The windmills of my mind

Last night as I was trying to fall asleep, I started thinking about a book I read when I was young. Then it became a distorted thing, like this.

A Child’s Treasury of Versus

“Good vs. Evil”

“Left vs. Right”

“Evolution vs. Creationism”

“Man vs. Woman”

“Man vs. Mouse”

“Protagonist vs. Nature”

“Dogs vs. Cats”

“Godzilla vs. King Kong”

“Rocky vs. Apollo Creed” ...

Well. I’m sure you see the pattern. And so I went off to dreamland.

Wrongfully Convicted

Well, hey. “I know it's out of fashion / And a trifle uncool” to persist in my Sixties ideals, but I do. And so today’s so-called Outrage Culture is really getting me down.

More and more often I find myself shutting down because the texts around me are actually baited traps, about which there can be little reasonable discourse. Those who speak know they are unarguably right; there is no need to listen to another perspective. There is no contingency; there is no provisionalism. So many of us just want to be offended; and so many others just want to offend.

This line of thinking reminded me of a now-trite Sixties concept, epitomized (mockingly) in Hair. Perhaps you remember these lines from the introduction to “My Conviction”:

I wish every mother and father

Would make a speech to their teenagers

And say, “Kids, be free, no guilt.

Be whoever you are, do whatever you want to do,

Just as long as you don't hurt anybody, right? Right.”

Our understanding of “don’t hurt anybody” is considerably more nuanced than it was back in 1968. I think most of us recognize today that many of our freedoms depend on someone else’s lack of freedoms, and fifty years ago the main beneficiaries of this ideal were white middle-class men. But still. We have learned something since then. Or have we?

Without becoming an apologist for anyone but myself, I really wish we could roll our attitudes back to an easier time. Because I am exhausted by outrage, and my compassion is beyond fatigued.

So this. Do what you want, and don’t hurt anyone else intentionally. Own what’s yours to own, and apologize when you make a mistake. As Desiderata, another text popular in the 1960s and 1970s, reminds us: “Strive to be happy.” Yeah. Just that.

Rediscovering my spine

I have a friend who sends me dozens of links each week. Most of them relate to women and feminism, books and libraries, or social progress. This week, as part of a bundle of International Women’s Day-related links, she sent me an article about a bookstore that, as a form of awareness raising, turned all man-authored titles spine in, leaving only woman-authored titles spine out. The description of the result is memorable: the shelves were “bleached into anonymity.” (You can read the article here.)

I remarked to Pat that, had I done the same thing, my shelves wouldn’t change very drastically because I read so much writing by women; and further, I predict that if she did the same thing, her shelves would be like mine. I don’t say this to be smug or superior; in fact, in my pursuit of graduate education, my reading habits have often worked against me — which I feel underscores the point of the bookstore’s action.

Every so often someone send me a list like “Have you read the top 100 books of the twentieth century?” or “How many of the world’s best books have you read?” — a complication of  “top books” that invites readers to tick off the titles they’ve read. Something I find illuminating about these lists is that I’ve rarely read more than a third of the books listed, and often significantly fewer than that. That's mainly because 1) I read a great deal of Canadian fiction and 2) I read predominantly female writers. Not exclusively, obviously, but the majority of fiction I read, even if I exclude the children’s and YA reading I’ve been doing lately, is written by women.

My exchange with Pat got me thinking, though. How many other women readers would this be true for? Pat is a little more than a decade older than I am, but she graduated from university the year I started. So I wonder whether she and I managed to study at the right moment so that we read women’s writing in balance with men’s writing, or even more than men’s writing. Will a moment like that ever exist again? Because in canonical literature and in popular publishing, men still dominate: men’s books are reviewed more often than women’s books are, male reviewers dominate the critical landscape, and women writers are still treated as anomalies when they win awards or write important, culture-changing books. They are also routinely dismissed for the topics they write about, for the opinions they hold, and for their readership.

The bookstore’s project was to represent gender inequality visually. But changing that inequality is a gigantic task. How do we even begin? Is it enough just to keep reading? Or is it time to speak out?
 

Arose by another name

Yeah yeah yeah. I know.

...

But I just read a thing in an email from a few weeks ago, in which I discovered all some of my secret names. And you can play too!

Here's my list.

Superhero name: Black Book
Soap opera name: Anne Veterans
Goth name: Black Emily
Rapper name: Lil Cookie

I know, right?

Here's the formula.

Your superhero name is the colour of your shirt plus the item to your right.
Your soap opera name is your middle name and the street you live on.
Your goth name is "Black" plus the name of one of your pets.
Your rapper name is "Lil" plus the last thing you ate.

Oh, the lulz.

Bonus for Earl: your Star Trek name: the first three letters of your last name, first two of your middle name, and the last two letters of your first name. (Oooh, that's an awesome name, Earl!)

Back to skulking ...

Divinyl

You cannot know how delighted I am to have my 45s back after their many years of wandering in the wilderness.

For the young'uns, this is a picture of coloured vinyl, specifically the domestic limited release of "Purple Rain" (backed with "God") in a picture sleeve:

Now to digitize ...

2016: The textual roundup

Well, here we are in 2017. Let’s be hopeful for the year to come; it’s likely to be difficult, but remember that humans are resilient and creative, and light will always assert itself against the dark.

As I, and now many friends, too, have made a tradition, here is my roundup of music and books from the last year.

Music: Top 40 Most Played

“Uptown Funk” - Mark Ronson feat. Bruno Mars

“Brand New Lover” (single edit) - Dead or Alive

“An Everlasting Love” - Andy Gibb

“Hard” - Rihanna feat. Jeezy

“Get Lucky” (Razihel remix) - Razihel

“Run the World (Girls)” (remix) - Beyoncé

“Long Train Runnin’” - The Doobie Brothers

“Tiny Thing” - Jenson Interceptor

“You’re My Best Friend” - Queen

“Let Go the Line” - Max Webster

“Someday” - LP

“Machete” - Amanda Palmer

“Shadow Dancing” - Andy Gibb

“Seven Year Ache” - Rosanne Cash

“The Love of a Woman” - Klaatu

“Kiss You All Over” (album edit) - Exile

“Shake Your Body (Down to the Ground)” - The Jacksons

“Whenever, Wherever” - Shakira

“Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)” - Beyoncé

“Dreams” - Brandi Carlile

“Get Lucky” - Daft Punk

“Killer Queen” - Queen

“Take a Chance on Me” - ABBA

“Summer in the City” - Lovin’ Spoonful

“Love Runs Out” - OneRepublic

“Running Up That Hill” (album version) - Kate Bush

“I Love You” - Climax Blues Band

“Hungry Like the Wolf” - Duran Duran

“Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover” - Sophie B. Hawkins

“Run the World (Girls)” (album edit) - Beyoncé

“Samson” - Regina Spektor

“Burning Bridge” - Kate Bush

“Under Pressure” (single edit) - Queen and David Bowie

“Hush” - Deep Purple

“The Sound of Silence” - Disturbed

“Renegades of Funk” - Rage Against the Machine

“Magic Man” - Heart

“Moves Like Jagger” - Maroon 5

“Superstar” - Sonic Youth

“Fell in Love with a Girl” - The White Stripes

As always, many heart songs appear on this list, but also a good number of newer songs. It is impossible for me to keep track of all the new records being released in a year, but I do try to listen to some fairly current music. That said, commuting to work by bus has affected my listening habits. Perhaps next year’s tallies will make this change clearer.

As of today, using iTunes’ somewhat imperfect system, there are 15,131 tracks in my music library. That number was buttressed by the purchase of a few CDs last week. My library has also expanded thanks to Freegal, an online music service that allows me to download five tracks each week. But I definitely bought much less music in 2016 than in years previous.

My play counts have been reset once again, and we'll see what's what 365 days from now.

Books

Once again, I got nowhere near my 200-book goal, but I did reach 158 books. How did I ever read so much back in my pre-sabbatical days?

Some of the books that stood out for me in 2016 were these:

• 100 Days of Cree by Neal McLeod with Arok Wolvengrey

• Avid Reader by Robert Gottlieb

• One Child Reading by Margaret Mackey

• Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel

• Unspeakable Things by Laurie Penny

Much of my reading continues to be YA novels as I continue to grapple with themes of mothers and daughters and the reproduction of ideology. I really don’t know how other academics read and write so much. Just teaching — and teaching much less than I did pre-2011 — is sufficiently exhausting. But I’ll hope that I can keep reviewing for my CV; that adds quite a few books to my totals.

I’m listening to the start of 2017’s play counts as I type this, and I’m eager to get back to the book I’m reading, so I’ll stop here. As always, if there are books or albums you’d suggest I check out, please let me know.

Here's to a happy 2017! Cheers!

 

Rephrase this, I think ...

Despite that I enjoy more relaxed diction and phrasing in contemporary reporting, as an editor I feel someone should have given this sentence as second look:

On the reports that [Bradley Cooper and Irina Shayk] are expecting their first child, which came after Shayk killed it on the runway for Victoria's Secret Wednesday night.

Yes, I know what the writer meant, but still...

Or maybe it’s just me. I have been marking student writing nonstop for the last week ...

Standard deviation

Since returning from Victoria, we haven't been attending many performances. No theatre seasons, no dance shows, no symphony, etc. So last night was a big treat (for me, anyway) to hear All(Most) Jazz, a small jazz-based ensemble, performing at the Highlands United Church.

The halves were lovely. Some "winter" songs tucked amid well-known repertoire from musicals and the Great American Songbook. The show wrapped up with "Maybe This Christmas" by Ron Sexsmith and "I'll Be Seeing You," a sweet jazz standard featuring this line: "And when the night is new / I'll be looking at the moon / But I'll be seeing you."

All in all, the performances were fun, playful, and merry. Perfect for a November night that promises (threatens?) to bring winter along one of these days soon.

Vault of lost lyrics, chapter 201

The last few weeks have been tough on people, and even tougher times probably await us. The Pretenders’ Learning to Crawl was the first album I wanted to play last Wednesday, November 9, and this is one of the standout tracks from that still very solid — and angry — record.

**

"Middle of the Road" (Chrissie Hynde) as recorded by The Pretenders

The middle of the road is trying to find me

I'm standing in the middle of life with my plans behind me

Well, I got a smile for everyone I meet

As long as you don't try dragging my bay

Or dropping the bomb on my street

Now come on baby

Get in the road

Oh come on now

In the middle of the road, yeah

In the middle of the road you see the darnedest things

Like fat guys driving 'round in jeeps through the city

Wearing big diamond rings and silk suits

Past corrugated-tin shacks full up with kids

Man, I don't mean a Hampstead nursery

When you own a big chunk of the bloody Third World

The babies just come with the scenery

Oh come on baby

Get in the road

Oh come on now

In the middle of the road, yeah

The middle of the road is no private cul-de-sac

I can't get from the cab to the curb

Without some little jerk on my back

Don't harass me

Can't you tell

I'm going home

I'm tired as hell

I'm not the cat I used to be

I got a kid

I'm thirty-three, baby

Get in the road

Come on now

In the middle of the road

Yeah

Just because

I feel I need something funny and happy today, so ... this.

Courage, friends.

L
xx

How I Spent My Friday

Hey-o,

So, we're into the thick of the term already. Perhaps it's because I was out of the classroom for a year, but the term seems to be moving much faster than usual. (Or perhaps it is, as one of my colleagues recently observed, that my institution is creeping toward a thirteen-week term without acknowledging that it's doing so — this point feels accurate, actually.)

Anyway. On Friday, October 28, I spent the day at Pages Workshop Volume V at the Edmonton Public Library. This workshop is put on by a partnership of organizations including government, universities, and libraries. It was an excellent event, and I'm so glad I attended.

Here are some not particularly good photos of what I saw. (I should really make an effort not to sit at the back of the auditorium if I'm taking pictures.)
 

 
Morning keynote: Neal Wyatt. Neal is an academic, a writer, and a readers' advisory librarian. Her presentation was about reading and adaptation. She argued that we love stories so much that we are being swamped by adaptations and extensions of oral and written texts, to the point that many of us cannot disentangle some read texts from their adapted forms (e.g., Harry Potter). A fascinating talk!

Morning breakout session: Phyllis Steeves. Phyllis gave a powerful presentation on Indigenous literacy. She observed how easily the dominant culture may subsume the concept of Indigenous literacy — e.g., "reading the environment" — to strengthen its own sense of literacy and to diminish the specificity of Aboriginal knowing. I was so moved by this presentation and will be following up on Phyllis's research.

Afternoon panel: Beyond print. Marty Chan was the moderator for an interesting panel on oral storytelling, reading aloud, audiobooks, and videogame narratives. Are these variant forms of literacy or something else? How do these forms complement print literacy? Are we losing print literacy in favour of the aural or the visual? Some interesting questions raised.
 

Closing keynote: Margaret Mackey. The reason I attended this panel (and cancelled a class) was to hear Margaret speak about the concepts of post-literacy and literacy-plus. As I've said elsewhere, I am a tremendous fangirl for Margaret, and on Friday was fortunate to have the opportunity to talk with her one on one. Her presentation was brilliant and challenging. Of course now I have more reading to do. What a strong conclusion to an important conversation.

In short, it was eight hours well spent. I'm grateful to the organizations that hosted and sponsored this event, and will be watching for it again in 2018.

 

Vault of lost lyrics, chapter 166

I rediscovered this song by accident — hadn’t heard it for years, possibly decades. It’s sugary, sugary pop — and also gloriously, smooshily romantic. What girly girl could resist?

**

An Everlasting Love (Andy Gibb)

I've been here all your life

Watching your crying game

You were the heaven in my lonely world

And he was your sun and your rain

I was losing you before I ever held you tight

Before you ever held me in your arms

And I won't make you blue

And maybe an everlasting love will do

I've got an everlasting love

So tall, so wide, so high

Above the rumble of thunder down below

It's your love I need

It's the only show

And it's you on an everlasting dream

Can take us anywhere

All the tears are yesterday

We killed the pain

We blew away the memories of the tears we cried

And an everlasting love will never die

Take me out of the cold

Give me what I've waited for

If it's the pleasure of taking my heart that you need

Then it only makes me love you more

I was yours before the stars were born

And you were mine

I could have saved you all the pain you knew

And I won't make you cry

And maybe an everlasting love can try

I've got an everlasting love

So tall, so wide, so high

Above the rumble of thunder down below

It's your love I need

It's the only show

And it's you on an everlasting dream

Can take us anywhere

All the tears are yesterday

We killed the pain

We blew away the memories of the tears we cried

And an everlasting love will never die ...

[repeat chorus and fade] 

Vault of lost lyrics, chapter 23

Suzanne Vega is a fascinating singer-songwriter who writes wistful songs especially well. This is one of my favourites, not only because of the lyric but because of the delivery: so bouncy, lilting, and lurching, redirecting the listener’s attention from what the speaker is actually saying.

**

In Liverpool (Suzanne Vega)

In Liverpool

On Sunday

No traffic on the avenue

The light is pale and thin like you

No sound down

In this part of town

Except for the boy in the belfry

He's crazy

He's throwing himself

Down from the top of the tower

Like a hunchback in heaven

He's ringing the bells in the church

For the last half an hour

He sounds like he's missing something

Or someone that he knows he can't have now

And if he isn't

I certainly am

Homesick for a clock

That told the same time

Sometimes you made no sense to me

If you lie on the ground in somebody's arms

You'll probably swallow some of their history

And the boy in the belfry

He's crazy

He's throwing himself

Down from the top of the tower

Like a hunchback in heaven

He's ringing the bells in the church

For the last half an hour

He sounds like he's missing something

Or someone that he knows he can't have now

And if he isn't

I certainly am

I'll be the girl who sings for my supper

You'll be the monk whose forehead is high

He'll be the man who's already working

Spreading a memory all through the sky

In Liverpool

On Sunday

No reason to even remember you now

Except for the boy in the belfry

He's crazy

He's throwing himself

Down from the top of the tower

Like a hunchback in heaven

He's ringing the bells in the church

For the last half an hour

He sounds like he's missing something

Or someone that he knows he can't have now

And if he isn't

I certainly am

In Liverpool

In Liverpool

Spoiled

Here’s a picture of the tableau awaiting us when we went to Sunday dinner last night:

 

Delicious cocktails were soon served, followed by a sumptuous supper of barbequed rainbow trout and, for dessert, apple crisp. Wow!

And then midday today, I received a text and went out my front door to discover this gorgeous object:

Yummy fresh raisin bread! Still warm! SO GOOD!

So, for anyone who took seriously my threat to eat cereal for 20 of my 21 weekly meals, have no fear. C is taking excellent care of me (and Zak, of course). Thank you, Ms C!

Vault of lost lyrics, chapter 195

In the late 1990s I saw Sarah Slean at the Sidetrack Cafe, opening for Oh Susanna, aka Suzie Ungerleider. When Oh Susanna took the stage, Ms Slean came back out to accompany her on the piano for this song. It was a staggering performance from both, and the song has always stopped me dead since. It is alt-country at its peak, the recording is gorgeously layered, and this track is meant to be played LOUD. Relish that deep, dooming final note.

**

You’ll Always Be (Oh Susanna)

Well, the first time I saw heaven

you stood in my doorway

Scent of gardenia and lily

By your voice I was led into a forest of cherry

When you lay down beside me so softly you did say

You’ll always be my baby, my baby, my baby, yeah

You’ll always be my baby, my baby, my love

Well, you sure got some funny sense of forever

'Always' did end with the summer

I awoke in a bed that’s as wide as the river

And a voice in my head that softly did say

You’ll always be my baby, my baby, my baby, yeah

Now you’ll always be my baby, my baby, my love

Well, six seasons have weathered 

since you stood in my doorway

Now you’re stinking of blood and hard liquor

And you’ve come for a favour

for your sorry sight to cover

And you still got the nerve to softly do say

You owe this to me, my baby, my baby, my baby

You owe this to me, my baby, my baby, my love

Now I don’t need no tailor to sew this suit together

Your yarn is a worn-out old tether

And you better button that collar

for you’re going out to pasture

And I’ll be counting the bounty

when softly I will say

You owe this to me, my baby, my baby, my baby yeah

You owe this to me, my baby, my baby, my love.

House in Calder

Good morning, and welcome to the first day of classes. Anxious? Why, no, what makes you think that?

Because my thoughts are somewhat scattered, here's a picture:

My father lived in this house for some time during his teens. I know little more of the story than that, but I have the address of this house and can confirm that it is still standing. A tenuous connection, but I'll take it.

And now, back to frantic prepping. Cheers!

What dreams may come

Lately I’ve been rummaging through “stuff” both material and psychological, and my dreams show me the evidence at night. Last night I went back to my grade six classroom, to the seat I used to sit in, with all my grade six peers around me. I was the grade six me, but also aware of being contemporary me. The dream shifted, as dreams do, but when I awoke, I thought of this newspaper clip (actually published when I was in grade seven), and so here it is.

One thing I've learned: we always miss our friends, no matter how long they've been gone. Seeing them in dreams is bittersweet, but at least they're still with us. in our memories and hearts.

Misty water-colored memories

It’s Labour Day weekend, which is akin to New Year’s Eve for me (Labour Day itself being New Year’s Day, I guess). I’m eager to get back to the classroom but am still struggling to feel grounded. My most recent counselling session raised many old, sad themes and that, alongside other events this week, has left me quite wrung out. But pictures are often a good antidote.

Here's an obviously old photo — it's been in its frame for a couple of decades. It sits on top of my piano now. 

This picture was taken in Brooks more than twenty years ago. Can't say it seems like yesterday, but it also doesn't seem like twenty-plus years.

More importantly, this photo is inspiration to do that Janus thing and look back while looking forward. Alors: here's to what's gone before and to what's coming next. May the road rise up to greet us. Cheers!

Southern exposure

Last night, B, C, and I went to Fort Edmonton to see the film South Pacific. I'd never seen it before, although it was one of my mother's favourite soundtracks when I was growing up. The film was so-so, but there was entertainment before the show started, thus:

The girls providing the accompaniment were impressive percussionists.

When we exited the Capitol Theatre (built 1918) at roughly 10:30 — such a late night for an oldster like me! — this was the scene:

No, the theatre obviously wasn't on fire. I just like the distortion of the exposure.

So that was the Thursday night that was, one rare night on the town.

The vault of lost lyrics, chapter 144

OK, so it’s difficult to imagine that anything involving Rihanna could truly be “lost,” but it is possible that these lyrics have not found most of the small audience of this blog. Anyway. This song has been a touchstone for me lately. If you know the back story, you know why.

**

“Hard” (Rihanna)

Yeah, yeah, yeah

Yeah, yeah, yeah

Ah yeah ...

They can say whatever

I'ma do whatever

No pain is forever

Yup, you know this

Tougher than a lion

Ain't no need in tryin'

I live where the sky ends

Yup, you know this

Never lyin', truth teller

That Rihanna reign just won't let up

All black on, blacked-out shades

blacked out Maybach

I'ma rock this shit like fashion, as in

Goin' til they say stop

And my runway never looked so clear

But the hottest bitch in heels right here

No fear

And while you getting your cry on

I'm getting my fly on

Sincere

I see you aiming at my pedestal,

I better let ya know

(chorus) That I — I — I — I'm so hard

Ah yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm so hard ...

So hard, so hard, so hard, so hard

All up on it

Know you wanna clone it

Ain't like me

That chick too phony

Ride this beat, beat, beat like a pony

Meet me at the top

Gettin' loaded

Who think they test me now

Run through your town

I shut it down

Brilliant, resilient

Fan mail from 27 million

And I want it all

It's gonna take more than that

Hope that ain't all you got

I need it all

The money, the fame, the cars, the clothes

I can't just let you run up on me like that

I see you aiming at my pedestal

So I think I gotta let ya know

(repeat chorus)

[Jeezy raps: Go hard or go home

Back to your residence

Soon the red dogs will give the block back to the presidents

I used to run my own block like Obama did

You ain't gotta believe me, go ask my momma then

You couldn't even come in my room, it smelled like a kilo

Looked like me and two of my boys playing casino

Trying to sell they peeping my bag they can't afford it

Tell 'em to give me back my swag, they tryin' to clone me

See my Louis tux, Louis flag, Louis frames, Louis belt

What that make me, Louis Mane?

I'm in an all white party wearin' all black

With my new black watch call it the heart attack

Cardiac arrest, cardiac a wrist

Yeah, they say they're hard

They ain't hard as this

Hard! The one word describes me, if I wasn't doin' this

You know where I be, too hard]

Where dem girls talkin' trash, where dem girls talkin' trash

Where they at, where they at, where they at?

Where dem bloggers at, where dem bloggers at

Where they at, where they at, where they at?

Where your lighters at, where your lighters at

Where they at, where they at, where they at?

So hard, so hard, so hard, so hard ... 

(repeat chorus)