Wednesday, October 31, 2012

On History We Share

Recently, I went on a lovely jaunt south to Virginia, where I met up with Shirley and Veronica.  These ladies kindly played Tour Guide to me and I was able to add to my Civil War Battlefield Portfolio.  Poor Virginia!  Its woods are still scarred by soldiers' trenches, and the battles there evoked what is for me one of President Lincoln's most poignant quotes, "My god! What will the country say?"

My time at these sites made me thoughtful:  of history, of politics, of my childhood, and of perspective.  It sent me back into that impressive book Battle Cry of Freedom by James M. McPherson, which I will quote at length in this post.

When I was a kid growing up in NEO, my dad worked at the steel mill in our town, and my mom stayed home.  I had three siblings, and for family vacations, we did it on the cheap.  Lots of times we packed up and drove to Gettysburg, PA to impose on my Aunt Shirley and Uncle Dick and their three kids for a week or so.  They lived across the street from a huge battlefield marker and up the hill was another one.  Back then, townies also got into all the museums and everything for free, so for at least a few days, we'd steal the neighbor kids' identities, walk uptown, and do all the attractions. I loved the Jennie Wade house, the Electric Map, and one uncle even worked part time at the Lincoln Train Museum.  At first, the Gettysburg experience seemed to be all about battle strategies, weapons, casualties, generals, and maneuvers.  Sometime in the seventies (I think), that seemed to change.  It was suddenly all about Lincoln and the Union.  Maybe it was just me.  Maybe I grew up, or maybe my perspective changed.  But I remember that shift very palpably.  It didn't dampen my ardor for Gettysburg in the least:  I eagerly went on any car tour narrated by my aunt, hoping to glean more information to add to my expanding mythoi of the battlefield and its monuments.

In Virginia I was curious as to how a Southern State--the seat of the Confederacy--would present its history of the Civil War.  The Battles of Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville were both Confederate victories, despite their ultimate defeat.  In Virginia's Civil War History, Abraham Lincoln is the architect of destruction for some citizens' family trees.  Richmond, the capital, was a symbolic prize for the Union army, and its citizens knew it; they burned their own city to the ground as they fled before the bluecoats got there.  For much of the South near the end of the war, life had become an endurance test.  Federal troops were single-mindedly marching, taking provisions, doing anything to end the war, even if it meant brutal conditions for civilians.  If I were a Southerner, I would want some respect paid to that story.  It's a fine line to walk, I would imagine.

As is always my experience with our nation's National Park Service, there is a great reverence and honor for the battlefield sites and stories I visited in Virginia.  The focus there is very human and personal as the displays remind visitors of native Virginians who fought in the battles there, and whether they survived or gave their lives for their Cause.  Especially humbling and poignant is the Fredericksburg National Cemetery on Marye's Heights, the terraced ground in which rests over 15,000 Union dead, most of whom are unknown.

It is all so very, very sobering.  Abraham Lincoln was elected president on November 6, 1860.  On December 20, 1860, South Carolina became the first state to secede from the Union.  In relatively rapid succession followed states Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, Texas, Virginia, Arkansas, North Carolina, Tennessee; these went on, of course, to make up the Confederate States of America (CSA).

(Ironically, unless Virginia leans Democratic, it seems that these states will vote against a man from Illinois again.)

It's conventional wisdom that our country, highlighted by election year politics, is polarized.  We were divided into Red and Blue by election maps, 1% and 99% by a movement, and a host of other designations that, sometimes, we chose ourselves.  During the Civil War, we truly were a country divided.  Consider this, from author McPherson (859):

Before 1861 the two words "United States" were generally rendered as a plural noun:  "the United States are a republic." The war marked a transition of the United States to a singular noun.  The "Union" also became the nation, and Americans now rarely speak of  their Union except in an historical sense.  Lincon's wartime speeches betokened this transition.  In his first inaugural address he used the word "Union" twenty times and the word "nation" not once.  In his first message to Congress, on July 4, 1861, he used "Union" thirty-two times and "nation" three times.  In his letter to Horace Greeley of August 22, 1862, on the relationship of slavery to the war, Lincoln spoke of the Union eight times and of the nation not at all.  Little more than a year later, in his address at Gettysburg, the president did not refer to the "Union" at all but used the word "nation" five times to invoke a new birth of freedom and nationalism for the United States.

A house divided against itself cannot stand.--A. Lincoln

The old federal republic in which the national government had rarely touched the average citizen except through the post office gave way to a more centralized polity that taxed the people directly and created an internal revenue bureau to collect these taxes, drafted men into the army, expanded the jurisdiction of federal courts, created a national currency and a national banking system, and established the first national agency for social welfare--the Freedmen's Bureau.

The legitimate object of government is to do for a community of people whatever they need to have done, but cannot do at all, or cannot so well do, for themselves, in their separate and individual capacities. In all that the people can individually do as well for themselves, government ought not to interfere. The desirable things which the individuals of a people cannot do, or cannot well do, for themselves, fall into two classes: those which have relation to wrongs, and those which have not.--A. Lincoln 

This change in the federal balance paralleled a radical shift of political power from South to North. During the first seventy-two years of the republic down to 1861 a slaveholding resident of one of the states that joined the Confederacy had been President of the United States for forty-nine of those years--more than two-thirds of the time.  In Congress, twenty-three of the thirty-six speakers of the House and twenty-four of the presidents pro tem of the Senate had been southerners. The Supreme Court always had a southern majority....After the war a century passed before a resident of an ex-Confederate state was elected president.  For half a century none of the speakers of the House or presidents pro tem of the Senate came from the South, and only five...justices...were southerners.

These figures symbolize a sharp and permanent change in the direction of American development....Thus when secessionists protested that they were acting to preserve traditional rights and values, they were correct....The South's concept of republicanism had not changed in three-quarters of a century; the North's had.  With complete sincerity the South fought to preserve its vision of the republic of the founding fathers--a government of limited powers that protected the rights of property and whose constituency comprised an independent gentry and yeomanry of the white race undisturbed by large cities,heartless factories, restless free workers, and class conflict. The accession to power of the Republican party, with its ideology of competitive, egalitarian, free-labor capitalism, was a signal to the South that the northern majority had turned irrevocably toward this frightening, revolutionary future.  Indeed, the Black Republican party appeared to the eyes of many southerners as "essentially a revolutionary party."...[I]nsisted Jefferson Davis during the Civil War, "We are resisting revolution....We are conservative." (860-1)

Be not deceived.  Revolutions do not go backward.--A. Lincoln

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

The Politics, Halloween, And Yard Art: Experience Life In A Swing State (An Interactive Post!)

At this point in October in Ohio, I don't know what I grow more weary of, Halloween or The Politics.  Last night while trying to enjoy some television programming, Rick and I counted eight ads in a row during one break, and those were just for two races, senator and president.

My great distaste for Halloween has been well documented here at the Dept. in other posts before, so we won't go back over all that territory now.  Suffice it to say, my feelings haven't changed except to perhaps intensify.  So while on my walk today during an unseasonably warm and gloriously sunny day, I made it my Mission not to be irked by the Halloween yard art I knew I was going to witness. 

Because that just allows the Terrorists to Win.

Now, here's an example of a very subtle celebration of Halloween:
 
What does this home say to you?  "Oh, hello.  Autumnal Greetings.  And we are proud Americans, by the way. (Or, we got a free flag from our councilman on Independence Day and, unsure of how to dispose of the flag properly, we just left it here.)"  It wasn't until I got the photo home that I even saw that there was a teeny pumpkin tucked next to each pot of mums, so subtle is this decor.
 
A few blocks later, we have this:
 
 
What does this home say to you?  "Bwaaahaaaahaaa.  We have unpacked our crazy and have a ton of Peter Pan Issues to work through."
 
Here's another view without the tree branches:
Or, perhaps it says:  "We used to work at Discount Halloween Town.  We are the Fun Parents, and everyone in the neighborhood borrows our ladders."
 
But, at least this house has a Theme.  This is a focused, directed Decorating Job.  Which is more than I can say for this:
 
 
Okay...what, now?  Just what does the decor here say to you? Go ahead-- I'll let you have some fun in Comments.



Sunday, October 14, 2012

In Which I Lament Yard Parkers, Pushy Companies, And, Always, Bacon


Today in NEO it was a golden autumn day.  We had temperatures early in the afternoon that peaked in the high seventies.  There was a brisk westerly breeze and the sun was warm and lovely.  Rick and I took a long walk and then settled into our bright red porch chairs with a glass of cider for some conversation and commentary on...well, everything.

Soon, I needed a snack, and this, as many of you may recall, is Perilous Territory for me, and by default then, for Rick.  I do not often eat during the day, and when I suddenly must, rarely is it obvious to even me what I want.  When I returned from my foraging, I had a bag of Lay's Potato Chips--just the crumbs, really (it was an old bag)--and Rick rolled his eyes.

Rick:  (nodding at the chips) That's not what you want.
Nance:  (sighs) I know.  But I have no idea.
Rick:  (puzzled) Didn't we buy a new bag?  What--
Nance:  Yeah, but there's still some left in here, and I'm not opening a nice new bag when this might not even be what I want.
Rick:  You're such a project.
Nance: (decisively) Boy, don't I know it.  (looks across the street at the rental house)  Rick, I am going to say something very, very horrible right now.  It's just terrible and awful.
Rick:  (looks up expectantly; his expression is almost joyful) Oh good.  I hope so.  It's been a really long time since you did.  A long time.
Yard Parker: the view from my porch
Nance:  I just wish that something--anything--would come down off the roof, or the tree, or something overhanging, and fall on top of their car and do a lot of damage.  I mean it.  I don't want anything to hurt them, but I am so sick of them parking on their lawn and right up against their house and their front steps for heaven's sake!  Maybe if something hurt their car, they would stop doing it.  I mean, how lazy are they?  It's just terrible.  It makes me terrible.  The whole thing is awful.  I don't know why I care so much.  I mean, it's not hurting me.  I just have to look at it.

Rick:  Well, it makes the neighborhood look trashy.
Nance:  It does.  It really does.  (sighs;looks down at chips)  Holy crap.  All I wanted to do was eat a few chips.  But no!  They want me to scan this code and go to their website.  Here they want me to design my own flavor.  Then they want me to post that to Facebook.  (a little indignant now) That's a lot of bullshit work!
Rick:  They want you to do their job.
Nance:  And here's what happens.  People come up with all kinds of exotic flavors.  They say, apple cinnamon!  Salted caramel!  Chicken and biscuits!  Duck confit!  And here's what will win--BACON. Period.  Bet me.
Rick:  What flavor would you want?
Nance:  I have no idea.  Guacamole?  Probably already sent in or already tested.  But the point is, it doesn't matter.  BACON WILL WIN.  Seriously.
Rick:  Everyone likes bacon.
Nance:  Then why ask? Ugh. Make a bacon chip and be done with it.
Rick:  Here.  Give me that.  I'm going in to get a beer.  I'll throw them away for you.

Sunday, October 07, 2012

Add AR State Rep. Jon Hubbard To The List Of republicans Who Want To Take Our Country Back, And Here's How Far

Go here for the story of Gordon, the man pictured
"The institution of slavery that the black race has long believed to be an abomination upon its people may actually have been a blessing in disguise. The blacks who could endure those conditions and circumstances would someday be rewarded with citizenship in the greatest nation ever established upon the face of the Earth." --Arkansas State Representative Jon Hubbard.

This quote is part of a larger essay, which is in turn part of his book, vanity-published in 2009.  Because Hubbard is up for re-election, it has become fodder for the media.

I don't care.  It's disgusting filth like this--this kind of pervasive and intrinsic hate and selfish superiority--that seems ingrained in that party.  It spawned the audacious disrespect of  Joe Wilson and the misogyny of  Todd Akin.

It's hard to give up The Politics when it all becomes so very personal. How can anyone--anyone--choose not to vote?  Spite alone would move me to the ballot box. 

Monday, October 01, 2012

It's Like Looking At A Roomful Of Vegas Showgirls

Here in the Midwest we are often considered staid, provincial, even boring.  We owe our very existence to two rather pedestrian and mundane industries, agriculture and manufacturing.  Midwesterners are perceived by Left- and Right-Coasters to be unsophisticated and lacking in style.  We shop at WalMart and eat spray cheese.  We think Dr. Phil is God and Rosie O'Donnell should just admit that no one wants to hear about It anymore and go away once and for all, especially now that Will & Grace is canceled.  And if that Michelle Obama shows up in a sleeveless dress one more time...!  It's fine if she's looking to do a Playboy, we say, but her husband is running for President of the United States!  Thank Goodness Mrs. Romney has a little more class and modesty.

But not all Midwesterners are so modest and retiring.  On one of my walks I discovered a house whose tenant put her...jugs right on the front porch.

You can see she's got quite a rack out there.  I figured, what the hell.  I'll take a picture; it'll last longer.

Nice rack of jugs. 


More jugs...and wow!  Just noticed on either side of this rack...what a crock!

So much for the Midwestern Modesty.  The nights are getting much colder here in Northeast Ohio.  I can't imagine how those things will hold up once it frosts.

Thursday, September 20, 2012

They're Only Words...

"A word is dead when it's been said, some say.  I say it just begins to live that day."--Emily Dickinson

Oh, Miss Emily!  How grateful I am that you sleep in kind Death's arms, for today, the Dept. of Nance is about to wish for the demise of some common, innocent little words which, through no real fault of their own, are irksome to not only me, but also to Jared, who is teaming up with me today, just like we used to do over at our partner blog, Stuff On Our List.

Today's post was inspired by two things:  one, this article which stated that the Worst Word Ever is "panties"; and two, my reaction to a song Jared wanted me to listen to, sung by his friend Brandon "Blizz Moneybagz" Pride, a rapper.  I sent Jared the article because he, too, detests the word "panties," but he felt my objection to Blizz's liberal use of the word "bitch" in his song was evidence of my "unhealthy relationship" to said word.  We had a brief, civil discourse regarding the matter, closed it, and ultimately decided to do a post about Our Most Irksome Common Words.

These words are not grammatical concerns (irregardless); nor are they words that have obvious sexual or negative connotations rendering them horrid (slut, cancer); nor are they words that have become overused by The American Youth (awesome! amazing! like...).  These are just words that, for whatever reason, we have an aversion to. 

Here's Jared:

Sorry, Emily.  Some words have no business existing. And worse, I hate the way that they feel when I say them. Or they don’t make any sense. The following are words that I have made a conscious effort to not only remove from my own operational vernacular, but also to make an exhausting effort to avoid even having to hear. Since “panties” was already taken, and I happen to echo the sentiment that it is the worst word in the world, I will give you my second through sixth most hated words.

2. Eternity – Eternity? It isn’t any fun to say, it is cliché, and it also isn’t any fun to type. Just say forever.  And end it. We all know that’s what you meant anyhow. You only said eternity because you heard it during a Harry Potter marathon, and now you think that because it was in a movie and some plays or some shit, that it’s the best way to go. It isn’t. I have stopped saying “eternity”. And it is a decision I will stick with forever. See?

3. Sketchy – My friends say this for anything that is suspect in nature. People, food, bridges, bars, anything. And I don’t think it makes sense. Also, we have a word for that. Ready? I know it's difficult but here we go…SUSPECT! Hipsters made the word “sketchy” into a part of everyone’s everyday life. And for that, they are a suspect set of the population. My one buddy, who shall remain nameless despite my desire to expose him, describes his beard as “sketchy”. No. That isn’t what’s happening. You aren’t intentionally “growing a sketchy beard”. You just can’t grow adult facial hair and are too lazy to grab a razor.

4. Fattoush – This is an actual thing. Fattoush is, from what I understand, some sort of Lebanese crouton/salad thing. There isn’t anything else to call it. It is simply “fattoush”. But that doesn’t mean I have to be OK with it everytime someone in the office orders a fattoush salad from the Greek spot we like. It sounds like a noise that a child makes while he is pretend fighting. Or telling a story about doing a cannonball at a pool party. “I just jumped right in! FATTOUSH! I soaked everyone sitting poolside.” Someone told me recently, “Don’t worry about what you cannot control.” And I think that’s bullshit. That’s the only stuff worth worrying about. I can’t control that the Greek place calls it fattoush. Which is exactly why it stresses me out.


5.  Succulent – This word makes my skin crawl. “How is your steak?” It’s juicy. It is not succulent. Ask someone to define succulent for you. Go on. I bet they say “You know, like really tasty and juicy and stuff.” Then just say that, homey. Say you had a really well cooked chicken breast that was juicy. Anyone ever looks at me and says, “Good job on dinner. It was succulent,” and there’s an 80% chance I never talk to him again if he was serious. Only way to make this word worse? Put it next to “morsel.” “Succulent morsel.” Has to be the worst phrase ever.

6. Supper- This one makes no sense. When you eat DINNER, you are supping. That would make you the one that sups. And thus you are the supper. Not the food. What sort of sustenance does the meal get by being masticated around hastily and swallowed? "Absolutely zero" is the answer. Does that make the meal the “suppee”? I don’t know. Far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t matter. Because all that’s happening is someone is having dinner.

Take it, Nance:

1.  Squat--This word is ugly.  It's serviceable, but it sounds terrible and looks worse.  It reminds me of when my mother used to make me pee outside at night rather than walk all the way to the outhouse at Grandma's cabin.  It is graceless, and my underwear always got wet.

2.  Nude--I prefer "naked."  Nude sounds cold, aloof, and unseemly.  Nude sounds like business.  Naked sounds warmer and less clinical.  Nude sounds like a police report is involved.  Naked sounds like cuddling might be.

3.  Underpants--These are what elderly men wear or cruel mothers with terrible Bronxy accents yell after their children who finally get invited to a slumber party (now their last):  "Mona! Did you remember to pack a clean pair of underpants?!" Underpants sound dingy, and like what get left on a floor to be found when new tenants get the keys to a rundown apartment.

4.  Community--This poor, overworked word just reeks of poverty, causes, charity organizations, strident women with petitions, and teeshirts with slogans.  It sounds like big long tables stocked with literature and clicky pens. I hate it.

5.  Pocketbook--What a terrible, dated, dumb word!  Worse is when someone pronounces it POCKABOOK.  How this is still used to identify a purse is beyond me.  Purses are not FOR your Pocket, they are NOT BOOKS, and rarely does one use one's purse expressly FOR A BOOK.  This word really does set my teeth on edge.

Jared and I will celebrate words in our next post by selecting some of our Favourite Words!  In the meantime, do share your Cringeworthy Words in comments, or commiserate with us about some of ours.


Tuesday, September 04, 2012

Cranial Casserole: It's What's For Dinner At The Dept.

This post will be sort of a Dept. of Nance mixtape (or mash-up, for my younger readers who are of A Generation who have no grasp of what "tapes" might be.)  It's like Leftover Night:  a dab of This-n-That, all odd assortments that don't really go together, but perhaps you might find something that you like.


Let's dish it up.


Once a week, I do floors in the house.  (I know:  how very June Cleaver of me.)  As I was Sharking the kitchen, I took a critical look at the front grill of the refrigerator and thought, I wonder if I should clean that someday.  In consulting the refrigerator's manual as to how to remove said grill in order to do so, I was shocked.  It told me not to clean it. There is no need for routine condenser cleaning in normal home operating environments, it said.  I was pretty excited.  There it was, in writing and everything.  I read further, however, because I know from experience that, if there is more writing, there is always a catch.  ...if there is significant pet traffic in the home, the condenser should be cleaned every 2 to 3 months....  What?  What does that mean--significant?  Of course my pets are significant!  My pets are extremely significant--to me!  Who in the hell has unimportant or insignificant pets?  ("Oh, my! What a nice dog. How long have you had him?"  "What dog?  Oh, that? That's just some animal that hangs around here to finish up our table scraps. It's a nothing. We haven't even named it.")  Needless to say, I cleaned that damn thing tout de suite. 

Speaking of language, we have a quick guest spot from the Defender of The Language.  A rather urgent missive arrived from California Math Teacher, and we wanted to address it right away.  He writes:

Dear Defender of The Language,  I'm a math teacher, and every time I teach my students the rules of solving equations, I have a question about grammar that I keep meaning to ask you. Two of the actions that are permissible when solving equations are adding the same quantity to both sides of an equation and subtracting the same quantity from both sides of an equation. These are generally presented as one rule and written as follows: "We can add or subtract the same quantity from both sides of an equation." This seems incorrect to me, as we subtract a quantity from an equation but we add a quantity to an equation, and this sentence uses the word "from" in both circumstances. On one hand I want to make this sentence more grammatically correct, but on the other hand I want to keep their notes as short and concise as possible. What should I do?

Oh, bless you, Math Teacher from California, for caring so deeply about grammar during a math lesson.  You are absolutely correct that the preposition "from" makes no sense after the verb "add" in that mathematical statement.  One way to test its grammatical logic is to remove the compound verb phrase, thusly:  We can add the same quantity from both sides of an equation simply does not pass the test of either English grammar or basic logic.  What to do for students who want to take short, efficient notes?  You can either heave a sigh of regret and press on, knowing that the basic understanding is still conveyed despite the grammatical misstep, or you can employ the slash in this manner:    "We can add or subtract the same quantity to/from both sides of an equation."  As a Defender of The Language, I naturally prefer the latter.

Thank you, Defender of The Language, for responding so quickly to this query.  As always, if you or anyone you know has a mechanics, usage, grammar, or spelling concern for the Defender, please send it to me here at the Dept.  My email link can be found in my sidebar.

Finally, the Cleveland Plain Dealer has again printed an intriguing obituary.  I must share it with you.  When I looked at the photo, I did a very cartoon-esque double-take.  I read the accompanying writeup with care, as I always do, and I smiled.  What a wonderful family this man must have.  What a great time he must have had with them all, and what memories they must have made together.  As I have often said when I share this sort of obituary picture, it would not be my style, but how I love that it was theirs.   
Legacy is a heady, serious thing to ponder.  Living one's Best Life each day...perhaps a little less so.  Tossing a little Fun in there obviously goes a long way.  I like that idea.  Always have.

Monday, August 27, 2012

Ah, Politics! I Hardly Knew Ye!

I'm seriously thinking of giving up The Politics completely.  Truly, I am.  The past couple of years I've removed myself gradually, anyway--with a few relapses here and there--because it has all gotten to be so much noise.

Those of us in the Swing States (CNN currently lists them as Nevada, Colorado, Iowa, Ohio, Virginia, Florida, and New Hampshire; The NYT adds Wisconsin) are in a constant media maelstrom of Super PAC propaganda.  In the evening hours especially, political adverts are stacked one on top of the other in a relentless barrage of partisan garbage.  Every single commercial break in Ohio has at least one (and that number would be a blessing), but more often, there are three or four in a row.  I witnessed the same fusillade of campaign proselytizing in Virginia in June.  Virginians also have a Senate race to decide, as do Ohioans, so we both get an extra helping of PAC crap.

I don't even listen anymore.  Yes, I've read The Research:  I know that the reason the ads are so negative is because They Work.  And, yes, I was one of the ones who said that Pres. Obama needed to get tough and dirty with the republicans because that's how they played the game.  For the record, I still say that.

But, thanks to the Supreme Court decision in 2010, we're all on overload.  A modicum of relief is coming, however:  On September 11th, the official campaigns of both presidential candidates are suspending ads.  Additionally, the primary pro-Obama Super PAC has agreed to stop running commercials in deference to the day as well.  But I want more.

I want the ads to be confined to one political ad per candidate per commercial break.  I want the ads to run only three months before any election.  I want there to be Ad-Free Days during the week, decided by each network, and that can be decided locally or nationally; I don't care.  I think those parameters are more than fair.  I've stated no regulations here about positive or negative; none regarding the Super PAC's monies or whether or not they have to be traceable or local in origin.  That stuff is already a lost cause.

The Politics used to be Fun for me.  Now it's ugly and tedious and tiresome, like cleaning the basement or arguing with a friend.  Whenever I can, I get rid of anything that's not fulfilling me.  So, The Politics has to go.

Part of my disgust, I think, has been all my reading and research into President Lincoln.  He was far from perfect, but in his service to the country, he remained thoughtful and mindful of the country.  He knew that some of the advisers he had around him had personal agendas and personal animosity toward him, but he valued them for their common desire to preserve the Union and for the expertise they brought in achieving that outcome.  He was a man who faced many tribulations simultaneously in all facets of his life:  a country at war, the deaths of his sons, a mercurial wife, a rebellious Congress, an often melancholy spirit, a series of failures as General for his Army of the Potomac, the cruelty of a fickle public and press, but he worked tirelessly for the restoration of his country.

The irony that my favourite president is a republican is not lost on me.  Yet, one would have to search deeply and profoundly to find any similarity between the current republican party and the party of Abraham Lincoln.  I wonder if he would be able to call himself a republican were he to find himself alive today.

In the meantime, I'll absent myself from The Politics of today in favour of the politics of yesterday.   

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Indulge Me. Remember What Mae West Said: "To Err Is Human, But It Feels Divine." The Dept. Is (Sinfully) Seven!


by Marc Petrovic and Tim Tate
 In 375 AD, Evagrius Ponticus, a teacher and writer also known as Evagrius the Solitary, decided to identify the most terrible sources of temptation for human beings.  He came up with eight and named them as the sources of all sinful behaviour.  Two hundred years later, Pope Gregory I revised the list down to seven, and we now know them more commonly as The Seven Deadly Sins:  Pride, Envy, Gluttony, Lust, Anger, Greed, and Sloth.

In August 2012 AD,  the Dept. of Nance, written by a former teacher, celebrates seven years of being a source of...well, something for human beings here on the Interwebs.  In its existence for the past seven years, no doubt it has encouraged and celebrated some sinfulness here and there.  In the spirit of Evagrius Ponticus and Sinners everywhere, I would like to 'fess up--in spirit--to seven each of the Seven Deadlies.

1.  Pride/Vanity:   I'm vain about everything, as Readers all know, but inordinately so about my shoes (which must match my outfit); my clothes (which must be impeccable ensembles); my reading glasses (which must match my shoes and outfit); my hair (which I am at war with constantly); my eyelashes (Bug, where is the Mascara Spreadsheet?); my cats, who remain overweight despite their pricey diet food (and getting no treats or table food--so embarrassing); and the appearance of each post in this blog (it's exhausting, really).

2.  Envy:  This is a tough one.  I'm not generally an envious person, although I do wish I had the blogger book deal, the wherewithal to go on a world cruise, a warm-climate winter getaway home, the ability to eat and not get fat (like Sam's girlfriend seems to be able to!)...(See?  This is turning into what I wish, and not really a list of Envies.)  I'm envious of people who have a really good sense of direction, who like to take photos and have them organized, and who don't have the Worry Gene.  Because I do.

3.  Gluttony:  I don't eat like I used to be able to, and my food cravings change.  But we all have foods we love.  Seven of mine are:  Lobster, Avocados, Fresh-cut French Fries, Duck, Asparagus, Risotto, and Nutella.  Still Nutella.

4.  Lust:  Sometimes I find myself attracted to the oddest men.  Other times, they fit My Type exactly.  Here are seven men I find attractive, and a few are just big question marks, honestly:  Daniel Day-Lewis, Rob Lowe, Pau Gasol, Hugh Laurie, Robert Herjavec (from TV's Shark Tank), Anderson Varejao, and Richard Engel.

5.  Anger:  Lots of stuff makes me mad.  You and I both know that the short answer here could be "republicans" and I'd be done.  But that wouldn't be fair.  So, without getting too peevish, I'll say the USA's poor mentality about education funding in general; the way society bashes teachers; the downward spiral of quality in journalism, especially among broadcast/television media; the glorification of bad behavior in society, namely via so-called "reality programming"; the breathtaking sense of entitlement among people in the past 20 years; the astonishing attempt by some politicians to demote women to second-class citizens by abrogating their rights; and the unreasonable and inexplicable discrimination against gay citizens of our country.

6.  Greed:  This is the desire for material wealth or gain while ignoring the realm of the godly.  And while I pretty much observe the latter, I'm not the Quintessential Material Girl in that I don't wear jewelry or care about designer clothes or give a hoot about driving a Beemer and all that baloney.  Are there even seven materialistic things I want, say, before I die?  I would love a Viking range, a Kitchen Aid ice cream attachment for my mixer, a shopping spree in Sur la Table or Crate and Barrel, someone to come in and repaint the inside of my house for free, and oh hell!  While I'm at it, how about someone just gives me a summer home in Niagara-on-the-Lake? Wouldn't that be nice? Oh yeah, with a vineyard!

7.  Sloth:  According to everyone I meet, I have this one covered.  As soon as anyone hears I have Retired, the very next thing out of his or her mouth is, "Oh! And what are you doing now?"  It's become incredibly embarrassing to say "Nothing."  When did Retirement come to mean Moved On To Next Big Fucking Busy Work Thing?  Because I retired in order to Be Done Working. Here are seven things I'm NOT doing:  grading papers; calling parents of highschoolers; holding my pee for three hours because it's not my conference period or lunch period yet; having a 12-hour day because of parent conferences; buying my own supplies to the tune of a couple hundred bucks a year; pulling together a semester's worth of makeup work in one day for a kid who has been absent and failing but is entitled to his makeup work even though I know he will never turn it in; running to four different copy machines to find one that works in order to copy a test that I am giving that day since I tried to copy it all day yesterday to no avail.  Ahhh, yes.  Sloth.  I'm still, as far as Work Outside The Home Goes, diggin' the Sloth.

Now that I've suitably shocked and dishonored the memories of both Evagrius Ponticus and Gregory I, I invite you to help me celebrate my Blogiversary and do the same.  What are some of your Deadlies? (Or, if you don't want to share, you may merely comment upon mine.) And, oh, do have some cake.  But don't be Greedy and make a pig of yourself.

Monday, August 06, 2012

"Do You Like Big Tomatoes? Then Call This Number." My Sister's Cell Gets Down And Dirty

Probably there are times I shouldn't inflict my Sense Of Humor on other people.  Not everyone--even my own family--is able to appreciate it, especially without warning.  I feel like Susan deserved it, however, in the following text message exchange which began exactly as you see here:
As you can see, I was minding my own business at...4:37 PM when suddenly a photo of tomatoes appeared, accompanied by some home-canned sauce or salsa or other Tomato Product.  Then a call back number message (CB#), then another unsolicited closeup of tomatoes and another inexplicable reminder of my sister's cell number.  What choice did I have?

I felt it only fair to warn her.  There is a Law in Ohio against that sort of thing.  I was sitting out on the front porch, and I wasn't sure about jurisdiction.  It was for her own safety.  (I think the sheriff's deputy still lives one street over.)


(*Remember this guy? Susan gets fresh veggies--not tomatoes--from his stand, too.)

I called Susan('s phone) back today, and I have to wait until Friday to pick up some tomatoes.  But I did get a blogpost out of it today. 

Tuesday, July 31, 2012

The Defender Of The Language Returns And Threatens To Strap On Her Six-Gun--No More Ms. Nice Defender!

In a slight departure from our usual feature here at the Dept., the Defender of The Language has decided to use this space to air her own personal grievances regarding some linguistic faux pas she has encountered in the world of print media.  She will not, therefore, be answering Reader Mail in this installment.

Thank you, Nance.  Unfortunately, it would seem that the world at large and print journalism in particular either suffer from a sort of language laziness, or worse, a basic ignorance of English.  I have recently noticed no less than three abuses of homophonic words in professional print sources. 

They are:

1.  faze/phase:  "Faze" means to disturb or embarrass, usually a person.  For example, you might say, "The stuck teleprompter didn't even faze him; he continued his speech without a problem."  "Phase" indicates a stage or an aspect of something, as in "All children go through a finicky phase as toddlers."  It is astonishing to me that so many native speakers are not even aware that "faze" exists as a correct word.  (Yes, I am continually fazed by that fact.)

2.  pour/pore:  How I cringe at this error!  Truly, it is horrid.  When you "pour," you send a liquid flowing out of a vessel.  Metaphorically, you could even send a stream of words flowing forth.  When you "pore," however, you scrutinize or study something.  "Pore" used as a verb is generally accompanied by the modifier "over," as in "She pored over her notes before the exam."  (If she poured over her notes, she'd ruin them and fail the test.)

3.  palette/palate/pallet:  I have seen this error on menus in restaurants which pride themselves on being upscale.  Needless to say, they no longer enjoy my patronage (although I do find myself patronizing them).  An artist uses a "palette" upon which to hold and mix his/her colors.  This word can also refer to a range of colors, sometimes within a particular family of hues, such as a warm palette or a wintry palette.  A "palate," however, is one's sense of taste, aesthetics, or more concretely, the roof of the mouth.  One might say, "Burgers and beer are too ordinary for Fawn's refined palate."  Finally, a "pallet" is either a low wooden platform used in warehouses or a small, makeshift bed, usually of blankets and no mattress.  (It would be ridiculous to try to sleep upon a palette or palate, and with a bit of concentration and attention to basic spelling, one would never have to worry about such an arrangement.)

Simply put, all of these errors never should have happened.  Someone should have caught them before they appeared on materials disseminated to the public.  Perhaps the time of Grammatical Civility is over and the era of Grammar Vigilantism is at hand.  If that is what is necessary, so be it.  I hope I can rely on each of you to join in the struggle.

Thank you, Defender of The Language!  I know you can count on all DoN Readers.  For the Defender Fans, don't forget to submit your questions and/or Language Alerts to Nance here at the Dept. of Nance via email by using the clickable link in the sidebar.

Thursday, July 19, 2012

Stupid Is And Stupid Does: Time Once Again For A Smackdown At The Dept. Of Nance!

What with my wine cellar and my Retirement, I find that I have strayed from one of my Original Missions here at the Dept., that being to Smack Down Some Stupid from time to time.  Let me assure you that This Time Has Come, and while I'm not nearly as viciously ready as I have been in the past (even though it is an Election Year), there is plenty of Abject Idiocy clamouring to be clobbered.  Here we go:

1.  Starting Small:  Yesterday was our wedding anniversary (#31) and Rick and I went to a wine bar for appetizers and drinks.  They have a nice atmosphere and some delicious lamb sliders.  Anyway, since I never eat sweets there, I never saw this on the menu, till last night:
Poor Mickey!
I don't want to give up on this place, but you know my policy.  Plus, how do you spell words like "caramel" and "chevre" and "arugula" correctly, but not "mousse?"  Especially when it's another thing entirely, like a small, furry animal? Someone should at least be smacking himself...on the forehead.

2.  Giving The Rest Of Us A Bad Name:  It's bad enough that the word "blogger" is ugly to say, hear, and even look at.  It sounds like swampy old oatmeal or something. And thanks to the stereotype of ruthless and/or jobless Internet addicts who sit hunched over a screen in a basement while launching scurrilous rumours worthy of Faux News personalities intent on damning the Democrats or finding evidence of Jesus/Ronald Reagan in an order of Clams Casino, we all get the bad rap.  Case in point:  NEO's own Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Connie Schultz was contacted via email by a conservative blogger who was "doing an expose on journalists in the elite media who socialize with elected officials they are assigned to cover" and wanted her comment regarding how she seemed to be cozying up to Ohio's Senator Sherrod Brown, who is running for re-election. 

(Brief digression here:  Look, given the chance, I would cozy up to Sen. Brown in a heartbeat. I adore Sherrod Brown.  Back many years ago, my sister Patti and I considered a campaign wherein we would offer to sleep with Sherrod Brown in order to convince him to run for Governor.  I am not kidding.  Then, Patti told me...well, wait a minute...)

Ms. Schultz emailed back, and I quote: "I am surprised you did not find a photo of me kissing U.S. Sen. Sherrod Brown so hard he passes out from lack of oxygen. He's really cute.  He's also my husband.  You know that, right?"

(...and that's why Patti and I ended our campaign.  As an avid reader and admirer of Connie Schultz, we could not, in good conscience, pursue our strategy. I still love Sherrod Brown.  When ads for his opponent come on and urge me to call Sen. Brown's office to bitch about something he purportedly did, I instead call and say wonderful things. I really do.  EVERY TIME.  And I tell them why.)

Back to The Stupid.  The only scandal here, Conservative Blogger, is that you are too damn dumb to USE THE GOOGLE.  Now put down that Starbucks, wipe those Cheeto crumbs off your face, and let me smack ya.  ;)

3.  Le Bullshit.  Holy crap, could you not be any more nauseated by the sophomoric petulance of...oh, pretty much everyone when they saw that Our Sacred American Olympians would be wearing OhMyGOD a BERET!?  I mean, what on earth was Ralph Lauren thinking?  That is a French Hat!  A Goddamned chapeau!  This is AMERICA last time I checked!  We wear HATS.  NO ONE IN THIS WHOLE EFFING COUNTRY WEARS SOME FRENCH-FRIED WUSS HAT LIKE

US Army Special Forces
Oh.

But those hats were made in CHINA!  WE EXPECT OUR OLYMPIANS TO WEAR OLYMPIC UNIFORMS MADE IN AMERICA.  WE ARE AMERICANS.  WE WANT OLYMPIC UNIFORMS MADE IN...

2002 US Team Uniforms
Oh, yeah.  Canada.  Well, at least they're in North America. 

Point is, What a bigass lot of grandstanding over something that, in the final analysis, means little.  (How about the fact that ONE beret costs 55 bucks and ONE men's blazer $795?)  If the American People want to get jazzed about something Of Vast Importance, certainly there are a myriad of things far more worthy of their distress.  I know I can think of about, oh, eleventy hundred of them, not the least of which is the fact that the republicans keep bitching about Jobs Jobs Jobs, yet they keep trying to legislatively crawl up my vagina and into my uterus as if they are going to somehow find them there.  Take it from me, Speaker Boehner and Candidate Mittens, many people, including my husband and several Medical Professionals have been there both officially and recreationally, (not in that order), and THERE ARE NO JOBS THERE.

Glad I could clear that up for you.  Consider yourselves both enlightened and smacked.

My!  That was invigorating!  Why oh why did I wait so long?  What do you think?  Or who has been languishing on your list?

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

I'm Back--Again--And I Might Shave My Head (But Not In Honor Of The Pseudo-Druids)


 It's like all I do is pack, unpack, and repack my suitcase. 

Rick and I have just returned from an extended holiday at Niagara-on-the-Lake in Wonderful Canada.  We thought we'd be escaping from the searing heatwave here in NEO, but The Canadians, who are everso polite at all times, kindly provided identical climatalogical conditions there so that we would not miss it.

Sigh.

But why should I bitch?  Our car has airconditioning and so did all of the wineries.  Suffering was minimal.

(Allow me for a moment, however, to digress here and Be A Stereotypical Woman and say this:  My hair looked like crap and gave me fits the entire six days of this vacation as well as the preceding one in Virginia.  So much so that, in Virginia, I called my stylist from the resort in order to book an appointment for the day I returned, and my hair still looked like hell during my Canadian vacation.  Honestly, I've just had it.  I've switched shampoos four times, styling gel three times, tried something called a "root volumizer", and used a round brush while I blow dry.  I've spent more time with my hair in the past month than I did with my kids during most of their babyhoods.  At the age of fifty-three, I want to let go of My Hair as an Issue.  I know my Vanity is an enormous Part Of My Pathology--I KNOW THAT.  But every single woman in the world knows that, even if you have a mustard stain on your shirt, if your Hair Looks Great, nothing else matters.  Even your mascara and do not get me started on that.)

Heavy Sigh.  Anyway.

On one of the days when it was not terribly torrid, we went to The Niagara Horticultural College grounds and walked all over for hours, looking at all the various plants and trees and gorgeous vegetable and herb plantings.  It took all my restraint not to raid some incredible onions, ruffly lettuces, perfectly chubby and charming cabbages, and grab some other interesting things I knew would be much happier in my yard.  They have so many lovely trees there, too, and I am fascinated by the variety and placement of some of them, and the striking black squirrels they attract.

Near a large pond area was a Dawn Redwood, one of my favorite trees.  As we approached it, we noticed these little...figures assembling all around its base.  Here, look:
Can you see them?  I took the photo with my iPhone as I walked nearer and nearer.  I thought that perhaps they were a student project because they look like little carvings--like little Druids or something, and they were all converging to the right, like they were headed to worship or something.  We moved closer to get a better look and another shot:

I soon discovered that these are, in fact, the upraised roots of this Dawn Redwood tree.  They are very sturdy and some are covered in bark.  There were other Dawn Redwoods on the grounds, and none but this had the little Druid Root People.  This tree, though, was the only one near the water.
Here's a little clutch standing by the shore, like a family.  Aren't they just fascinating?  It's unfortunate that there is no one on the grounds or anyplace to ask about the interesting things you see at the College.  I would have loved to know anything about this phenomenon.  It's not something I recall from my reading of The Wild Trees, the terrific book that inspired my love of redwoods.  But it was a long time ago that I read it; I think it's time to visit it again.

Once we were done wandering, we sat on a bench near the entrance to have a cold drink and do a little people-watching. The Niagara area is always great for that because it draws so many international visitors.  We sat near a very lovely, very patient horse hitched to a carriage-for-hire.  Nearby, its companion also waited, just as beautiful, but not nearly as patient, for it stamped its rear hoof whenever a child came near.  Soon, we heard a lot of screaming.  Not pained or frightened, just some kid who felt like screaming.  It was a black-haired boy of about four with obviously a lot of energy.  His parents were completely indifferent.  He approached the cranky horse, who stamped his rear hoof several times.  The driver skillfully intercepted the boy and stood at the horse's head.  The patient horse was not so lucky.  At least the boy settled somewhat for the following scene:

Boy approaches horse.  Mother and father rush over.  Father bends to speak to boy and then encourages him to pet the horse.  Mother is obviously fretting, but holds up camera for photo.

Nance:  That poor, long-suffering horse.  Now that kid is going to badger it.  You know darn well that instead of petting it, he'll clobber it.
Rick:  The parents are oblivious.
Nance:  I would think the best way to approach that horse would be to--
Rick:  (interrupting)--get in there as quick as you can and just go for it!  Before the horse even knows what hit it!
Nance:  (looks at him in shock and disbelief)...What I was going to say is "hold the kid's hand and pet it very slowly so that he doesn't go crazy".  What in the hell...? 
Rick:  Or, you could try that.  Yeah.  That.

End Scene.