A Sweet, Young Thing

Wistfulness.

2010-04-12T15:34:00.002-04:00

Whither, blog?

2010-04-08T09:58:00.008-04:00

Hey, guys. It's been six EPIC months since I updated. In order to bring you up to speed, I have created this sweet visual aid. Apologies for the occasionally too small text.

The Finer Points

2009-11-03T09:52:00.006-05:00

Readers, I have been up to no good, as evidenced by this alarmingly attractive picture of me in my Halloween homage to Fay Wray.*

Halloween was magical. I sprayed the roomie with glitter, and he went as a Twilight vampire. Complete with exposed chest and floppy daguerreotype hair. The ladies loved it.

I'd love to hear what you went as for Halloween! Is it wrong that I have already outlined my costume for next year?

Next on this girl's docket- eating myself silly at Thanksgiving.

*Yes, I am wearing a giant gorilla hand.

Happy Halloweekend!

2009-10-30T10:48:00.002-04:00

End of 2009 To-See List (Fox Searchlight Heavy)

2009-10-16T12:54:00.017-04:00

It's no secret that I have always loved movies. I was raised on a wind-battered plain near Lake Michigan, and I spent my winters huddling under blankets in two pairs of socks, renting videos and sipping hot cider. I live in Atlanta now, so I don't have the excuse of long, cold winters anymore, but I remain hopelessly addicted, and I am very excited for a number of movies coming out in the nearish future.

1. Amelia - Mira Nair - 10/23

I am a story person more than a performance person, but despite that I cannot think of better casting for the lead role in this biopic. Hilary Swank has the horsey features and acting chops to play this girlhood hero of mine. On topic-iche, If you haven't read Jane Mendesohn's I Was Amelia Earhart, I highly recommend it.

2. Gentlemen Broncos - Jared Hess - 10/30

Let's just say I am always receptive to a certain brand of goofy humor, and I am quite sure that Gentleman Broncos, a movie about writing bad science fiction, will satisfy. Who doesn't like those yellow-brown Napoleon Dynamite aesthetics? Haters.

3. The Box - Richard Kelly - 11/6

There's room for debate, but Donnie Darko is one of the pivotal films of my generation. As an improvisation on Suburban teen themes, it was brilliant, unexpected, and gratifyingly funny. After that, Richard Kelly made not one but two completely unwatchable shit show films (Domino and Southland Tales). I am giving him this last chance to win me over.

The titular box contains a button- if a person chooses to push it, he or she will receive a million dollars- and effectively take the life of a stranger. Despite Cameron Diaz's starring role, I am intrigued.

4. Fantastic Mr. Fox - Wes Anderson - 11/25

When I first heard that Wes Anderson was doing a stop-motion animated film based on the Roald Dahl classic, I was less than excited. I thought I wanted more of his usual brand of whimsical, melancholic, Salingerian family drama. That was before I felt the vague disappointment of The Darjeeling Limited. With that behind me, I am more than excited for this movie. I'm delighted in advance.

5. The Road - John Hillcoat - 11/25

The Road is my favorite novel set in a post-apocalypse, because instead of expansive views of a demolished world, it takes the impact of a collapsed culture in microcosm. I am excited to see how this film scales the story of a father and son who journey to try to find a new life outside of a freezing husk North American civilization.

6. The Lovely Bones - Peter Jackson - 12/6

After typing the above, it's funny to relate that in this adaptation project I am excited for a grand Jacksonian vision. I think he'll do great with this story of a murdered girl who continues to observe the grief and recovery of her loved ones on Earth years after her death. And I have a fatal weakness for Marky Mark.

It's a great season for movies, I think. I didn't even mention Where the Wild Things Are and The Men Who Stare at Goats. It's definitely a fall to winter line-up I can get behind.

But how about I close this up with a rant on the one movie being being released this season I will definitely not be attending?

Antichrist - Lars von Trier

I hate everything Lars von Trier touches, but I sat through Breaking the Waves, Dogville, and Dancer in the Dark for the sake of cultural literacy. I think he's self-righteous, unfocused and shallow. His films are tantrums that point a vague accusation towards a general injustice by forcing an audience to watch women being tortured. Antichrist would probably provide me even more evidence, but I don't think I could make it through the entire thing, because it sounds like another wretched display of everything I dislike about the way he sees (and judges) the world.

From l'Agence France-Presse, via The Slog - "Cannes entered the final straight on Saturday with more controversy over Anti-Christ...Lars von Trier's film was declared 'the most misogynist movie from the self-proclaimed biggest director in the world' by an Ecumenical Jury, which....was so shocked by Von Trier's film—which closes with a shot of a clitoris being sliced off with rusty scissors—that it felt the need to award a special 'anti-prize.'"

Hey, Lars man, why you even got to do a thing?

Top 10

2009-10-06T11:01:00.022-04:00

Louis and I have recently been locked in conversation/debate regarding the recent Pitchfork list of the top 100 albums of the 2000s. The thing about lists, in my opinion, is that when they get longer than a top 20, the order and rank mean less and less. Is 83 really any better than 82? Am I really expected to consider the relative merits of numbers 148 versus 149?

That's why this girl is sticking with a Top Ten Albums of the 2000s, Love It or Leave It Edition. These are my ten favorite albums released during the past decade, every number counts, and it's a heartbreak to leave out some worthy contributions. That is how a list ought to be.

Be on your toes and you might spot:
Midwestern bias! A weakness for concept albums! White guys with guitars!

Regardless, I hope you'll write your own top 10- it's a fun project.

Number 10
The Dismemberment Plan - Change

There is a parallel universe where even at 26, my hair is Super Grover blue, my nose ring is sparkling, and "Time Bomb" is still my personal anthem. Meanwhile in this dimension, it's still one of those songs I like to shout along with and slap the dashboard to. Change is such a reflective album- the last the Plan would ever put out- it showed a kind of maturation while maintaining a wholly appealing angsty sensibility. It's loud, powerful, and lyrical- a timeless album which will always be one of my favorites.

Number 9
The New Pornographers - Twin Cinema

For sheer, bouncy, mob pop, this Canadian collective is my go-to choice. Twin Cinema is laced with joy, gorgeous vocals, and tremendous percussion. It's a whirling dervish of an album, and every song is gold. And Dan Bejar, you stole my heart the day I bought this cd at Criminal Records.

Number 8
Broken Social Scene - You Forgot It in People

I know, I know- more Canadians. Get used to it. When I grow up, I'm going to move to Montreal, eat fresh bread, live billingual, and room with Leslie Feist. Broken Social Scene was a revelation to me in my first year of college, and I would dance by myself in my dorm room in front of my goldfish. My E-Mac's speakers at their maximum, the songs didn't play so much as shimmer into the air. It is one of those albums everyone can agree is great, so let's leave it at that. If you haven't listened to it, you need to, and you also need to crawl out of the indie rock bunker you've been living in for the better part of a decade.

Number 7
Cursive - Domestica

Domestica is one of the great concept albums. It is the only record I feel truly captures the anxious and harrowing pain of domestic turmoil. It's an intelligent, examined, and terribly sad record. Domestica hits its stride with "The Martyr" where distrust is a refrain, "Sweet baby, don't you cry/ your tears are only alibis." Tim Kasher, the lead singer of Cursive, throws his gravelly voice into the wound, and in 9 songs takes you through a relationship to its bitter end, what I consider one of the great break-up songs of all-time, "The Night I Lost the Will to Fight." It is, from its opening, a explosion and a catharsis, and it leaves you feeling empty when it is gone. "I need a catalyst/to rekindle the flame/that once burned within these fists/where defeat remains."

Number 6
The National - Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers

I am an unrepentant fan of The National- I love the Smog-esque vocals, the pushy beats, and the ambiguous lyrics. Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers is a brilliant, cohesive, and occasionally creepy record. I would argue that the worst thing about indie rock is that bands so often do exactly what you expect them to do- Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers is full of little hiccups of dirge-y, dour sound that surprise.

Number 5
Radiohead - Kid A

Ok, I know I'm ranking it low, but it's a transformative, gorgeous, painfully good record. Thom Yorke is a genius, and Radiohead is the greatest working band of our time. That sounds begrudging, but it's not. If I didn't have Kid A on this list, I would feel like a phony.

Number 4
Arcade Fire - Funeral

Funeral hit me in the gut the first time I listened to it. The lyrics are beautiful, but it's all those lush layers of instrumentation and sound that make it remarkably distinct. There is something so youthful and poignant about the music of Arcade Fire, the way their voices earnestly soar over trumpets and accordians.

Number 3
Sufjan Stevens - Illinois

Sufjan Stevens is an angel brought to earth to sing the prettiest songs. Illinois is a wonderful exploration of the Land of Lincoln, and while everyone waxes fervently and rightly over "John Wayne Gacy, Jr." and the hallelujah chorus that is "Chicago," it is a record so laced with gems as to be ostentatious.

Number 2
Cat Power - The Greatest

If you know me, you knew Chan Marshall had to make my list and make it high. It is her voice, low and breathy, that makes her one of the great artists of the early 21st century. There is a nostalgic tone to this record with its jazz influences- it sounds like you could have unearthed it in a thrift store and had Cat Power all to yourself. The sad wistfulness of her lyrics breaks hearts when she opens and intones, taking on the persona of an aging pugilist, "Once I wanted to be the greatest/ no wind or waterfall could stop me." Because, what Cat Power gets that I don't think any other modern performer has tapped into is that for all the days a girl feels invincible, there is a corollary day when she is sure she will never feel that way again. Cat Power writes music to feel vulnerable to.

Number 1
Wilco - Yankee Hotel Foxtrot

Yankee Hotel Foxtrot is Wilco's magnum opus, an album so inspired and intricate that I have listened to it for years the way some scholars study Moby Dick. I am serious. I think this album is perfect. There are worlds inside of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot- boozy country lounges where fliddlers play, monuments to dead ideals, cities of lost voices. There are secrets inside it to unravel. Jeff Tweedy's musical vision is expansive and precise, and it is realized fully in Yankee Hotel Foxtrot.

My new favorite crafting website.

2009-09-21T21:46:00.002-04:00

While I have been loyal to craftster for many years, I have recently become a One Pretty Thing convert.

Après moi, le déluge.

2009-09-21T19:27:00.010-04:00

Photo Credit - Susan Emily Neal Dye

You may have noticed my city is a little more "tis" than "ta" today. The Downtown Connector is under water, and I hope that the governor is happy his prayers for rain have been so enthusiastically, if so unpunctually answered.

In times like these, I turn to the kitchen for entertainment. I had just made my way through a rough week- my dog got sick, I had more work than I could handle, and it had been gray for four or five days straight. Wet and cold after work, I made my trudging way in my waterproof boots to Publix, and decided to take on a challenge I had been gearing to take on later in the fall- the cornish hen. I picked up ingredients to really do justice to the bird, and to make a batch of chocolate chip cookies- indulgent, I know.

Let's just say, it went well.I started by drying the birds, stuffing them with lemon and rosemary, seasoning them lightly with salt and pepper, then brushing a little olive oil on them for color. Then, I put them in a 450 degree oven to cook for about a half an hour.

I made a glaze of sweet vermouth, quartered garlic cloves, and a couple stems of rosemary.

After the birds had cooked, I pulled them out and basted them, then put them back in the oven to roast for another 10 minutes. They came out with a beautiful color, a deliciously flavorful skin, and tender meat. I served them with mashed potatoes and peas.

It may sound ridiculous, but my perfectly cooked cornish hens made me feel invincible, and by the time Louis got home to share them with me, the rain had subsided. I felt like I had won.

Your Lady of the Overdue Flickr Updates

2009-09-06T03:43:00.006-04:00

Check it.

The series of photos below details the progress of the most delicious pie I have ever made. Components: 1. Brown sugar cashew crust, 2. Lemon Custard layer, 3. Fresh blackberries.

Build your own horse.

2009-09-01T15:00:00.001-04:00

Available at a Clockwork Robot.

Your girl on the run.

2009-07-29T11:04:00.019-04:00

This may be the busiest summer of my life- which isn't saying much, of course. I remember when I first entered high school and my mother first insisted on summer jobs. I languished in a hair salon for 30 hours a week for four years- getting my hair chopped and colored and reading gossip magazines. I was the receptionist and shampoo girl, and my disposable income went towards cds and chocolate milkshakes, trips to Chicago and too tight tops at the mall.

My college summers were much in the same lackadaisical vein, and retrospectively, I think that treating them as a luxury, a lazy one, was the right call. Good job, young me.

These days, I am the picture of responsibility. My job eats 45-50 hours of my life each week, and I have started to get overly excited about things like clean laundry and my Netflix.

But your girl has been having a series of adventures this summer, what started with a jaunt to Colorado for my brother's wedding will climax* with a road trip through Maryland and Pennsylvania in two weeks.

To prepare for lengthy periods in the car with Louis, I have placed a few holds on audiobooks at everyone's favorite city library. I'm talking about Atlanta-Fulton County.

You are no doubt wondering about my choices. I won't keep you waiting any longer.

1. Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
A classic that Louis hasn't gotten around to reading- and a particularly good audio recording as I recall. I am excited to rekindle my crush on Ford Prefect- he's one frood who really knows where his towel is.

More than that- this series is summer to me. I have never been one for reciting lines from the Simpson's or 30 Rock. It's not my thing. But I can, on-cue, give you a number of my favorite parts of any of these books. I am that hopeless fangirl, and I have read every scrap of paper that Douglas Adams ever wrote.

2. Summerland - Michael Chabon
Don't judge- I am not some lit scenester who has thrown in with the Chabon groupies. It just sounds so promising, doesn't it? Epic YA fantasy that gets American where Narnia just turned so damn English. Baseball's better than Cricket. No diggity, no doubt.

3. Wind Up Bird Chronicle, or After Dark - Haruki Murakami
It's a question of if we need 27 hours of entertainment or just 5. Murakami will fill the bill either way.

I am more excited for the drive than I ought to be- a veteran of long drives west in my family's minivan- the road trip holds that cliched romance for me. I'll give you a report on my frolicking when I return.

* Seksi.

Shaq and a Panda

2009-07-23T12:32:00.004-04:00

Oh noez!

Sweet and Lowdown

2009-07-19T00:18:00.006-04:00

You may already know I was a cat person. For two decades, I Bond-Villained- reclining on my daybed with Midnight at my side and a library book on my chest. I was that girl, that cat lady in training. I would have sniffed dismissively at your golden retriever, sneered at your labradoodle. I would have fiercely argued kittens over puppies, and made the case for purring over licks. From the ages of 8-13, I spent the bulk of my $5 weekly allowance on cat treats at Valpo's Pet and Hobby.

Midnight was magnificently spoiled and fat for all of my youth. Flecks of orange and brown ran throughout her black coat. She was a smug, demanding, green-eyed creature - a pretty cat who knew she had it good. Most importantly, she didn't like anyone but me. Not my family or the rest of our menagerie. She was all mine, and she slept in my bed while I grew up. From kindergarten to my high school graduation.

And during the summers, in college, she would return to my side. I would dangle my legs out my window, smoking secret cigarettes, and she would sit on the sill next to me.

I thought, that first year out of college, of bringing her to Atlanta. By then she was an old cat- she had skinnied, shrunk. The decision to keep her at home, where she had always been, made sense to my family and me. Dating my way through a series of boys with allergies, I went out and adopted the most cat-like dog of all time, my dear Penny. And then I realized I was a dog person. That I liked the bounding, unconditional joy of puppies. That I was no longer sleek or secretive. It was then that my heart committed the real betrayal, and that is, I think, when Midnight finally gave up on me.

When I would go home on my own for holidays and visits, I would make a point of spending time with her, but she was over me by then. Desperate for any attention. Our old confederacy broken, we were old friends who had once been better.

She died this morning, and my mom buried her in the backyard. All our childhood dogs long dead, I realized only today that Midnight was some last tether to my enchanted, pretentious, cat-centric girlhood. I miss her now, more than I had for years. Of course, my grief is also selfish- you know, it is Margaret I mourn for.

But really, kitty, I miss you the most.

Harlequin Presents: Lindsay's Horrified Amusement

2009-06-28T15:17:00.008-04:00

Fact: In the summer, I like to sit outside, eat dried apricots, and read trashy romance novels. I pick up paperbacks at thrift stores, and read them over the course of hot, leisurely afternoons.

Harlequin, one of the leading lady smut providers, has some of the more terrifying and hilarious series options. For instance, they have a whole set of books featuring Nascar. And Harlequin Intrigue fulfills all your dangeromance needs. As a dabbler with no particular loyalty, I can appreciate this specialization within the genre.

But. What. Is. This. And. This?!

Unexpected Babies? Pregnant Mistresses?

Harlequin, there are no words. There is only me making a sound that is best transcribed as ewughgllagh.

The Era of the Receptionist

2009-06-23T08:43:00.007-04:00

As an inveterate couch potato, and queen of the Netflix night in, I'll confess what I find most compelling as a viewer when I watch older movies and tv is the way film reflects its time. Film gives you sly insight into the society that produced it- the society it was produced for- through dialogue, settings, and characters.

Seeing the new Star Trek movie turned me back to the original series*, and watching a few episodes recently made me more aware than ever of a standard character in film and television in the Sixties - the receptionist.

Star Trek reflects, as many have noted, the American optimism of the 1960s. Roddenberry, who created the series, played to America's newly launched fascination with space travel, and carefully wove in themes of cooperation between most races** and nationalities. You can't watch Star Trek without remembering it first aired in 1966- a year after the Voting Rights Act passed.

For all that optimism- starry-eyed and interstellar- when it comes time for the band of space pioneers to boldly go where no man has gone before, they still need someone, a woman, to answer the phone. It winds up being the series' only black character, Uhura, played by Nichelle Nichols.

I don't mean to imply that Uhura has no value or charm. However, her character is a perfect example of the mores and modes of the Era of the Receptionist- even in that time's wildest imaginings of what the future would be, women wound up sitting alone at a desk on the ship in case someone called while the landing party fought lizard creatures on a desert planet below.

But the Sixties were also a sexy time- between JFK, the Rat Pack and James Bond, the dominant cultural expressions of male sexuality took a definite swing towards the playboy. James Bond, a spy in her Majesty's Secret Service, is a man's man. His missions are inevitably dangerous, but he is always their equal. The bad guys are really bad and have names like Dr. No, but he always takes them out. The international hotties are always reluctant at first, but he wins them over. He drives fancy cars and carries silly gadgets that are conveniently useful for exactly the scrape he gets into every movie.

But what would James have done if Miss Moneypenny, played by Lois Maxwel l, were not there to take his messages while he was out saving the world and pulling the Iron Curtain down one Russian seduction at a time? Office administrators were the unsung heroes of Glasnost.

Both Uhura and Moneypenny are good receptionists- dedicated to their posts, loyal to their superiors. However, it's fun to flip back to 1960 and the birth of the Era of the Receptionist for a very different portrayal in Hitchcock's eternal classic, Psycho. If Trek reflects the exuberance of the space race and Bond offers us a Cold War seduction, Psycho illumes a time of domestic desperation.

Marion Crane, as portrayed by Janet Leigh, the film's initial protagonist, is a receptionist in love. She works at a real estate office in Phoenix, Arizona, and does occasional quickies during lunch with her boyfriend, Sam. The two want to marry but cannot because of Sam's crushing debts and ongoing alimony payments to his ex-wife.

Marion, earning a receptionist's wage, cannot hope to use honest means to better her circumstances. Unstrung and anxious, she snatches one of those iconic Benjamin-filled briefcases from her office, and drives away from her steno pad and rotary telephone, into the sunset to start a new life with her financially liberated beau.

Of course things don't end well for Marion. Just as she decides that stealing will not actually solve her problems and resolves to return the money, she is stabbed to death in a shower, and dumped in a swamp with the briefcase now lost to everyone.

Marion is an interesting foil to Uhura and Moneypenny in several regards- she is self-interested and sexualized in ways they are not. She only receives a half an hour of screen time, but for that period she is the focus of Psycho, and her choices determine the plot of the film. She is also the only fully realized woman of the three- and she is cut short.

In receptionist, as with nurse or stewardess, one finds a truly gendered term and position. In the Era of the Receptionist, the jobs available to women were limited- the roles women could play influenced the roles actresses received. Interestingly, playing a good receptionist and being a good receptionist reaped similar benefits- I am sure that Nichols and Maxwell both looked forward to steady paychecks and regular work. In a time when playboy culture celebrated and degraded the bombshell, the good receptionist could look forward to coming back for another installment while Bond girls and alien babes were disposable.

In recent incarnations, both Uhura and Moneypenny have been fleshed out, an effort to revise their histories and give them souls. It's still satisfying to watch their original forms though- to reflect on how far we've come, and to give credit to the ladies who answered the phones so that I wouldn't have to.

* Nerd Alert!
** Pesky Klingons.

Fallen Princesses

2009-06-17T10:14:00.005-04:00

Dina Goldstein disenchants your Disney.

Unexpected and Wonderful

2009-06-01T18:18:00.004-04:00

Severija Incirauskaite-Kriauneviciene cross stiches your cars and pans.

Separated at birth.

2009-05-26T18:57:00.004-04:00

Zydrunas Ilgauskas grinds your bones to make his bread. Go Cavs!

Your girl begs the question.

2009-05-26T09:45:00.023-04:00

It's a morning when I am happy with my country as a whole. I am still employed- I am not panicked. I even remembered to bring a packet of hot cocoa with me for breakfast when I biked off to work. And President Obama picked a thoroughly qualified female candidate for the Supreme Court. When she gets in, Sonia Sotomayor will be the first Latina to hold a spot on SCOTUS.

She's got an amazing story. The child of Puerto Rican immigrants, Sotomayor grew up in a housing project in NYC. She knew she wanted to be a judge when a diagnosis with childhood diabetes turned her attention to Perry Mason. So she got into Princeton, and then into Yale. She's got brains, background, and balls.

Given that, I hate to nitpick. There is diversity in this choice, and there is reason to it, though it shows little bravery on the President's part. Sotomayor has an activist streak that scares Wendy Long- which I find endearing, even if it isn't enough of an activist streak to truly excite me. She's a solid pick, a moderate with a loyalty to the appointing executive's party, but that has been the formula of late.

She's another Ivy League educated Federal Appeals Court Judge from the Northeast.

This makes nine judges that are from the Federal Appeals Courts, seven from the Northeast, and eight law degrees from Ivy League schools, mainly Harvard. John Paul Stevens went to Northwestern, and he is the oldest of the appointees. Excuse me for observing, but this is beginning to look like something of a club.

I don't want to harp on education. It is wonderful to have brilliant, educated people in positions of power. However, questions of money and influence come into play when it comes to graduate study in law at these institutions. I do not want to see the Supreme Court closed off to those who have experience outside of the appellate courts, or those who, for whatever reason, may have elected to study at some of the great state law programs or outside of the top right corner of the country.

Diversity means more than the obvious, and I am happy with what Judge Sotomayor will bring to the court. I mean, I'm a baseball fan. She's got an excellent attitude to bring into a decidedly male dominated judiciary. I guess I just wanted to go on the record, and say that I hope the next choice takes better advantage of the opportunity to be a little radical, a little activist, a little nontraditional as I am sure we have not seen the last of Obama's SCOTUS appointments.

For now, I'm just going to revel in Wendy Long's pain. And yes, I will take my first democratic appointed judge in 14 years now, please.

Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys.

2009-05-21T12:59:00.004-04:00

Sometimes, you get into musical moods. I would argue that a mix, particularly the mix you make for yourself, is lazy listening. The way a hits or singles record allows you to listen to just what is popular, the self-made mix is all dessert and no broccoli.

Broccoli is good for you!

But sometimes, it's important to indulge. So, if all I want to listen to today is country and country influenced indie pop, that's what I'm gonna do. Enjoy. This is all I've been listening to all day.

And just for kicks:

Have you ever fallen in love with a cover? I have.

Oh, the empathy.

2009-05-12T11:50:00.011-04:00

President Obama says he wants his Supreme Court replacement to have "empathy." According to conservative pundits, we'd all better watch out!

"Sen. Orrin Hatch of Utah, speaking on This Week, warned that if a jurist were to show empathy, 'politics, preferences, personal preferences and feelings might take the place of being impartial and deciding cases based upon the law, not upon politics.' In an opinion piece in the Washington Times warning that Obama is poised to be the 'first president to make lawlessness an explicit standard for Supreme Court Justices,' Wendy Long of the Judicial Confirmation Network saw empathy as a kind of temporary insanity that so distorts a jurist's vision as to make it difficult "to uphold the federal judicial oath to dispense justice impartially." Over on Fox News, Sean Hannity warned that empathy is the first step toward "social engineering." And in a delicious Freudian slip, Sen. Jeff Sessions of Alabama snorted: 'I don't know what empathy means.'"

Snatched from Slate, "Once More Without Feeling" by Dahlia Lithwick

I think that, cutting through the hysteria, what is basically in play here is a fear that Obama will choose an activist, liberal judge. I doubt he will, much as I would love to see that. Souter, a liberal leaning moderate judge will, in all likelihood, be replaced by another of that mold. But, in wake of two Bush administration appointees and a bench that had more viciously political 5:4 splits then had been seen at any point in its history, a moderate will merely maintain the status quo. What many Americans may not realize is that such political polarities as we have experienced in my time as a voter are not common in the Supreme Court.

They may also not realize that the most liberal and most senior member of SCOTUS, John Paul Stevens, was appointed by a Republican, Gerald Ford. Souter, another who votes with the "liberal bloc" was appointed by George Bush Senior. They are the last, I worry, of a kind of judge whose understanding of law was not dominated by the party of the president appointing them.

What has happened to the courts? When did judicial activism become unspeakable? It is clearly meant to be one of those balances between branches of government, and yet, Chief Justice Roberts sees his role in the system as merely that of "a referee"*. If he wanted that job, he should have stayed out of the appellate courts. When Justice Stevens says, "Including myself every judge who’s been appointed to the court since Lewis Powell** has been more conservative than his or her predecessor. Except maybe Justice Ginsburg. That’s bound to have an effect on the court." He is not exaggerating. The court does not need a moderate- it needs a progressive, for the sake of balance, because neither of my favorites, Stevens or Ginsburg, are young. Empathy is a good start, but it's not enough. Conviction and the strength of will and character to wield the incredible power of the bench for the right reasons is.

So, empathy doesn't sound so bad to you now, does it, Wendy Long.

* His words, not mine.
**1971, President Nixon

Your girl has a bad case of SCOTUS.

2009-05-06T11:27:00.011-04:00

Your favorite pandemic may be the Swine Flu, you trendy scenester you. You may have a personal weakness for SARS or a historic crush on Small Pox or the deadlier Spanish Flu. I'm not going to fight you if you come down on the side of the Bubonic Plague, classic as basic black.

That said, these diseases are not for me. I have caught a bug all my own, and let's be frank, all I want to do is read about the various possibilities in line to replace Justice Souter* in the Supreme Court when he retires this summer. SCOTUS, the Supreme Court of the United States, has long been an object of interest for me. I can offer no clever explanation of the origin of my chronic interest in the goings on of the gavel wielding. Sorry if the blog posts about the bench have become too much, but if you come back after the confirmation hearings, odds are on there will be a post or two about zombies or pies.

That said, there are resources on hand for those similarly afflicted. I tend to stick with SCOTUSblog, which is no nonsense and gives concise updates on arguments and opinions as they are delivered. Underneath Their Robes, a gossip site about the federal judiciary, is a girltalk confection, a kind of Perez Hilton for the judicial groupie. Above the Law, a similar site that I like less, has a leaderboard of potential Souter replacements. Sonia Sotomayar is leading there, and she's a reasonable choice. You know me, so you know I'm rooting for Kathleen Sullivan, a professor of law at Stanford who has presented amicus curiae to the court in the past. She's a big lesbian, an equal rights activist, and wrote the book I studied in my con law class in college. She could keep my beloved Bader Ginsburg company. I would be perfectly happy with Elena Kagan too.

Here are three opinion articles I've read recently about the Hopefuls:
Slate ran an article about the prejudices facing single women.
Daily Beast reported on a big, fat problem.
Vanity Fair presented an awkward reunion option.

* I will miss him.

Ladies, I salute you.

2009-04-30T14:25:00.010-04:00

Maira Kalman's blog is one of my favorite parts of the NYT. It's half comic and half diary, and Kalman's observations and ideas are presented in a beautiful, artful way. This latest entry made me tear up a little, and wish I could be more. You may recall my admiration for Ruth B. Ginsburg- a significant portion of this entry is devoted to her. Most poignant is this frame.

Taken from The New York Times, credited to Maira Kalman.

"I return to court to hear Justice Ginsburg speak to law students. And in answer to the question, 'How does it feel to be the only woman on the court?' she answers simply, 'lonely.'"

In other, important news, it's my dad's birthday. Happy day to you, Stephen Raymond Cronk. I love you, and you are the best principal I know.

Not So New Music Tuesday

2009-04-28T10:08:00.012-04:00

Ok, I know I am the last person on earth to get around to listening to the Vivian Girls. You can judge me lightly or you can judge me hard, but friend, I cannot say when I set this record down and forgot about it. Everyone was so hot over these ladies in late 2008, and I had/have a pretty vicious case of Overthosebrooklynbandsitis.

Looking for something to listen to today, I felt remiss in my duties, and I decided it was time to give the Vivian Girls' self-titled debut the benefit of a Tuesday. Because, as Amy Granzin over at Pitchfork offers, "They deflect the knee-jerk criticism the most effective way possible: with an armful of kick-ass songs." Two handfuls is more like, and so with ten songs that clock in at under 22 minutes, this album just seems so... manageable.

Listening #1 I have something to confess. I love a good short story, and I fell in love with flash fiction and nonfiction a couple years ago. I fritter away my hours reading stories of a thousand words or less. Punk and post punk appeal to me when the music has that same vigor, force, and precision- Mission of Burma's Vs. will always own a part of my heart. In this respect, the Vivian Girls are a little frustrating, because in the first half of their album they evoke this very well, before tepidly embarking on two lackluster, three plus minute long, Shirelles-esque*, doo-wop influenced pop songs.

You are at your best when you keep it under two minutes, ladies.

Listening #2 On their myspace, the Vivian Girls describe their sound as "Punk / Shoegaze / Surf" - they certainly have elements of those things, but I just can't get into it. The best of their songs is probably "Wild Eyes"- which is heady and short and evokes the Shangri-Las in a way I appreciate. I will be on the look out for their sophomore effort, to see how these musicians refine their sound and work out their intentions. In the interim, I am going to shelve the Vivian Girls in favor of a post punk/early girl groups Tuesday playlist line-up.

* Listening to the Vivian Girls makes me realize how badly I want to collect doo-wop era girl groups on vinyl.

I'll never own a Kindle.

2009-04-23T23:24:00.016-04:00

April 22nd was Book Day. What a thing. A magical thing. Here's a late survey in celebration of the best kind of print material.

1) What author do you own the most books by?
Neil Gaiman, closely followed by a five way tie between Margaret Atwood, Italo Calvino, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, J.D. Sallinger and Virginia Woolf.

2) What book do you own the most copies of?
I have two copies of Franny and Zooey, the one I read as a kid and wore all to pieces and the nicer copy I got at the used bookstore recently.

3) What fictional character are you secretly in love with?
Florentino Ariza. But I think it's more that I want to be in love in the way Gabriel Garcia Marquez writes about love.

4) What book have you read more than any other?
Maybe Lonesome Dove? Oh, and Ender's Game. I like to reread books that make me feel like a 13 year old boy.

5) What was your favorite book when you were 10 years old?
Number the Stars. I had a fixation on all things Holocaust right after I went through my Egyptologist phase.

6) What is the worst book you've read in the past year?
I know this may get me slapped, but I really did not like Dead Until Dark.

7) What is the best book you've read in the past year?
Bone! Hands down.

8) If you could tell everyone you know to read one book, what would it be?
The Baron in the Trees, by Italo Calvino.

9) What is the most difficult book you've ever read?
If you mean read to completion, Thomas Mann's The Magic Mountain. But after three passes, I still haven't managed to finish Underworld, Mr. DeLillo.

10) Do you prefer the French or the Russians?
The French. Bovary's my biznatch. Boudelaire's my boy.

11) Shakespeare, Milton or Chaucer?
Shakespeare.

12) Austen or Eliot?
Austen.

13) What is the biggest or most embarrassing gap in your reading?
Well, I don't do biographies or autobiographies, and sometimes, I choose to ignore major award winners and Sallie Tisdale's advice.

14) What is your favorite novel?
The Baron in the Trees by Italo Calvino. See #8.

15) Play?
"Baby with the Bathwater", Christopher Durang

16) Poem?
How about top 5- in descending order- "Dream Song 14" by John Berryman, "What Narcissism Means to Me" by Tony Hoagland, "La Beauté" by Charles Baudelaire, "Spring and Fall: To a Young Child" by Gerald Manley Hopkins , and the clear favorite "On Living" by Nazim Hikmet.

17) Essay?
"A Room of One's Own"- you saw it coming.

18) Short Story?
"Hands" by Sherwood Anderson from the perfect Winesburg, Ohio or "The Bride Comes to Yellow Sky" by Stephen Crane.

19) Non-Fiction?
Goedel, Escher, Bach by Douglas Hofstadter.

20) Graphic Novel?
Sandman by Neil Gaiman.

21) Memoir?
*tumble weeds pass* I only like to read my friends' diaries, the more embarrassing the point in adolescence, the better.

22) History?
The Affluent Society by John Kenneth Galbraith

23) Mystery Or Noir?
Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot ftw.

24) Science Fiction?
Farnham's Freehold, Robert Heinlein

25) Who is your favorite writer?
When I read Italo Calvino, I feel like he wrote just for me.

26) Who is the most overrated writer alive today?
William T. Vollmann. I despise gloomy self-indulgence, and I will fight it to the last.

27) What are you reading right now?
I'm in the final throws of The Wordy Shipmates by Sarah Vowell.

Judicial Oversight

2009-04-23T09:21:00.010-04:00

My parents are educators, you may or may not be aware. I have, as a result, always had a real and obvious bias towards teachers in most political disputes. I will, on any given day, side with a teachers' union in a contractual dispute. I believe that teacher retention is the real key to community building and reforming public education. As a result, I have sometimes overlooked issues of student rights. I think, in retrospect, this has been an oversight on my part.

I don't object to hall monitors, to drug dogs sniffing lockers, to metal detectors in school entrances. I don't think public schools are necessarily the most dangerous they have ever been, as some pundits of increased school security have claimed. Regardless, there are many more guns in the world today than there were in 1960, many more drugs, and many more students. It's a numbers game.

A member of the ALCU (card carrying!) since I was 16, I have tended to be a little lax on my civil liberties agenda inside of school walls. I mean, I railed against searching cars with the best of them, but again, that's outside the exit.

Let me get to my point. In 2003, a then 13 year old Savana Redding was commanded to remove her clothes by officials at her school. They had a "hunch" that Miss Redding, pictured below, had prescription ibuprofen that she was sharing with classmates. After they could find no pills in her backpack, pockets, shoes or socks, the two intrepid investigators demanded that she pull down her bra and panties and "shake" to see if any pills would be dislodged.

Image borrowed from the NY Times - photo credit Jim Wilson

While Justice Clarence Thomas seems to think that nudity in a school setting is a hilarious aspect of the adolescent right of passage, I would go so far as to call a forced strip down inhumane and callous. Antonin Scalia, everyone's favorite anti-choice relic of the Reagan administration, displayed his usual eloquence.

"You’ve searched everywhere else. By God, the drugs must be in her underpants."

Really? How about, you have searched all the places you are allowed to search? How about, if you think that there are illegal drugs, you call the police? The point is, a hunch doesn't give you the right to make a young lady take her clothes off.

Ruth Bader Ginsburg, as usual a voice of reason in a He-Man Woman Haters judiciary, questioned the process of the investigation, noting “But there were no questions asked at all," on the subject of the hunch and Miss Redding's spotless record. Good call, Ruth B.

These school officials were clearly abusing authority, and if there were a real ongoing drug issue, there would have been other opportunities to catch the culprit. Opportunities that probably would not have required a humiliating scare tactic that will undermine many students' view of the fairness of school.

Because, friends, if there's one thing teachers and principals have to be in order to maintain the trust necessary for a good school, it is fair. You know what is not fair? Strip searching an honors student who may have been carrying prescription headache medicine. But then maybe I am being cavalier- whoa buddy, that aspirin alternative will mess you up.

The Court will rule, and in all likelihood, it will rule against Miss Redding. Here's my prediction (I've been watching too much ESPN lately) 6:3, Roberts, Scalia, Kennedy, Thomas, Breyer, Alito*: Ginsburg, Stevens, Souter.

*Gag me.

Mademoiselle le Robot

2009-04-15T09:44:00.008-04:00

For her thesis at NYU, Interactive Telecommunications Program student Kacie Kinzer has come up with a thesis project so charming, so clever, so twee, it is liable to melt your heart.

I present to you the Tweenbot.

Miss Kinzer has created a few human directed cardboard robots. Clearly conveyed on each is a destination, a goal. Without human help, the robots cannot get where they are trying to go. The idea is to observe the interaction of people with unknown communication technology. So far, her observations have been positive- no robots have been stolen or damaged, and all have wound up at their destinations.

"Often, people would ignore the instructions to aim the Tweenbot in the 'right' direction, if that direction meant sending the robot into a perilous situation. One man turned the robot back in the direction from which it had just come, saying out loud to the Tweenbot, 'You can’t go that way, it’s toward the road.'"- Kacie Kinzer

Email Kacie Kinzer at tweenbotinfo@gmail.com if you want updates on upcoming robot missions. I know I do.

Your Girl vs. Modernity

2009-04-14T10:35:00.008-04:00

The power went out yesterday, for several hours- I was there for one. I did what you would expect. Lit my candles, took a long, hot bath, and read. When the electricity came back on I was almost disappointed. I need to go camping.

I need to go camping in this sleeping bag, from artist Eiko Ishizawa.

Nerd Alert

2009-04-11T12:28:00.005-04:00

Dear Friday Night,

Some might argue that I am wasting my youth, sitting on my sofa drinking summer beers, tuning into Fox with religious zeal every week at 8.

These ladies beg to differ.

Eliza Dushku right, plays Echo on Joss Whedon's Dollhouse. Summer Glau, left, plays Cameron, a terminator, on The Sarah Connor Chronicles.

First off, let's get past the obvious "hubba, hubba." They are babes- kind of similar looking babes in black tank tops. They're also role models. Pretty, smart, tough broads who kick ass, and tend to rescue the hapless men around them far more often then they need to be rescued themselves. They're two of the female leads on my two favorite shows, Dollhouse and Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles.

I went to a women's college, and I am proud to say I'm a feminist. A few years ago, after Buffy left the scene, there was a retreat from the strong female protagonist in television. You wound up with your Meredith Grays and your Desperate Housewives. Recently, television as a whole has re-embraced the sassy lady. From Tina Fey's Liz Lemon on 30 Rock to the recently departed and much missed Starbuck of Battlestar Galactica, I'm excited to sit down to TV that offers intelligent, layered portrayals of women.

Fox, in particular, has led this charge. Their line-up is replete with professional women, from Temperance "Bones" Brennan, who heads up a forensic anthropology team at the "Jeffersonian" a fictionalized version of the Smithsonian on Bones to Special Agent Olivia Dunham who is in charge of a special division of the FBI on Fringe. The ladies of Fox are leaders in their fields. They command respect. They're the kind of women you can show your daughters as examples.

On Friday, you get three strong, unique women. Sarah Connor, an untraditional working mother, is the complete package, a woman who has completely transformed herself into guerilla warrior in order to fight androids from the future. Cameron is a machine developing a conscience. Echo...well, Echo is a little difficult to explain in a tidy sentence. All the same, I love Fridays. I am sometimes moved to clap, or to shout "yes!" by the incredible, imaginative plots. I say, good job, Fox. Maybe you can do something about your news now.

Regards,

Lindsay

My current favorite webcomic.

2009-04-10T16:55:00.003-04:00

Check out Nedroid- it's the tops.

Hero of the Week

2009-04-09T09:00:00.013-04:00

I'm in the midst of reading The Wordy Shipmates, by Sarah Vowell. It's a series of stories, connected musings, on the impact of puritan ideology in America. She kind of sloughs through the usual fear/hatred of our bodies, witch hunts as the original national pastime, and the Christian nation tracts in favor of a more thorough examination of the idea of what our puritan legacy really is. She argues it's the notion of the "city on the hill," verbosity, and public education. That's all good and fine. I love her points, but I love her tangents more.
Sarah Vowell, incidentally, is not my hero of the week. But she does get points for introducing me to Chief Osceola of the Seminole people. How did Osceola snag this dubious honor? When he rejected Andrew Jackson's relocation plan, veiled as the Treaty of Payne's Landing, he stabbed it through with a knife. Other chiefs of higher seniority had signed and agreed to move the Seminoles from their native Florida to Oklahoma. It sounded like a bad deal to Osceola. So he led the resistance until he died, captured in a federal prison, of malaria. His objection to Jackson's treaty, apart from the obvious, came because of Jackson's pro-slavery stance. Married to a black woman, and well aware of white perceptions of natives, Osceola was far from keen on giving Jackson anything.

It takes a specific kind of badass to stab a treaty. My friend, May, once claimed that if she could travel back in time only once, it would be to punch Andrew Jackson in the face. I'd like to travel back in time to be Osceola's best friend.

A pair of shoes I will never buy but perhaps always pine for.

2009-04-03T09:15:00.006-04:00

Courtesy of Pale Horse Design, I give you Zombie Stompers. Aren't they just so ugly-awesome?

Shoes are not really my thing, you may be surprised to learn. They haven't been since I was in high school. I am solidly a boots sort of lady, and I tend to buy shoes I can wear with colors other than black, green and purple. That is to say, I bring a level of practicality to my shoe purchases I don't put into play in many other aspects of my life.

But these are majestic as they are frivolous.

My big, practical purchase of this week is a mattress! Double-sided pillow top with a new box spring. I know, I will stop talking dirty when we are all drowsy in our respective workplaces, but it slays me. I am so well-rested, so revived, you may as well give up any hopes of stopping me.

your girl vs. gravity

2009-03-31T12:10:00.003-04:00

A particularly clumsy day deserves recognition. In the course of the past 24 or so hours I have:

1. Knocked my head into the medicine cabinet.
2. Knocked my right elbow (think funny bone) into Historic Rhodes Hall. The stony, hurtful, exterior part. Don't worry, it's fine.
3. Slipped on my apartment's staircase and onto my right hip.
4. Scraped my right shin (circumstances still unclear).
5. Stubbed my left big toe on the coffee table.
6. Burned my right forearm with an an iron.

In conclusion, I am very lucky to have survived this long, and I am sure that, if current levels of exposure persist, I will be some kind of a superhero by the end of the week. Impervious to Minor Accidents Girl.

So what if I like pretty things.

2009-03-25T00:40:00.005-04:00

I am not impressed by most photography. In my personal opinion, popular portrait photographers- Annie Leibowitz is an obvious target for critique, but I would also argue that Seydou Keita and even Milton Rogovin- are less artists than they are panderers to the cult of celebrity or black and white high gloss. However, when there's an installation or creativity or cleverness, I can get into a photograph. Yessirree, I can.

These are from Rune Guneriussen, and they are beautiful.

I love the snow. The sort of lamp post from Narnia feeling.

And how about some phones marching into the sea. Lovely.

Cymbals Eat Guitars

2009-03-24T09:29:00.012-04:00

Do you know what day of the week it is? It's Tuesday. You've won a music post. Today I'm listening to Why There Are Mountains the debut effort from Cymbals Eat Guitars.

I picked this record for four reasons.
1. I have never heard of this band.
2. They were favorably reviewed on Pitchfork.
3. One track is titled, "Indiana."
4. I woke up wanting to read Moby Dick, and according to Ian Cohen, this might just satisfy my desire for something epic and dense. Otherwise, I will have to get my harpoon out.

I'm off to have my first listen. I'll tell you how it goes. Louis says I am overlooking my motherland by not listening to Fever Ray, but I'm not going to apologize. I'm only half Swedish, after all.

After a few listenings, I can relate the following: this record has that alternately dancey/creepy quality of the best Modest Mouse albums. There are enough catchy parts and enough slow parts, there's plenty of complicated instrumentation. There's enough guitar over orchestra to sound triumphant- I am that girl who wonders why everyone else is so over guitars. At nine songs, two over seven minutes long, it's an untidy little love letter to summer feelings. In conclusion, I can do my usual indie girl dance to it, and I plan on blasting it in my tiny parkside apartment with the windows open and the Atlanta breeze carrying it out over Elmwood Drive. I'll drop my desire to chase the white whale for now.

If you're going to listen to one song, I'd suggest "Wind Phoenix" with its horn reveille and xylophone calling you to frolic.

Your Girl in the Field

2009-03-23T08:47:00.004-04:00

I started looking at houses on a whim, on a Sunday. It was just after Warren Buffet told me to, and just after Georgia springtime made me question why I would ever live anywhere else.

It was about two weeks ago? It's hard to say, but with my usual vigor I got caught up in the hunting part and managed to allow it to consume my free time. I do not know how this happens. I will state, for the record, that I am an enthusiast. I love devoting myself to a project. I also crave change and excitement, and I like to hoard my money and then dole it out on big purchases. Major purchases.

Is there a purchase more major than a house? I guess I could theoretically wait and buy an island. But in truth, in my head, home ownership is a kind of adult accomplishment Everest, and I want to climb it. I want to buy a house, paint it in shades of blue and white. I want to stick a weather vane on top of it. I want to sit, next to a fireplace, in a comfortable chair, and read.

This is a vivid imagining- I've had it since I was six. I know that mine is a generation of casual relationships, intense friendships, and nomadic lifestyle. But I've lived in Europe and Asia, and I've slept on air mattresses and the ground. The desire for permanence, and ownership, for something that is specifically mine, is maybe the most powerful of my midtwenties impulses. Don't judge me too harshly- I am a little old lady inside.

With all that enthusiasm for first time home ownership came a corollary fear- what if the housing crisis was the only time I would be able to buy a great house in a good neighborhood? Given my nonprofit career path, for all my hoarding, this might be the only time in my entire life I could afford a really great house.

Having just recovered from that delusion, I am taking a two week break from house hunting. I'm going to lay off the hard stuff- the craftsman style bungalows and the little brick numbers with awnings above their front doors.

My advice to you, if you start shopping now is:
1. You're a buyer, so you're in charge in this market. Don't let yourself get whipped into a tizzy by realtors.
2. Don't get worried that you are going to miss the perfect house- constant vigilance breeds incessant crankiness.
3. Take enough time to figure out what you want. Take the time to figure out neighborhoods and know where your nearest grocery store would be.

That's all for now. I'll be back tomorrow to listen to some music.

My domestic experiment, let me show you it.

2009-03-05T10:03:00.010-05:00

My landlady is the sort who loves white walls. Her space in the house we share is alternating shades of novajo low and high gloss. She loves white walls so much she can't understand why anyone would want them a color. When I asked if I could paint, she requested a sort of paragraph report, explaining my plans, my reasons, and how I would revert the walls to white when I move out. After that, the review committee would convene to discuss the merits of my pitch. I felt the odds were stacked against me, and I was disinclined to write a grant proposal outside of the workplace.

Screw. That.

So a few months ago, inspired by examples on craftster and those cute, but pricey, Blik decals, I bought some contact paper at Home Depot for about $6. For my first project, I put tiny robots on a few of the cabinets in my kitchen. Check it:

I found a roll of silver contact paper, and I cut a stencil from some thin cardboard (think shoebox). I love the way they appear different shades of gray in different lights. It's a really subtle color against the white cabinets too, and I love when the robots surprise guests. Of course, as you probably know, I just like robots.

The great thing about contact paper is that it is designed to peel off without damaging the surface behind it. It is easy to cut, and comes in a variety of colors and patterns.

Emboldened by that success, I thought I'd increase the scale of my next project, and I decided to take on my terrifyingly long, blank hallway. I made an elephant.

It's huge! It took some time and effort, but it really was fun working out the kinks of things like shading with contact paper. I sipped tea, cut shapes and then stuck them to the wall. The sticking is really satisfying, as is watching a big picture appear on your wall, one line at a time.

Anyway, contact paper- it's amazing stuff.

This summer, I'm going to take some sewing classes. My mom gave me her old Singer, and I'm going to get the beast cleaned and tuned up and see if I remember how to adjust thread tension. It will be a noble pursuit- and I'll show you my seamstress skills as they progress. I can tell you're riveted.

I don't care if forever never comes because I'm holding out for that teenage feeling.

2009-03-03T09:00:00.026-05:00

Yes, it's Tuesday, so you get another vainglorious music post, because Neko Case just released her new record, Middle Cyclone, and I can't resist the temptation.

First impressions- Look at her, amazon poised to strike from the hood of that muscle car. I'll admit I'm biased, but it's a great cover, half Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! and half Joan of Arc.

Listening #1- I would love to hear a mash-up of Neko Case's "People Got a Lotta Nerve," which refrains with "I'm a man-man-man/ man-man-man-eater,/ but still you're suprised-prised-prised/when I eat ya," with Nelly Furtado's, "Maneater."

Subsequent listenings- The thing you have to understand is, I appreciate Neko Case's gruesome imagery at least as much as I love her voice. On this record, there is no holding back. The aforementioned song, "People Got a Lotta Nerve" is sung from the perspectives of dangerous animals, a kind of sequel to her song, "The Tigers Have Spoken." In both these songs, the narrators are misunderstood for being a big, scary predators- eventually they are destroyed for being just what they have always been (read: man eaters). Gratifyingly, their captors get mauled first. Neko Case, one can conclude, feels and sings like a caged animal, howling for freedom in her gorgeous voice.

The opening track, "This Tornado Loves You" is what it sounds like, a love song from a tornado, ripping up countryside to prove its ardor. "Prison Girls," achieves a sense of looming danger, and lets Case play with a Mata Hari sound. In "Polar Nettles" she sings of a wish that the Sistine Chapel be repainted with gatling gun fire. A melodramatic line, certainly, but ear-catching just the same.*

A personal favorite is definitely the self-chastising, bitter, "The Pharoahs." That country standard of the exceptional woman stranded with a cheating, unworthy man is reborn as Case opines, "I want the pharoahs but there's only men," and the tremulous harp in the background gives way to carnival sounds.

On the other hand, you do have an unimaginative and preachy cover of "Never Turn Your Back on Mother Earth." There is also a 30 minute final track of marsh noises, but both fit with Middle Cyclone's themes of wildness and nature beyond our control. In short, it's a great album, worth attention and time, and it would make any Tuesday better.

* Understatement is for lo-fi loving twee suckers.

Darcy vs. Zombie vs. Predator

2009-02-26T11:12:00.015-05:00

Elizabeth Bennet is having a hot year.

And remember when we found out in American history that two dudes had invented the modern sewing machine simultaneously? Well, wait for it, Mr. Darcy is The Predator.

It's like I fell into an alternate dimension where everything is tailored to my specifications.

New Music Tuesday

2009-02-24T09:08:00.018-05:00

I am that girl who gets into ruts, musically. I dig myself in until I am comfortable, and then I stay there. Some of my favorite musical holes are filled with early Belle & Sebastian and Otis Redding singles.

To allay your fears, I am a naturally curious person, and I like new sounds, different sounds, but I am also very lazy. Listening to a new record is such a process. You have to hear it several times before you can make any worthwhile points. Gut reflex hardly constitutes a review.

Today, as a project, I am going to listen to a recently released album by an artist who is new to me, and I will update periodically as I make my way through it.

Step 1, picking a new album. So, I turn to the usual sources- friends, pretentious reviews, and the more light-hearted music blogs. Looking things over, I realize a few things. First, there's a new Clem Snide release! Second, Metric! And third, I need to stop just listening to the artists I listened to in college.

Eventually, after consulting the interwebs and examining my mood, I settle on The Bird and The Bee's sophomore release, Ray Guns Are Not Just the Future.

Oh, I hear you clamoring, "It only got a 5.4 on Pitchfork! This does not strike me as a particularly challenging choice." And it's not. I have two meetings on the docket today, kids, and this last line on the album from the AV Club review sells me on The Bird and The Bee, "the underlying skill and craft... make this fluffy-sounding collection of songs cheerily frivolous, but not disposable." That sounds ideal.

Step 2, laying my hands on the album. This is hardly even a step.

Step 3, first time through. Goofy, jazzy, fizzy. I can't tell if I like it, but I can certainly nod along.

Step 4, a couple listenings past. Ok, so it's ever so catchy and charming. Inara George has a faultless voice for this mod, synthy, jazz-influenced indie pop. My favorite track at this point is definitely, "My Love," with its effervescent love song from a Jetsons style future sound, "Hey boy, won't you take me out tonight?/ I get excited when I think of crawling into your arms," the chorus rings out over xylophone and a clap track.

Step 5, a few lyrics memorized. I finished up my first day of listening to this record a little sick of it. I would put two of the songs on mix cds, and the rest are largely forgettable. As my housemate would say, the record is pleasant. It is cohesive, and flawlessly produced, but it is never surprising.

Here I go, singing low.

2009-02-20T09:03:00.025-05:00

In that whole consumption post, I forgot to mention Darren Aronofsky's masterful film, The Wrestler, which made me cry a little.

The thing about The Wrestler is the thing about Mickey Rourke, and I've always been a sucker for haunted characters. The ones with the ghosts of their pasts at their shoulders, in their eyes. Randy "The Ram" Robinson is a former pro-wrestling champ, an ex-star. He drives a van with his own action figure sitting on the dash, an effigy on an alter.

Decline inevitably follows peak, and the crest of the Ram's career was two decades ago. We are introduced to a middle aged, scar-faced man in a duct taped winter coat, struggling to make rent on his mobile home. In one early scene, he returns from a match only to find that his landlord has locked him out. Forced to sleep in his van, he swallows a few pain pills, fashions a pillow out of a towel, and balls his large, hurting body up against the winter cold.

For all that his body is breaking down, it is Randy's livelihood. He could have worked construction, it's true, or some other job. But he is an athlete, and an entertainer, and he will not quit until he is too broken to go on. Rourke succeeds in making this desire one I understood for all I found it unreasonable, and this is his great triumph in the role. On the wrestling circuit, no longer a hot commodity, The Ram must try increasingly reckless tricks to keep the audience's attention. That is what makes the film hard to watch. In one scene, after pulling staples and broken glass out of his back, Randy collapses into a pool of his own vomit. Sitting in the comfortable warm of the Midtown Art Cinema, watching him pitch forward, I shed two tears, because he was so bent on suffering, and I understood that his life outside the ring was not worth a damn. Turns out the pony only had one trick.

The Wrestler isn't exclusively about making you ache with pity. There are glorious, poignant little light-hearted moments, featuring the Ram's beauty regimen (tanning beds and peroxide) and fire fighter fetishists. Marissa Tomei does superior work portraying a stripper past her prime, and Evan Rachel Wood gives a fine performance as Randy's daughter. But Mickey Rourke's Ram owns the show, because it is so much his story.

In what is the saddest, truest scene in the movie, the Ram attends a small convention of former wrestlers, hocking his own merchandise behind a folding table. He has some VHS tapes and a few posters. As he surveys the room he becomes aware of his peers, with their canes, wheel chairs, and colostomy bags. His face shows recognition, but in a subtle move, Randy curls his fists, defiant, unwilling to surrender.

The Wrestler is an incredible, wrenching, and heartbroken piledriver of a movie. Rourke deserves to win the Oscar, and I hope he does.

A darling of the trenches.

2009-02-12T11:47:00.013-05:00

Since I've been remiss in my duties as a blogger, I'm going to offer you:

things I have consumed - by justasweetyoungthing on Polyvore.com

1. Monster Trucks
I went to see large trucks roll over cars and jump hills at the so-called "Monster Jam" at the Georgia Dome. You guys, Monster Truck is poetry. It is mesmerizing and loud and perfect. I may have been a little tipsy, but everything about watching Maximum Destruction flip over and careen into Backdraft was gorgeous. I think I was dazzled by scale, I'm not ashamed to admit. Everything was just so damned big.

2. Twin Peaks
Of course, you may roll your eyes at this one. My love of a good pie, a magically real setting and plot, a square-jawed hero, and a good whodunnit are all wrapped up in a tidy, Lynchian package here. Critically, I'll tell you that the story sags after the first few episodes of the second season. Between that climax and the series finale, Twin Peaks becomes difficult to watch, a series of torturous, directionless scenes featuring beloved characters that used to have animus.

3. Låt den rätte komma in
Sometimes called the Swedish vampire movie, it's more than it sounds. It was a completely magical movie experiences simply by virtue of being itself, which is to say a truly unique perspective on adolescence, vampires and bullying. It's pale and beautiful too, all shades of snow and ice. In truth, it's my favorite movie made in the last year. If you don't trust me to be objective about vampires, you're right, but this movie is still incredible, and you should at least netflix it if you have the chance.

4. Top Flr and La Tavola
I've been working on eating my way through Atlanta, and both these restaurants are worthy. Top Flr has the kind of eclectic, sleek elegance you sometimes crave in a date restaurant, but La Tavola's long second floor porch is magnificent. In terms of food, they represent opposite ends of the modern spectrum, but I think I liked the small plates of minimalist New American fare at Top Flr more than the creative Italian Tavola offered.

5. Fenders
These are the best investment of any of these reviews, and they protect me from puddles and gravel and everything else on the ground, they also look cute and appropriate on my girly, girly bike. I got a basket too, which also succeeds in being practical and charming to look at. That is, of course, my general life goal.

6. Tights
I wear them in shades of black, gray, and brown most everyday. I am so happy they are in style, because my shins are always, always bruised, and these keep my legs looking ladylike. They also hide my pallor, always a plus. I am particularly fond of all the patterns of sweater tights available from Target. A good pair, like these, is warm and comfortable for my bike ride to work and back each day.

7. Necklaces
Let's be honest. I tend to think of jewelry as something I should expect to lose, but I've gotten two necklaces recently that I hope I can hold on to. The first was a thrift store find, and cost me all of $15 dollars, well, actually my mom picked up the tab on that one. The second comes from Hotcakes design in San Francisco, and is a handcarved resin number that cost a little more, but I think I will wear often enough to make up for it. Is it weird that these things make me feel more adult, when really they are basically an extension of my dress-up instincts?

*As in spent money on. Much as I love the idea of eating monster trucks, it is not something I am physically capable of doing.

Citizen Lady

2008-12-11T09:35:00.010-05:00

Hi, everyone. No pictures to offer just yet, but it's a rainy sort of week in Atlanta, and most everything looks gray anyway. But it ain't half bad. I drink hot beverages, read novels, on occasion my boyfriend takes me out for Mexican food, and slate.com is my work homepage. I live the American dream.

There's no way for me to explain how excited I am about Obama's cabinet. I get the shivers about it on a regular basis. I mean, if Clinton in State weren't already the right side of too good, Steve Chu in Energy is enough to give this young citizen a qualified people in positions of power fit of the vapors. Oh, you liberal intelligentsia, you are sexing up my government, and I like it.

There was an article in the Times or maybe the Washington Post a while back that talked about the conservative backlash to liberal academic elites taking over America. It led me to go a little further in my periodic trollings of conservative media, all the way to The Weekly Standard where Joseph Epstein's usual cries about snobbery have somewhat escalated of late, and he declared that "some of the worst people in the United States have gone to the Harvard or Yale Law Schools ." He went on to call graduates of such institutions, "clever, maybe brilliant, but rarely deep."

Ok, I didn't go to Harvard or Yale or anything close. I wound up at a small women's college in the South, and I am happy with how it turned out. I grew up in the Midwest, and I think of myself as fairly wholesome looking. I could put on a gingham dress and work it. So with these qualifications, as a child of middle America*, and on behalf of myself and many of my friends, I'd like to ask the whole conservative movement to back off. Please stop "defending" your condescending perception of my way of life and my non-Ivy League education, because the fact that someone went to Harvard is not an attack on that. I would prefer to have qualified, brilliant, and even clever leaders, myself. Educated ones sound like a fun change.

That rant concluded, I want to tell you where I'm sending my money this Christmas. A local community organizer who runs Atlanta's bike co-op and her companion were attacked and robbed in her home a week or so ago, and I'm going to help as I can. If you have funds or time or both to spare, it's the worthiest kind of cause. If you're Atlanta, you can also come out to the benefit tonight which will go towards replacing stolen medical equipment and other essentials. If you were looking for a place to put your seasonal cash, I'd recommend:

Replace Chris' Stuff Fund
Chris Devoe
c/o Rachael Spiewak
1089 Blue Ridge Ave Apt 1
Atl, GA 30306

* Albeit a lost child.

Sunday Bread Project

2008-11-23T13:12:00.007-05:00

I also chopped my hair a couple of weeks ago- I love it. I hadn't realized how much I missed short hair.

And this is a basket I found at work and lined with fabric from a torn old dress. I'm going to use it for my bicycle now, just as soon as I can lay hands on some zip ties.

Unrelated

2008-11-19T14:06:00.008-05:00

A pie a week, I've discovered, is a little much. My poor hips can't take the butter, even when I have friends to help eat up all the slices. That said, I've been baking like a fiend as the weather's gotten colder. I'm one for desserts so it's been a long fall of cakes and pies. I've mulled a lot of cider and mashed a lot of potatoes. It's been great, it's been seasonal. I like the chill in the air. I don't even want to hear cracks from the Indiana crowd regarding "real winter"- you can back off, Indiana. It's been a great fall.

Let's get over that and talk about James Bond.

I'm going to preface this by saying A.O. Scott is my favorite film critic. He has an even keel to set your rudder by*, and we have similar tastes. It's not that I feel he is my long lost preference twin (for that, see Keith Phipps of the Onion's AV Club). He is my preference cousin, and he is good for me because he is not as prone to loving things with explosions for having explosions the way I am. In terms of movies, he is my reminder that I ought to eat a vegetable every once in a while, or at least watch that Herzog documentary.

Which is why I found it strange to catch him in the crowd of critics crying foul on the newly emotional James Bond. "Is revenge the only possible motive for large-scale movie heroism these days? Does every hero, whether Batman or Jason Bourne, need to be so sad?"

And the answer, in PoMo America, with the end of the Cold War and the escalation of conflicts in the Middle East, the rise of terrorism and the decline of the nation-state, is well, kind of, yeah. Bond, more than Batman**, reflects the spirit of a time. In 46 years and 22 movies, you see 6 Bonds, all of whom embody different qualities.

You have the brutish and charismatic Bond of Sean Connery in the 1960's- he liked his ladies blonde and he seemed to forget them instantly. The interloping George Lazenby was the only marrying Bond in 1969, before they brought Sean Connery back out of popular demand. Roger Moore had more success replacing Sean Connery, possibly because he was his physical opposite. Further, the light-hearted kitsch feeling of Moore's bond is a peek in on the strange feeling of the 1970's. I recommend "Moonraker" most highly of these fantastical Bond movies- in an era after we'd seemingly mastered space travel, there is a sauntering quality of Bond's which becomes dominant in his character, as if his smirk is always to say, "Bitch, please. I've conquered the universe." With the close of the 80's, the beginning of the AIDS epidemic and the decline of the Soviet Union, Timothy Dalton went a little too far in his realistic portrayal of a darker Bond and people just didn't like his eyebrows. Ok, I just don't think he was particularly charming.

Of course there's the Bond I first encountered, Pierce Brosnan. More sensitive, and some have argued "more psychologically complete" then previous Bonds, he had that sort of wistful widower quality about him. Of course, I think that he was probably just mourning the end of the Cold War and the dearth of sexy KGB girls to seduce. Despite this unipolar handicap, he was quite adept at getting pretty young women to disrobe. Goldeneye, Brosnan's debut, is still my third favorite Bond movie***, not just because I like explosions or because Judy Dench as M is the single greatest casting decision the franchise ever made. Because James Bond is a three dimensional character in it, and because my favorite henchwoman Xenia Onnatop kills people by strangling them with her thighs. Take that, Octopussy. Also, Brosnan and Sean Bean make excellent frenemies. It's a good Friday night movie for sitting in your PJs and avoiding clubs or company.

But let's talk about new Bond. He's not humorless as critics would claim. And he's not so brooding or brutish that he can't talk a sexy redheaded British beaurocrat into forgetting to arrest him and then forgetting her panties. He's bruised and distrustful, but he's also smart and tough. He is not nearly as tragic a figure as A.O.'s whining would suggest. He's a wounded and witty Bond for a wounded and witty age. Sardonic quips aside, I would argue that a Roger Moore in this day in age would be not only inappropriate, it would be border-line psychotic. It would be equivalent of inserting Zac Effron into a production of Faust. The title "Quantum of Solace" means a measure of comfort, and that's what the movie is about. Revenge for Bond, is what it takes for him to recover, and I have little doubt he'll be broken inside and cynical enough to pull off "Shaken not stirred" in the next movie.

Side note: How cool was that visual allusion to Goldfinger with the naked lady in Bond's bed covered in oil? So cool.

That's all I have for now. To follow: my ridiculous shrinky dink projects, a road trip to Valpo for Thanksgiving, my first encounters with Maryland, and other DIY nonsense.

* I love the way ship analogies sound so much that I do not care if this is actually something that one does on a ship.
** I'm talking about on screen appearances. I think we can all agree that Batman Forever or Batman and Robin don't reflect anything other than a franchise's unfortunate shiny fabrics and nipple armor phase.
*** 1. Goldfinger
2. Quantum of Solace
3. Goldeneye

Your Weekly Pie #4

2008-10-06T18:40:00.010-04:00

Sorry for the delay, everyone. I had one of those weeks- it was debilitatingly busy. Despite that, there were a couple of highlights. The first being watching the vice presidential debate at Manuel's here in Atlanta. The second was making this pie.

It's a pumpkin pie, with a ginger snap crust and vanilla cream top.

I learned a lot from this pie. The pumpkin filling that the WHCC called for was very traditional. I got to buy my favorite seasonal spice, cloves. Just shopping for the ingredients made me excited for autumn.

The American South gets a bad wrap for autumn, I think. While the chill doesn't set in as early here, it lasts longer, and I love the freedom the long, cool season provides. When I hopped on my bike to head to Manuel's, I wore my first tights of the fall season along with a skirt and light sweater. Growing up in Northern Indiana, I revel in this freedom of dress for fall. I remember countless Halloweens with princess dresses pulled over snow pants. I love that I can stay cute and stay ouside.

But back to my pie, again, it was a learning experience. I put the vanilla cream on too quickly after the pie came out of the oven and it started melting all over. A quick trip to the freezer saved the pie, and next time I'll know better. The combination of components worked wonderfully though. The vanilla was cool on the spicy pie filling, and the cookie crust was rich and crispy.

This week, I may take a break from pie in favor of another dessert item. I'll keep you updated.

Your Weekly Pie #3

2008-09-25T08:45:00.010-04:00

Yesterday, I told my friend, Kathryn, a little bit about my plans for next week's pie. I explained that after three fruit pies (the latest is a little blackberry number) I think it is time to veer into the creams, custards, and chiffons. Actually, I said that if I made another fruit pie next week, it would feel like I was cheating.

"You're going to stress yourself out," she laughed.

But here's the thing. I love cooking and baking and I love silly, arbitrary rules I make up to challenge myself in projects like this. Besides, after my blackberry pie with lattice cinnamon streusel crust, I want to try something different. Maybe I will attempt a merengue.

The pie was really delicious, and I was lucky because a swarm of friends descended on the apartment to watch Project Runway and hang out, so it all got eaten save the one slice I had with a cup of coffee for breakfast this morning. It was my first fall pie, and I liked the way it came out. The blackberries were rich and dense, the crust was flaky and buttery. All in all, this is my favorite pie of the project so far.

But, other updates. Troy Davis's execution was stayed by the Supreme Court two hours before he was due to die on Monday. It's a good sign, I think. Hopefully the justices will decide to hear his case. I'm crossing my fingers and my toes. To be honest, I think I will be heartbroken about Georgia a bit, if he doesn't even get a hearing.

The economy is falling to pieces, and John McCain plans on going in there with his tool kit and a few tricks he learned from the Viet Cong. I don't mean to be dismissive. I am glad President Bush has called both prospective presidents to Washington to be present for the first actions taken to fix what is broken. I am glad that there is a degree of transparency about this, and that he gave an address. I am glad that I can read Secretary Paulson's plan to save the market. But I want to see a debate. I want to hear arguments clearly presented from these two candidates, and I want to see them respond to each other. I think it's important, particularly in this election, which has made me feel so far removed from half the country. Not just by things like the Sarah Palin rape kit story, or by John McCain's slide to social conservatism and inability to count his homes, but also by my own biases. I want to see them talk to each other, because I would like to stop a nascent prejudice I've formed against all Republicans. For that, I need to see John McCain make some rational arguments more than I need to see Barack Obama refute them. Because it would be nice not to feel terrified of the GOP.

That said, I want Senator Obama to whoop his ass, and I want white women to stop liking Sarah Palin just because she's spunky. If Santa Claus did advance deliveries, that would be all I want for early November. Oh, but a girl can dream.

Your Weekly Pie #2.75

2008-09-19T20:46:00.004-04:00

A picture from the WHCC:
My version:

Your Weekly Pie #2

2008-09-18T21:57:00.013-04:00

Sorry it's slightly delayed, but I did make your pie. It was actually a trial version, to prepare for the the strawberry glazed which I plan on making this weekend. You know, it will be awesome. Let me tell you some things though.

I got a bike! I call her the Dreamcycle, in honor of that perfect shade of orange. She has high handle bars and white wall tires, and she's the prettiest bike I've ever seen. I've ridden to work all this week, instead of walking. I have so much more energy, which makes me want to do things, and in that spirit...

I made this white peach pie, with a cookie crust and DIM* whipped cream. It tasted better than Reddiwip. I decided to treat this pie as a test run for the strawberry pie on several grounds:

1. I was searching for a viable alternative to gelatin for setting the pie, because I have vegetarian friends, and I like it when they can eat.
2. Graham cracker crust may be classic, but I wanted to try an alternative.
3. I'd never made whipped cream before, and I feared disaster.

It turned out lovely. All of it. It was sweet and delicious, and I got excited to try that other pie tomorrow. I learned important things about how to make the components, and really, pie is about assembly. You need to construct a viable crust and carefully concoct your filling. Beyond that it is a question of letting it sit or heating it up to fuse it. This was a refrigerate and set number, and I have to say, I liked the result. For the strawberry pie I will use actual gelatin, whereas for this pie I used starch to thicken the filling. I think that my only complaint about the pie, other than that white peaches have too delicate a flavor to hold up to cookie crust and whipped cream, would be that the filling was simply too liquid.

Other activities this week included attending a lecture by Scott McCloud, the comics theorist, at my alma mater. It was a really good presentation. A little rehearsed, but not in a bad way. The whole thing ran so fluidly, I guess it could be favorably compared to my peach pie filling. It was fun to be back at Agnes Scott, to see how the student body is much as it always was. Reassuring. While getting him to sign a book, Scott McCloud informed me about the origins of steampunk, a movement I've been joking about recently.

And yesterday, Lou, the Dreamcycle and I took a trip to Manuel's to go to an Amnesty International sponsored event about the death penalty. It's a hot issue everywhere, but especially in Georgia right now. Jack Alderman was executed three days ago, and William Lynd was killed a month or so before that. The Troy Davis case has been garnering attention in the international press- rightly so, I think. The thing about it, besides the fact that state sanctioned killing is kind of messed up, is that since his trial seven of nine witnesses recanted their testimony against the man, and no other evidence has been produced, no weapons, no DNA magic. Yet, Troy Davis has not been able to present any of this in his own defense, and will be executed in less than a week. Regardless of how one may feel about capital punishment, I think it can be agreed that if the state is going to take the life of a citizen, the process leading up to killing that person must necessarily be a precise and public one. This is a terrible farce, occurring on such a gross scale that it embarrasses me as it shocks and horrifies. This case speaks to a kind of disconcerting and unexpected indifference on the part of the criminal justice system to, well, justice. For all that, people around the world are paying attention, some are taking action, and this system must break or change. I hope that happens sooner, rather than later.

Tonight, to counteract all that culture and information I've been imbibing, I watched the Sarah Connor Chronicles and Fringe. Those things were both awesome, though Firefly's River Tam as a robot wins in a fight versus Pacey Witter of Dawson's Creek and the gland eating monsters. I know you were wondering.

* Did It Myself

Your Weekly Pie #1

2008-09-10T20:16:00.014-04:00

I know it's been a long time, but I'm back to revive this blog. Let's go over the major developments.

I found a job! I decided to stay in Atlanta, and these days I'm busy saving your endangered historic structures at The Georgia Trust for Historic Preservation. My job mainly involves writing some reports and thank you notes. It's pretty lovely, and I work at Rhodes Hall, which is an incredible late Reconstruction-era mansion done in the style of Rhineland castle. Not too shabby.

I walk to work everyday from my attic apartment. It's about 200 feet from Piedmont Park. I share it with Lou, and we both watched enough Sesame Street and had younger siblings, so we're good at sharing.

I have some stories and pictures, but really, I brought back this blog for one reason: pie.

My grandmother died while I was in high school. Mary Cronk was a woman of many talents. She was great at crossword puzzles, at listening to my concerns without laughing, at dealing cards, and at making dessert. During World War II, when my grandfather was driving his tank, she worked in a typing pool for the OSS and mastered a few recipes from that wartime's most popular cookbook. It was three years before the war started that she bought her Women's Home Companion Cookbook, which my Aunt Donna passed my way a couple years ago. I miss my grandma. She deserves a tribute, and in her honor, I'm going to make a pie every week from the WHCC. Until I run out or lose interest.

This week, a variation on the pecan pie as advised in the concluding part of the pie chapter. I know, an ambitious start. I made the chocolate chess pie, featuring pecans and bourbon.

It looks good? More brownie like than I expected. It tasted like a good batch of brownies too, with some crust on the outside. I liked it. I wish it were slightly less fluffy, but I think that taking out an egg and moving closer to a traditional pecan pie recipe would solve that problem. When I do it again, I will make sure to have vanilla ice cream and coffee on-hand as well.

Next week, I'm going to give my first strawberry pie a shot. It should be a challenge, and I'm really excited to make my first graham cracker crust from scratch.

I've written pages upon pages trying to rid you from my bones.

2008-04-06T03:50:00.008-04:00

I remember, sentimentally now, the weirdness of first arriving in France. But as much as I settled in and made a life here, some of that awareness of being in a foreign place always stayed. The longer I was here, the more I realized that I was isolated from France by my perception of it. In the same way that the English words "strange" and "stranger" are related at their root, so are their French counterparts "etrange" and "l'etranger"- the latter is the word most often used for "foreigner" in France. Anyway, in English, I always though the words were kind of charmingly chosen, in the style of curious and curiouser, as Lewis Carol played with the same concept of the weirdness of a foreign place in Alice's journey through Wonderland.

And the fact is that for all France was curious to me, I was curiouser by virtue of being an American in a small French city, and for choosing that life. I had a funny accent, funny habits, funny music. I may have looked sideways at France, but it grimaced right back. These past three months, I would say, my eyebrows have raised less and less at the things that were different, and when they did, I would laugh to myself. I will miss this feeling. Not that my own country doesn't make me raise my eyebrows all the time.

Which is why I'll keep this blog up, though it may be updated infrequently. If you want to keep reading you can follow my new quest to settle into Atlanta again, earn a living, and get over whatever culture shock I may experience.

When I got back from Hong Kong, my main shock was the shock of space. There was so much room, so much less of a crowd. But ultimately, my reaction was confidence, because America was so much easier to navigate. It is easier to not be a continual stranger in a place. It is easier to have a sense of it, to understand all the signs, to know instinctively the protocols. In two days, I'll be through with the expatriate life for a while. I would be lying if I said I weren't looking forward to that. And to Mexican food.

When I first started this blog, I listed some challenges I planned to take on in France. Here are my final stats for the season:

1. Train Travel - I loved it, the way you'd expect me to. My last train ride will be tomorrow to Paris.

2. The Jura Mountains (the Alps too) - I got to know the Jura really well, and hiked the Alps a few times.

3. French Language - I improved.

4. 30 or so middle schoolers - It was closer to 100 middle schoolers and high schoolers.

5. Breads and Cheeses - Delicious. I will miss them.

6. Isolation, Irony, and perhaps Fear, definitely Poverty. - There was less fear than I thought. But the rest of it I got in spades. Froverty, Frirony and Frisolation were definitely themes of my time.

7. Fripsters - THEY'RE EVERYWHERE. Hip, pretty, and clad in only black and white every night to go out.

8. The Continent - 6 months, four countries, including France. Not too shabby. I feel like I had a good run.

I just posted my England pictures on flickr, and when I get back to Atlanta, I will put together a general highlights album from my travels within France.

Today is my last real day in Besancon, and for all that it's been strange and hard, I have a knot in my stomach just thinking about how long it will be before I see this place again. I am ready to leave, ready to go home. But I still feel like I am losing something, if that makes any sense at all.

This was England.

2008-04-02T08:32:00.017-04:00

One of the more shiny and happy perks of my job here in France was a trip to England with some of my students last week. As you may know, throughout college I frequently declared myself over the industrialized world. But I guess, given the whole French expedition and my travels in Europe, it is clear that I am well, not finished with Western civilization after all. And, if you're not through with the imperialist experiment or done with canonical literature, England is the place to be.

I'm sorry, that may have sounded snide. But let's be clear, I am not over imperialism or good books, so England satisfied me in a way few vacations have. What I mean to say is that England was what I expected it to be, as a tourist, and that I enjoyed it for that. I frolicked the moors, trolled the museums, perused the bookstores, and generally had a delightful week. The best part of this break in England, for me, was just the ease of it. And that really was the result the language thing.

We did a lot, too much to talk about and really more than I could digest. My favorite parts of the trip were the stops in York and Cambridge.

Outside of York proper are the ruins of Fountains Abbey. Once one of the wealthiest abbeys in the country, when Henry the 8th started sacking Catholic holdings in England, he did this one a particularly nasty turn. Following the pillaging, he took the Abbey grounds and created a water garden for his new wife, Anne Boleyn.

I love a good ruin. And Fountains is expansive, with lots of places to run around and more to picnic. It was a great time, even while toting fifty French teenagers.

Cambridge is just too pretty to be believed. You can glide along the river taking it all in on a punt, or you can just walk it, like I did. I spent most of my day in Cambridge just wandering, eating a bun, lazily drinking some coffee. I stopped at a thrift store and bought a couple of used books.

I also saw the Bronte house and got to run around Yorkshire fields with the spring lambs. It was really a wonderful break, and I think I better understand what people see in England. For me, liking a country has a lot to do with personal attraction. I find I often think of countries in high school note terms:

Do you like-like England?
Yes
No
Maybe X

I'll be honest and tell you that England isn't really my type. We aren't going steady. Unless Flumpy moves there, or Nissa stays, in which case I will be all over England. Regardless, I am really glad I got the chance to go. I try not to forget the privilege of living abroad and traveling these places. Especially now that I am less than a week from moving back to America.

Here's to England and to Europe and to these past six months.

Paris in passing.

2008-02-27T11:01:00.018-05:00

I got to Paris in mid-February with what the French would call a cat in my throat, the kind of voice only a Tom Waits fan could love, and met Louis for a couple of days of sightseeing.

We did important, touristy Paris things. We strolled by the Seine, watched the Eiffel Tower Sparkle, and enjoyed our charmingly cheap hotel. We walked around the Rodin museum and encountered the whole gamut of French waiters. Then we retreated to Besancon for the rest of the week.

For the record, Louis is a pretty ideal travel companion. He's good at dealing with maps and lots of walking. If you are looking for someone to navigate a foreign city with, I would vouch for him. I got him lost in the wilds of rural France, and he was completely unflappable.

Visitors and trips have really saved me while I have lived here. I don't talk about it much, but my day-to-day of life as an expatriate is not glamorous, and it is often stressful, lonely, and difficult. I will always be grateful for the time I have spent in France, but to be truthful, I couldn't have managed it without all the people from home who have made a point of letting me know that I am still loved on the other side of the ocean.

Thank you.

You can see all of Louis's France pictures here.

Spain in beverages.

2008-02-24T13:33:00.009-05:00

I'm not going to type about sangria, to be clear. I really want to talk about my two favorite drinks from Spain, so I'm going to start with a specific style of cafe con leche, pictured here with a delicious toasted croissant.

I find beverages with condensed milk, thai iced tea for instance, to be inevitably delicious. They're sweet and creamy and perfect. The average cafe con leche, or cafe au lait as the French call it, uses normal steamed milk. At the cafe, I discovered that condensed milk makes the espresso easy to drink. And as much as I love my tiny French coffees, this cafe con leche won me over because it is so leisurely and smooth- I might argue the perfect morning beverage. Though this is a beverage post, I'd also like to tell you that toasted croissants are delightful, and I want to eat them for breakfast all the time.

Drink number two is kind of a Spanish swindle, which made me love the place even more. I studied abroad in China, a place where I came to expect and almost masochistically enjoy a seller's culture trying to pull one over on me all the time. I mean, it is kind of charming, the sort of verve that requires. I'm not a wine connoisseur by any measure. I mean, in France I have drunk more wine than ever before, but I am new to the ways of wine snobbery. That said, I plan on wrinkling my nose at all kinds of cheap wine when I get back to the States. And some beers too, because I have been spoiled by life in a place where a genuinely tasty Belgian beer (Grimbergen, for instance) is cheaper than any American light beer.

But, I was going to tell you that in a Spanish restaurant, they will cop to giving you a cheap, "bad" red wine, and serve it with sparkling water, or in some cases coke. I didn't try coke and red wine, but fizzy red wine is kind of delightful, the way you'd expect it to be. The sweet cabernet sauvignon they served with my lunch in Barcelona went really well with carbonated water. Sacrilegious as that may sound.

And that was last week in beverages. Spain was very drinkable.

Recently...

2008-02-24T08:22:00.004-05:00

I've been tooling around the continent a bit. The pictures are up on my flickr page, and the stories are forthcoming. For now, I have something of a cold, and I need to rest up for work tomorrow.

Swiss Miss

2008-01-30T07:20:00.002-05:00

I got in a mood and hopped a cheap train to Zurich this Saturday- it was a good idea. This entry is mainly for my grandma, who has had a sort of ongoing romance with the Switzerland, which I can endorse now. With gusto, even. It was an impromptu visit, two days to get out of France and go anywhere.

Switzerland is chilly and clean. In French, a snow globe is une boule de neige, and it really was, for lack of something less cliched to say about it, like walking into one. The air was fresh, the people were friendly, and I spent my first day in Zurich meandering through charmingly planned neighborhoods.

It's a river city, and I was lucky enough to stay with some charming people at a hostel with a great view of the Limmat River. I hiked around, drank lots of coffee, took in the cathedrals, and ate fondue. I mean, I find that traveling is a lot about the feeling of a place. And I liked the way Zurich felt.

I spent day two mainly in the Kunsthaus Zurich Museum. I am a sucker for modern art, the way you'd expect me to be. I loved it. Zurich was actually reasonably priced, for a person on a spontaneous trip. I was able to just burst into things for next to nothing, and the museum cost me not a cent. Hooray, Europe.

I took just a few pictures, and only three or four at the museum, but this Ernst, Oiseaux, has been one of my favorite paintings for years. It was incredible to see it in person. Oh, and they had Giacometti. Ma, remember when I wrote that entrance essay about him? Anyway, it was just unbelievable. I want to move into an art museum someday.

Or maybe into the the Zoologischer Garten Zurich. It's the fanciest, nicest, leafiest zoo I've ever seen. The aviary was the most amazing part, with stork nests and parrots, the giant tortoises, red pandas and penguins were also great.

It was an amazing trip, and one I am really glad I got the chance to make. In February, when I fly to Spain, I'll get to spend a half a day in Geneva as well, and that should be incredible. It will be interesting to see two different Swiss cities.

Oh, long silences.

2008-01-10T07:59:00.001-05:00

I know you'll let me off the hook for not typing more in December. I spent the first part of the month getting ready to go home, and while I was home, blogging on France wasn't something I considered.

But now that I am back on this side of the ocean with an hour or so of free afternoon on my hands, this thing is going to get a serious update. Serious may be too strong a word, but you get my meaning. Today, I want to talk to you about trains.

To get to and from Besancon from any airport in France you get to take a train ride. I have always had romantic notions, forged in classic literature and old movies, where trains are concerned. The truth is, deep down, I want to wait for a boy by a steam engine. Cue swirling, smoggy, sexy exhaust all around, better than any fog machine could manage and a big Hollywood style kiss. I know, I know. You're ashamed of me.

But, the only other swirly mist location options, in my opinion, are moors (too gothic) and Nepal (this could work too, if I get more Indiana Jonesy in my late 20's).

Anyway, I have taken more trains since getting to Europe than I had in my entire life before then, and I think this is the common experience of the expatriate abroad here. In the past few months I've taken short regional trains to towns like Arbois and Ornans and Belfort, long, express routes to and from Paris, and long, frequently stopping slower alternatives to Lyon.

It's been educational, and I want to stand by my love of trains, the romance is still there, along with a respect for the efficiency of a train system that connects every part of a country. It's amazing, the ease with which I can travel anywhere. With my handy Carte 12-25, I save about half the fare or more everytime I travel, so it's relatively inexpensive, which helps matters. It's actually pretty magical.

I'm writing this now because I think when I leave Europe I will miss trains a lot. Just like I'll miss pastries and cheeses and beverages. Though I think I may miss trains more because they make life here seem more genuinely navigable than it is in a lot of places.

The Week in Beverages.

2007-12-05T13:37:00.001-05:00

We haven't talked about this, but I love beverages best. Particularly the hot, delicious ones- cocoa, cider, coffee, and even some teas. I used to greet visitors to my dorm rooms with the offer of a hot beverage, and I think that on winter days, nothing is better.

That's why I'm gone for vin chaud. Mulled wine, the stuff of Dickensian Christmases, is delicious. A friend's mom gave me the recipe, and if you want it, I will email it to you.

But, I've also always been one for trash. So I also love the 17 cent Greek generic cola I get at Lidl, the cheap supermarket. It is liquid delicious, also probably good for unblocking clogs in your plumbing. It goes very well with my euro microwaveable pizzas.

And of course, there's my new favorite beer, Desperados. It's like Corona, but with more tequila. It's the perfect summer beer, in my opinion, and I want to know if I can lay hands on it in the States, because it would be perfect for porches or pools.

And that's what I've been up to, really.

The Storms of Late Autumn

2007-11-25T13:43:00.001-05:00

I jumped a barrier to walk along the swollen Doubs tonight.

I had hiked into town for a coffee and a croissant, to watch people and read a little. Sundays in Besancon are quiet. Not much is open, and people have been retreating indoors more as the winter is approaching. Anyway, I don't tend to need days of solitude, when I crave it. The fall rains this weekend left the city flooded, and I trudged through the wet streets and down to the river. I ignored the gate and walked by the Doubs, careful not to fall in. The moonlight reflected bright and hard off the water, the wind made my nose run, and a couple miles later, I felt like I'd gotten something out of my system. When I crave solitude, I just need an hour to be completely by myself- that's what I got. I stared up at the Citadelle for a while, wrote in my journal, and celebrated my two month anniversary in France.

Earlier this morning, I went into Vesoul, a small town near here, for the festival of St. Katherine. It was charming- it's a festival for unmarried girls, mainly. So many of the girls from my classes were wandering around in traditional costume. "'Ello, Linds-aye! 'Ow are you?" It was lovely to see them out of class and in their element. I felt like I understood this place more at that moment than I had the entire time I've been here.

Now, I'm in for the night, sipping white wine with Meredith, and in a bit I'll talk her into playing some Rummy. I love that my life here has this aspect of regularity- it's not exotic or strange. It's just France in the day to day, and it's beautiful.

The Citadelle

2007-11-20T09:20:00.001-05:00

The Citadelle at Besancon is one my all time favorite things and places.

I am unsure why, aside from that geeky middle school girl side of me that favors historic locales with good stories. The Citadelle's stony, austere, gorgeous. I like to sit beside it and read and draw and think about all the soldiers who guarded it, why it was important strategically, and German armies trying to storm up the Jura to wage assaults on it. It's a fun place to sit, and I think it inspires a kind comfortable awe, if that is something you can say about "awe." Like, it's big and imposing, but not so big and imposing that you don't feel ok drinking wine near it.

That's my kind of awe-inspiring.

It is done like so.

2007-11-14T08:45:00.001-05:00

I'm legal! I got my titre de sejour today, and it feels like I accomplished something.

Now, if I can just get my internet working and my window fixed, I will feel much better.

Unrelated but also happy news, I am headed home for Christmas! Thanks, Mom and Dad. I will come bearing gifts.

In the Haut Jura, where I live, the regional cuisine is all peasant-y and delicious. It involves a lot of potatoes and meat and cheese. These are all foods that please me, so I think I wound up in the right part of France. I tracked down a recipe for a favorite local dish, and I will be making it in Valparaiso over break. So, if you're around, you can try my first attempt.

I'm really happy to be going home for Christmas, because despite my independent streak, I always feel terribly homesick when I'm away from Valpo for too long. The French term for homesickness is mal de pays, and I am sick for America too. The only prescription is a visit home once every four or five months. Valparaiso, Indiana will always be magic to me.

A rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore.

2007-11-02T07:48:00.001-04:00

For Halloween, I had my English classes do "The Raven," which was longer than I remembered it being, and is difficult for native English speakers to begin with. But, French kids are tricky, I find, because if you make things easy, they feel you're condescending. If you make things too hard, they are quick to give up. Still, they would rather be challenged. So I downloaded a reading of the poem with Vincent Price and played it for them approximately forty billion times.

Ok, I exaggerate, but really, I played it, stanza by stanza three or four times for each of my classes. Then I would make them tell me what they'd understood, turn to the text and ask me for vocabulary help. It was a task, but it worked. It worked, and I felt great. I don't know if I've ever felt prouder than when the youngest boy in one my classes, Olivier, told me he though the raven was Lenore's ghost and justified his claim with textual evidence. Can you imagine? An explication in a second language. Olivier is now my favorite.

I like teaching. It's unexpected.

Toussaints has been lovely. I've hiked a lot in the Jura, and I got a second pillow. Tonight, Charles is coming to visit. I'm going to splurge, I think, and take him to a nice fondue restaurant.

Besancon has settled into an autumnal loveliness I can't adequately describe. It's all golden leaves and golden light. It's a great place to pass a fall, and it's my first real fall in five years. If I can track down some apple cider, I will be the happiest girl in the world.

I also recently tried the favorite regional wine, a soft white from Arbois, and it was maybe the most delicious wine I've ever had. And, if you come, I will order you a triangle aux amondes, which is like a crossaint, but topped with a sugar glaze and almond bits. It is my new favorite breakfast food.

Toussaints

2007-10-26T05:37:00.001-04:00

I woke up in love with Besancon this morning, but that isn't the way it always goes. On the coldest mornings, when I wake up and the winter is bent on blowing my face off, I wish I had been placed somewhere on the Riviera. There are also whole bad days, when I just wish I were somewhere where I could speak English. France is just like any other place in that there are days when I would rather be someplace else. This past weekend, in a fit of needtogetoutofheritis, I travelled to Burgundy, a beautiful and much needed escape from my mountain town. I know more about wine than you do now.

But I am happy to be here today, because it's lovely out, and I am about to get a week off work and get paid. As of tomorrow, I will be a young lady of sufficient means to get a second pillow, a ticket to the Beirut/Andrew Bird show in Strausburg, and perhaps the internet, if the charming people at France Telecom will oblige me. Cross your fingers. I might be able to stop nursing expressos for hours in cafes.

I don't think I have talked much about how I feel about French language, and it's time you knew that I love it. Even when it frustrates me to the point of tears, but that doesn't happen as often as it used to. French isn't too complicated or too pretty, the way I always thought of it being before I got here. It is musical but simple, and with just a few phrases you can navigate most situations. The forms of sentences are nice and regular, as are the rhythms of conversation.

Recently, trying to learn more practical French, I taped up all the vocabulary words for things like door and handle on the appropriate objects around my apartment. Drinking wine and playing rummy with Meredith, we quizzed each other on the important little things you don't learn in high school French.

But, as sensible as some of my impulses about learning French are, I love impractical speech, so I collect ridiculous French too. For instance, kids at my school are quick to call things they like "enorme!" This reminds me of my days at Valparaiso High School, when things were "huge." My accent is never so beautiful as when I hiss my best French curse, the one that impresses the locals, "putain!"

I've started picking up l'argot, French slang, and even better verlan, which is based in word play and kind of exploded out of the North African communties here. That, friends, is my favorite, because it's all reversing letters and shimmying syllables around. Even "verlan" is word play, coming from the word "l'envers", which means the reverse. My favorite verlan terms are "skeud" for record, and "chelou" which means shady.I have also started investigating French internet speak, which I find fascinating. In addition to "lol" there's "mdr" which is "mort de rire" and translates as death by laughing.

Beyond that, I have recently come to think of certain aspects of my personality as latently French, like that I love lying around, that I love sarcasm, that I love coffee and bread and hats. And of course, I love France, with a fierce, territorial feeling that continues to surprise me. But I get the impression though that some of you knew that would be the case before I did.

When a moment redeems a day.

2007-10-19T05:34:00.001-04:00

I was having a terrible (some would go so far as to say shitty) day yesterday. I got stuck in the immigration office for several hours. I forget that I am an immigrant here sometimes. It is a pain. I think everyone should have to go through this stuff in a foreign country though, if only to understand how deeply important something so mindnumbingly dull can be. I had to stand in line for six hours yesterday, getting pushed between windows and offices. The kind officers could not find the form I needed, so I have to go back this afternoon. At least I have appointment this time. Anyway, this is the form that says I can legally work. It is something worth standing in line for, but yesterday, I was just feeling like giving up and maybe being illegal. Not really. My parents raised me right, but I hate this paperwork stuff sometimes.

When I got home, the window in the living room had blown open and shattered all over the floor. I swept up the glass, cut my hands, and mountain air invaded the apartment. Freezing and bloody, I set off to find something to distract myself, so I went to check the mail. A note informed me that I had a package... somewhere. So, I bandaided myself as best I could, shoved on some gloves and an extra sweater, and set out to find it. A little French quest. After riding two buses, and stopping at three wrong post offices, I found the right one, and I got my box.

Mom, you are at the top of my list right now. That package could not have come at a better time. I put on that new hoodie, and I felt like the world was as it should be. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I was on the verge of tears, and I felt like France was kicking my ass yesterday. You fixed it- my day, I mean. And today I was able to smile at work, wearing my favorite jacket.

Top Five Reasons My Mom Is the Best in the Land

1. That glorious package she just sent me.
2. Excellent Scrabble player.
3. Linda Cronk makes perfect snickerdoodles.
4. There is that thing where she has excellent, discerning taste in media of all kinds.
5. I love her.

That is all for today. I am going to try my hardest to get a work permit today.

Take that.

2007-10-16T16:34:00.000-04:00

I unclogged a drain in France today, and it was maybe more satisfying than finishing my thesis.

Ok, not more satisfying, but I definitely felt more capable than I usually do. Guess what? I can unscrew pipes and fix things.

Effortless Chic

2007-10-14T04:35:00.001-04:00

Ok, so I want to talk about French women and their style. I had a funny encounter with a group of gorgeous women at the Cafe du Theatre, after they'd caught a concert, while I was enjoying a Grimbergen. They chatted me up briefly about the show, then drank glasses of wine elegantly. This is my favorite kind of French woman, and I could just look at them all day. But, a critique is in order.

Ladies, you're beautiful, you're trim, you're put together. In your forties, you have perfected a kind of jaded, haute couture hotness to launch a thousand ships, but you wouldn't be impressed when the boats came. You're bored and you're lovely and you arch your eyebrows at too much enthusiasm. But I don't buy for even a second that your hair swept itself into that flawless chignon. I don't think you just threw that military jacket over that perfect black dress on and looked like you stepped out of Vogue.

I threw on this hoodie and hat this morning, and I look like a young woman in a hoodie and a hat. That is how throwing things on works. Can we all just let go of the myth of effortless French chic? We all know you're a country that works hard to look like it isn't trying too hard.

Also, just so you know, readers, there are a lot of poorly dressed French people out there. There are a lot of unfortunate sweaters and harem pants and cavalier boots. There are a lot of man purses. The unifying factor seems to be that the French try harder at fashion than Americans do to mixed results. For instance, I saw a woman at Musiques de Rues with her hair dyed an atrocious shade of purple brown to match her outfit. And young men wearing white jeans and big belt buckles and track jackets are enough to make me wish I could go on literally blind dates.

So, if you were wondering what I was thinking about French fashion, as an inveterate clotheshorse that is my opinion. My first French clothes investment (which will probably have to wait till December) will be a good pair of brown flat boots.

On Sundays in France, everything closes, and you're left to make your own fun. Today I'm going to try to get some lesson plans put together and write a letter- later in the afternoon, when it's warmed up a little, I will hike up to the Citadel and read for a while. I hope all is well on the home front. Today I had a buttery cookie and a cocoa for breakfast. It was perfect.

On Besancon

2007-10-12T05:12:00.001-04:00

There is a cloudy mist enveloping the city, and all the long underwear in the world cannot stop my ankles from chattering. I am going to hide in bed, once I get off of school. I am going to keep my winter hat on, burrito wrap myself up in my blankets, and huddle with chocolat chaud and a movie.

What movie? The Magnificent Seven. That is not very French, bien sur.

Now for some analogs, to get you better acquainted with my way of life here. If Besancon were a city in the states, it would be Boulder, Colorado. It is not very big, has an environmentalist streak, and a bourgie artistic flavor. In the same way Boulder is not as happening as say Portland, Besancon is not as happening as Toulouse or Dijon. Outside of Besancon, Franche-Comte, my region, is very conservative, and the hick to yuppie ratio is approximately 7:1 everywhere else. This reminds me of living in Atlanta. There is a big university here, so the city is young and liberal. On Monday, I went to an open mic night here- they are universally entertaining, I would argue. And French slam poetry is even more hilarious than most American slam poetry.

I go to a lot of bars and patisseries. A lot of those fancy French pastry shops are about like diners on the inside, and I like to sit in a booth with a book and a tiny coffee and eat some kind of tartlette every few days. There are markets for fresh fruits and vegetables, no haggling here. The bakeries are cheap, and the breads are so, so, so good. I drink two euro bottles of wine and tiny German beers. I drink expressos and mineral waters. There is no Diet Dr. Pepper here, there is also no analogous beverage for guzzling. I miss it.

I found the main library in Besancon, which is as about like Valparaiso Public Library. There are bookstores everywhere too, though books are pricey as you would expect them to be. Pas un grand chose.

I hope the the occasional French is not annoying. I think the language is kind of hilarious- which is problematic when I have to speak it upwards of four hours a day. Maybe it is just that I always feel like I am saying something wrong, or that my accent is ridiculous. It is funny, you know, to hear yourself speak a foreign language. Oh, well. Chances of me making it out of the cloud of doom in this mountain town were never good, at least I can laugh about it.

That is it for today, I think. I have to go try to conduct some middle school orchestra. I will tell you about it later.

People as Places as People

2007-10-02T05:27:00.001-04:00

Today I went in for some fun paper work time at the prefecture, wound up with a headache, then hiked within a mile of Switzerland to clear my head. I flirted with a boy, made a friend, and filed some forms so that I can get a new pair of glasses.

It was amazing.

My roommates, who I am starting to know, are great. Tonight Meredith cooked dinner, and we sat on our porch, eating pasta, drinking wine, listening to the Smiths, and watching people go about their lives. I did the dishes afterward- fair trade. I'm always happy when people around me like to cook Katie pops in and out, but is upbeat and fun and interested in international politics.

I also love my job and the kids and even my teachers. I go to the middle school three times a week for orchestra rehearsals and music classes. Today, I had to explain some complicated musical terms in French, which taxed my vocabulary, but that's what I'm supposed to do here. How would you explain a hemiola in any language, really? But I'm finally starting to feel like I can talk. You know me. I kind of like talking.

Settling

2007-09-30T05:15:00.001-04:00

I am moved in for all intents and purposes to my spacious, white, empty apartment. It's a good feeling. Right now, I'm sitting outside of the concert hall in Besancon, stinking up the internet, listening to the orchestra rehearse.

So much has happened that I don't even know what to write about anymore. I managed to get to New York, to get to Paris, to get to Besancon. It's been a lot of going and not enough taking things in. I don't have France down at all yet, and French is so taxing. I'd kill something small and slow moving to have my vocabulary in English transfer into French. I would lightly tap a baby seal. I imagine I talk about as well as a seven year old French child. Which is painful, of course. I know I'll get better.

I want to tell you everything. Paris was beautiful and filthy and smelled like a smoker's lounge at an airport. I loved it from the first despite myself. Besancon is like a toy city, small and pretty and easy to get around. I'm sorry I haven't updated in so long. I know this must be frustrating for you, not knowing what's going on. I'm sorry. It's been so exhausting, getting into living abroad this time. I think because of the pressure of paper work and the difficulty of moving everything I need to live on buses. Also, before I had a kitchen, I was eating even worse than I normally do, if you can believe that. Anyway, all I did for the first three days I was in the city was get soaked in the mountain rain, freak out about housing, and sleep. Don't worry. I've been to parties and dried off since then. I even got a ridiculous blue plaid umbrella, and I already had hiking boots.

I'm prepared for any mountain town eventuality.

The Big Move

2007-09-27T07:10:00.001-04:00

My father’s side of the family comes from Germany, and as a young man during World War II, my grandpa returned to Europe and rolled over it in a tank. I’m on an southbound train from Paris, watching the countryside slide by now, and I can’t help but wonder what it must have been like to see this autumn landscape in smoke and ruin. My grandfather was ordered to shoot out church steeples in hopes of killing snipers. This, he said repeatedly, was his major regret of the war- the part he played in the destruction of so many beautiful places.

If my view proves anything, it’s that pretty things have a way of reasserting themselves. There have been a few small and glorious villages complete with picturesque chapels to my right for most of this trip to Besancon. My first.

For the record, I’m a window seat girl. Windows are good for looking out of and for resting against. I tend to sleep on long rides, and on the aisle or in the middle, there’s no place to put my head. I’ll half fall asleep, then realize that I’m dangerously close to a stranger’s shoulder, On the plane from London to Paris, some perky undergrad on her way to a program in Nice cheerfully offered to let me lean on her. You know what would be worse than accidentally falling asleep on a stranger? Drooling on the nice girl who sweetly gave up all claims to personal space. Needless to say, I was embarrassed and downed a coke in an effort to stay upright.

This trip though, I’m up, coursing with the nervous energy of a big move. I’m wide awake with the almostness of the last part of this long trip from Atlanta to Valpo to Chicago to New York to Paris to Besancon. As of a couple of days ago, I’m so cosmopolitan. Now, I’m ready to settle in and learn how to be at home in this new place

I love Paris every moment of the year.

2007-09-25T05:05:00.001-04:00

I’m in Paris, and courtesy of Danielle, I have a mattress and even sheets to sleep on. Today has been full of moments so cinematic as to be surreal. The biggest, most amazing movie life moment came after dinner in Mont Martre. Danielle, her friend Sandy and I picked up a cheap bottle of wine at “un tabac” a convenience store. The owner was sweet enough to pass us three plastic cups, and so we jumped on the Metro to ride to Point Neuf. Once there, I did the twirling Paris fan girl thing, and took a few pictures, before we settled in on the bank of the Seine to drink. The air was chilly, and every hour the Eiffel Tower sparkled for me.

But the thing about Paris is that when I say it’s beautiful, it feels like I’m not trying hard enough to convey to you its dirty, overpowering loveliness. If it were scrubbed clean, Paris would be uninhabitable. No one could take so much prettiness, and I saw that in the juxtapositions that made me love it at fourth glance. After dinner, walking to find wine, I saw the Sacre Couer rising over a neon sign for an Indian restaurant and garbage cans in an alley in Mont Martre, and I knew Paris and I would do alright with each other.

Danielle lives in the 20th Arrondisement, in Belleville, where there are North African immigrants, Chinese bakeries, and dime stores everywhere. There’s free wireless in the park nearby, and I could spend days just drinking coffee and watching the way this place is. Maybe someday I will.

First Post

2007-07-28T21:05:00.001-04:00

You're here!

Welcome to the France blog. I created this one specifically to keep people updated as I make my way in the Franche-Comte. I'll be trying my hardest to teach English while really learning French myself. This promises to be a tidy sort of epic- you'll like it. Read along for no less than seven months of angst and triumph, a story for all time featuring your favorite heroine.

I'm going to take on, in no particular order:

1. Train Travel
2. The Jura Mountains (the Alps too)
3. French Language
4. 30 or so middle schoolers
5. Breads and Cheeses
6. Isolation, Irony, and perhaps Fear, definitely Poverty
7. Fripsters
8. The Continent

You're intrigued. Stay tuned. I miss you.