Laughing So I Don't Cry

I saw this in the Sotomayor coverage I looked at today.

"RNC" no longer stands for "Republican National Committee." Now it means "Rush, Newt & Cheney." Alternatively, it means "Rush, Newt & Coulter."

I'm taking deep breaths now--deep, cleansing breaths.

On The Charge of "Reverse Racism."

I posted this elsewhere, but want to consolidate it here. My previous post was in response to an anti-Sotomayor claim that her decisions were "so poor" that they were reversed by the US Supreme Court "sixty percent of the time."

[Never mind that the USSC doesn't bother to hear appeals on decisions that the majority thinks were right the first time. They aren't required to hear all appeals, and so they only select ones that the initial review leads them to believe need to be reconsidered. Statistics like this one are hugely misleading--how many of "her" decisions were appealed? How many did the Supreme Court even see?]

Because any decision which is reversed by the US Supreme Court is self-evidently a "bad decision?" So when the US Supreme Court reverses one of it's previous decisions, what does that mean?

Judge Sotomayor is an Appeals Court judge, which means that she sits on a panel with at least two other judges at all times. "Her" decisions are either majority decisions, which means that at least one other judge agreed with her, or they are dissenting opinions, in which she articulates where she differs from the decision. Dissenting opinions have to be read very carefully, because they are not self-contained. They often start with accepting some parts of the majority opinion, but then explain how the judge feels a different decision should have been made.

Sometimes dissenting opinions even agree with the outcome, but argue for a different route to the result--which is important because ALL parts of the majority opinion become precedent and become rules to be followed in the next case. Some dissenting opinions simply caution against the language of the majority opinion as being too broad, while not taking any issue with the result.

Ricci v. DeStefano is NOT proof of "reverse discrimination" by Sonia Sotomayor. It is a way for people to insist on White Male Privilege without actually saying so. The city of New Haven gave an examination to its firefighters for promotion. Half of the test was written, half was oral. When the results came back, NO black firefighters passed, 19 whites and 1 Hispanic did. The city threw out the results of the test, as required by federal law, because it was de facto a racially discriminatory test as proved by the results. All 20 of the firefighters who passed sued.

The district court judge who heard the case issued a 48 page ruling explaining her reasoning. In it, she concluded that there was no discrimination against the 20, because the city had not promoted anyone before throwing out the test. Sotomayor was on a THREE judge panel that simply affirmed the lower court decision without comment. Jose Cabranes wrote a dissent. The Court of Appeals accepted a petition by the parties to re=hear the case. The Court voted 7-6 not to rehear and reconsider the case.

So, Sonia Sotomayor is NOT the judge who reached the initial decision.

Sonia Sotomayor is NOT the only judge who voted to affirm the lower court.

Sonia Sotomayor MIGHT EVEN have voted to rehear the case.

I ask you this:

What gives any of these 20 firefighters an expectation that HE would have been promoted anyway? What if the city had promoted only the Hispanic?

What actually happened in New Haven? This test was given back in 2003--in the six years since, I would bet that the city revised its test and there have been promotions since then.

There is no "reverse discrimination" here--the city decided to throw out the results of a test that the city thought was self-evidently discriminatory. The district court and the Court of Appeals (NOT just Judge Sotomayor) agreed that the city was allowed to make that decision.

Now if the city had kept the results and promoted only white guys, and the black firefighters had sued, and everybody agreed that the test itself was racially neutral, and the court had ordered the promted white guys to be demoted--then you might have a case for "reverse discrimination." Maybe.

I just think we have to be VERY CAREFUL when discussing "reverse discrimination." The whole POINT of having a judiciary is so the majority doesn't run roughshod over over the minority. White males set up a system that codified black slavery and women unable to hold property or vote. Slicing into traditional white male privilege is NOT NECESSARILY a bad thing.

The Republican Party (and not incidentally, Rush Limbaugh and Fox News, as well as others) have set themselves the task of being the Opposing Party. And as they see it, their job is to oppose anything beign done by the President and the Democratic Party. Which is fine, as long as we understand that is what is going on.

This is not nuanced. If you are going to be The Opposing Party, you do NOT compromise, you do NOT admit that--on balance--something is a good idea, or a good choice. Your job is to dig up and promote whatever grounds you can find to oppose.

This kefuffle over the Ricci "decision" is not a balanced consideration of whether or not the process is sound, or that Sotomayor's role was appropriate. It is OPPOSITION, pure and simple. It is up to US, as the public, to take these opposing viewpoints and synthesize a conclusion from them.

It is an IMPORTANT job. Don't abdicate your responsibility.

Coming to Terms With My Country

The nomination of Sonia Sotomayor is bringing out the hate. The charge of "reverse racist" is being collapsed into simply "racist" as conservative media are working themselves into a lather over this nomination.

It makes me so angry, that someone who has spent her lifetime overcoming obstacles of povery, gender, ethinicity and plain old everyday life is being so crudely attacked. The principle seems to be: "If we throw enough mud, some of it will stick."

The anger is not good for me. I mean, really, what good does it do for me to get upset about Rush Limbaugh's ill considered bile? Why should I care what Fox News says? I long ago dismissed this class of "journalism" as a desperate need to fill hours and hours of air-time. Saying anything is more important than what is actually said in that world. If you can say it loudly, with a tone of alarm, you can even fool people into thinking what you are saying is important.

But it still gets through my defenses. And I find myself trying to explain why the Rushes and Newts and Coulters are wrong, which just sends me down the rabbit holes they have constructed. It's not pretty.

And, really, does anybody listen when I take them on? Honestly, no. Even if I had a national platform and millions of people listening, I don't think I could change the minds that have already been made up.

So I am doing this for myself. Because this is how I can live with the clamor of what is going on. I have come to decide that the conservative mouthpieces and blowhards have set themselves the task of being The Opposing Party. Their job is not to consider, to weigh, to evaluate and pursue nuanced solutions. Their job is to oppose.

So, when the president nominates anybody, the job of The Opposing Party is to find any grounds on which to oppose that person. This time around, it's Sonia Sotomayor, but it doesn't matter who it is. The problem isn't that she is the wrong choice, it's that she is a choice. And The Opposing Party has to point out what is wrong with it.

This is an easy place to be, in some ways. Much easier to sit back and veto than to offer suggestions, right? Haven't we all been in a situation like this one?

"Where shall we go to dinner, honey?"
"How about that hip new Mexican place?"
"I don't really feel like Mexican."
"There's a great new dim sum restaurant."
"Um, no. Not really up for that."
"We could get pizza and beer and see a movie"
"Eh. Just doesn't call me."
"Then you pick something!"
"Oh, no, I don't really care where we go."

And then when the couple finally goes somewhere, the veto-er can say "that wasn't very good, was it?"

Nice place to be. Asshole.

There is a solution, though--at least one that is currently working for me. If I consider that the job of The Opposing Party is just to oppose, then it is up to me to do the synthesizing. It's very Hegelian: the president offers a thesis, The Opposing Party offers antithesis, and I forge the synthesis.

President Obama offers Judge Sonia Sotomayor as a nominee. The Opposing Party calls her a "reverse racist" and claims she is unqualified. I accept that The Opposing Party will never never never never change its position. So then I consider whether I accept TOP's position, or not. In this case, it seems to me that TOP has grabbed at something that has no solidity, so I can reject that claim--and then I don't have to get upset at the stupidity of TOP repeating their claims, even in the face of new evidence, because TOP is supposed to not change.

We'll see how long this works for me.

Bruce Springsteen 2009

Cpt. Sweetie and I went to last night's Bruce Springsteen concert at Xcel. Last time we saw him in concert was *mumblety-mumble* years ago, and we hadn't done any reading up on what to expect from this performance. So we were taking bets on what album his opening number would be from, whether or not Max Weinberg would make it, and who replaced the much missed Danny Federici.

Our tickets were general admission, and we meant to be the kind of GA ticket holders who were cool and concert savvy, and not to look like a couple of dorks with kids who were out for the evening recapturing our lost youth. Or not to look like embarrassing old farts.

Face it--for a guy hitting 60 on his next birthday, Bruuuuuuce! was awesome--currently he has to be the hardest working guy in rock, hollering and cajoling and making the crowd work for enough noise to satisfy him. And there's no way I want to be shown up by some guy that much older than I am.

To tell the truth, a concert is a different experience as an adult than it was a teen-ager; for one thing, the image turns out to be less important. When the audience is primarily a bunch of people who have to go back to the office in the morning, you get a very different vibe than when it's a bunch of kids who are going to sleep through home room anyway.

But rock 'n' roll is eternal, right? And to truly be a rock'n'roller, there are certain expectations of behavior--expectations that were not met for the most part. So, for future antropologists, I offer a listing of the elements of the evening, along with a break-down of how it should have been, how it was for most of the people at the concert, and how Cpt. Sweetie and I did it. You will notice, of course, that while Cpt. Sweetie and I were not necessarily conforming to the rocker stereotype, we were nevertheless much cooler than most.



Arriving at the concert:

Rock & Roll Way: By motorcycle.

Most Popular Way: By minivan or SUV, suitable for carpooling the hockey team and equipment.

Actual Way: In hybrid, parking 3 blocks away and saving $22 in parking fees.


Dancing:

Rock & Roll Way: Enthusiastically but still cool.

Most Popular Way: Stiffly.

Actual Way: Totally cool and much younger than our years.


In Front of the Stage:

Rock & Roll Way: Like Courtney Cox in Dancing in the Dark video.

Most Popular Way: Pulling out camera phones.

Actual Way: About 40 feet back and standing on tip-toe to see over the crowd.


Up Close & Personal:
Bruce pulled up a chair in front of a cute blonde woman at the front of the stage and sang "I'm On Fire" to her--perhaps one of the sexiest songs he's ever written. Her response is categorized below.

Rock & Roll Way: Gaze soulfully into his eyes and make him forget about Patti back at home with the kids. (This is what I would have done, and Patti Scialfa is just lucky I was too far back. I'm just saying.)

Most Popular Way: Gasp and giggle and be embarrassed.

Actual Way: Look away to pull up camera phone and take picture.


Bruce interacting with the girls in the front row:

Rock & Roll Way: Looking at them in a way that promises everything

Most Popular Way: Putting his hand out for them to touch.

Actual Way: Getting down in front and getting the 11 year olds in the front to sing along with songs they didn't know. Hmmm--must be a sign of age.























Roaming Around On Stage:

Rock & Roll Way: Energeticly, endlessly, hyperactively

Most Popular Way (E Street Band): Stiffly. (So would you, if you'd had both hips replaced like Clarence Clemens)

Actual Way (Springsteen): Endlesslessly, enthusiastically, sweatily.






















Best Looking Guy On Stage:

Rock & Roll Way: Lead singer.

Most Popular Way: Lead singer and/or guitarist (occasionally this is the same person), or otherwise promoted to the front of the stage.

Actual Way: Drummer's 18 year old son, on drums for first hour of show. Yes, Max, we still love you, but it's okay if you send Jay in your place--we'll keep him.


















Next morning hangover/headache:

Rock & Roll Way: Liberally pulling from hip flask during concert, and totally overdoing it at the afterparty.

Most Popular Way: Lack of strong coffee at venue to counteract the Bud Light.

Actual Way: ???
I woke up with a headache that was so bad that it made my ears ring. What did I drink at the show? Nothing. What did I drink after the show? Caffeine-free Diet Coke. And I KNOW there is no such thing as a Diet Coke hangover. Could it have been a change in atmospheric pressure? Was the ringing in my ears the cause and not the symptom--could the concert have actually been too loud?

Nah. Couldn't have been that. At no time did the music actually cause my heart beat to stutter, so it couldn't have been THAT loud.

Excellent review and photos from the concert are here.

Fashionista Fail

I saw this collection on a guy walking down the street the other day, and I nearly hit a parked car gawking at the mix. (N.B., No I didn't really, that was just hyperbole to illustrate just how heinous the combined look was.)

So this guy was kind of a stocky guy, who could have been anywhere in his 20s or 30s. He was redheaded, and he had longish sideburns, and a conservative close cropped haircut. Except for the mohawk.




















Hmmm.

I couldn't see much of his face, however, because he was wearing mirrored aviator glasses. You know the look from the 1970s, right?
















So, if he was wearing an Afro and dashiki, he'd have looked like a period reproduction or something. Or, if he'd been all in black, with chains and a dog collar and ripped fabrics and safety pins, you'd have said "totally punk rock."

What is it when the mohawk sportin', Top Gun shades wearin' dude has on madras Bermuda shorts?

Pastel madras Bermuda shorts.






















I'm thinking "a car wreck." What do you think?

Mother's Day and Nicknames

My lovely family took me out to dinner on Mother's Day (Mothers' Day? Well, MY day anyway)--mostly because I insisted. While dining, we had a conversation about nicknames.

Sursels has the kind of personality that lends itself to friends creating nicknames for her. Tonks is such a loving older sister, and also so verbal, that when we started counting off how many nicknames Sursels has (and we forgot to add "Sursels") we were quickly approaching 20.

We came up with about 4 for Tonks.

Me? If you exclude the titles "Mom" and "Mama," I have one. Cate.

To which Tonks reached across the table and patted my hand. "We love you. You just don't have a nickname."

It was the way she said it, coupled with that sympathizing hand pat: "We love you." It just hit me as sweet, and sad, and funny all at once.

THAT is a Mother's Day present to cherish. After all, Tonks is 15, and a public declaration of her affection is not something I expect by any means.

Splash Day

[I wrote this post on Tuesday, May 5, but it took a while to get the photos up. So, pretend you are reading this last Tuesday, and everything will be fine. ]

So today is our Splash Day, the date the boat is scheduled to be moved out of the boatyard and into the water.

This is a very good thing, of course, and yesterday was a perfect day for boating--bright blue sky, temps in the mid 70s, the kind of day you would swear God was dropping in and arranging perfect weather for the visit.

Today, it's supposed to rain. The sun comes and goes, and rain spits then passes off, so I'm driving around town, turning my headlights on and off, switching between my glasses and sunglasses. Temps are bobbing up and down like a yo-yo, and it's a still a perfect day to be on the boat. Because everyday is a good day to be on the boat.


















Lady Cliff, still attached to the truck, soaking in the water.


When I arrive at the boatyard about 11:20, the Lady Cliff is at the base of a cement ramp, soaking in the river. This is an incredibly important and frustrating part of owning a wooden boat, because over the long winter, the planks of the boat dry out and contract. So, the boat has to be put into the water partway, and the bilge pumps run as the wood takes up water and swells to close all the gaps.

















Pumping out the water below the floor of the aft cabin

It was a longer winter this winter than the last couple of years, and L.C. was in the shop getting more done than in past years, so the swelling process is taking longer than usual. Cpt. Sweetie is understandably reluctant to leave his Precious while she's still taking on water, so his day has been carved into half-hour chunks as he rearranges his work meetings, or does them by phone.


















Run off from the pump. This is very tasty if you are a dog.


Of course, Cabin Boy Bermondsey came with me to check out what was going on, and to see if we could babysit the boat while Cpt. Sweetie went to work.


















Cabin Boy Bermondsey reporting that the engine room is dry!

It turns out that both the Cabin Boy and I are equally useless, because there are questions about amperage, and galvanic circuits, and the current question is whether to replace a bilge pump and rewire it or not. Voltimeters seem to be involved. Auxiliary pumps are being moved around to stay ahead of the incoming water.

Of course, once the conversation includes a question of "galvanics" my mind is off and thinking about "Possession," by A.S. Byatt, in which her fictional Victorian poet describes sexual attraction as "the kick galvanic." So I'm no help at all, but I am somewhat entertaining.

Both Cpt. Sweetie and the restorer who did the work on the boat over the winter are currently crawling about the engines, tracing wires beneath the flooring of the saloon. I have contributed by fetching lunch and returning Cabin Boy Bermondsey back home, so we can all stop worrying he is going to fall off the boat.

















I can swim, you know. Plus, if you just put the life jacket on me, no one would have to worry.

Turned Up To Eleven--Again

The greatest band that never was--Spinal Tap--is releasing their (second?) album June 16, but why wait? You can hear the title track "Back From the Dead" here.

Taking a page from U2's playbook, you can get the album, or you can buy the deluxe version with a 1 hour DVD and a pop up diorama with 12" action figures of the Derek Smalls (bass), Nigel Tufnel (guitar, tongue), and David St. Hubbins (lead vocals, guitar). And why wouldn't you?

(Unsubstantiated rumors indicate that a fourth action figure was planned but abandoned when the prototype spontaneously combusted.)

Billboard reports:

"When people hear this, they'll think, 'This sounds like a band that probably found it's way to the stage most of the time,' unlike the illusion that's created by that film," [Derek] Smalls said. "You'll say, 'Hold on, this doesn't sound like a band that lost its way every night. So it's worth it, just for that."

Tour plans include a World Tour, which will take place on June 30, 2009 at Wembley Stadium. No other dates will be added.

Separated At Birth: Fan Girl Edition

Just because the last post made something else obvious to me:

Yes, I definitely have a "type."

Oh--So That's Why I'm A Obama Fan!

Yesterday in Slate magazine, Dana Stevens reviewed the new Star Trek movie. This is the part I just love:

Star Trek's vision of the future, as guided by creator Gene Roddenberry, was also a relic of its time, the age of NASA and the Cold War and Kruschev pounding his shoe on a podium at the United States. The show's faith in diplomacy and technology as tools for not just global but universal peace might seem touchingly dated in our post-9/11 age of stateless jihad, loose nukes, and omnipresent danger. Yet in a weird way, Star Trek's cheerfully square naiveté makes it the perfect film for our first summer of (slimly) renewed hope. It's a blockbuster for the Obama age, when smarts and idealism are cool again. In fact, can't you picture our president—levelheaded, biracial, implacably smart—on the bridge in a blue shirt and pointy ears?

OH YEAH. That just explains so much!

Turns out that this is far from the first time these two "fascinating" men have been compared. Huh. Seems like--once again--I am late to this party.















On the positive side, that means there are a fair number of essays and pictures that demonstrate my geeky Spock-love onto our President. It's all good.

Words Fail--the Infamous Gypsy Wedding

Let's get straight to the news reporting, because these pictures are worth at least a thousand words. (From the Daily Mail.)

What Daddy's little girl wants Daddy's little girl gets.

So when Missy Quinn insisted on a big white wedding with her boyfriend, her father said Yes. It didn't matter that she was only 16 and the groom 17.

Daddy also said Yes to a £16,000 wedding dress (which looked suspiciously like a crop top and skirt) and Yes to 150 guests at the reception. Then there were the cars, the hotels, the tiara and the £500 bouquet.

Missy Quinn, 16, in her £16,000 wedding dress, has enjoyed a £100,000 white wedding paid for by her father who lives in a caravan

In the end, making Missy's wedding dreams come true cost her father - who lives in a caravan and surfaces driveways for a living - a whopping £100,000.

But as his princess, who hasn't been in a classroom since she was nine and wants to be a glamour model, posed for photographs, her father Simon, 35, declared it was worth every penny. 'I'm very proud of her today,' he said.

Missy was just happy to be the undisputed centre of attention.

Her dress, studded with Swarovski crystals, and with a 10ft wide train, was so heavy that it took ten guests to help her struggle out of the Rolls-Royce Phantom that brought her to the church.

Enlarge

Missy with groom Thomas Moghon, 17, her mother Theresa and father Simon

'It was huge. I wanted to outdo everyone else's wedding dress,' she said.

'It was extremely heavy and just standing in the church was really difficult. But despite all that, I felt just like Cinderella.'

The bill was around five times the cost of the average British wedding.

Missy said: 'It cost a fortune, but I've always wanted a big wedding and my dad has been saving for ages to pay for it.' She met Thomas at Alton Towers theme park when she was 13.

Enlarge

x

They continued to date despite her traveller family leaving their caravan park in Stoke-on-Trent every summer to tour the UK while Thomas lived with his parents in Wolverhampton.

Missy said: 'I just knew he was The One from the beginning. He's perfect.'

Her mother Theresa, 33, who married Missy's father at 16, said: 'I was surprised they wanted to get married so young in this day and age. But we could see they were madly in love.'

The couple married six days after Missy turned 16 at St Mary's Catholic Church in Congleton-Cheshire. After the ceremony-guests in feathers and crystals enjoyed champagne and an all-day buffet at the reception. Girls as young as nine showed off bikini tops, high heels and make-up.

Guest Victoria Docherty, 23, who wore a £700 hotpants and bra outfit, said: 'This isn't unusual - it's just what we do at weddings. It's all very extravagant. Everything is paid for by the bride's daddy.'

Missy and Thomas honeymooned in Turkey before moving into their own £18,000 caravan - a wedding gift from her parents.

This additional information is from Closer Magazine's online site:

For the five months leading up to the wedding, while other teenagers around the UK were revising for their GCSEs, Missy was busy preparing for her big day – she’s been home-tutored since she was nine and will not sit any exams this year.

But the youngster already knows what she wants to do for a career. “I want to spend my days applying make-up and styling my hair. I want to get into glamour modelling. I don’t know if Thomas will like it, but that’s his problem,” she says.

Missy and Thomas honeymooned in Turkey and are now settling into married life in a new £18,000 caravan – a wedding present from the bride’s parents. “I think there will be times I’ll miss my parents, but they’re in the same caravan park so I can always visit, says Missy.

“Thomas might expect me to cook and clean, but I’m not going to. He can look after me as far as I’m concerned!”

What can one say? These come to the top of my mind:

Well, the dad actually SAVED money, since he combined her Sweet Sixteen with a wedding, so he only had to do this once.

Oh, good. You know the look would totally have been ruined if she hadn't worn the veil.














Man! For that kind of money, he could have set His Little Princess up with her own pole dancing establishment--he's already got all the costumes. And the employees.














Do you think the groom's mother had any idea what her little boy was getting himself into?




















Forget Swine Flue. What we have here is a potentially fatal outbreak of More Money Than Taste Or Sense. Can we get these people quarantined before the contagion spreads?

Oh. Too late. It's already infected the youngsters.




















(Do you suppose the girl on the right was trying to steal the attention away from the bride by wearing her own white dress and garter to the wedding? If so, she seriously underestimated the Tacky Factor of the bride's dress!)

OMG--the bride's garter is as big as her skirt! Does she have the right pieces on the right places? How can you tell?

What do you expect from a girl whose parents did the same thing when they were the same age?

Wow. Is she in for a shock--her husband is NEVER going to be able to live up to her the standards set by her Daddy.

And you thought the bridesmaid dresses you had to wear were tacky!














I'll bet you ten dollars that all those bridesmaids actually DO wear those dresses again.

At today's exchange rate, that wedding works out to cost over $150,000. Daddy must be a REALLY GOOD driveway resurfacer.

Girlfriend is only 16? She looks like she's been working nights for a lot longer than that.

Well, if you're GOING to live in a caravan (read--mobile home/trailer), you might as well spend all that money on a wedding--what else do you need the money for?















Too bad you have to sit through this totally boring part in the church. Fortunately, there are balloons. And not just on the bride and her mother! Ba-dum-dum! Talk about your "hope chests!" Thank you, thank you, you're a great audience, I'm here all week, come back and bring your friends!

Baby On Board--Not Any More

A new era has begun. Tonks has her learner's permit. After enduring 30 hours of the most boring driver education imaginable, with a teacher with a stutter--she has passed her knowledge test and gotten a permit to drive.

Of course, we HAD to go up to a parking lot and let her sit behind the wheel and get a feel for what a car really feels like. There were lots of tips in her classroom training about brake, and how to respond to various situations, and Tonks' consistent comment was "This would be a lot more helpful if I knew ANYTHING ABOUT DRIVING A CAR."

Today, she got to try it out. We went up to a parking lot that was about 2/3 empty, and since this was the Prius, all she had to do was take her foot off the brake and it started to move forward. At the incredible speed of 3 miles per hour, which was really fast enough to start, since she had no idea how hard to push the brake. The first couple of times were windshield bangers, except of course we had seatbelts on, but after a few times, she got better.

We did a bunch of turns and it's amazing how much you forget about how to drive until you need to teach someone else. She couldn't seem to get the car straightened out as fast as I thought it should go, and it was only after about 10 minutes that I realized that she was "hand over hand"-ing it, rather than just letting the wheel go and letting the car straighten itself out.

Tonight, we went over to Lake Harriet, where Capt. Sweetie rode with her in the van, letting her drive around the lake. He reports that she's a very good driver, and is only making "baby mistakes." So, we're well on the way to having a third driver in the house.

Of course, the real question is HOW DID THIS HAPPEN? I swear she was just in preschool, and we were researching kindergartens just the other day. How can she possibly be fifteen already? God knows I'm not fifteen years older than I was when she was born, so how can she be?

Perhaps the Swiss hadron collider has made holes in the space-time continuum, and things like this are happening because time has ceased to be uniform or linear. That explains it. And the fact that I don't look any older has nothing to do with Botox--right?

Arts Patrons

Capt. Sweetie and I went to the St. Paul Art Crawl this weekend. We intended to go commission a stained glass piece to replace our front door window. There is a stained glass artist we had seen a year ago and we finally decided that was what we wanted to do. But she wasn't open until 2, and we were ready to go at 1, so we went down to the Tilsner building where a friend of ours was showing her work, along with another friend.

And we fell in love. I fell in love with this piece first, by Katie Clymer. It's not very big, only about 10"x10" including the frame. But I love the color and the motion in it, and Capt. Sweetie, living up to his name, was fine with my buying it.
















I know, the picture is quite dark, but there is glass over it, and at least you can see what's going on. It looks like water and clouds to me, and I'm really excited to have it.

Then we looked at our friend Kate Pearce's work and I saw this one and my eye kept coming back again and again to it. The verticality is wonderful--it's about four feet tall and two wide (guestimating). Our house has a little footprint, but a lot of tall walls, and this shape was just right.




















It had a twin--a second canvas that made up a diptych, and Capt. Sweetie easily persuaded me that we needed both of them. Here is the second canvas, clumsily photographed leaning against a book case.




















There is method in that madness, as we have contemplated moving that bookshelf and hanging that canvas in its place. That would place the twin paintings on either side of the door into the TV room, actually hanging in the dining room.

After making those purchases, and getting a reputation for supporting local artists (sounds so cosmopolitan, doesn't it? As if we routinely fly around the world buying art.) we went off to the glass artist's studio and that is a work in progress for now.

The next day, I went to pick something up in my studio, and saw there was an artist showing right above me who did fused glass and fine silver--both of which I am very interested in. She was showing with two other women, one of whom specialized in jewelry made from vintage buttons, and the other who used recycled materials. I ended up buying presents for my girls, and deciding to see what else was happening in my building.

I ended up buying this tile from a woman who did wonderful watercolor and abstract work. She had a bunch of pieces that Capt. Sweetie would have liked too, but I felt we had done enough artistic patronage for one weekend.

This is a reduced copy of one of her watercolors on a 6"x6" tile, which I hung on the backsplash of my kitchen. I liked the colors, of course, and the process of putting the image on the tile gave it a very polished finish.
















And, as I wrote on my other blog, it got me excited about doing art and craft again, so I went back into my studio today and made some new designs for earrings. It's been a long, cold, dark winter, and going to the studio sounded much less appealing than staying in front of the fireplace. But now the sun is out, the sky is blue, the grass is green, and I'm heading back again.

Swine Flu?

We went through this in the Carter Administration. What lessons does that debacle have for our current situation?

Let's look back, shall we?
















Lesson number 1: There is nothing scarier than a man with a needle wearing a striped shirt and a bow tie.

Lesson number 2: The 1970s were second only to the Victorian Era in the goofiness of facial hair.

Remember--those who do not know history are doomed to repeat it.

Photo source: Salon.com

Homework Sounds

As I type this, Tonks is struggling with math. I worked with her for a while, but it's a series of problems that totally push my panic buttons. It's physics.

That's right--her 9th grade basic algebra class is using quadratic equations to do physics story problems. And people say that her school's reputation for academics is inflated. I say HA!

But I couldn't get through to her. We sat for easily 20 minutes working on a problem involving throwing a ball up into the air at 144 feet/second from the top of a 100 foot building. We needed to find the highest point the ball reached. With the formulas we had, we could solve for time, but then we had to plug the time back into the original formula to find the height. And she just couldn't get hold the idea of time and height being different.

Being 15 is hard today. She came home from school wounded by harsh words from classmates, upset and processing her emotions. Math on top of that is exhausting. While sitting with me, her brain literally shut down.

Now, I have been really good about sticking with Tonks and her math. I have walked her through weeks worth of math homework, but this one is at that intersection of math and physics where I am weakest. I never truly got command of the topic, and my teacher routinely forgot to include all the data in his test questions. Which didn't help.

So, bless his wonderful self, Capt. Sweetie came home and stepped in. And I cannot tell you how good it is to hear Tonks giggling, and even occasionally saying "Oh!" in that surprised voice that means she understands something that she didn't before. To hear her speaking calmly and rationally about manipulating her numbers is like water in the desert. The sound is muted and happy, as they are going quietly about the business of launching projectiles off imaginary buildings at ridiculous speeds and then calculating the time.

This is the happy and productive sound of learning. This is what education should be, in my opinion; the pleasure of opening one's mind to new things and gaining new understanding. Why can't it be like this more often?

Alternatively, wouldn't it be great if you could study physics by taking your rocket launcher and stopwatch to the top of the 100 foot tall building and just shoot stuff up?

My Calendar Is Filling Up

Well, I'm kind of late to the party, but in honor of Shakespeare's 445th birthday, today is first annual "Talk Like Shakespeare Day."

I'm going to have to put this day into the calendar and celebrate it properly. I'll have to blog like Shakespeare (as if!)--or maybe I'll just lower my sights and make dinner in honor of Shakespeare. Not that I'm going to try to cook Renaissance recipies (or "receipts" as they spelt it then) No, my cookery tends more toward making a small pork dish and calling it a "Ham-let."

I know. The kidlets have already informed me that was lame.

Exeunt. Pursued by bear.




(So, is this a picture of Shakespeare, or Paul Giamatti? Hard to tell, if you ask me)

How To Feel Old

Receive an email congratulating you on having a Hotmail address for 10 years.

Does this also make me lame? For not having my own web address, or for not switching over to gmail or something?

Is having a 10 year old active Hotmail account a total announcement of my lameness, like an AOL address does?

Yes, as cold and dead as my heart is, I still worry about my coolness. Sad. I know.

Fortunately, Unfortunately

Fortunately, the HP Mini is easy to take out to restaurants and coffee shops.

Unfortunately, it is so little and cute, that it feels unacceptably dangerous to leave it on the table while using the restroom.

Fortunately, it folds up to about the size of a clutch, so one can take it to the restroom to keep an eye on it.

Unfortunately, it leaves a Very Odd Opinion of you, if you can't leave the computer even long enough to go to the bathroom.


I swear, it's a security measure, not a sign of addiction!

HP Mini 1030 NR Review

So, I did it. Wired announced last month that this is now the Netbook Age. Since my laptop is slowly releasing its hold on this life, I thought I'd check out a netbook as a possible replacement.

After a bunch of online research, I toddled down to Best Buy to try out what they had. Because I like to see and touch something like this before I make a decision, I needed to go somewhere that would allow me to do that.

Not that Best Buy is a terrific place to do that--netbooks are so small that they have to be extra-secured or I guess they walk off. So not so easy to just try one out to check the size of the keyboard, the processing speed, etc. However, I lucked out as a demo of the very machine I was looking for arrived from "the back" and they let me play with it before they reattached its leashes.

It's amazingly little and cute. At 10.2", it comes with a nearly full sized keyboard, so all time I spent learning to touch type hasn't been lost entirely. The keys are flat and square, encouraging a light touch and easy to adjust to. The screen is almost twice as wide as it is high, giving it a widescreen effect. In fact, the compactness of this netbook makes the laptop seem unreasonably heavy and large.

With its solid state memory, it runs much more quietly, and doesn't heat up like the laptop does. The touchpad is good sized, although I'm not overly fond of the keys' location on either side of the touchpad, rather than below it, which I'm much more used to. The working of one of the mouse keys is a bit sticky, which may be idiosyncratic to this particular machine. I have a little auxiliary mouse that I can use instead.

Internet surfing is fine, although the screen isn't quite large enough, especially if you keep any sidebars open. I have had to adjust the screen to deal with sidebar ads on some sites, but on the whole it does well for internet reading.

Officially, the HP Mini weighs in at under 3 pounds, although when you add the cord, a mouse, and a sleeve to keep it from getting banged around, it totals up a bit higher. If you drop it into your shoulder bag, for example, you will notice the additional weight, but it's negligible compared to a regular laptop. Or to my regular laptop, that is. It works out to be like a large hardcover book--so if you carry around The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, for example, you can swap that out for the Mini with almost no noticeable difference in weight. I think the Mini might actually be slightly smaller.

There is a speaker that runs across the top of the keyboard on the hinge to the screen, and its sound is at least as good as my laptop's speakers. The on/off switch is on the front, and works like a cover latch would--there is no cover latch, the screen just rests on the base. Personally, I find the on switch to be a little hard to operate--it has to be held to the side for a full second or so, and I find that it often slips out from under my fingertip before the computer actually starts up. I find myself hooking a fingernail behind the slider and wedging the button into place, which is fine unless one has brittle nails.

The HP Mini came preloaded with Windows XP, which is what the home computers use as well. I have read a lot of reviews that claim that Vista is too big and slow for a netbook's limited memory, but I haven't had to deal with that problem. I was willing to investigate Ubuntu as a replacement if I had to replace Vista, but I'm finding that Windows XP is fine and since it's compatible with what I use on my other machines, I'm very happy to keep it.

The battery is promised to last 6-8 hours, and I admit I haven't really tested or timed that. I do notice that the AC power plug doesn't fit securely onto the DC jack, and I need to have that looked at as well. I have spent the purchase price of this machine on getting the DC jack re-soldered on my laptop, so it's an issue I am sensitive to. I had a Toshiba that also had a DC jack problem, and it is not acceptable to have one on a machine that is less than a week old.

It's a darling little machine, and I could easily fall in love with it if I traveled regularly, or did my writing in cafes and coffee shops, as it is easy to carry around and easy to type on. This particular post is being written on the netbook at a lunch place, and it's remarkably convenient. I suspect that this is also about the size of a tray table on an airplane, which would be a huge improvement, especially when the person in the seat in front of you insists on reclining. You wouldn't need to tilt the whole thing at 45 degrees and type with your wrists up at your ear lobes like you do with a full sized lap top.

I haven't investigated all the outlets, but I have used the single USB port, which is located on the right--convenient for a mouse. There are other ports, and a web-cam built in that reportedly requires a well lit room to work, but that's not why I bought this, so I haven't used it yet.

Why did I buy this? One part as a replacement for my dying laptop, one part as an experiment to be in front of the technology curve. What do I use my laptop for, primarily? Writing and web, which is what the netbook is designed for. It is not, however, a complete replacement for what I use a laptop for.

For one thing, I use my laptop to download and store my music and a lot of audiobooks. I don't believe that this machine could serve that function without an external hard drive. Same with photos. I'm not a huge photographer, but I do keep some pictures, and they are not part of the Mini's portfolio.

I have a few web based Shockwave games I have tried on this machine, and it is noticeably unequal to those demands. Playing online solitaire demonstrates significant lag times, as well as as the limits of the small screen. It is not always possible to adjust the image via slider bar, and parts of some games remain unseen.

So, what it comes down to, is this: do I value the portability , or do I prefer to be self-contained? The Mini could meet all my interests with a external hard-drive, and external CD/DVD drive, and an external monitor, in addition to the auxiliary mouse and a printer connection. But all of that both overwhelms the little machine, as well as interfers with the portability. Part of the symptoms of senility my laptop is displaying is that the CD/DVD drive doesn't work, and so I'm already using an external one. Have I improved anything with a Mini?

What is obviously happening is the ongoing trend of computers and smart phones are merging. There is very little that this Mini can do that my iPod Touch can't do, although it's much easier to type on the Mini. If I added an air card and broadband access, I'd have the equivalent of a very large Blackberry, without the phone pad. My laptop, for the most part, has taken over the role otherwise played by the household desktop. If I use the desktop as a core of my computing, rather than my laptop, maybe the Mini would make more sense.

I have not yet resolved whether this is the right machine for me at this time. It's causing me to examine my computing habits. Capt. Sweetie and I have spent quite a few happy evenings with our laptops in front of the fireplace this winter, and I'm not convinced I want to limit myself to a desktop or this Mini. On the other hand, this does give me mobility that I haven't had before, and I find I am enjoying the freedom of tucking it in my bag as I head out.

Of course, the easy solution is to keep the Mini AND buy a new laptop when the old one finally goes. Sure. And I should repair my old 80G iPod so I always have tunes for in the car, and keep the iTouch (which I bought to replace the mortally wounded 80G) for bopping around.

A girl can dream, Nobby. A girl can dream.

Definitely, Maybe, a review

I stumbled across this film while folding laundry, and Tonks came by and got sucked into it as well. Before it finished, we had to leave for an appointment, so we ordered it from Netflix.

Released in 2008, the movie stars Ryan Reynolds (a/k/a Mr. Scarlett Johannson), Elizabeth Banks, Isla Fisher, Rachel Wiesz, and Abigail Breslin. Due to a school human sexuality lesson, Ryan Reynolds is compelled to explain to Abigail Breslin how he ended up marrying her mother, now that they are divorcing. He agrees to tell her, but insists on changing the names and making her guess which woman is Mom.

We go back in time to Reynolds' college days, when he was in love with Elizabeth Banks but left Madison for NYC to work on the 1992 Clinton campaign. There he met free spirited Isla Fisher and they became friends. Elizabeth comes to visit him, and he asks her to marry him, but she refuses and blurts out that she slept with his old room mate.

Time passes, and Reynolds goes to DC, then comes back to NY to start a campaign consulting firm. There, he runs into Elizabeth's old friend, played by Rachel Weisz, who was living with Kevin Kline--a cranky professor with a taste for younger girlfriends--but he dumped her. Reynolds ultimately falls in love with her, but the day he plans to propose, she shows him her magazine article revealing the skeleton in the closet of his candidate. The candidate has to withdraw, and the relationship ends.

Years pass, and eventually, Reynolds meets Elizabeth Banks, who is now living in NY. Turns out she's Abigail Breslin's mom, so the mystery is solved. However. . . Reynolds is still not happy, and Breslin prods him into going to see Isla Fisher again. Breslin has spotted that Fisher has been in love with Reynolds for a long time, and she engineers their reunion.

Slight, but pretty, fully of pretty people, not the least pretty of which is Ryan Reynolds. There is some definite fudging of time lines--at no time does the "present day" Reynolds look nearly old enough to have been 22 in 1992. He does convey a gentle naivete, which is how New Yorkers imagine people from the midwest to be. He remains a kindly, conservative, Democrat, who is in many ways a female fantasy of a Good Man, and Marriage Material.

The best part of the movie, however, is Abigail Breslin, who is the rare child actor who isn't childish. She remains truly believable and relatable, and when Reynolds tells her "you are my happy ending," I believed it. How could Reynolds and Banks failed, when their relationship brought about Breslin? If the proof is in the pudding. . .

Light fare, that arrived and departed in 2008 without my ever having even heard of it. Nice movie to match socks to, and Tonks pronounced it "cute." Can't argue with that.