Because my father has worked for the US Department of Veterans Affairs for some time (he is an HVAC/R technician at one of the many hospitals), I have paid some attention to news reports about the scandalous lack of care given to veterans by the very system that is meant to aid and support them. I have heard the complaints about the travesties of veterans waiting months or more for appointments and the lies told to try to hide the fact. And I agree that the situation is bad. I agree that the US is disserving those who served the nation and that it is entirely unworthy of them or of the nation to act thusly.
I do *not* agree, however, that the situation is entirely the fault of the VA.
After years of cuts to funding, years of cuts to services, years of cuts to the number of beds available, years of cuts to hiring, years of cuts to programs designed to encourage improvement, it should not be wondered at that the system put in place to serve veterans falters. When there are not people to process paperwork, there will be delays in processing it, and when there is no money to hire people, there will not be people working. When there are not facilities in which to treat people, they will not be treated, and when there is no money to pay for facilities, there will not be facilities. When there is no chance for advancement, people will not remain in their jobs, and when there is no money for raises or bonuses, there is no chance for advancement. And when there is no money, it is not the fault of the VA alone, for it is not the VA that determines how much money the VA receives. While it is the fault of the Department that its employees lied and hid the state of things, and those who are responsible should be taken to task for their misdeeds, it is also the fault of those who control the flow of money to and through the VA for creating the situation--and the US House is ultimately responsible for determining that flow, since it is from the House that bills about money must come (US Const., art. I, sec. 7).
Establishing fault does not provide for a solution in any event, and that solution is the thing that needs finding. And it is not to offer veterans vouchers, except in the short term while deeper systematic issues are resolved. It is not more cost-effective in the long term to give the care of those who were wounded in uniform to private industry--the reverse is likely to be true, given prevailing health care prices--and that it would be more efficient is questionable at best, given the treatment times already experienced by hospitals and clinics. It is not to throw our collective hands in the air and rattle off some stock phrase about "the damned government" and give up on the endeavor.
It is to accept that we may have to pay a little more to do what we damned well ought to do than we would prefer, and to pay it if it needs paying.
Tuesday, June 10, 2014
Monday, June 9, 2014
20140609.0807
I have not much been to church since taking up residence at Sherwood Cottage. Sundays before Ms. 8 were days I caught up on the work I had let slide during the preceding week and the sleep I had neglected to take. Sundays after have been much the same, with the latter more important because more sleep was lost to being a parent. Now that I am in between terms, not teaching, I am doing other work, and Sundays are sleep days and chore days. And the care of Ms. 8 remains a concern, as it will for some time to come. None leaves much time or effort for church-going, really, and I find that attendance is not so important to me as to induce me to make the time as I know some will say I ought to if I "think it's important."
The issue is that I do not feel called to attend church here. The ringing bells on Sunday mornings do not draw me as they have done in other places. I do not hear in them the voice of the Spirit speaking to me. Nor yet does my wonderful wife; we are not called to worship so much as nagged about it, and that not from the place within us that sent us to seek the communion and Communion with congregations elsewhere. Some have expressed surprise, others annoyance, and they are free to do so, but neither of us sees the need to sit and worship when we do not feel worshipful, or to enter into congregation with those whom we suspect overmuch of being in the pews to be seen in the pews and not because they hear the Spirit calling to them to be there. Both of us have seen too much of that sort of thing in our lives already, and we see no need to start our daughter amid such things so early in her life.
That does not mean, however, that I feel a loss of my faith as faith. That I do not feel connected to the faith communities where I am does not mean that I do not feel connected to the center of my belief. I remain convinced that my work in the classroom is part of my practice of faith, as well as my work on The Work. In reaching out to students to lead them to wisdom through coming to understand stories and the ways in which they encode deeper meanings, and in looking for and deciphering the encryptions myself, I emulate Christ (in part, at least), which emulation is supposed to be the core behavior of the Christianity in which I am embedded. I am increasingly convinced that behavior is the determining factor--conversations with a very good friend and excellent scholar of faith traditions have conduced to it--and so those actions seem to me to suffice insofar as any mortal actions truly suffice for engagement with the divine. But it is a thing I will need to consider more closely than I have yet done, both for myself and for Ms. 8; I need to determine how I will teach her and what...
The issue is that I do not feel called to attend church here. The ringing bells on Sunday mornings do not draw me as they have done in other places. I do not hear in them the voice of the Spirit speaking to me. Nor yet does my wonderful wife; we are not called to worship so much as nagged about it, and that not from the place within us that sent us to seek the communion and Communion with congregations elsewhere. Some have expressed surprise, others annoyance, and they are free to do so, but neither of us sees the need to sit and worship when we do not feel worshipful, or to enter into congregation with those whom we suspect overmuch of being in the pews to be seen in the pews and not because they hear the Spirit calling to them to be there. Both of us have seen too much of that sort of thing in our lives already, and we see no need to start our daughter amid such things so early in her life.
That does not mean, however, that I feel a loss of my faith as faith. That I do not feel connected to the faith communities where I am does not mean that I do not feel connected to the center of my belief. I remain convinced that my work in the classroom is part of my practice of faith, as well as my work on The Work. In reaching out to students to lead them to wisdom through coming to understand stories and the ways in which they encode deeper meanings, and in looking for and deciphering the encryptions myself, I emulate Christ (in part, at least), which emulation is supposed to be the core behavior of the Christianity in which I am embedded. I am increasingly convinced that behavior is the determining factor--conversations with a very good friend and excellent scholar of faith traditions have conduced to it--and so those actions seem to me to suffice insofar as any mortal actions truly suffice for engagement with the divine. But it is a thing I will need to consider more closely than I have yet done, both for myself and for Ms. 8; I need to determine how I will teach her and what...
Sunday, June 8, 2014
20140608.1052
Congratulations are in order for my cousin and his wife who are now proud parents of a healthy baby boy. While I am not exactly clear about my titular relation to the kid, it is good to see that the family is expanding. May they enjoy many years of happiness and health!
Aside from that news, matters at Sherwood Cottage proceed much as they have these past few weeks. My wonderful wife works still, and I stay home with Ms. 8 most days. In the free time that taking care of her permits me, I tend to household chores, mostly in keeping the floors clean and the dishes washed. Laundry happens as it needs to happen. (I retain my feelings about the dishes and the laundry, however.) I cook the occasional meal. Things work out reasonably well, overall.
I also continue my writing. There are the posts to this webspace to make, as well as the work curating the Tales after Tolkien Society blog to do. Since I have been given my course assignments, I also have work on my teaching blog to do, and I probably ought to also work both on the teaching website I maintain and the more formal course materials for my classes (syllabi, course calendars, and the like). There is also the work to do for upcoming conferences; the next one on my schedule is the Evil Incarnate conference at Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland, Ohio, for which I have to write the paper whose abstract is here. And there are always other projects to do...
It is a good life, overall. There is good work to do and plenty, and there are opportunities for improvement of self and circumstance. My family is healthy and growing, and I have enough to eat. And I can sit and write, even if I get distracted form it from time to time.
Aside from that news, matters at Sherwood Cottage proceed much as they have these past few weeks. My wonderful wife works still, and I stay home with Ms. 8 most days. In the free time that taking care of her permits me, I tend to household chores, mostly in keeping the floors clean and the dishes washed. Laundry happens as it needs to happen. (I retain my feelings about the dishes and the laundry, however.) I cook the occasional meal. Things work out reasonably well, overall.
I also continue my writing. There are the posts to this webspace to make, as well as the work curating the Tales after Tolkien Society blog to do. Since I have been given my course assignments, I also have work on my teaching blog to do, and I probably ought to also work both on the teaching website I maintain and the more formal course materials for my classes (syllabi, course calendars, and the like). There is also the work to do for upcoming conferences; the next one on my schedule is the Evil Incarnate conference at Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland, Ohio, for which I have to write the paper whose abstract is here. And there are always other projects to do...
It is a good life, overall. There is good work to do and plenty, and there are opportunities for improvement of self and circumstance. My family is healthy and growing, and I have enough to eat. And I can sit and write, even if I get distracted form it from time to time.
Saturday, June 7, 2014
20140607.0858
We tell people
To keep their chins up
To look up and look ahead
It seems sometimes that we do so
To strike them in the face more easily
Many times
Those who hear
They are to keep their chins up
To look up and look ahead
Are those whose eyes are focused
On the next step
On making sure they see the dog shit
Sitting on the sidewalk
Where people have allowed it to remain
After their dogs crapped it out
Disregarding the needs of others
They would stop and pick it up
Themselves
Despite the dogs not being their own
Because they know
If they might step in it
Another might
And it might be before that one
Comes home
Tracking shit into the house
Is not a happy thing
Yet such people
Often
Have their heads down
As well as their eyes
Because they are bent under burdens
Struggling to carry many things
Some they need
Some that what they need needs
Some that got thrown on there
From sources they could not see
Since their eyes were watching
For dog shit
Can they be blamed?
To keep their chins up
To look up and look ahead
It seems sometimes that we do so
To strike them in the face more easily
Many times
Those who hear
They are to keep their chins up
To look up and look ahead
Are those whose eyes are focused
On the next step
On making sure they see the dog shit
Sitting on the sidewalk
Where people have allowed it to remain
After their dogs crapped it out
Disregarding the needs of others
They would stop and pick it up
Themselves
Despite the dogs not being their own
Because they know
If they might step in it
Another might
And it might be before that one
Comes home
Tracking shit into the house
Is not a happy thing
Yet such people
Often
Have their heads down
As well as their eyes
Because they are bent under burdens
Struggling to carry many things
Some they need
Some that what they need needs
Some that got thrown on there
From sources they could not see
Since their eyes were watching
For dog shit
Can they be blamed?
Friday, June 6, 2014
20140606.0759
Several things to discuss today.
First, I am glad to wake up in a world where the Spurs can take the Heat. May the trend continue!
Second, and probably most important for the world at large, today marks seventy years since the D-Day invasion of Normandy. May such works never be needed again; may those who did such things have taught a lesson that never needs repeating, and may they be honored for the teaching!
Third, and of more importance to me, my parents celebrate a third of a century of marriage today. Or they ought to; they have been married for thirty-three years, and that deserves commemoration, just as their thirtieth did and those in their future together undoubtedly will.
Fourth, the Tales after Tolkien Society is gaining some ground. Information about it is here, and since I am one of the contributors to the volumes, I am not at all displeased.
Fifth, it may have been noticed that I have been writing in this webspace later than had been my wont. I am on break from teaching at present, and so I have taken the chance to sleep a bit later than I do while I am working. And I find that it is harder for me to get out of bed than it used to be; it is comfortable, and I am less willing to divest myself of that comfort than I have been. Perhaps the fact that the air conditioner in the bedroom my wife and I share blows more or less directly onto my feet helps; I am quite cool when I sleep, and I have tended to appreciate a cool bedroom, finding it improves the quality of my sleep. (While I was in the shower, I had thought of more things to say, but between drying off and sitting down with a cup of coffee to write, I lost them. Damn.)
Sixth, the weather at Sherwood Cottage continues to be interesting. We have rain again, which is welcome. The weather had been humid for a while, but rain had not been forthcoming, so matters were relatively annoying. With the rain, some good is happening for the land where the wind comes sweeping down the plain. The creeks and rivers around have been quite low for some time; it will be good to get some water into them. And there are some people who are only now getting a shower...
The only problem with the rain so far--and may it remain the only problem with the rain!--is of the sort seen yesterday. Rain fell in the morning, and then the sun came out in full force, sending some of the water back to the heavens from which it had fallen. It did so by way of the local air, increasing the humidity quite a bit and making things...uncomfortable. I have to wonder how those who lived here before air conditioning managed to endure, especially since they seem not to have had the advantages in dealing with the heat and humidity that such people as the Cajuns and the earlier indigenous folks had. It is for such reasons, among many others, that I am not the kind of medievalist who thinks that we ought to return to a medieval way of life. Air conditioning and information technology are my friends...
First, I am glad to wake up in a world where the Spurs can take the Heat. May the trend continue!
Second, and probably most important for the world at large, today marks seventy years since the D-Day invasion of Normandy. May such works never be needed again; may those who did such things have taught a lesson that never needs repeating, and may they be honored for the teaching!
Third, and of more importance to me, my parents celebrate a third of a century of marriage today. Or they ought to; they have been married for thirty-three years, and that deserves commemoration, just as their thirtieth did and those in their future together undoubtedly will.
Fourth, the Tales after Tolkien Society is gaining some ground. Information about it is here, and since I am one of the contributors to the volumes, I am not at all displeased.
Fifth, it may have been noticed that I have been writing in this webspace later than had been my wont. I am on break from teaching at present, and so I have taken the chance to sleep a bit later than I do while I am working. And I find that it is harder for me to get out of bed than it used to be; it is comfortable, and I am less willing to divest myself of that comfort than I have been. Perhaps the fact that the air conditioner in the bedroom my wife and I share blows more or less directly onto my feet helps; I am quite cool when I sleep, and I have tended to appreciate a cool bedroom, finding it improves the quality of my sleep. (While I was in the shower, I had thought of more things to say, but between drying off and sitting down with a cup of coffee to write, I lost them. Damn.)
Sixth, the weather at Sherwood Cottage continues to be interesting. We have rain again, which is welcome. The weather had been humid for a while, but rain had not been forthcoming, so matters were relatively annoying. With the rain, some good is happening for the land where the wind comes sweeping down the plain. The creeks and rivers around have been quite low for some time; it will be good to get some water into them. And there are some people who are only now getting a shower...
The only problem with the rain so far--and may it remain the only problem with the rain!--is of the sort seen yesterday. Rain fell in the morning, and then the sun came out in full force, sending some of the water back to the heavens from which it had fallen. It did so by way of the local air, increasing the humidity quite a bit and making things...uncomfortable. I have to wonder how those who lived here before air conditioning managed to endure, especially since they seem not to have had the advantages in dealing with the heat and humidity that such people as the Cajuns and the earlier indigenous folks had. It is for such reasons, among many others, that I am not the kind of medievalist who thinks that we ought to return to a medieval way of life. Air conditioning and information technology are my friends...
Thursday, June 5, 2014
20140605.0811
I do not often remember my dreams. When I do, however, they tend to be strange ones, and I have to wonder what it is that they say of me.
For example, last night, I dreamt that I was in a small residential neighborhood outside of the town in which I grew up. I think it was even a street I had lived on, but I was not a child. I was, however, riding a bicycle...until a feral pig came trotting through surrounding lawns. I climbed a tree to get away from it, which I think a reasonable precaution to have taken, and it passed by, grunting. Shortly thereafter, a small dog--Dachshund, I think--came from around the back of a parked car and bit the pig directly on the ass. Left half of the ass, I think.
It was at about that time I woke, nudged into consciousness by the needs of Ms. 8. (By "nudged," of course, I mean dragged by screaming.") I did not settle back into the dream when I settled back into sleep, so that much of the experience was over. I am struck, nonetheless, by the fact that I remember as much of it as I do; again, I do not often remember my dreams.
What the fact that I dreamt myself in a place I have not lived for fifteen years says of me, I do not know, nor what says my having been on a bicycle as I have not in earnest for some time, nor yet what say the feral pig or the Dachshund that bit it in the ass. But I would be interested in reading what others would write of such things. It might make for some entertaining discussion.
For example, last night, I dreamt that I was in a small residential neighborhood outside of the town in which I grew up. I think it was even a street I had lived on, but I was not a child. I was, however, riding a bicycle...until a feral pig came trotting through surrounding lawns. I climbed a tree to get away from it, which I think a reasonable precaution to have taken, and it passed by, grunting. Shortly thereafter, a small dog--Dachshund, I think--came from around the back of a parked car and bit the pig directly on the ass. Left half of the ass, I think.
It was at about that time I woke, nudged into consciousness by the needs of Ms. 8. (By "nudged," of course, I mean dragged by screaming.") I did not settle back into the dream when I settled back into sleep, so that much of the experience was over. I am struck, nonetheless, by the fact that I remember as much of it as I do; again, I do not often remember my dreams.
What the fact that I dreamt myself in a place I have not lived for fifteen years says of me, I do not know, nor what says my having been on a bicycle as I have not in earnest for some time, nor yet what say the feral pig or the Dachshund that bit it in the ass. But I would be interested in reading what others would write of such things. It might make for some entertaining discussion.
Wednesday, June 4, 2014
20140604.0600
I got a bit of good news yesterday. The Tales after Tolkien Society, of which I seem to be a charter member, has a blog now, and I am one of the contributors to it. The blog is new, as is the Society that sponsors it, but there are already other posts on the way, and more are welcome.
Part of what that blog will do is host short-form scholarship on medievalisms that pop up in contemporary popular culture. I do some of that on this blog from time to time, or I have done so; it seems to me that the posts to this webspace I would use to do so would now be better served to go to that blog, leaving this one to carry other commentaries and the occasional bits of material actually worth reading. I have to wonder if any of it will be missed, of course, but I can hope to find broader audiences and more comments left in response to the scholarly work I do online.
The issue of audience is one of some importance to scholars. Part of how we are evaluated is in terms of our impact, which is measured in large part by how frequently we are cited by others. This means that how frequently we are read by others is integral to our being validated by the broad body of professionals in the field. (This is of course imperfect, since a scholar who is frequently cited only to be rebutted is not likely to be regarded well--unless that person is Stanley Fish, against whom much ink has been spilled and many pixels arrayed, including some of mine. And there is something of the ad populum fallacy at work, whatever the prevailing opinion about a given piece may be; that many people make use of it does not mean its quality is sound--something people might say about particular French theorists who should remain nameless since the author is dead and the construction of a stable self to have a name is untenable.) And so I hope to be widely read not only because of my vanity (although certainly in part because of my vanity).
The Society blog may well offer a venue for more reading, and not only of my work, but of others in the Society. Certainly I hope that it will be the case; I am invested in the success of the Tales after Tolkien Society, and that success cannot come about except through continued awareness of and engagement with it. I will doubtlessly mention it in this webspace from time to time, even as I expand my attentions to include its evolving activities. For there is more to come; I am told that other social media platforms will soon feel the Tales after Tolkien presence, and I cannot regard that as a bad thing.
Part of what that blog will do is host short-form scholarship on medievalisms that pop up in contemporary popular culture. I do some of that on this blog from time to time, or I have done so; it seems to me that the posts to this webspace I would use to do so would now be better served to go to that blog, leaving this one to carry other commentaries and the occasional bits of material actually worth reading. I have to wonder if any of it will be missed, of course, but I can hope to find broader audiences and more comments left in response to the scholarly work I do online.
The issue of audience is one of some importance to scholars. Part of how we are evaluated is in terms of our impact, which is measured in large part by how frequently we are cited by others. This means that how frequently we are read by others is integral to our being validated by the broad body of professionals in the field. (This is of course imperfect, since a scholar who is frequently cited only to be rebutted is not likely to be regarded well--unless that person is Stanley Fish, against whom much ink has been spilled and many pixels arrayed, including some of mine. And there is something of the ad populum fallacy at work, whatever the prevailing opinion about a given piece may be; that many people make use of it does not mean its quality is sound--something people might say about particular French theorists who should remain nameless since the author is dead and the construction of a stable self to have a name is untenable.) And so I hope to be widely read not only because of my vanity (although certainly in part because of my vanity).
The Society blog may well offer a venue for more reading, and not only of my work, but of others in the Society. Certainly I hope that it will be the case; I am invested in the success of the Tales after Tolkien Society, and that success cannot come about except through continued awareness of and engagement with it. I will doubtlessly mention it in this webspace from time to time, even as I expand my attentions to include its evolving activities. For there is more to come; I am told that other social media platforms will soon feel the Tales after Tolkien presence, and I cannot regard that as a bad thing.
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
20140603.0732
Many days, what I write in this webspace comes from things I wrote in my journal the night before. Today is not one of those days; today's post comes from what I was thinking as I was toweling off after having had my morning shower.
I had cleared the screen my wife and I use as a hair trap and thrown what was there into the commode when I thought "It [the toilet] accepts things uncritically." Then, as I hoisted my hairy right leg onto the lid of the now-closed commode, it occurred to me that not even the toilet accepts materials uncritically, although it accepts quite a bit that is not well placed elsewhere. There are things that cannot fit through the piping leading away from the bowl, as any know who have had the unfortunate experience of the toilet backing up, and there are limits even on the size of what the bowl will accept. So even a toilet has standards, and with the shit one takes, that is saying something.
If even a toilet has standards, what can we make of people who accept uncritically what those who hold power over them say? And do we not see many such people, parroting what they hear from "color commentators" on various "news" programs, from media dominated by extreme pundits on all sides? Like toilets that have accepted caustic materials, they may have swallowed what was given them to swallow, but the pipes through which that stuff flows have been weakened and will perhaps be breached because of it, damage done to the drinker. Yet a toilet will reject things, and such people do not, provided they are spewed from the "right" place. (Or the left, lest I be thought unbalanced in my heaped aspersions.) The thought that a shithole will reject crap from some asshole when a person will not is hardly comforting (although it occurs to me that it might account for some people's breath). That there are so many people about--that all of us occasionally take in filth we ought not--is far less so.
It is a crappy metaphor, I know, hardly worth enthroning. Yet it is the kind of thing that occurs to me of a Tuesday morning when I am drying myself. And it is the kind of thing that I have used to great effect in my classrooms. Toilet humor is a low common denominator; students get the joke, and they get that it is a joke, even if they do not like the joke. The image in it tends to cling to them, as well, a stench of which they cannot rid themselves however much perfume they spray in the air or however many matches they light. "Do better than a toilet" is a phrase likely to remain smeared across their minds, a stain that cannot be scrubbed away. I offer the notion to my colleagues as something that might well fertilize younger minds, hopefully resulting in brighter flowers of thought or tastier produce of work done. Or it can simply piss off.
I had cleared the screen my wife and I use as a hair trap and thrown what was there into the commode when I thought "It [the toilet] accepts things uncritically." Then, as I hoisted my hairy right leg onto the lid of the now-closed commode, it occurred to me that not even the toilet accepts materials uncritically, although it accepts quite a bit that is not well placed elsewhere. There are things that cannot fit through the piping leading away from the bowl, as any know who have had the unfortunate experience of the toilet backing up, and there are limits even on the size of what the bowl will accept. So even a toilet has standards, and with the shit one takes, that is saying something.
If even a toilet has standards, what can we make of people who accept uncritically what those who hold power over them say? And do we not see many such people, parroting what they hear from "color commentators" on various "news" programs, from media dominated by extreme pundits on all sides? Like toilets that have accepted caustic materials, they may have swallowed what was given them to swallow, but the pipes through which that stuff flows have been weakened and will perhaps be breached because of it, damage done to the drinker. Yet a toilet will reject things, and such people do not, provided they are spewed from the "right" place. (Or the left, lest I be thought unbalanced in my heaped aspersions.) The thought that a shithole will reject crap from some asshole when a person will not is hardly comforting (although it occurs to me that it might account for some people's breath). That there are so many people about--that all of us occasionally take in filth we ought not--is far less so.
It is a crappy metaphor, I know, hardly worth enthroning. Yet it is the kind of thing that occurs to me of a Tuesday morning when I am drying myself. And it is the kind of thing that I have used to great effect in my classrooms. Toilet humor is a low common denominator; students get the joke, and they get that it is a joke, even if they do not like the joke. The image in it tends to cling to them, as well, a stench of which they cannot rid themselves however much perfume they spray in the air or however many matches they light. "Do better than a toilet" is a phrase likely to remain smeared across their minds, a stain that cannot be scrubbed away. I offer the notion to my colleagues as something that might well fertilize younger minds, hopefully resulting in brighter flowers of thought or tastier produce of work done. Or it can simply piss off.
Monday, June 2, 2014
20140602.0808
Some observations:
George was the talented Gershwin. Or Ira was caught by genre conventions that served no good end, while George was able to get around generic rules. Which I suppose makes him the talented brother, anyway. (Interesting things come up in my musical selections.)
When work comes in, it comes in in abundance.
I mowed the yard yesterday. It rained last night. I am suddenly glad that I mowed the yard when I did.
Pelican gumbo needs to be a thing if it is not already. I can't explain why, and I think it would ruin the joke if I did.
North central Oklahoma is surprisingly humid. There are no major bodies of water nearby; I have no idea where it comes from.
I really, really do not know why showtunes are as popular as they are. I also do not know why so many swing vocalists have the kind of vibrato they do. It makes taking them seriously as singers difficult, as if they cannot actually support the notes they hit.
Darker is better for bread, for beer, and for "classical" music. (Scare quotes are used because "classical" is too broad a term; there are a number of forms within the category, which I remember from the two-year mistake of being a music major, but investigations of which were which was a third-year class.)
George was the talented Gershwin. Or Ira was caught by genre conventions that served no good end, while George was able to get around generic rules. Which I suppose makes him the talented brother, anyway. (Interesting things come up in my musical selections.)
When work comes in, it comes in in abundance.
I mowed the yard yesterday. It rained last night. I am suddenly glad that I mowed the yard when I did.
Pelican gumbo needs to be a thing if it is not already. I can't explain why, and I think it would ruin the joke if I did.
North central Oklahoma is surprisingly humid. There are no major bodies of water nearby; I have no idea where it comes from.
I really, really do not know why showtunes are as popular as they are. I also do not know why so many swing vocalists have the kind of vibrato they do. It makes taking them seriously as singers difficult, as if they cannot actually support the notes they hit.
Darker is better for bread, for beer, and for "classical" music. (Scare quotes are used because "classical" is too broad a term; there are a number of forms within the category, which I remember from the two-year mistake of being a music major, but investigations of which were which was a third-year class.)
Sunday, June 1, 2014
20140601.0747
I am not displeased to have woken up to a world in which the Spurs advance to the Finals again...
When I wrote in this webspace at around this time last year, I did so in part to complain of the changes to my body wrought by life away from the kindly summer sunshine of the American South and Southwest and of the lack of adequate ventilation in homes and many other places in The City. Now I live much closer to the South and the Southwest; Oklahoma is not really part of either, having not seceded from the Union and having insufficient Hispanic influence upon its traditions and histories, but it is a lot closer than New York. The sun is more like it was when I grew up, long in the sky and unstinting with its gifts, although it is far more humid here than was true for me in the Folk Festival town (and the anniversary of the event is today, as well). Here, as in The City, though, I find myself cooled by window units rather than honest central air.
I understand why Sherwood Cottage relies on the things, three window units working in tandem to make livable the living space and ease sleep in the bedrooms. The building is not young, and it has obviously been treated poorly by some of the tenants it has had. Neither circumstance prompts the kind of expenditure that would be needed to have central air installed, and although the landlord is a decent person, I know that the housing is provided as a way to make money; spending money on it is not the most desirable act for the landlord to take.
I gather also that expense factors into many of the decisions to cool by window unit. Although I contend that the long-term cost of central air is less, I know that the initial cost is far greater, requiring much in terms of mathematics to figure out how much air needs to move to effectively cool a given space, labor to set up the duct work and other machinery, and outlay in terms of materials. I also know that it is an involved construction process. (I believe I have mentioned how I know such things.) Window units can be bought at local stores easily, often for under $200, and can be put into service within an afternoon. They offer immediate relief at a lesser immediate cost, and so they are attractive.
Even so, although I am faring better now and do not threaten to burst into flame at the merest brush of sunlight as I did while in The City, I still sweat far more profusely than I prefer or that I remember, and much of that perspiration still flows from my upper lip. I still fall back on older ways to keep cool, and they still work, but they still send me to the toilet frequently. At Sherwood Cottage, though, the bathroom is not quite so cool...
When I wrote in this webspace at around this time last year, I did so in part to complain of the changes to my body wrought by life away from the kindly summer sunshine of the American South and Southwest and of the lack of adequate ventilation in homes and many other places in The City. Now I live much closer to the South and the Southwest; Oklahoma is not really part of either, having not seceded from the Union and having insufficient Hispanic influence upon its traditions and histories, but it is a lot closer than New York. The sun is more like it was when I grew up, long in the sky and unstinting with its gifts, although it is far more humid here than was true for me in the Folk Festival town (and the anniversary of the event is today, as well). Here, as in The City, though, I find myself cooled by window units rather than honest central air.
I understand why Sherwood Cottage relies on the things, three window units working in tandem to make livable the living space and ease sleep in the bedrooms. The building is not young, and it has obviously been treated poorly by some of the tenants it has had. Neither circumstance prompts the kind of expenditure that would be needed to have central air installed, and although the landlord is a decent person, I know that the housing is provided as a way to make money; spending money on it is not the most desirable act for the landlord to take.
I gather also that expense factors into many of the decisions to cool by window unit. Although I contend that the long-term cost of central air is less, I know that the initial cost is far greater, requiring much in terms of mathematics to figure out how much air needs to move to effectively cool a given space, labor to set up the duct work and other machinery, and outlay in terms of materials. I also know that it is an involved construction process. (I believe I have mentioned how I know such things.) Window units can be bought at local stores easily, often for under $200, and can be put into service within an afternoon. They offer immediate relief at a lesser immediate cost, and so they are attractive.
Even so, although I am faring better now and do not threaten to burst into flame at the merest brush of sunlight as I did while in The City, I still sweat far more profusely than I prefer or that I remember, and much of that perspiration still flows from my upper lip. I still fall back on older ways to keep cool, and they still work, but they still send me to the toilet frequently. At Sherwood Cottage, though, the bathroom is not quite so cool...
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