pays her. Whenever the son needs something, he asks his mother for it. This includes not just food and clothes, but gifts for the girlfriend. He is, perfectly capable of working, but is lazy (according to his mother).
There is a mixed race couple with a little baby girl and a boxer (dog), I think. I'm not good with dog breeds. I don't know their story and only lately have begun speaking with the man (he seems really young, and I hesitate to call him a man) because he is often out with the dog and I'm out with my dog and the dogs want to sniff each other, leaving us either awkward silence or small talk. Today he was doing his laundry when I went down to do mine and he had taken all of his clothes down in black garbage bags, which he threw away after loading the clothes into the wash. He also sprayed Lysol in the washing machine and dryer before using them. I found both of these behaviors odd.
Anyway, those are the people I'll start with. In the next edition, I'll discuss Jeremy my neighbor across the hall who seems to both have a girlfriend and be gay, and also is never home. And the retired WWII vet and his wife who recently moved here from North Carolina (sometimes I think the old man is hitting on me and that creeps me out way worse than the downstairs neighbor).
Sunday, May 06, 2007
Downstairs neighbor woes
I'm really getting annoyed at my creepy downstairs neighbor.
Just because you live in the same building does not give you the right to impose your company on me and it certainly doesn't give you the right to keep trying to invite me over for dinner and/or a movie. I've been fairly successful at hiding from him, despite the fact that Roland LOVES his dog and whines whenever he sees the dog outside. But today, Roland and I had been outside and were on our way in and we caught him coming out.
So, he says to me, "What are you doing tonight?"
Normally I have a good excuse, but today I finally ran out. And so I said, "Uh, nothing. I don't think I'm doing anything."
So he says back, "I'm going fishing now, but I'll knock on your door later and see if you want to do anything." And then he left.
So now I have to find a reason NOT to be here later, which is not easy on a Sunday night. I shouldn't have to hide or leave my apartment. A person's house/apartment should be the one place at which people do NOT feel free to make moves on you.
Just because you live in the same building does not give you the right to impose your company on me and it certainly doesn't give you the right to keep trying to invite me over for dinner and/or a movie. I've been fairly successful at hiding from him, despite the fact that Roland LOVES his dog and whines whenever he sees the dog outside. But today, Roland and I had been outside and were on our way in and we caught him coming out.
So, he says to me, "What are you doing tonight?"
Normally I have a good excuse, but today I finally ran out. And so I said, "Uh, nothing. I don't think I'm doing anything."
So he says back, "I'm going fishing now, but I'll knock on your door later and see if you want to do anything." And then he left.
So now I have to find a reason NOT to be here later, which is not easy on a Sunday night. I shouldn't have to hide or leave my apartment. A person's house/apartment should be the one place at which people do NOT feel free to make moves on you.
Saturday, May 05, 2007
My Job Sucks
I just finished "The Devil Wears Prada" (go on mock me for my movie choice again, I don't care), and I think I have the male version of Miranda as my boss. Seriously. I'm waiting for him to make me pick up his latte on my way into work — though I think he makes his assistant, who wasn't hired to be an assistant, do that right now. She's on the verge of quitting, though. So soon that job will fall to me. I just know it.
The tally so far:
3 reporters
1 new media editor
2 editorial page staffers
That's a lot of people for a paper our size. We're hemorrhaging...my immediate boss said he read an article in the Atlantic Monthly about the situation in newspapers and it's called a suicide spiral. There's a pool on who will quit next. My money is on the afore mentioned assistant and the city government reporter. My immediate boss, has his money on me and a business reporter.
It's really kind of sad when you think about it.
The tally so far:
3 reporters
1 new media editor
2 editorial page staffers
That's a lot of people for a paper our size. We're hemorrhaging...my immediate boss said he read an article in the Atlantic Monthly about the situation in newspapers and it's called a suicide spiral. There's a pool on who will quit next. My money is on the afore mentioned assistant and the city government reporter. My immediate boss, has his money on me and a business reporter.
It's really kind of sad when you think about it.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Miami Revisted
I'm still pretty much in a very deep state of depression from my last trip and thus haven't been much on returning calls and e-mails (sorry everyone). I've managed to get to work and class everyday, though, quite frankly, I don't know how. On Tuesday, I went home early. I went in at 3 p.m. and left at 8 p.m. I told them I was sick, which is technically true. I have a cold of some sort. But the truth is I couldn't take it. They said today that I looked "more of this world." But I don't feel it.
In the meantime, however, I have received a CD of pictures from our Miami trip from one of my compatriots. Here you can see the hotel we stayed at that I mentioned in an early post. I can't even tell you how much I wish I were there now.
In the meantime, however, I have received a CD of pictures from our Miami trip from one of my compatriots. Here you can see the hotel we stayed at that I mentioned in an early post. I can't even tell you how much I wish I were there now.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Wedding Blues
Just got back late last night from a trip to SC/NC for a wedding - well at least that was the excuse for the trip. The wedding was beautiful and I had a lot of fun at it and the reception, and most of the rehearsal dinner, for that matter — especially considering there was no one there that I hadn't just met that week, aside from my date. Otherwise the trip was pretty much a disaster. More on that available in e-mails that are sure to go out as soon as some of my depression has dissipated.
However, here is the house where the wedding/reception was held. It's called The City Club and it's part of The Wilmingtonian, which is where we stayed (in a boat-themed room called the Boathouse Suite. I don't know why I didn't take a picture of it! It was hilarious in a very bad way.) Anyway, it was very posh.
I wish I could report on Wilmington, but I didn't see much of it. What I did see of downtown was very nice. I would like to go back and spend a real weekend there sometime.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Author David Halberstam dies in crash
[Note Mississippi reference]
SAN FRANCISCO (AP) — David Halberstam, a Pulitzer Prize-winning author who chronicled the Washington press corps, the Vietnam War generation and baseball, was killed in a car crash early Monday, a coroner said. He was 73.
Halberstam, a New Yorker, was a passenger in a car that was broadsided by another vehicle in Menlo Park, south of San Francisco, San Mateo County Coroner Robert Foucrault said.
"Looking at the accident and examining him at the scene indicated it's most likely internal injuries," Foucrault said.
The driver of the car carrying Halberstam is a student at the Graduate School of Journalism at the University of California, Berkeley, and was taken to Stanford Medical Center. Two others were injured.
Halberstam spoke Saturday at a UC Berkeley-sponsored event on the craft of journalism and what it means to turn reporting into a work of history.
He was born April 10, 1934, in New York City, the son of a surgeon father and teacher mother.
After attending Harvard University, Halberstam launched his career in 1955 at the Daily Times Leader, a small daily newspaper in Mississippi. By age 30 he had won the 1964 Pulitzer Prize for reporting on the Vietnam War for the New York Times.
He quit daily journalism in 1967 and wrote 21 books covering such diverse topics as the Vietnam War, civil rights, the auto industry and a baseball pennant race. His 2002 best-seller, War in a Time of Peace, was a runner-up for the Pulitzer Prize for non-fiction.
SAN FRANCISCO (AP) — David Halberstam, a Pulitzer Prize-winning author who chronicled the Washington press corps, the Vietnam War generation and baseball, was killed in a car crash early Monday, a coroner said. He was 73.
Halberstam, a New Yorker, was a passenger in a car that was broadsided by another vehicle in Menlo Park, south of San Francisco, San Mateo County Coroner Robert Foucrault said.
"Looking at the accident and examining him at the scene indicated it's most likely internal injuries," Foucrault said.
The driver of the car carrying Halberstam is a student at the Graduate School of Journalism at the University of California, Berkeley, and was taken to Stanford Medical Center. Two others were injured.
Halberstam spoke Saturday at a UC Berkeley-sponsored event on the craft of journalism and what it means to turn reporting into a work of history.
He was born April 10, 1934, in New York City, the son of a surgeon father and teacher mother.
After attending Harvard University, Halberstam launched his career in 1955 at the Daily Times Leader, a small daily newspaper in Mississippi. By age 30 he had won the 1964 Pulitzer Prize for reporting on the Vietnam War for the New York Times.
He quit daily journalism in 1967 and wrote 21 books covering such diverse topics as the Vietnam War, civil rights, the auto industry and a baseball pennant race. His 2002 best-seller, War in a Time of Peace, was a runner-up for the Pulitzer Prize for non-fiction.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Miami Vice(s)
Sadly, that is the actual name of the first drink, Miami Vice, that is. I don't know what drink #2 is, but I'm sure it was fruity goodness!
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Miami on the Quick
The title refers to both my (last) weekend trip there and the fact that I have to rush this entry. I never seem to have time to do anything any more. Where did all my time go? Tutoring Spanish students I think. Well that will soon be over. May 7 is the last day of tutoring and May 9 is my final. Next semester I'm taking TWO Spanish classes. One is Spanish for native speakers and is conducted entirely in Spanish. That will be scary for me as a non-native speaker.However, when I was in Miami for two days (I flew down on a Saturday and back on Monday morning) I found that I understood everything that was said to me, though there wasn't much call for me to speak Spanish since everyone but our maid seemed to also speak English.
The beach was not as kind this trip as when we went two years ago. It was overcast on Sunday and I only had half a day on Saturday. A friend of mine who had a later flight out on Monday said it was cold and he didn't stay on the beach more than a few minutes.
The food, however, remained awesome. We had Haitian food at a place call Tap Tap (Everything we did was in South Beach, by the way. That's where we stayed and we didn't have a car.) We had a shrimp dish that came in the most amazing sauce. I was putting that sauce on everything - rich, plantains, bread, everything! We also had conch fritters, which were also good.
The photo is of some black beans that I also put on everything. These were some of the best black beans I've every had (and no, that is not the alcohol talking!). This was at a Cuban diner called Puerto Sagua. I also had the Cubano sandwich, which was excellent. And someone at the table had shredded meat (I think it was beef). Also tasty!
We stayed at the Park Central, which is one of the top five Art Deco hotels in the city. It was really nice. The hallways were sort of drab and, like everything in Miami, mildewy, but nice. We drank a lot of fruity beverages containing any number of alcohols We went back to the Purdy Lounge, which a certain member of our party did not care for. But we had fun dancing to 80's and dance music.
All in all a good trip, but one that ended way to soon. The good news is that on Wednesday I'm leaving for Wilmington, NC, which will afford me the opportunity to cram in more beach time...though of a more laid back variety.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Easter and Beyond
Uhg. I feel so sick. My mom made enough food for Easter to feed a small army. Then she made everyone take home doggie bags. I don't think you should fast or 40 days and then eat an entire lamb. But I guess that's just me.
My dad's family came over and I didn't recognize half the cousins and cousins' kids. For example, I can't believe my cousin's 22 year old daughter has two children. What tha...?
I'm finding it hard to fit in everything, or rather everyone, I would like to on this trip. I didn't realize I would be so popular. Perhaps I should have come home for a longer period. I got here on Friday afternoon and I leave on Tuesday afternoon. Tomorrow I'm driving up to Memphis for the day and then back down later in the afternoon. Sometime before Wednesday I have to study for my Spanish test too. And I'd actually like to get some sleep. PLUS on Saturday I fly to Miami for a quick weekend trip to celebrate a friend's 30th birthday. I think, maybe, I have TOO much going on right now. That's a change.
My dad's family came over and I didn't recognize half the cousins and cousins' kids. For example, I can't believe my cousin's 22 year old daughter has two children. What tha...?
I'm finding it hard to fit in everything, or rather everyone, I would like to on this trip. I didn't realize I would be so popular. Perhaps I should have come home for a longer period. I got here on Friday afternoon and I leave on Tuesday afternoon. Tomorrow I'm driving up to Memphis for the day and then back down later in the afternoon. Sometime before Wednesday I have to study for my Spanish test too. And I'd actually like to get some sleep. PLUS on Saturday I fly to Miami for a quick weekend trip to celebrate a friend's 30th birthday. I think, maybe, I have TOO much going on right now. That's a change.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Getting Unced
It's not really a verb, but my friend Elizabeth used it that way once, jokingly, and it's stuck in my head ever since. I had to work tonight and so missed out on the anointing. That's two year's in a row since last year I was moving during Holy Unction. Anyway, in case you're reading this and would like to know more....
The Sacrament of Holy Unction: Holy Wednesday afternoon and Evening
Introduction
On the afternoon or evening of Great and Holy Wednesday, the Sacrament or Mystery of Holy Unction is conducted in Orthodox parishes. The Sacrament of Holy Unction is offered for the healing of soul and body and for forgiveness of sins. At the conclusion of the service of the Sacrament, the body is anointed with oil, and the grace of God, which heals infirmities of soul and body, is called down upon each person. The Sacrament is performed by a gathering of priests, ideally seven in number, however, it can be performed by a lesser number and even by a single priest.
Holy Unction
When one is ill and in pain, this can very often be a time of life when one feels alone and isolated. The Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick, or Holy Unction as it is also known, reminds us that when we are ion pain, either physical, emotional, or spiritual, Christ is present with us through the ministry of His Church. He is among us to offer strength to meet the challenges of life, and even the approach of death.
As with Chrismation, oil is also used in this Sacrament as a sign of God's presence, strength, and forgiveness. After the reading of seven Epistle lessons, seven Gospel lessons and the offering of seven prayers, which are all devoted to healing, the priest anoints the body with the Holy Oil. Orthodoxy does not view this Sacrament as available only to those who are near death. It is offered to all who are sick in body, mind, or spirit.
Christ came to the world to “bear our infirmities.” One of the signs of His divine Messiahship was to heal the sick. The power of healing remains in the Church since Christ himself remains in the Church through the Holy Spirit.
The Sacrament of the Unction of the sick is the Church's specific prayer for healing. If the faith of the believers is strong enough, and if it is the will of God, there is every reason to believe that the Lord can heal those who are diseased.
The biblical basis for the Sacrament is found in James 5:14-16:
Is any among you sick, let him call for the presbyters of the church, and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord; and the prayer of faith will save the sick man, and the Lord will raise him up; and if he has committed sins, he will be forgiven. Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed.
In ancient Christian literature one may find indirect testimonies of the Mystery of Unction in Saint Irenaeus of Lyons and in Origen. Later there are clear testimonies of it in Saints Basil the Great and John Chrysostom, who have left prayers for the healing of the infirm which entered later into the rite of Unction; and likewise in Saint Cyril of Alexandria. In the fifth century, Pope Innocent I answered a series of questions concerning the Mystery of Unction, indicating in his answers that a) it should be performed "upon believers who are sick"; b) it may be performed also by a bishop, since one should not see in the words of the Apostle, let him call for the presbyters, any prohibition for a bishop to participate in the sacred action; c) this anointment may not be performed "on those undergoing ecclesiastical penance,' because it is a "Mystery,' and to those who are forbidden the other Mysteries, how can one allow only one?
The express purpose of the Sacrament of Holy Unction is healing and forgiveness. Since it is not always the will of God that there should be physical healing, the prayer of Christ that God's will be done always remains as the proper context of the Sacrament. In addition, it is the clear intention of the Sacrament that through the anointing of the sick body the sufferings of the person should be sanctified and united to the sufferings of Christ. In this way, the wounds of the flesh are consecrated, and strength is given that the suffering of the diseased person may not be unto the death of his soul, but for eternal salvation in the resurrection and life of the Kingdom of God.
It is indeed the case that death inevitably comes. All must die, even those who in this life are given a reprieve through healing in order to have more time on the earth. Thus, the healing of the sick is not itself a final goal, but is merely "instrumental" in that it is given by God as a sign of his mercy and as a grace for the further opportunity of man to live for him and for others in the life of this world.
In the case where a person is obviously in the final moments of his earthly life, the Church has special prayers for the "separation of soul and body." Thus, it is clear that the Sacrament of Holy Unction is for the sick-both the physically and mentally sick-and is not reserved for the moment of death. The Sacrament of Unction is not the "last rites" as is sometimes thought; the ritual of the anointing itself in no way indicates that it should be administered merely in "extreme" cases. Holy Unction is the Sacrament of the spiritual, physical, and mental healing of a sick person whatever the nature or the gravity of the illness may be.
Orthodox Christian Celebration of the Sacrament of Holy unction
The Sacrament itself calls for seven priests, seven readings from the Epistles and Gospels, seven prayers and seven anointings with oil specifically blessed during the service. Although it is not always possible to perform the sacrament in this way, the normal procedure is still to gather together as many priests and people as possible.
At the end of the service the priest anoints the faithful as he makes the sign of the cross on the forehead and top and palms of the hands saying, "For the healing of soul and body."
The Sacrament of Holy Unction: Holy Wednesday afternoon and Evening
Introduction
On the afternoon or evening of Great and Holy Wednesday, the Sacrament or Mystery of Holy Unction is conducted in Orthodox parishes. The Sacrament of Holy Unction is offered for the healing of soul and body and for forgiveness of sins. At the conclusion of the service of the Sacrament, the body is anointed with oil, and the grace of God, which heals infirmities of soul and body, is called down upon each person. The Sacrament is performed by a gathering of priests, ideally seven in number, however, it can be performed by a lesser number and even by a single priest.
Holy Unction
When one is ill and in pain, this can very often be a time of life when one feels alone and isolated. The Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick, or Holy Unction as it is also known, reminds us that when we are ion pain, either physical, emotional, or spiritual, Christ is present with us through the ministry of His Church. He is among us to offer strength to meet the challenges of life, and even the approach of death.
As with Chrismation, oil is also used in this Sacrament as a sign of God's presence, strength, and forgiveness. After the reading of seven Epistle lessons, seven Gospel lessons and the offering of seven prayers, which are all devoted to healing, the priest anoints the body with the Holy Oil. Orthodoxy does not view this Sacrament as available only to those who are near death. It is offered to all who are sick in body, mind, or spirit.
Christ came to the world to “bear our infirmities.” One of the signs of His divine Messiahship was to heal the sick. The power of healing remains in the Church since Christ himself remains in the Church through the Holy Spirit.
The Sacrament of the Unction of the sick is the Church's specific prayer for healing. If the faith of the believers is strong enough, and if it is the will of God, there is every reason to believe that the Lord can heal those who are diseased.
The biblical basis for the Sacrament is found in James 5:14-16:
Is any among you sick, let him call for the presbyters of the church, and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord; and the prayer of faith will save the sick man, and the Lord will raise him up; and if he has committed sins, he will be forgiven. Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed.
In ancient Christian literature one may find indirect testimonies of the Mystery of Unction in Saint Irenaeus of Lyons and in Origen. Later there are clear testimonies of it in Saints Basil the Great and John Chrysostom, who have left prayers for the healing of the infirm which entered later into the rite of Unction; and likewise in Saint Cyril of Alexandria. In the fifth century, Pope Innocent I answered a series of questions concerning the Mystery of Unction, indicating in his answers that a) it should be performed "upon believers who are sick"; b) it may be performed also by a bishop, since one should not see in the words of the Apostle, let him call for the presbyters, any prohibition for a bishop to participate in the sacred action; c) this anointment may not be performed "on those undergoing ecclesiastical penance,' because it is a "Mystery,' and to those who are forbidden the other Mysteries, how can one allow only one?
The express purpose of the Sacrament of Holy Unction is healing and forgiveness. Since it is not always the will of God that there should be physical healing, the prayer of Christ that God's will be done always remains as the proper context of the Sacrament. In addition, it is the clear intention of the Sacrament that through the anointing of the sick body the sufferings of the person should be sanctified and united to the sufferings of Christ. In this way, the wounds of the flesh are consecrated, and strength is given that the suffering of the diseased person may not be unto the death of his soul, but for eternal salvation in the resurrection and life of the Kingdom of God.
It is indeed the case that death inevitably comes. All must die, even those who in this life are given a reprieve through healing in order to have more time on the earth. Thus, the healing of the sick is not itself a final goal, but is merely "instrumental" in that it is given by God as a sign of his mercy and as a grace for the further opportunity of man to live for him and for others in the life of this world.
In the case where a person is obviously in the final moments of his earthly life, the Church has special prayers for the "separation of soul and body." Thus, it is clear that the Sacrament of Holy Unction is for the sick-both the physically and mentally sick-and is not reserved for the moment of death. The Sacrament of Unction is not the "last rites" as is sometimes thought; the ritual of the anointing itself in no way indicates that it should be administered merely in "extreme" cases. Holy Unction is the Sacrament of the spiritual, physical, and mental healing of a sick person whatever the nature or the gravity of the illness may be.
Orthodox Christian Celebration of the Sacrament of Holy unction
The Sacrament itself calls for seven priests, seven readings from the Epistles and Gospels, seven prayers and seven anointings with oil specifically blessed during the service. Although it is not always possible to perform the sacrament in this way, the normal procedure is still to gather together as many priests and people as possible.
At the end of the service the priest anoints the faithful as he makes the sign of the cross on the forehead and top and palms of the hands saying, "For the healing of soul and body."
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Sambuca + Zamboni = FlimFlamFun
Apparently, in New Jersey, ANYONE can get a gig driving a Zamboni. Backup career is now secured.
N.J. judge: No such thing as Zamboni DWI
Judge rules ice rink groomer can't be charged with drunken driving at wheel of Zamboni machine
04-03-2007 10:35
NEWARK, N.J. (AP) _ It's not drunken driving in New Jersey if it involves a Zamboni.
A judge ruled the four-ton ice rink-grooming machines aren't motor vehicles because they aren't useable on highways and can't carry passengers.
Zamboni operator John Peragallo had been charged with drunken driving in 2005 after a fellow employee at the Mennen Sports Arena in Morristown told police the machine was speeding and nearly crashed into the boards.
Police said Peragallo's blood alcohol level was 0.12 percent. A level of 0.08 is considered legally drunk in New Jersey.
Peragallo appealed, and Superior Court Judge Joseph Falcone on Monday overturned his license revocation and penalties.
"It's a vindication for my client," Peragallo attorney James Porfido said after the hearing. "It's the right decision."
Morris County Assistant Prosecutor Joseph D'Onofrio said no decision had been made on whether to appeal.
Peragallo, 64, testified at his trial that he did drink beer and vodka, but not until after he had groomed the ice. However, he told police he had a shot of Sambuca with his breakfast coffee and two Valium-pills before work.
N.J. judge: No such thing as Zamboni DWI
Judge rules ice rink groomer can't be charged with drunken driving at wheel of Zamboni machine
04-03-2007 10:35
NEWARK, N.J. (AP) _ It's not drunken driving in New Jersey if it involves a Zamboni.
A judge ruled the four-ton ice rink-grooming machines aren't motor vehicles because they aren't useable on highways and can't carry passengers.
Zamboni operator John Peragallo had been charged with drunken driving in 2005 after a fellow employee at the Mennen Sports Arena in Morristown told police the machine was speeding and nearly crashed into the boards.
Police said Peragallo's blood alcohol level was 0.12 percent. A level of 0.08 is considered legally drunk in New Jersey.
Peragallo appealed, and Superior Court Judge Joseph Falcone on Monday overturned his license revocation and penalties.
"It's a vindication for my client," Peragallo attorney James Porfido said after the hearing. "It's the right decision."
Morris County Assistant Prosecutor Joseph D'Onofrio said no decision had been made on whether to appeal.
Peragallo, 64, testified at his trial that he did drink beer and vodka, but not until after he had groomed the ice. However, he told police he had a shot of Sambuca with his breakfast coffee and two Valium-pills before work.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Fools All Around
Wow. It's April already. I've been here a year. How did that happen?
I had intended to blog all about my trip to Chicago last weekend (It was great. Terrific weather. Greek Independence Day Parade. Good food. Good friends. Sigh. Why am I in New York?) But upon my return I've done nothing but work. I go in around 10 a.m. and I get home around 11 p.m. or midnight. Plus I've had homework for Spanish and tutoring. The last two days were hell. I was the only editor in the office and people were asking me for stuff WAY outside my job description — freelancer budgets, staff overtime estimates. I don't do that kind of paperwork. I read stories. Assign stories. Try to squeeze blood from a turnip. I have nothing to do with money.
I squeezed a LOT of blood out of the turnips this week, by the way. I can't even tell you the creative juggling I did to get enough stories to fill our paper. Tomorrow is my last day alone...then everyone comes back and on Friday I leave to go to my parents for Easter. Plus, we've had a reporter out on long-term sick leave who came back and there was no one but ME there to talk to her about her situation in the newsroom, all the changes that are going on, etc. And in addition to all the other work I was doing, I was having to find daily stories for her to cover and then sit down with her when I edited, which made the process 20x longer than it needed to be. But she's our weakest reporter...weaker than the interns and the news clerk. She doesn't seem to understand the basics of reporting, which is a major problem. MAJOR problem.
Anyway, all that is to say that is why I've been absent from my blog lately. Oh and I made a 82 on that last test. The class average was 54. She had to give a "pop" extra credit quiz on Monday — which she told us she was giving, thereby negating the pop portion of the quiz — worth up to 20 points added to your test grade. I missed at least one and made one word feminine, which is supposed to be masculine, so I won't get full credit, but I should at least have an A when all is said and done.
That's it for now. I've got to go catch up on all the stuff I haven't been able to do because of work. Oh, Happy April Fools Day and also Palm Sunday.
I had intended to blog all about my trip to Chicago last weekend (It was great. Terrific weather. Greek Independence Day Parade. Good food. Good friends. Sigh. Why am I in New York?) But upon my return I've done nothing but work. I go in around 10 a.m. and I get home around 11 p.m. or midnight. Plus I've had homework for Spanish and tutoring. The last two days were hell. I was the only editor in the office and people were asking me for stuff WAY outside my job description — freelancer budgets, staff overtime estimates. I don't do that kind of paperwork. I read stories. Assign stories. Try to squeeze blood from a turnip. I have nothing to do with money.
I squeezed a LOT of blood out of the turnips this week, by the way. I can't even tell you the creative juggling I did to get enough stories to fill our paper. Tomorrow is my last day alone...then everyone comes back and on Friday I leave to go to my parents for Easter. Plus, we've had a reporter out on long-term sick leave who came back and there was no one but ME there to talk to her about her situation in the newsroom, all the changes that are going on, etc. And in addition to all the other work I was doing, I was having to find daily stories for her to cover and then sit down with her when I edited, which made the process 20x longer than it needed to be. But she's our weakest reporter...weaker than the interns and the news clerk. She doesn't seem to understand the basics of reporting, which is a major problem. MAJOR problem.
Anyway, all that is to say that is why I've been absent from my blog lately. Oh and I made a 82 on that last test. The class average was 54. She had to give a "pop" extra credit quiz on Monday — which she told us she was giving, thereby negating the pop portion of the quiz — worth up to 20 points added to your test grade. I missed at least one and made one word feminine, which is supposed to be masculine, so I won't get full credit, but I should at least have an A when all is said and done.
That's it for now. I've got to go catch up on all the stuff I haven't been able to do because of work. Oh, Happy April Fools Day and also Palm Sunday.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Test anxiety, redux
Look, I know you're starting to think I'm like Chicken Little with this, but I really did suck my Spanish exam all up this time.
There were just too many verb tenses. I did fine on the vocab and I knew I would going in. But the verbs! There was subjunctive, which included making commands in two different ways; the imperfect progressive and contrasting the (regular) imperfect with the preterite. By the time I got to the end of the exam, which was LONG (I took this exam for an hour and a half...our teacher didn't seem to mind that me and two other students were there 15 minutes past the end of class), my brain was fried.
I couldn't remember the imperfect verb ending and I totally blew the last section. I know I blew it because she looked at my test and the test of another woman who is also a very good student and said, "Hmm, perhaps I shouldn't have put imperfect versus preterite on this test. Maybe it was too much."
Of course I don't even know about two other verb sections, it was late at one point I just started circle verbs hoping they were right and then praying I conjugated things right and there was one entire section where I had no idea what the instructions said except for make commands in the usted person, so I just went through making commands.
AND there was this random section with street signs that we didn't even TOUCH on in class. I guessed the best I could on that one too. Makes me wonder what I've been studying for the past three weeks.
I'm praying for a C.
Also, worked sucked ass today too. More on that later. I have to go do a self-review now. I'm way behind on crap I have to finish.
There were just too many verb tenses. I did fine on the vocab and I knew I would going in. But the verbs! There was subjunctive, which included making commands in two different ways; the imperfect progressive and contrasting the (regular) imperfect with the preterite. By the time I got to the end of the exam, which was LONG (I took this exam for an hour and a half...our teacher didn't seem to mind that me and two other students were there 15 minutes past the end of class), my brain was fried.
I couldn't remember the imperfect verb ending and I totally blew the last section. I know I blew it because she looked at my test and the test of another woman who is also a very good student and said, "Hmm, perhaps I shouldn't have put imperfect versus preterite on this test. Maybe it was too much."
Of course I don't even know about two other verb sections, it was late at one point I just started circle verbs hoping they were right and then praying I conjugated things right and there was one entire section where I had no idea what the instructions said except for make commands in the usted person, so I just went through making commands.
AND there was this random section with street signs that we didn't even TOUCH on in class. I guessed the best I could on that one too. Makes me wonder what I've been studying for the past three weeks.
I'm praying for a C.
Also, worked sucked ass today too. More on that later. I have to go do a self-review now. I'm way behind on crap I have to finish.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Roller skates + Greek Mythology = True Love
My guilty confession of the night is that I have just watched Xanadu for the first time and OH. MY. GOD. How could you not immediately love a movie that is soooo bad and takes itself soooo serious and also has Gene Kelly on roller skates!
My life has been forever changed. I will now only wear socks with high heels and also I plan to travel everywhere via roller skates. Goodbye Pathfinder. Goodbye Vespa. Hello Krypto Route 65s Chicago 400s!
My life has been forever changed. I will now only wear socks with high heels and also I plan to travel everywhere via roller skates. Goodbye Pathfinder. Goodbye Vespa. Hello Krypto Route 65s Chicago 400s!
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Movies
So in the last few weeks I've Netflixed "Babel", "Stranger Than Fiction" and "Thanks For Your Consideration". I have been wowed by none of these movies.
I liked "Stranger Than Fiction" right up to the end where — and there will be a spoiler here — they don't kill the main character despite the fact the whole movie is leading up to that point and it's not the kind of not killing that makes you think, "Oh. That IS clever." No. It's the kind of not killing that makes you think, "Friggin' cowards." America cinema's refusal to kill off their heroes is very angering.
I liked "Thanks For Your Consideration". I didn't have high hopes for it because while "Waiting for Guffman" and "Best In Show" were awesome, I was disappointed by "A Mighty Wind." Guest's entire mockumentary focus seemed to be getting stale. And while this movie had the same feel, it was at least different in that there weren't interviews with the main characters, like the others. And I can't tell you how many times I've quoted that movie in the last few weeks (due largely to Purim, but still...) So it gets points for that.
My biggest disappointment was "Babel", however. The film was incredibly well acted. Thumbs up to all the actors and even more of them should have nominated for awards (except Brad Pitt...sorry Mr. Jolie, NO OSCAR for you!) But after I watched the whole two and half hours I was like, "WHAT?!" First of all I could never figure out what Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett were doing in Morocco? Who goes to Morocco to repair their marriage after their baby dies of SIDS? And why did SHE go to Morocco. She clearly didn't want to be there and he was the one that was supposed to be groveling because he took off and left her and kids after the baby died. So that just sets the whole thing off on the wrong foot. And okay, so I can buy the kids shooting at the bus and all that. But seriously? Why WOULDN"T you put her on the bus and rush her to the hospital after she's been all stitched up by the vet? How is going by bumpy ambulance any better than going by bumpy bus. Ladies, stay the hell away from Brad Pitt, he does not make good decisions regarding your well-being.
I liked the Japan plot line. I had no problems with that part of it. I even liked its connection to the Morocco plot line. But I think the dumbest was the Mexican nanny story line where after dragging these little white kids down to Mexico for her son's wedding, she would get into a car with her intoxicated nephew who has already had trouble with border patrol and drive back to San Diego at dawn? What? Oh and she's been living in the U.S. illegally for 16 years? Who would do that? Aren't you just asking border patrol to act like stupid American assholes? Oh and friggin' border patrol at Mexico SPEAKS SPANISH! Just like border patrol at Canada speaks French! So stupid. Then, THEN, she's going to get out in the middle of the desert with these kids? WHAT?!!!! I just....it makes me so angry. So, so very angry. We, the movie viewing audience, aren't all idiots. And it would be one thing if these were stupid characters or if they made one bad mistake. But that script was just silly and insulting to me as a audience member.
But again. I have to say wow to the acting. Can we get that cast in a good movie, please? Anyway, kudos to the Academy for ONCE for not giving in to the hype. That movie did not deserve Best Picture. However, thumbs down for not giving some of actresses awards and for not nominated the Japanese father for his role.
And that's all I have to say on the topic of movies for now. Maybe I'm a little too passionate about film, but I can't help it. I just think cinema could be so much more than it is. Why do you want to hurt me so, Hollywood? (¡And that includes you too Alejandro González Iñárritu!)
I liked "Stranger Than Fiction" right up to the end where — and there will be a spoiler here — they don't kill the main character despite the fact the whole movie is leading up to that point and it's not the kind of not killing that makes you think, "Oh. That IS clever." No. It's the kind of not killing that makes you think, "Friggin' cowards." America cinema's refusal to kill off their heroes is very angering.
I liked "Thanks For Your Consideration". I didn't have high hopes for it because while "Waiting for Guffman" and "Best In Show" were awesome, I was disappointed by "A Mighty Wind." Guest's entire mockumentary focus seemed to be getting stale. And while this movie had the same feel, it was at least different in that there weren't interviews with the main characters, like the others. And I can't tell you how many times I've quoted that movie in the last few weeks (due largely to Purim, but still...) So it gets points for that.
My biggest disappointment was "Babel", however. The film was incredibly well acted. Thumbs up to all the actors and even more of them should have nominated for awards (except Brad Pitt...sorry Mr. Jolie, NO OSCAR for you!) But after I watched the whole two and half hours I was like, "WHAT?!" First of all I could never figure out what Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett were doing in Morocco? Who goes to Morocco to repair their marriage after their baby dies of SIDS? And why did SHE go to Morocco. She clearly didn't want to be there and he was the one that was supposed to be groveling because he took off and left her and kids after the baby died. So that just sets the whole thing off on the wrong foot. And okay, so I can buy the kids shooting at the bus and all that. But seriously? Why WOULDN"T you put her on the bus and rush her to the hospital after she's been all stitched up by the vet? How is going by bumpy ambulance any better than going by bumpy bus. Ladies, stay the hell away from Brad Pitt, he does not make good decisions regarding your well-being.
I liked the Japan plot line. I had no problems with that part of it. I even liked its connection to the Morocco plot line. But I think the dumbest was the Mexican nanny story line where after dragging these little white kids down to Mexico for her son's wedding, she would get into a car with her intoxicated nephew who has already had trouble with border patrol and drive back to San Diego at dawn? What? Oh and she's been living in the U.S. illegally for 16 years? Who would do that? Aren't you just asking border patrol to act like stupid American assholes? Oh and friggin' border patrol at Mexico SPEAKS SPANISH! Just like border patrol at Canada speaks French! So stupid. Then, THEN, she's going to get out in the middle of the desert with these kids? WHAT?!!!! I just....it makes me so angry. So, so very angry. We, the movie viewing audience, aren't all idiots. And it would be one thing if these were stupid characters or if they made one bad mistake. But that script was just silly and insulting to me as a audience member.
But again. I have to say wow to the acting. Can we get that cast in a good movie, please? Anyway, kudos to the Academy for ONCE for not giving in to the hype. That movie did not deserve Best Picture. However, thumbs down for not giving some of actresses awards and for not nominated the Japanese father for his role.
And that's all I have to say on the topic of movies for now. Maybe I'm a little too passionate about film, but I can't help it. I just think cinema could be so much more than it is. Why do you want to hurt me so, Hollywood? (¡And that includes you too Alejandro González Iñárritu!)
Monday, March 12, 2007
Ojalá
I'm thinking about the Peace Corps.
Increasingly what started as a joke at work is becoming more appealing and ever so slowly inching toward reality. According to a quiz on its Web site, I'm a very strong candidate and then the quiz suggested I submit an application. I will wait till April and see how I feel. But I'd like to do something selfless for a change and, at the same, I'm sure to be placed in either a Spanish or French speaking country, due to my background in those languages, which would help me toward fluency and maybe to a more permanent spot abroad.
It's not like I have anything keeping me in the US, other than my dog and cat. And that is a very sad statement on my life.
Increasingly what started as a joke at work is becoming more appealing and ever so slowly inching toward reality. According to a quiz on its Web site, I'm a very strong candidate and then the quiz suggested I submit an application. I will wait till April and see how I feel. But I'd like to do something selfless for a change and, at the same, I'm sure to be placed in either a Spanish or French speaking country, due to my background in those languages, which would help me toward fluency and maybe to a more permanent spot abroad.
It's not like I have anything keeping me in the US, other than my dog and cat. And that is a very sad statement on my life.
Friday, March 09, 2007
Mondo Munchies
I can't quite figure out why this photo is posting sideways. On my desktop it's right side up, but oh well.Today I'd like to talk to you about strange snack foods. In Greece we have many oregano flavored snack foods, most notably chips. I recognize this is not American "normal" for snack foods. But I think the oddest thing I've encountered yet is fish flavored snack bits mixed with sweet snack bits in something that approaches trail mix.
After a short Internet search, I discovered that in Japan, they apparently have many fish-flavored snack foods — like the one you see pictured here. This little innocent package with the strange fish with giant eyes on the cover (a hint that much oddness was enclosed, I think) set me off on this search. My friend Evy was kind enough to send it from Japan. (She's such a rebel. She sent it without filling out a customs form. Rebel.) I opened the package last night to have with a beer (as per her suggestion) and thought, "Hmm. Smells like fish." The cat was immediately interested in what I was doing.
I took a bite and thought, "Oh. It TASTES like fish." Then I turned on the lamp next to me and looked at what I was eating and realized it had little bits of dried fish in it. But it also had what seemed to be nuts and something sweet. I can't get over how odd it was. I found this listed on the Internet and while not quite right, it's very close to what I experienced:
Ajigonomi: this handy bagged mix contains everything you need for nutrition from a basic meal: rice crackers, tiny dried fish, peanut flavoring, and no mess! You'll find this in bright red and yellow packaging, sometimes with picture of chilies on it if it's the spicy version.
So tell me, what other strange snack foods from other countries are out there for me to try? I'll keep a running tally of odd foods I've snacked on and how they measure up again' one another.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Ouch
I made an 80 on an essay in Spanish class. That hurts. The whole class did badly, except one girl that had her last semester. She made a 95. The teacher actually told us to STOP being creative. I've never heard that from a teacher. Our prof last semester always wanted us to try new things with our writing so we could learn things. I mean, he didn't want us to use verb tenses we hadn't studied, but he encouraged us to look up words we didn't know. Not this teacher.
I'm not sure what to think of this teacher. I asked her if we were going to get some exercises on the subjunctive usage — not verb endings, but when to use the subjunctive and when to use the present tense and when to use the past tenses. You know, so we can learn the practical applications of the tenses instead of just the theoretical uses. And she said, "The workbook doesn't really have any exercise. I would go to LearnSpanish.com or Google present subjunctive and Spanish. You'll be able to find something like that." I was thinking maybe she could make up some exercises for us to do, but she doesn't really seem to want to do anything requiring materials ancillary to the book and workbook we're using. That seems odd to me.
Other than that, I've spent my time booking travel because I cannot WAIT to get out of here. I'm going stir crazy and I need some socializing outside of my newsroom and classroom confines. I'm going home for Easter but before that I'm going to Chicago for a long weekend. I can't wait. Two and two thirds weeks and counting!
I'm not sure what to think of this teacher. I asked her if we were going to get some exercises on the subjunctive usage — not verb endings, but when to use the subjunctive and when to use the present tense and when to use the past tenses. You know, so we can learn the practical applications of the tenses instead of just the theoretical uses. And she said, "The workbook doesn't really have any exercise. I would go to LearnSpanish.com or Google present subjunctive and Spanish. You'll be able to find something like that." I was thinking maybe she could make up some exercises for us to do, but she doesn't really seem to want to do anything requiring materials ancillary to the book and workbook we're using. That seems odd to me.
Other than that, I've spent my time booking travel because I cannot WAIT to get out of here. I'm going stir crazy and I need some socializing outside of my newsroom and classroom confines. I'm going home for Easter but before that I'm going to Chicago for a long weekend. I can't wait. Two and two thirds weeks and counting!
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Updates all around
Wow. It's been a while since I posted, hasn't it. I don't have too much to report, so I suppose that's why I haven't written. Right now I'm doing the oh so exciting task of writing an employee review. Whoever thought I'd be good for management, clearly never read one of my self reviews, because seriously, I have no idea what I'm doing.
But anyway, to update on several small things:
1. I made a 98 on my Spanish test, though I do not know how. The two mistakes I made that she counted off for, were probably ones I would have caught had I CAREFULLY read back over my test, instead of just glancing through it. I did however, in one of my sentences write "hiver" — the French word for winter — instead of invierno, which confused my teacher mightily. But she did not take off for it, since that wasn't really the point of the exercise. These professors grade so much easier than my French professors did in high school or at LSU.
2. The first big snow storm came and went. They said that about a foot fell. Now we're gearing up for snow fall number two, which is supposed to begin after midnight. I wonder if classes will be canceled tomorrow? Nothing would make me happier than to spend the day in bed.
3. I went to the dentist last week. It's my first time since moving here, so it's been about a year since I was last at the dentist. I haven't had a cavity in 10 years. I have a very acute fear of dentists stemming from some horror-movie type experiences in my childhood. And since I had quite a bit of work done in college (with a dentist I actually liked and more importantly trusted), I have been very careful with my teeth. I have had my wisdom teeth removed and one dentist replaced some of my fillings (he also gave me a bruise on the side of my face that lasted over a month — I never went back to him again) and that is it. My dental hygienists complain they have nothing to do when I go in for cleanings. Then I got to the dentist last week and she says, "You have great teeth, except you have a lot of little cavities." Ten cavities to be exact. Well, two she keeps calling "old cavities" and I finally got it out of her that what she means is I have two old silver fillings that she wants to replace. The eight new cavities are in my premolars - the only teeth currently without fillings. I can't help be suspicious. One cavity, maybe two, I could see but eight?! I plan to call my old dentist on Monday and talk to him about it. After that, I might just postpone my follow up appointment set for a week from Monday till after Easter. I'm going home for Easter and I think I might go by my old dentist and have him take a look in my mouth before I start letting this new one drill holes in there. What do you think?
Oh and the Oscars are tonight. Can you believe it — I haven't seen a single film that's nominated in the major categories? Normally it's odd if there's one I haven't seen. It's been a bad year for me in every sense, it seems.
But anyway, to update on several small things:
1. I made a 98 on my Spanish test, though I do not know how. The two mistakes I made that she counted off for, were probably ones I would have caught had I CAREFULLY read back over my test, instead of just glancing through it. I did however, in one of my sentences write "hiver" — the French word for winter — instead of invierno, which confused my teacher mightily. But she did not take off for it, since that wasn't really the point of the exercise. These professors grade so much easier than my French professors did in high school or at LSU.
2. The first big snow storm came and went. They said that about a foot fell. Now we're gearing up for snow fall number two, which is supposed to begin after midnight. I wonder if classes will be canceled tomorrow? Nothing would make me happier than to spend the day in bed.
3. I went to the dentist last week. It's my first time since moving here, so it's been about a year since I was last at the dentist. I haven't had a cavity in 10 years. I have a very acute fear of dentists stemming from some horror-movie type experiences in my childhood. And since I had quite a bit of work done in college (with a dentist I actually liked and more importantly trusted), I have been very careful with my teeth. I have had my wisdom teeth removed and one dentist replaced some of my fillings (he also gave me a bruise on the side of my face that lasted over a month — I never went back to him again) and that is it. My dental hygienists complain they have nothing to do when I go in for cleanings. Then I got to the dentist last week and she says, "You have great teeth, except you have a lot of little cavities." Ten cavities to be exact. Well, two she keeps calling "old cavities" and I finally got it out of her that what she means is I have two old silver fillings that she wants to replace. The eight new cavities are in my premolars - the only teeth currently without fillings. I can't help be suspicious. One cavity, maybe two, I could see but eight?! I plan to call my old dentist on Monday and talk to him about it. After that, I might just postpone my follow up appointment set for a week from Monday till after Easter. I'm going home for Easter and I think I might go by my old dentist and have him take a look in my mouth before I start letting this new one drill holes in there. What do you think?
Oh and the Oscars are tonight. Can you believe it — I haven't seen a single film that's nominated in the major categories? Normally it's odd if there's one I haven't seen. It's been a bad year for me in every sense, it seems.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Mounds of Laundry
That's the focus of my life right now - laundry and other household chores. I don't understand how it's just me and I can't keep up with the amount of cleaning that needs to be done. I have countless loads of laundry ahead of me tomorrow and I desperately need to vacuum and clean the toilet (and the dog!). Plus I have to get it all done in like six hours so I can go into the city and meet a friend of mine who's only in town for 24 hours.
I have to work on Monday, so what I was planning to stretch over two days, I must now finish in one. Blah. Not much of weekend - seems like more work than my actual work.
(By the way, got my first tutoring check. It was for $7.14 - covering just my one hour of job training. I got a good laugh from that. My first "real" check will come in two weeks...not a moment too soon. Oh, and I have a third student to tutor. This girl is in 101 and has my professor from last semester. I'm sure after I get my first exam back on Monday, I'm going to wish I were back in his class or in 101!)
I have to work on Monday, so what I was planning to stretch over two days, I must now finish in one. Blah. Not much of weekend - seems like more work than my actual work.
(By the way, got my first tutoring check. It was for $7.14 - covering just my one hour of job training. I got a good laugh from that. My first "real" check will come in two weeks...not a moment too soon. Oh, and I have a third student to tutor. This girl is in 101 and has my professor from last semester. I'm sure after I get my first exam back on Monday, I'm going to wish I were back in his class or in 101!)
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
En Todo El Mundo
Good news! I am apparently the best tutor in the whole world.
At least that's my tutoree told my Spanish teacher yesterday (we share the same teacher, just different levels). And my teacher told me today just before she handed out our first exam. I was already feeling great stress because the chapter was so hard and also she is a much tougher professor than my last, so what I really needed just before the first exam is for the expectations of my performance to be ramped up to "world's greatest tutor" status. My tutoree told the professor that I taught her almost all of the vocabulary for chapter 5 in two hours, to which my professor said she responded, "If she's that good, I should just let her teach the class for me!"
The girl in question took Spanish from seventh to 10th grade and then got to college and signed up for 102 and now needs me to essentially reteach her basic Spanish. I think I have my work cut out for me. So we're meeting again tomorrow. I think we'll try and meet at least twice a week, if I'm to catch her up.
I don't meet with my other student until Friday. She was scheduled for Monday but called in sick and asked if we could reschedule to Friday. I wonder what stories, she'll tell the professor (same professor again) about me.
At least that's my tutoree told my Spanish teacher yesterday (we share the same teacher, just different levels). And my teacher told me today just before she handed out our first exam. I was already feeling great stress because the chapter was so hard and also she is a much tougher professor than my last, so what I really needed just before the first exam is for the expectations of my performance to be ramped up to "world's greatest tutor" status. My tutoree told the professor that I taught her almost all of the vocabulary for chapter 5 in two hours, to which my professor said she responded, "If she's that good, I should just let her teach the class for me!"
The girl in question took Spanish from seventh to 10th grade and then got to college and signed up for 102 and now needs me to essentially reteach her basic Spanish. I think I have my work cut out for me. So we're meeting again tomorrow. I think we'll try and meet at least twice a week, if I'm to catch her up.
I don't meet with my other student until Friday. She was scheduled for Monday but called in sick and asked if we could reschedule to Friday. I wonder what stories, she'll tell the professor (same professor again) about me.
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