Cui bono

Just so you know I'm still more or less in the land of the living. If it was possible for life to be more complicated, it has become so.

Mood a la mode: "Beautiful Ones", Prince; "What Have I Done to Deserve This?", Pet Shop Boys; "I Don't Like Mondays", Boomtown Rats; and "I'll Be There in a Minute", Gowan.

And some thoughts...

"That the birds of worry and care fly over your head — this you cannot change; but that they build nests in your hair — this you can prevent." —Chinese proverb

"Emancipation from the bondage of the soil is no freedom for the tree." —Rabindranath Tagore

C'est tout!
L

Too busy to breathe!

Hello, hello,

Well, after all the excitement of getting my new notebook on Friday, I have spent the weekend feeling fairly flat and uninspired. I seem to have some kind of virus that I just can't shake, so I spent most of Saturday sleeping or trying to sleep. (Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit my meds...) I have a gigantic pile of marking awaiting me, and I spent today working on a paper and a presentation for my own studies. No time for climbing, sadly, but I didn't feel up to it anyway.

In bigger news, the video for "King of the Mountain" is out! Go to www.katebush.com to view it. It's silly and sweet, and Kate looks absolutely beautiful! Oh, just a few more weeks until the release of the complete album...

Back to work!

L

Meet Little Ghost...

...my new iBook, paid for by the college using my professional development funds. Guess I should use it for something professional, or developing, or something. Well, I'm writing — that's professionally relevant!

Giving my first presentation for my English Language Arts course on Monday. Wish me luck, please!

More soon,
L

A New iBook

L's new toy has widgets and that lets me post to the blog without any other interface.

I've been experimenting with Wordpress as well and think it will work fine at work. We will likely move the Enjoygardening site completely over. At home I've been experimenting with Blojsom. See Zak's Blog to see how Blojsom works on my home server and also catch up on Zak's doin's!

All this stuff is basically free for anyone who bothers to figure it all out and the only cost is the server space etc.

Ciao!

Taking climbing for granite

Ouch. Very sore. Last night was the first in the fall Rip and Grip series at VIRG. B and Zak did very well, but I'll leave it to them to talk about that. I myself flashed the first five problems and solved the next two on my second try. I didn't solve problems 8 and 9, but I did try them both five or six times, and after that I was pretty tired, so I just watched the other boulderers. I got my best score ever, though, so I guess all that practice is actually working!

The big entertainment at the Rip and Grip (apart from the event itself, which is incredible fun) comes between the time limit and the announcement of the winners. For about half an hour, some of the top boulderers in the gym play, while the rest of us watch and cheer. If you haven't seen something like this, it's hard to imagine. The boulderers agree to a nearly impossible series of dynos, and then try to get through them. The simultaneous grace and athleticism is astonishing — it is as beautiful as dance and as awesome as lightning. Particularly inspiring is watching them line up to try again and again; some of the guys tried last night's ultimately invicible problem more than a dozen times, most of them having bouldered in the competition for two and a half hours — exhausting! My favourite boulderer is a young guy named Jesse. He is the best boulderer I have ever seen — amazing arms and brilliant technique — but he also has the most encouraging personality. He cheers on every other boulderer with enthusiasm and sincerity. He demonstrates the best of this sport in every way; I have learned a lot from his example.

But that's it for climbing this weekend. Between the holiday, various work commitments, and the gym closure on Monday, there simply isn't time to get back — and I doubt our bodies could survive further punishment anyway. Ow ow ow ow ow.

And anyway, I have cookies to bake for Thanksgiving.

Today's tarot: the lovers — judgement — justice. Hmm. Methinks me better watch out!

Now reading: Literary Theory: An Introduction by Terry Eagleton (again); Villa Incognito by Tom Robbins; Pure by Karen Krossing; and millions and millions of words' worth of homework...

A girl with guns,

L,
NOT solid!

I am proud of me!

Just had my first academic-oriented book review published. This is definitely a CV-worthy event! Meanwhile, my professor has asked me to review one of her articles (informally) before she submits it for academic review. Wow!

Anyway, if you'd like to read my review, you'll find it here. I can only hope there will be more to follow.

Giddily,
L

Disappointed!

This week was supposed to mark the arrival of the new Kate Bush single, "King of the Mountain." And it did, provided one lives in the United States. Fans in the UK, Canada, and other countries are unable to listen to legal copies of the single because, for whatever reason, the record company decided not to license the single for digital release anywhere other than the US, traditionally one of Kate Bush's least successful markets.

Further, the word from Sony Music, Kate's US distributor, is that Aerial will be the first CD released worldwide with DRM on all pressings. DRM (Digital Rights Management) is software that prevents CDs from being copied, legally or illegally, by embedding "errors" in the data; Sony plans to use different technology in different markets, in an attempt to thwart listeners who buy import editions that lack DRM. I predict this decision will compromise the success of this long-awaited album, some twelve years in the making.

I have strong feelings about digital music sharing and have not participated in P2P file-sharing as many other music lovers have. I try very hard to respect artists' copyrights, since I have spent a good chunk of my career in an industry where copyright infringement and financial exploitation of creators is all too frequent. That said, I do listen to most of my music digitally today, on my iPod or my Homepod, and I resent record companies taking away my freedom to make a legal copy of my legally purchased music. Like many other Kate Bush fans, I am currently wondering whether I want to buy Aerial with DRM in place; some fans have stated on mailing lists that they will refuse to buy it at all unless the record company removes DRM.

One commentator noted that the record company may be depending on the reputation of hardcore Kate Bush fans being obsessive completists and thus "compelled" to own the album regardless of controls. At the same time, we fans have grown and evolved over the last twelve years of silence; Kate's fan base has shifted, and the younger fans are likely to be much savvier about online music. If the change in her listeners is sufficiently great, the album is at risk of flopping because it will be roundly boycotted by people who despise DRM and its implications.

Despite my commitment to respecting copyright, I have listened to a bootleg copy of the single online. The file quality is poor, and I will replace it with a legal MP3 as soon as I can. Unfortunately, that may not be until November 7, and that's a long wait in recreational time. I am SO disappointed with EMI/Sony in their handling of Kate Bush's new album. Unfortunately, I'm too old to believe that my disappointment and frustration will register at all with the MBAs who run today's music corporations. Sigh.

L

Catchy catch phrase

"Our tolerance for crap is now zero"
--Stephen Mandel (or so I saw it attributed)

I have to say that it is an important point in one's life when our crap tolerance dips in to the single digits. To hit zero is a singular accomplishment. Perhaps if more people got there we could put away the hip waders and get something done in this world...

...or perhaps not.

Corn Harvest

Good day! I'm feeling much better than when I last wrote, thanks for asking, although I am as busy as ever. Now that I'm in the process of dropping one of my little pharmaceutical habits, I expect to regain control of my mornings, and thus my teaching life. Although I must admit I've grown rather fond of sleeping!

If you chase two rabbits, you will not catch either one. — Russian proverb

I found an interesting music survey on the web the other day. Here is one of the questions, along with my answer:

Is there any song that you just can't bear to listen to because of the memories? (If so, what + why?) "For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her" by Simon and Garfunkel: August 8, 1986. Nothing to do with the poet. Always keep your piano in tune.

Now I'm curious who knows the story behind this. Any takers?

Meanwhile, I've created a fabulous iMix... Tart Pops! Here's the track listing:

Pop Music, M
Precious and Few, Climax
Cruisin', Gwyneth Paltrow & Huey Lewis
The Power of Love, Frankie Goes to Hollywood
Strut, Sheena Easton
'65 Love Affair, Paul Davis
This Little Girl, Gary 'US' Bonds
All Touch, Rough Trade
Tiny Thing, Jenson Interceptor
My Wife with Champagne Shoulders, Mark Isham
Tokyo, Bruce Cockburn
Get Closer, Seals & Crofts
Don't Pull Your Love, Joe Frank Hamilton And Reynolds
Spirit Of Radio, Rush
Lady Marmalade, Christina Aguilera, Lil' Kim, Mya & Pink
You Think You're a Man, Full Frontal (I've been unable to find Divine's version in digital form, sigh)
This Wheel's on Fire, Siouxsie and the Banshees
Maniac, Michael Sembello
Too Shy, Kajagoogoo
(I've Had) The Time of My Life, Bill Medley & Jennifer Warnes
Boy Inside the Man, Tom Cochrane and Red Rider (the original single, not the later acoustic version)
Love the One You're With, Steven Stills
Ball of Confusion, Love and Rockets
Hush, Deep Purple
How Do I Make You, Linda Ronstadt
You Can't Win, Murray McLauchlan
Let Go the Line, Max Webster
Burning Buildings, Elton John
Kiss You All Over, Exile

Two hours of aural pleasure, ironic and otherwise. And some selections are excellent for loud play while driving to work and elsewhere. Enjoy!

The reward of mastering something is the mastery. — Jerome Bruner

Another music survey question:
What band/artist have you been playing the most this month? White Stripes. They've even started to show up on my blackboard, argh.

I'm currently reading The Jane Austen Book Club by Karen Joy Fowler as part of an assignment for the course I'm taking. My professor raved about this book, saying that if you enjoy reading, you must own it; I haven't finished the novel yet, but I don't feel quite as enthusiastic so far, although I can appreciate the literary technique. I much preferred watching Bend It Like Beckham and Bride and Prejudice, also part of the assignment. But the book contains this lovely Mark Twain quotation, which I know some of you will appreciate: "Jane Austen's books, too, are absent from this library. Just the omission of Jane Austen's books alone would make a fairly good library out of a library that hadn't a book in it." And speaking of Twain, here's some good advice for writers:

Substitute 'damn' every time you're inclined to write 'very'; your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be. — Mark Twain

In the news: Earlier this year Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez printed 1 million copies of Cervantes’ Don Quixote to be handed out in public squares to mark the 400th anniversary of the Spanish-language classic. Chavez encouraged everyone to read the book, which includes a preface by Portugese author Jose Saramango, so as to “feed ourselves once again with that spirit of a fighter who went out to undo injustices and fix the world”.

One more music survey question:
If you had a band, what would you call it and what would be your role? I make up band names all the time. The latest is Shaggy's Green Shirt. I would play keyboards, duh!

... And you read your Emily Dickinson / And I my Robert Frost ...

Be obscure clearly. — E.B. White

Later,
L

It's been a while...

Now I hear you saying to yourself, "Gosh, it's a little early in the term for you to be complaining about being SO busy" or something like that. (After all, no-one's THAT busy...) Sigh. The last few weeks have indeed been hectic, but also positive. I absolutely terrified myself on the Labour Day weekend climbing on wet rocks at Kootenay Plains. I am teaching a full load and also taking a course toward my eventual doctorate. I have been reading like a maniac, trying to get in a few extra narrative joys before the term takes hold, and have been decorating the house with books from four — count them, FOUR — library systems. Ta-dah!

So here are a few news bits and a fresh review. I'll try to think of something more insightful to write about soon. — L


Canadian sales of alcoholic beverages per capita, 15 years and over
• Newfoundland and Labrador: $733.80
• Prince Edward Island: $573.60
• Nova Scotia: $613.00
• New Brunswick: $551.70
• Quebec: $682.10
• Ontario: $601.70
• Manitoba: $530.10
• Saskatchewan: $524.00
• Alberta: $615.80
• British Columbia: $631.90
• Yukon: $1,035.20
• Northwest Territories and Nunavut: $858.90


A lightbulb comes on!
Replacing even one 60-watt incandescent bulb with a 15-watt compact fluorescent light in each of Canada's 12 million households could save up to $73 million a year in energy costs. It would also reduce GHG emissions by approximately 397,000 tonnes — the equivalent of taking more than 66,000 cars off the road each year!


And no, there are no F-ing postcards
This brite is apparently for real! See the full story by Toby Harnden here.

For the conservative inhabitants of a settlement called F***ing in rural Upper Austria near Salzburg that comprises just 32 houses (population: 104), the English meaning of their village's name is just one giant headache. One night, all four road signs on its approaches were stolen by tourists. Since records began, there has been no crime there - apart from the perennial theft of what officials call "street furniture". Now, the authorities are fighting back. The signs have been set in concrete bases and Kommandant Schmidtberger, the local police chief, hints at clandestine operations to combat what he calls "foreign criminals" disturbing the alpine order.


Review: Teach Me by R.A. Nelson
Teach Me wants to be a better book than it is. In this awkward coming-of-age story, brilliant 17-year-old Carolina (or Nine, as she's called) falls in love with her 30-something poetry teacher, Mr Mann (she refers to him by his first name at only a few points in the story). Their relationship is, of course, doomed, and the novel traces Nine's journey back from a broken heart. Unfortunately, this journey is unrealistic and renders absurd what is otherwise a passionate story of hard love.

The first 100 pages or so are cast in beautiful, sensitive prose, dense with cosmic imagery and told with authentic emotion. At about this point, however, the telling changes and becomes revenge fantasy of the highest order. (At several points I expected the section to end with "And then I woke up.") Nine stalks her ex-lover, steals from him, vandalizes his apartment, even attempts to shoot him (with blue paint pellets). Her thinking becomes cripplingly unstable and her fury quickly begins to hurt everyone around her. The story climaxes with an unbelievable chase scene in which Mann is forced to rescue Nine and her best friend, Schuyler, from drowning. In the hospital, Nine confronts Mann, who explains his reasons for behaving as he has. Although his explanation will make sense to an older reader, it will sound ludicrously hollow to the YA audience this novel was intended for. Yet in the last pages of the novel the author regains the lyricism of her opening, and the book ends surprisingly gently, with a sense of grace and finality.

This novel feels unsure of its audience. It is relentless for YA, including some scenes of graphic sexuality, but it is also just naïve enough to fail as mainstream adult fiction. Much of the writing is sumptuous, and the motif of Emily Dickenson poetry is scalpel-like in its precise underscoring of the action. But the middle of the novel feels stretched and unreal, as though the author was pushing her character to realize the fantasies of women scorned; given what we learn about her early in the novel, Nine simply wouldn't perform some of the acts her author imagines her undertaking. And as a self-proclaimed observer, Nine is remarkably blind to a critical detail about the marriage she tries to derail, a detail that a close reader could not miss and might even have predicted. The harmonious, if tense, resolution of the novel also feels inauthentic, as if the author is trying to follow the conventions of YA despite that the story resists a happy ending. As Nine herself observes, "Something has closed inside me. It will always be there, but it's closed." Despite its many strengths, the novel ultimately fails, too problematic to be mainstream fiction and perhaps too raw and discordant to be YA. That's a shame, actually, because I had high hopes for this book.


And the iPod says...
...As the sun is setting you'll be betting
I'll be getting through
I'll find a payphone babe
And take some time to talk to you... — "Smoke Baby," Hawksley Workman


Thought for the Day
Only in grammar can you be more than perfect. — William Safire

The Shout Heard Around the World

...was the start of anticipation of fanatics everywhere, responding to the news. You may not be reading it here first, but you can probably imagine my current state of mind...

Press Release
Source: Columbia Records

KATE BUSH; New Single & Album
Wednesday August 31, 5:00 am ET

NEW YORK, Aug. 31 /PRNewswire/ -- Columbia Records is proud to announce the release of the brand new studio album by Kate Bush.

The double album entitled 'Aerial' will be released worldwide on November 8th (Nov 7th in Europe).

The first single 'King Of The Mountain' precedes the album on September 27th. It will be available online at iTunes, Yahoo! Music Unlimited, Sony Connect, Walmart.com, Rhapsody, Napster, and MSN Music.

Both the single and album are produced by Kate Bush.

Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick...

L

Vote Now!

Well, in continuing coverage of my library addiction, I direct your attention to Edmonton Public Library's contest, The Last Word, which asks patrons to name their favourite Alberta book. If you have an EPL account (or maybe even a TAL or NEOS account), you are eligible to win a big collection of Alberta books. I have already entered, of course, and nominated No Fixed Address by Aritha van Herk, a delightfully funny, intelligent read. But notice that several of Lois Hole's books appear on the list, and I'll Never Marry a Farmer is highly ranked, currently with six votes (the top book has twelve, for the sake of comparison). Wow!

I am enjoying my final two weeks of holidays very much and have been reading a lot. In addition to many, many articles on postcolonialism and other relevant scholarly topics, last week I read three books that offered some moments of fascinating juxtaposition. My little brain is smokin'!

First, as mentioned earlier, I read Stephanie Coontz's study Marriage, A History. It is a suitably academic tome with fully 98 pages of notes and an 18-page index. The back jacket provides complimentary blurbs from close to a dozen scholars and cultural authorities. With an apparatus like that, I was expecting to be impressed, and for the first few chapters I was. However, as Coontz moved into the early twentieth century (a period I have more than passing familarity with), I realized exactly how superficial and selective her argument is. Although she provides a breathtaking range of sources and quotations, her analysis of changing gender roles post-WWI is suspect, making me wonder about the solidity of the discussion leading up to it. Beyond her relentless American bias, she ignores many significant social facts — for instance, the social impact of the World War One itself and the flu pandemic of the late 1910s. As she moves into the post-war period, her analysis becomes even more glib, as if the facts of our culture are so self-evident as to need no explanation (if that were true, how could she justify writing her book in the first place?). Coontz's final conclusion — that the male breadwinner marriage of the 1950s and early 1960s was a carefully constructed historical aberration unlikely to be seen again in our culture of increasing individualism — is not groundbreaking, and her placid call for patience while the concept of marriage continues to sort itself out feels disappointingly flat after some 300 pages of build-up. I did like her busting of several common marriage myths regularly trotted out by mass media to drive political and economic agendas (for instance, that single women over 35 are more likely to be killed by terrorists than married — obviously untrue, and not because the women are so panicked that they'll marry any man who offers a ring). But in the end I was not impressed by this book as I was by, say, The Meaning of Wife.

Immediately after finishing with Coontz — perhaps as an antidote? — I read Melvin Burgess' YA novel Doing It. This is a surprisingly complex story told by alternating narrators, predominantly three seventeen-year-old males preoccupied with sex. One young man is involved with a young woman almost as self-absorbed as he is, the second is struggling with dating a young woman whose body does not confirm to his peer group's stereotypes, and the third is trying to extricate himself from an abusive relationship with his drama teacher. Be warned: this novel is not for those with delicate sensibilities. The word fuck appears on virtually every page in some form or another, and the main characters' thoughts about sexuality are unabashedly frank. Interestingly, some attitudes identified by Coontz are engaged here as the various narrators negotiate the social, cultural, and physical boundaries around sex. I have some trouble anticipating the readership for this novel, however: I can't see many boys age fourteen-plus reading this sort of book (other than perhaps skimming it for titillation value), and I expect that many girls in the YA age-group would be put off by the males' attitudes (it would be unfortunate if I'm right, though, because teenage girls could learn a lot about "how the other half lives" from this book). Burgess is a fine writer who handles uncomfortable scenes with sensitivity and honesty — there was a lot about this book to like. Just don't expect to find it in every high school library.

I heard Susan Jane Gilman's memoir Hypocrite in a Pouffy White Dress discussed by a book panel on the CBC (before the workers were locked out, of course). Gilman is only slightly older than I am, and the subtitle of the book, Tales of Growing Up Groovy and Clueless, got me instantly. The first two sections of this book made me laugh out loud regularly; Gilman recounts her childhood and adolescence in loopy, original prose that is delicious, occasionally dazzling. The guys had to sit through many, many passages bracketed by "Just listen to this... Don't you wish you'd written that?". I enjoyed the book overall but felt the final section, which describes Gilman's university experiences and early career (ending with her recent move to Switzerland), loses much of the charm of the earlier chapters. Gilman's account of her parents' divorce is unbelievably whiny, and her story of working in Washington is almost hopelessly naive — here the "clueless" of the subtitle certainly rings true. Women in their thirties may find Gilman's embarrassed enchantment with her wedding dress poignant, but her bride stories are so much better when Susan Jane is a kindergartener who insists on wearing a tutu to class every day. Hypocrite is definitely worth your time, but don't expect insightful feminist analysis or deep cultural commentary. Gilman is at her best in the voice of a girl becoming a young woman, and I hope she will continue to mine this vein — perhaps through YA narrative?

Well, that was last week!

The other day I finished Roddy Doyle's Oh, Play That Thing, the continuing tale of Henry Smart. I adored the first Henry novel, A Star Called Henry, and have been eagerly waiting to get the new installment from the library. I was not disappointed. The last thirty pages were riveting — they left me breathless — and I can only hope the next book comes soon. I didn't know much about Louis Armstrong prior to reading the novel, but I'm motivated now to learn more (although when I'll do that exactly is uncertain...). The particular copy I borrowed was filled with surprisingly angry marginal notes, scribbled (in pencil) by someone much less charmed by Henry, and by Doyle's use of source materials, than I was — they added an unusual, but not negative, dimension to the reading.

Oh, and I wanted to mention another book that I devoured a few weeks ago. My Father Had a Daughter by Grace Tiffany is another reconstruction of Shakespeare, this one told from the perspective of Judith Shakespeare, Will's daughter. Judith is a richly developed, appealing narrator that you won't soon forget. The intended readership is YA, but the author is an American Shakespeare scholar, so her speculations are well grounded in research and the story should satisfy any adult reader. Interestingly, the text covers some of the same material as the play we saw earlier this year, Shakespeare's Will — comparing the authors' treatment of the extant facts could lead to some fertile discussion. But that's for someone else to pursue — Shakespeare's not really my guy (although earlier we were discussing the idea that someone might write a five-act history of Elizabeth I in the style of Shakespeare...).

I should also mention Marjane Satrapi's Persepolis, my second experience with the graphic narrative form. (My first was Blankets by Craig Thompson, which made me cry — it is so gentle and wistful.) Persepolis isn't technically a graphic "novel" because its story is the author's own memoir of her childhood in Iran. I am ashamed to admit how little I knew and know about Iranian history; thankfully, the book includes a quick primer to contextualize Marjane's story. This book also made me cry, all the more so because of its continuing resonance. I quickly learned to love the young Marjane, and her parents' decision at the end of the story is heartbreaking. I will be watching for more from Satrapi — she writes and illustrates in France — and I'm grateful to the friend who recommended this wonderful book.

I'm currently struggling through Everything Bad Is Good for You: How Today's Popular Culture Is Actually Making Us Smarter by Steven Johnson — not at all what I expected. And as I mentioned, I'm back to reading fairly academic stuff in preparation for my continuing course work. I have a pile of YA requested at various libraries, plus a few other books to try to finish before the school year starts. And I've been watching movies on video during the days I'm at home. It's been a text-rich summer, in short, and I'm looking forward to going back to school with a head full of new ideas and lots of fresh energy. So... wish me luck!

with love,
L

Happy Birthday!

Today Zak turns fourteen. Happy birthday, Zak! We hope you have a fabulous year.

love,
Mom and Dad

Making the Most of the Library

As you probably know, I treasure my various library memberships (I have four). And I admit that I am addicted to books. Although my addiction per se may not involve stealing from others to feed my habit, nor selling myself on the street (how reassuring!), I certainly own more books than I could possibly ever read, I buy more books regularly (I'm probably one of ABE's favourite clients), and I am always borrowing books (and running up fines) at the library. That certainly sound like an addiction, or at least bibliomania, to me!

In the last week, after finishing Harry Potter 6, I've read several other very popular novels, just by dint of standing at the cart when the books came out for shelving. First I read Ya-Yas in Bloom by Rebecca Wells, the third in the much-loved Ya-Yas series. Unfortunately, I did not enjoy this book — and since I almost always try to finish any book I start (The Polished Hoe notwithstanding), many people have had to listen to me grouse about its length and tediousness. Given my bizarre sense of family and the absence of organized religion in my life, this book had little to say to me. I found the narrative structure awkward, as the sections are told by various narrators (or from various narrators' limited third-person perspectives) at various times, not coming together as a whole by the final section. I read this work as the author's attempt to grapple with America's loss of confidence since the terrorist attacks on New York and Washington in 2001. Although the pivotal events of the last section take place in 1994, the emotions and actions around these events feel much more contemporary. If you really enjoy and believe in O magazine, you may enjoy this novel; otherwise, you may want to give it a pass.

Next I read The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom, which I've been meaning to get to for a couple of years, since one of my students recommended it. Poor Mr Albom has been the subject of great controversy recently, but this novel was written long before all that, and it's a thoughtful little book. The premise is that when a person dies, he meets in "heaven" (a deeply subjective term) five people whose lives intersected with his, whether he recognized the meeting or not; each of the five must explain some aspect of the dead person's existence to him so he can understand his life's purpose and meaning. (Here "heaven" is a vaguely Christian place, although it needn't be read that way.) The theme of this novel is interconnectedness: we are all connected by a complicated web of time and circumstance, and thus anything that affects one of us ultimately affects all of us. While the novel was extremely simple and short (you could easily read it in "one sitting"), it contains some important messages, much less cloyingly communicated than by, say, the Ya-Yas.

Incidentally, I enjoyed the first Ya-Yas book that I read!

Finally, tonight I finished Girl with a Pearl Earring by Tracey Chevalier, another novel recommended by a student. (Well, given the painter at the centre of the story, how could I not read it eventually?) It's quite a lovely book, thoughtful and cautious, and it does not take the easy way out of its plot — I was impressed by the author's restraint. If you enjoy historical fiction and if you enjoy what my friend calls "girl books", you'll probably like this one. Note, however, that Griet, the narrator, is quite a prickly young woman — she reminds me of several twentieth-century Dutch women I've known!

Yes, yes, yes, I enjoyed Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince very much, although I'm completely puzzled by how Rowling will resolve the plot in a single, final volume. If you haven't read it, you should, slowly. As another blogger remarked, Rowling has a keen sense of the developing adolescent psyche; the book works remarkably well on several levels, despite many unanswered questions in the deeply complicated plot. You know the basic trajectory of the story, and you may even know the major spoiler, but I'm sure you'll be surprised at how the story ends and where it is set to continue in the next volume. And so the waiting begins again ... thankfully there's a movie in November to keep us amused...

And now I'm reading Marriage, A History: From Obedience to Intimacy, or How Love Conquered Marriage by Stephanie Coontz (great subtitle!). So far it's rather interesting — I'm becoming a big fan of cultural histories. I'm also about to tackle Roddy Doyle's Oh, Play That Thing and Susan Jane Gilman's Hypocrite in a Pouffy White Dress. As always, I welcome your suggestions. Or ABE gift certificates. And don't get me started about the remainder piles at Chapters...

Off to read some more,
L

ARGH, ARGH, ARGH!

I was driving my car, minding my own business, listening to the news, when the announcer reported the following:

"Same-sex marriage is now the law in Canada."

Well, I know helmuts and seatbelts are compulsory here, but surely this step takes heterophobia a bit too far, no? Well, I could hardly stop laughing at the news-reader's gaffe (she added the "the" to the lead), but then I heard the next item, which makes me say, again, ARGH!

The U.S. Congress has adopted a plan to extend daylight time by two months each year as part of a sweeping new energy plan. If U.S. President George W. Bush signs it into law, the plan means Americans would turn their clocks forward one hour on the first weekend of March, instead of April, and "fall back" on the final weekend in November instead of October. — from CBC.ca; full story here.

Of the three calendar months not on Daylight Time, what exactly will be "Standard"? Now, you know that I really don't like switching to and from Daylight Time every year. I'd be quite happy if we could just set the clock forward — or backward — and be done with it. But thanks to that genius the Americans have elected to run their country, we'll have to change our clocks just before Christmas and again just after Valentine's Day. I'm all for saving energy — oh, don't even get me started — but can't we just make up our political MINDS? And worse, Canada isn't sure whether it should actually follow the %$#@! American administration in adopting two more months of Daylight Time. Perhaps we should spend two months of each year slightly out of sync with the rest of the continent — well, actually, has anyone asked Mexico how it feels about Daylight Time? Grr. I get a little irrational about this issue.

Because, after all, we're going to need all that energy we save to operate our big-ass HDTVs:

Researchers at National Resources Defense Council, an environmental group, recently conducted a fascinating experiment: They ran a two-minute clip of Shrek on a whole range of TVs, from small analog ones to massive, table-top-sized high-definition sets, while measuring the power usage. The result? The new big boys chew more than twice the energy of the old-school TVs. Interestingly, high-definition images require more power for their increased picture quality. Click here if you want to see the whole report.

Hrmph! I'm turning into a grump in my old age. But here's a positive item:

People who sing along to music while driving tend to concentrate more and fall asleep at the wheel less often, suggests a British study. Singing stimulates the mind and body, making you more alert, said Dr. Nicola Dibben, a music psychologist from the University of Sheffield. See the full article here, at CBC.ca.

I seem to spend a lot of time on the news, huh?

Well, I've just spent the last three weeks having curriculum theory shovelled into my head, and my brain feels ready to explode. But I've been reading a lot of fun stuff too. One YA item, a novella called The Glass Café by Gary Paulsen, particularly stood out — smart, accessible, loaded with personality and interest. Definitely a good choice for reluctant readers with an interest in social justice. I'd also recommend, surprisingly, Beverly Cleary's autobiography, My Own Two Feet. It is engagingly written, covering the period from her high-school graduation to the submission of her first manuscript, Henry and Ribsy. I loved her books when I was growing up, and her memoir offers some keen observations about the way that growing up on the Amercian West Coast during the 20s and 30s informed her fictional characters. Then I read (blush) a Marian Keyes novel, The Other Side of the Story. It was surprisingly complex, entwining the lives of a literary agent, a novelist, and an events planner. But I was greatly disappointed by her treatment of the character who has an affair with her boss; her resolution of the situation did not feel authentic to me. But otherwise, this is fine beach reading — except that I don't have a beach!

Next week, after I complete the final paper for my course, I will be reading Harry Potter 6. The guys have both already read it — it's taking a lot of restraint not to tear into it myself. Oh, patience, patience. There are some slabs I need to conquer before I get to all that...

Off to the mountains,
L

The Dreaming Curriculum

As promised. Wish me luck presenting it on Tuesday! — L

***

Although some of it is thoughtless and even puerile, popular music has proven that a unique combination of words and sounds can offer a potent form by which to influence the masses. As pop moves closer to artistry, it may capture distinct moments in its creator's life or reflect significant passages in its culture's development. At its best, popular music is art, both a document of personal transformation and an invitation for listeners to identify, to empathize, and to learn.

Long before Tori Amos and Sarah McLachlan there was Kate Bush, one of the first girl-and-piano singer/songwriters. Bush arrived on the music scene in 1978 with the single "Wuthering Heights" from her album The Kick Inside, a series of largely personal, introspective songs. The record launched her into the experience popularly referred to as "overnight success." Critics appreciated her intelligent writing, while her ethereal beauty appealed to the masses, creating an intense, sometimes fanatic following. Bush released a second album, Lionheart, similar to the first, and then a third album, Never Forever, a little more instrumental and experimental, in the span of just over eighteen months. Then there was the blank period, between 1980 and 1982, when Bush released nothing of her own and worked very little with other musicians. When her fourth album, The Dreaming, was released, fans and critics alike were taken aback: The Dreaming documents a personal crisis — a literal record of disintegration. Read through this album, the curriculum of our culture is a curriculum of alienation from the Self: the experience of education as existential angst. Bush uses her medium to articulate the lessons fame has taught her, offering up a catechism of madness.

Bush intended The Dreaming to be heard as a comprehensive whole, not a series of singles. Each song presents a Self adapting to and functioning in a political, social world. Track 1, "Sat in Your Lap," deals with learning and epistemology. Track 2, "There Goes a Tenner," recounts a bank robbery gone wrong. On Track 3, "Pull Out the Pin" — a protest song — a North Vietnamese peasant confronts an American soldier. Track 4, "Suspended in Gaffa," discusses the fear of dying without finding a sense of self, while Track 5, "Leave It Open," describes psychic collapse as side one ends. Opening side two is another protest song — Track 6, "The Dreaming" — which explores the plight of Australia's Aborigines. Track 7, "Night of the Swallow," is about needing risk to feel alive, while Track 8, "All the Love," discusses changing relationships after a death. Track 9, "Houdini," is a love song to the escape-artist; the track also helps listeners interpret the record as a whole: its central image is the mouth — and by extension, language: "With a kiss I'd pass the key..." (also the visual for the album cover). Track 10, "Get Out of My House," concludes the record with an angry, oppositional theme. Bush's instruction in the liner notes is informative — "This album was made to be played loud" — suggesting that the lyrics were intended to be shouted, not whispered, and that the music was meant to disturb, not soothe. The album is a carefully engineered syllabus, mediated by the technologies and influences that surrounded Bush as a subject in the late twentieth century.

From this provocative lesson plan I have chosen three songs to explore Bush's curriculum of angst. The first, "Sat in Your Lap," is about the elusive project of learning. Is knowledge received or earned? The speaker cannot decide. Perhaps knowledge is one of many heritable talents, as Howard Gardner might suggest — "something sat in your lap." Perhaps it is a construct of the powerful, created to control the distribution of scarce resources, as IQ test scores might suggest — "something that you never have." The speaker's quest for wisdom is interrupted by mundane concerns: work, status, material being. She believes she should learn, but is frustrated when her goal proves more elusive than she expects ("just when I think I'm king, I just begin"). Here Bush articulates a familiar model of curriculum as product, rather than process; her speaker is alienated from learning when her journeys go unacknowledged, unrewarded.

Wrapping up side one is "Leave It Open," a song about the psychic space of the mind and the struggle to remain receptive to difference. Ideological state apparatuses — the school, for example — seek to colonize the mind. Resistance is exhausting and possibly futile; at the song's conclusion, the speaker succumbs. The final, double-backward-masked chant "We let the weirdness in" may be a promise or a threat: we cannot know whether the speaker has accepted an alternative path of socialization ("weirdness" by a social standard) or opened her mind to conformity to the point of breakdown, letting go of her sanity. In the meantime, she has swallowed her ego and must shut her mouth to stop it from emerging — she is silenced. This song is a bitter indictment of the hidden curriculum of socialization: we cannot be our true selves if we are to survive in a world that demands conformity and obedience. Success in this world divides the lived Self from the perceived Self, leading to fragmentation and, as the highly processed, mechanical vocals suggest, a loss of humanity.

"Get Out of My House," the final song on the album, is about reclaiming the Self from forces that would dominate and destroy the speaker. It is sung from the perspective of an embattled individual confronting fear, anger, and violence. The house represents the embodied Self resisting psychic and physical violation. If we read in this text the aim of schooling as socialization, we discover an individual who can resist only by barring and bolting her Self, protecting it from invasion. Two statements of resistance — "can't knock my door down" and "this house is full of fight" — are clear. When reason and physical evasion are not sufficient to evade her pursuer, the speaker draws on animal energy for resistance ("I change into the Mule"); the song ends with a noisy, meaningless chorus in which the human rationality of language is rejected in favour of a rhythmic, wordless state. This text might then be read as a response to the scientific efficiency method of curriculum development; it is a curriculum of refutation, a reclamation of the embodied Self, but ultimately it must resort to wordlessness to escape rational thought. Like the other songs on the album, it ends with unresolved feelings and situations — the whole text reveals a striking absence of closure.

The curriculum of The Dreaming is both a curriculum of oppression and a curriculum of evasion. In this text, Bush adopts the roles of both student and teacher. As the student, she reveals the experience of depression and alienation in the classroom of popular culture. The songs offer strategies of resistance and survival within the psychic onslaught of life as a popular female musician in the late capitalist system. Bush sees herself objectified and responds with anomie: "I want the answers quickly / But I don't have the energy." As the teacher, Bush presents a structural-functionalist view of society: each element of her worldview exists in dynamic relation to the others and attempts to correct the system when another element breaks down. Notice the recurring imagery of fixing and cleaning: "Wide eyes would clean and dust / Things that decay, things that rust" and "I wash the panes, I clean the stains away"; equally, note the response that follows: "But now I've started learning how / I keep them shut."

The content of this curriculum is largely hidden: the intrapsychic shocks of living in an alienated, consumerist society (remember, 1982 was the height of Margaret Thatcher's Conservative England). Education, as we know, may be formal or informal; Bush's experience of sudden, worldwide fame affected her deeply (she was allegedly the most-photographed woman in Britain in 1979). This curriculum of notoriety, of exposure, teaches by turns the helplessness, depression, and rage we discover in this album.

However, a curriculum of resistance that turns to insanity, criminality, and wordlessness as its ultimate strategies cannot be a pedagogy of hope. Any sense of praxis — reflective action — is unclear. The Self presented here is battered by psychic storms. The gesture of expression — coming to speech (or in this case, song) — is important, and the text attempts to grapple with the silence and isolation of modern life, with more or less success; but ultimately this Self is defeated by the many forces attempting to confine her to a predetermined role: a vulnerable, sexualized, female object. On her next album (Hounds of Love, 1985), Bush turned to love as the answer to this crisis, but she needed to name the crisis, as she did on The Dreaming, before she was ready to take that step.

An addiction gone bad

It's now gone too far. Not only have I succumbed and driven my family into its insidious grasp but now I've started to broaden my scope to friends and other family members.

"...a sick addiction that conumes your thoughts, shreds your tendons and threatens your very existence."



That's my brother Doug working his way up the Unnamed 5.6 at Abraham Slabs. Been on a Gym wall exactly once and I forced him to climb 27m of sharp Rockies' limestone; and I didn't even feel guilty.

***

For more pics of this summer's activities, check out a selection at Macblaze or the whole online catalogue on my online image gallery.

I must say I wouldn't have predicted that climbing would be come such a fascination. I guess it has something to do with the unique mixture of challenge, fear, nature and opportunity to grow. I've always believed that life was about growing and learning. That if any universalraison d'etre, metaphysical or otherwise existed then it was to be more tomorrow than we were today. As with so much in life, learning can become stagnant, growth can become plodding progress and the increments can disappear into day-to-day details that leave no trace that they even exist. Mostly though, I thought of this a spiritiual or intellecual goal.

I'm not really into sports or physical competition but I've always understood that they provide an outlet for growth outside the self. For those lucky few whose bodies become a finely tuned tool, the nature of "sports" allows both the body and mind to continue to expand, explore and excel every day and honestly there are days when I am a bit jealous of that. I occasionaly remember that in our modern society, we have a tendency to elevate intellectual pursuits a bit too much. Ballet is nothing more than an exquisite blend of the body's potential and the mind's capacity--a lot like watching Wayne Gretzky on a breakaway if you can just shift you view 90 degrees.

Let's give credit where credit is due. All those high school jocks and beer league heros have learned to to grow and learn in a way that some of us never have. I've never minded a good game of catch, wasting an afternood at frisbee or a splash in the pool, but its always been as mindless as a classic episode of Three's Company. Playing sports is like watching sitcoms of reading a good trashy romance, fun but ultimately just a way to while away the afternoon. Still, I can picture a few moments from the past: my old friend Mitch, poised between 2nd and 3rd, snatching the ball out of the air and oh so gracefully pirouetting to land nimbley and blast the ball across the infield to make the play. I know it wasn't mindless because I grew up watching him push and push those skills so his body would do exactly what his mind told it to. I was alway just too worried about whether I could actually stop the stupid ball to wonder what I was going to do with it next. He grew, I watched.

All this is to say that I think I've found in climbing a way to push my body to learn and grow not because I want to be a jock or spray about my latest rock conquest, but because it is becoming a tool that allows me to focus my thoughts and learn to exist in a whole new way. There is something very, very unique about being 20m up a rock slab that you know you can't climb, know you can't descend, know you can't fall from and know you can't just cling to. I've said it to L quite a few times now..."that scared the hell out of me!" and followed up with a smile. "Scared" is definitely not the right word although if you can conceive of fear as a power for good, something to actually strive for, then you'd be close.

There is something inexplicable that occurs when you get all of your processes working in synch. The human psyche is is a construct of nerves and neurons, habits and hormones. I'm beginning to believe that if one can only get the system working together... if thought, perception, imagination, instinct, strength, flexibility, if all the elements that make the machine work are working in harmony, then it doesn't matter the level at which you perform, whether mental giant and world class power lifter or city bus driver and newspaper proofreader, what matters is that the system itself works and continues to grow, to work "stronger, faster, better" and that we learn to celebrate that.

I'll never aspire to being Chris Sharma, a lot of things I've read and done lately are allowing me to center my new addiction within my self: I grow, everyday. I think in the end, Jake's quote (above: "climbing is a sick addiction...") sums it up well when it ends with, "Other than that, it is just plain fun."

It is.

Kibbles and Bits

I am currently taking a graduate course in curriculum foundations. It's very interesting, but my brain is tired. Here are some bits and pieces to mull over. Meanwhile, I'm working on a little project about pedagogy and the album The Dreaming. I'll probably post it once I've presented it. Watch out! —L

Sadly, the history of language is too often a collapse of words for action into words for things. —Madeleine R. Grumet

From CBC Edmonton: Foothills-Rocky View MLA Ted Morton says if the province doesn't fight the legislation, homosexuality will creep into the mainstream and those that don't agree will be discriminated against. "If gay marriage has full support of both federal and provincial law, it would be very difficult, for example, for a teacher at a high school or junior high to refuse to teach this as part of the curriculum that presents this as normal," Ted Morton said.

Give me a break
Oh, let me try
Give me something to show for my miserable life
Something to take
Would you break even my wings, like a swallow?
— Kate Bush, "Night of the Swallow"

Nothing to lose but your chains

Karl Marx was a Taurus. That's all anyone needs to know.

"Today 50 of the largest 100 economies in the world are run by multinationals, not by countries. Mitsubishi is bigger than Saudi Arabia; General Motors is larger than either Greece, Norway or South Africa. The combined annual revenues of the biggest 200 corporations are greater than those of 182 nation-states that contain 80 per cent of the world's population." — Wayne Ellwood in The No-Nonsense Guide to Globalization

According to the latest preliminary estimates released by R.R. Bowker, the total title output in American publishing increased 14 percent in 2004/5 to a new high of 195,000 — up from 135,000 titles only three years ago, although the 2004/5 increase is less than 2003/4's 19-percent jump. Source: Publishers Lunch, May 2005

Yes, it's 1:37 AM and I'm wide awake. Sigh. Still reading lots and lots. I believe I will reach my 50-book goal before the end of June, thereby setting me up to read 100 books this year — some of them even big books! Meanwhile, I'm contemplating dyeing my hair dark, dark brown. Hmm. Did I mention that I'm currently the acting chair in my dept? Once again, the key to the executive washroom dangles mere centimetres from my curious fingers...

Eliminate the metaphor of violence. Incense and lollipops. Find a man who is not. Violets and rosemary. Morning glories opening in August. Am I already a ghost? The taste of the wind, the blackberries of memory.

Somnambulantly,
L

Words, words, words

Just finished Dating Hamlet: Ophelia's Story by Lisa Fiedler, a playful retelling of Hamlet. Most of the action of the novel takes place between the scenes of the play. In this version, Ophelia is an amateur botanist (she calls herself an alchemist) and soon to be Hamlet's wife (in a nicely understated scene, she gives up her "virtue" to him, shortly before he appears mad before the court). The novel reveals a different reason for Ophelia's purported madness (like Hamlet's, it is a feigned "antic disposition") and offers an extended ending to the play's conclusion, beginning once the bodies of Hamlet, Laertes, and the Queen are taken to the castle morgue. Purists would cringe, but I like the more positive re-imagining of Hamlet and Ophelia's fate -- much like Ann-Marie MacDonald's reinterpretation of Desdemona's and Juliet's roles. My only complaint with the novel is the dialogue: it's roundly awful. Imagine, if you can, a California high school as Hollywood has repeatedly presented them to us; then imagine the students of that high school attempting to write Elizabethan conversation without the guidance of an educated adult. "Verily, a few knights short of a crusade," indeed. But that's a small quibble. Female YA readers would likely enjoy this work. It's certainly more accessible than Shylock's Daughter, Mirjam Pressler's serious but thoughtful retelling of The Merchant of Venice.

Earlier this week, I finished The Meaning of Wife by Anne Kingston. This is an astonishingly well-constructed cultural history of the term wife, ending with a hopeful, albeit less than plausible, call for change to our understanding of one of society's oldest roles. I recommend this book highly.

Over the weekend I finished Isabel Allende's Zorro, her richly developed portrait of Diego de la Vega's youth and education. As with most of Allende's work, this novel is romantic and energetic, with lush, detailed description and clever ties to contemporary issues. Although it's almost 400 pages long, it moves quickly. Excellent summer reading, although perhaps not quite vintage Allende.

Meanwhile, in other news (source: CBC online)

Andy Russell, one of the province's best-known conservationists and storytellers, has died. He was 89.

I remember listening to Andy Russell's series Our Alberta Heritage on the radio when I was growing up. Russell represented a compassionate spirit in Alberta, something too often lacking in our current society. I was sad to hear he had died.

Finola Hackett, a 13-year-old Tofield girl who made it to the championship round of the Scripps National Spelling Bee, was stumped Thursday afternoon by the word nisse – a Scandinavian brownie that frequents barns. Before missing her final word, she successfully spelled these other words:

• heterocoelous (a type of vertebrae)
• verticil (parts arranged in a circle around an axis)
• whiffet (a small or unimportant person)
• merotomize (to divide into parts)
• cassowary (a large, flightless, Australian bird)
• fumulus (a cloud that forms over smokestacks)
• blepharoptosis (a drooping of the upper eyelid).

I doubt that I could have spelled ANY of those words. Eeks, what a smart girl!

On the left hand

The Tyee continues to offer provocative alternative media from Canada's West Coast. This week one of their editorialists wrote an article titled "Canada's Stupid Party," about the disaster the "ReformaTories" have revealed themselves to be. Here's an excerpt:

Here’s a party that has serious credibility problems when it comes to convincing women they’re not a bunch of sexist neanderthals. Their most prominent woman walks across the floor and when all the cameras and microphones are pointed at them, the best attack they can muster is that their biggest female star was an ambitious, stupid, heartbreaking whore. Yeah, that’s gonna convince all Canadian women that you’ve got their best interests at heart.

The rest of the article is here. Definitely worth your time. Another article in the same issue, coyly title "Meet the Genitailor," profiles a Vancouver-based plastic surgeon who specializes in gynecological retrofitting. Chilling and disturbing — see it here if you don't mind reading something fairly graphic and anti-feminist. Sigh.

Odds and ends

Some thoughts to fill your mind and soothe your soul. A bientôt!

Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart. —William Wordsworth

When you re-read a classic you do not see in the book more than you did before. You see more in you than there was before. —Clifton Fadiman

The best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain. —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Leslie