Easter Sunday. Memories of fly-collared pinstripe suits in shades of creme. Painful, shiny Buster Brown shoes that were outgrown by next year. Filled-to-the-aisles churches. Long masses in foreign languages. Pastel eggs, chocolate bunnies with those funky hard-candy-cataract eyes, black licorice jelly beans. Plastic celophane grass in wicker baskets. Mary Sue Easter Eggs ("Get the treat that is sunny for your Easter bunny. The creamiest candy that's made. Mary Sue Easter Eggs. Mary Sue Easter Eggs. Brighten your Easter parade." Charm City brethren and sistren: you know what I'm talking about.). And Easter dinner.
I know that this is the highest of holy holies for ye ole practicing Cath-o-lics out there. After all, without Easter, you got nothin'. Just a hairy guy with a beard and a velvet tongue. That Sunday back in 33 changed following Jesus from a political statement to a faith. It's important. I get that. But, I have to tell you (keeping in mind that I am a former follower of the faith) that back in the day, Easter was all about the ham. And the keilbasa and sauerkraut. And the stuffed shells. And the Easter pie (which isn't really a pie in the sense of some fruit in a plate covered with pastry; it's more like a stromboli full of eggs and pepperoni and cheese--oh, Jesus (sorry), it's good).
No surprise, for some, I guess. I am a mangione from way back, so the meal is the deal for me. Always has been, always will be. Not being geographically close to ma familia anymore, the Monkey and I don't do anything on Easter, really. Today, Monkey travelled back from Nebraska; I went birding, graded some papers, watched a baseball game. She currently snoozes away on the sofa, Ripken is rolling around on the floor. That's Easter. But, I do miss the dinner.
The food, of course, is a draw. Always wonderful, always bountiful. It's been different, I'm sure, since we lost Tess (my grandmother), but that was in '98, and I left town soon after, so I really don't know. Everybody seems to do their own thing now. My parents are going to my brother's in-law's house. I don't know what my aunt is doing, or my cousins. It's probably nothing like it used to be.
Yet, what I really miss is the feeling. Of Spring having arrived. Of pleasant, sunny Sundays, sitting around a table set for twenty and celebrating. Maybe we officially celebrated the resurrection of the son of God, but I don't think that was ever in my heart. I was celebrating the people I loved and the great fortune I had to be a part of their lives.
I'd like to think that everybody feels that way about their family, but I know they don't. Some people don't get along with their parents or sisters or cousins. Some people don't have the opportunity to enjoy their families. Separation, life events, conflicts, the passage of time all make it different for everybody. Not everyone has the same relationships that I am lucky to have.
So, I guess I'm feeling a bit melancholy this high Sunday. I miss my kin. I am no longer in the fold, in more ways than one.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Saturday, April 15, 2006
What I Want to be When I Grow Up
I spent this morning blistering through the news of the past three days from the perspective of the New York Times and the local "paper." Rummy: say your prayers, the Generalissimos are coming to get you! Sudan and Chad: stop it! Play nice. Iran: I'm sorry, but you just aren't scaring us. If nuclear destruction weren't such an awesome and fearful prospect, we might be laughing at you. Actually, check that, we are laughing...well, at least I am. China: buy some of our stuff, too! I mean, it's only fair, don't you think? Immigrants: go home! No, wait, stay here. No, never mind, go home. Well, unless you've already been here long enough to get married, raise a family, and start an Internet-based business. Then, you can stay. If you pay all of your back taxes, take a test (and pass), and promise to support (fill in political party of choice) for the rest of your red, white, and blue days! No, scratch that. Forget it, go home (But could you slaughter a few chickens and clean my house before you leave? Thanks, here's three dollars.).
What I was most intrigued by is the Style section of the Times. While looking at the latest fashions from Milan, New York, Paris, London, and Montauk (Long Island), I realized that I too could be a fashion designer. It seems pretty simple, and involves only the following steps:
1. Obtain scraps of material (easily obtained from the dumpster behind JoAnn's Fabrics).
2. Obtain rail-thin females and androgynous others to use as models (again easily obtained, though not at JoAnn's).
3. Obtain several road-killed, fur-bearing mammals from various streets and avenues.
4. Use the fabric to make the rail-thin females and androgynous others look like total jackasses (and place the road kill upon their heads or shoulders)!
Seriously, is there anything more useless on this earth than a fashion designer? Or perhaps that is an estimation that neglects to take into account the artistic endeavors of the designer? The artist's need and innate (or learned) ability to create, to translate the vision into the reality? The commentary, the political nature of each action that each individual undertakes? The statement made by the newest designers about the state of the human condition using animal, vegetable, and synthetic matters? Nope! I'm afraid fashion designer=useless.
I could go on, but I need to take some clothes out of the dryer.
Oh, by the way, sometimes it hails here (and I'm really good at catching it (in the living room!)).
What I was most intrigued by is the Style section of the Times. While looking at the latest fashions from Milan, New York, Paris, London, and Montauk (Long Island), I realized that I too could be a fashion designer. It seems pretty simple, and involves only the following steps:
1. Obtain scraps of material (easily obtained from the dumpster behind JoAnn's Fabrics).
2. Obtain rail-thin females and androgynous others to use as models (again easily obtained, though not at JoAnn's).
3. Obtain several road-killed, fur-bearing mammals from various streets and avenues.
4. Use the fabric to make the rail-thin females and androgynous others look like total jackasses (and place the road kill upon their heads or shoulders)!
Seriously, is there anything more useless on this earth than a fashion designer? Or perhaps that is an estimation that neglects to take into account the artistic endeavors of the designer? The artist's need and innate (or learned) ability to create, to translate the vision into the reality? The commentary, the political nature of each action that each individual undertakes? The statement made by the newest designers about the state of the human condition using animal, vegetable, and synthetic matters? Nope! I'm afraid fashion designer=useless.
I could go on, but I need to take some clothes out of the dryer.
Oh, by the way, sometimes it hails here (and I'm really good at catching it (in the living room!)).
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Infinite Monkey Theorem
You've heard of the theory (or mathematical example or whatever) that if a monkey (or maybe an infinite number of monkeys) sat at a type writer (or typewriters) and randomly typed for an infinite amount of time, eventually it/they would produce the collected works of William Shakespeare? Well, it's a theory. Or rather it is used to demonstrate the principles of randomness and infinity. I don't think they pay much attention to such things in Kansas, but, hey, I am not in Kansas.
At any rate, with it being National Poetry Month, the website of The Acadmey of American Poets sends out a poem each day this month. Yesterday's poem was by Nicholas Johnson. It's called "One of the Monkeys". I thought it was an excellent poem, and I share it with you.
One of the Monkeys
I'm one of the monkeys they've got typing
in a room full of monkeys. It's a play
Shakespeare wrote back in the old days
they want us to write again. So we're writing
a play we never read. They keep inviting
strangers to watch us and the strangers say:
"They wrote 'to be or nutti to be'!" They stay
too long if we write something exciting
but the bananas flow like wine. We know
it's a crazy, morbid, ranting play, a stew
full of murder, love, but with a noble feel.
Shocked, I see hack monkeys come and monkeys go.
One keeper killed my father. What should I do?
I'm watching him. My teeth are as sharp as steel.
Hope you like.
At any rate, with it being National Poetry Month, the website of The Acadmey of American Poets sends out a poem each day this month. Yesterday's poem was by Nicholas Johnson. It's called "One of the Monkeys". I thought it was an excellent poem, and I share it with you.
One of the Monkeys
I'm one of the monkeys they've got typing
in a room full of monkeys. It's a play
Shakespeare wrote back in the old days
they want us to write again. So we're writing
a play we never read. They keep inviting
strangers to watch us and the strangers say:
"They wrote 'to be or nutti to be'!" They stay
too long if we write something exciting
but the bananas flow like wine. We know
it's a crazy, morbid, ranting play, a stew
full of murder, love, but with a noble feel.
Shocked, I see hack monkeys come and monkeys go.
One keeper killed my father. What should I do?
I'm watching him. My teeth are as sharp as steel.
Hope you like.
Saturday, April 08, 2006
The Week That Was (With Congratulations)
You're gonna need an ocean
of calamine lotion.
You'll be scratchin' like a hound
the minute you start to mess around with
Poison Ivy.
--The Coasters, "Poison Ivy"
Back to the grind this week. It was a long one for me, for some reason. I felt like I was dragging all week long, but I made it to another weekend. Hooray for small successes. Seven more times and the school year is over. That is a pleasant and worrisome fact. Pleasant because the year will be over; worrisome because I have a lot to do in those seven weeks.
Monday consisted of shepherding nearly comatose students through the return from Spring Break. I have never seen my students so inactive. The combination of back to school and the switch to Daylight Saving Time (congratulations, Indiana; welcome to the club) left them unable to function. It improved as the day went on, but the early periods were brutal. Later that evening, I whacked my knee against Sports Editor's knee playing basketball. I think I got the brunt of the collision, since my knee is still swollen. Then, Monkey and I settled in to watch a crummy National Championship, which culminated in UCLA calling mercy at halftime and both teams agreeing to play a second half exhibition that had no bearing on the outcome of the game. Florida won, by the way. (A reserved congratulations to them).
Tuesday was exciting simply for the fact that Boring Election exercised her rights as a citizen of the state of Missouri and of the United States of America. Congratulations, Boring Election! As well, Monkey was presented with the Distinguished Dissertation Award from the MU Grad School. The ceremony was lame, but congratulations, Monkey! You are a superstar. In addition (as if that weren't enough), the Terps women's basketball team rallied from a ten point halftime deficit to defeat arch-nemesis Duke in overtime for the Women's NCAA Championship. Congratulations, Terps! Fear the Turtle!
Wednesday? Don't remember much.
Thursday was about the same as Wednesday, except with a lot of bagel deliveries. Monkey wants her money, people! You know who I'm talking to. Beyond that, the puppy got his stitches taken out. He was pretty good about it. The vet got eight of his fourteen stitches out right in the office with a bit of help from Monkey before Ripken got too skittish and she had to take him "into the back." I don't know what they did with him back there, but they got the stitches out. Congratulations, Ripken Ozark!
Friday was about the same as two weeks ago. School. Booche's. Fall asleep on the sofa while Alton Brown scrambled eggs. Aunt James entertained us with her cabaret routine of "Poison Ivy" (which are also the only two words she knows in the whole damn song), in sympathetic honor of Boring Election's scientifically-interesting early-season case of the plant-induced rash. Monkey tried to suggest remedies, such as ice, cold water, sticking the affected area in the freezer (only really works for limbs or head), and steroid cream. I am expecting Boring Election to challenge Barry Bonds for the Major League home run lead this season. We were also treated to the all-night presence of Capt. "Darts" Morgan, a rare, but becoming-more-common experience. Word on the street is he's sprung himself for all Friday nights in the future. Congratulations, Captain!
And now...wonderful, glorious weekend.
of calamine lotion.
You'll be scratchin' like a hound
the minute you start to mess around with
Poison Ivy.
--The Coasters, "Poison Ivy"
Back to the grind this week. It was a long one for me, for some reason. I felt like I was dragging all week long, but I made it to another weekend. Hooray for small successes. Seven more times and the school year is over. That is a pleasant and worrisome fact. Pleasant because the year will be over; worrisome because I have a lot to do in those seven weeks.
Monday consisted of shepherding nearly comatose students through the return from Spring Break. I have never seen my students so inactive. The combination of back to school and the switch to Daylight Saving Time (congratulations, Indiana; welcome to the club) left them unable to function. It improved as the day went on, but the early periods were brutal. Later that evening, I whacked my knee against Sports Editor's knee playing basketball. I think I got the brunt of the collision, since my knee is still swollen. Then, Monkey and I settled in to watch a crummy National Championship, which culminated in UCLA calling mercy at halftime and both teams agreeing to play a second half exhibition that had no bearing on the outcome of the game. Florida won, by the way. (A reserved congratulations to them).
Tuesday was exciting simply for the fact that Boring Election exercised her rights as a citizen of the state of Missouri and of the United States of America. Congratulations, Boring Election! As well, Monkey was presented with the Distinguished Dissertation Award from the MU Grad School. The ceremony was lame, but congratulations, Monkey! You are a superstar. In addition (as if that weren't enough), the Terps women's basketball team rallied from a ten point halftime deficit to defeat arch-nemesis Duke in overtime for the Women's NCAA Championship. Congratulations, Terps! Fear the Turtle!
Wednesday? Don't remember much.
Thursday was about the same as Wednesday, except with a lot of bagel deliveries. Monkey wants her money, people! You know who I'm talking to. Beyond that, the puppy got his stitches taken out. He was pretty good about it. The vet got eight of his fourteen stitches out right in the office with a bit of help from Monkey before Ripken got too skittish and she had to take him "into the back." I don't know what they did with him back there, but they got the stitches out. Congratulations, Ripken Ozark!Friday was about the same as two weeks ago. School. Booche's. Fall asleep on the sofa while Alton Brown scrambled eggs. Aunt James entertained us with her cabaret routine of "Poison Ivy" (which are also the only two words she knows in the whole damn song), in sympathetic honor of Boring Election's scientifically-interesting early-season case of the plant-induced rash. Monkey tried to suggest remedies, such as ice, cold water, sticking the affected area in the freezer (only really works for limbs or head), and steroid cream. I am expecting Boring Election to challenge Barry Bonds for the Major League home run lead this season. We were also treated to the all-night presence of Capt. "Darts" Morgan, a rare, but becoming-more-common experience. Word on the street is he's sprung himself for all Friday nights in the future. Congratulations, Captain!
And now...wonderful, glorious weekend.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Three Creeks Revisited
Monkey and I went back to Three Creeks Conservation Area, yesterday. If you recall, we 
hiked there in November or December of last year and really enjoyed it. The weather yesterday was great, so we decided to go back and enjoy a morning on the trails.
It was a good hike, the recent rain had only dampened the trail a bit in places, so the mud was managable, and Monkey did a spectacular job of orienteering our way through the occassionally maze-like trails. Some highlights included several (at least four) challenging (if you didn't want to get your feet wet) stream crossings, some first of the year wildflowers (shot out of focus--still trying to master all the bells and whistles on the camera), and a previously discovered cave.
I'm pretty sure the flowers are Virginia cowslip (Mertensia virginicus), but anyone with more expertise at identifying out-of-focus photos of wildflowers than I is welcome to tell me otherwise.
The cave was pretty wide (the entrance is probably fifty feet wide and twenty-five feet high), but not very deep (as least as far back as we could fit--it seemed to go back quite a ways, but you'd have to be a mouse or a Lilliputian to navigate the deeper passages). It also appeared to be a favored hangout for some local folks, complete with fire ring and stone squatting stools, but at least they seem to keep it clean. Not a beer can in sight.
Near the end of the loop we hiked, there were some old farm implements rusting away in the grass (they may still get used as far as I know--they're not in such bad shape). This would have been a really cool picture, but I didn't see Monkey in the distance as I snapped it, so I cropped her out. It's still kind of neat, but not as neat. Another hard learned photography lesson for me.
We had a nice morning, and made it home in plenty of time to get the supplies for a Sopranos party meatloaf and beer for some Final Four watching with Suh-weet and Queen of Spades. Complete with between-game Jenga (not enough time for Scrabble). What a stack! Suh-weet claims that we "approached Jenga immortality."
I guess any kind of immortality is acceptable, but I was always hoping for more. Then again, we only "approached" it, we never attained it; so, how disappointing is that?
By the way, the basketball games kind of sucked.
hiked there in November or December of last year and really enjoyed it. The weather yesterday was great, so we decided to go back and enjoy a morning on the trails.It was a good hike, the recent rain had only dampened the trail a bit in places, so the mud was managable, and Monkey did a spectacular job of orienteering our way through the occassionally maze-like trails. Some highlights included several (at least four) challenging (if you didn't want to get your feet wet) stream crossings, some first of the year wildflowers (shot out of focus--still trying to master all the bells and whistles on the camera), and a previously discovered cave.
I'm pretty sure the flowers are Virginia cowslip (Mertensia virginicus), but anyone with more expertise at identifying out-of-focus photos of wildflowers than I is welcome to tell me otherwise.
The cave was pretty wide (the entrance is probably fifty feet wide and twenty-five feet high), but not very deep (as least as far back as we could fit--it seemed to go back quite a ways, but you'd have to be a mouse or a Lilliputian to navigate the deeper passages). It also appeared to be a favored hangout for some local folks, complete with fire ring and stone squatting stools, but at least they seem to keep it clean. Not a beer can in sight.
Near the end of the loop we hiked, there were some old farm implements rusting away in the grass (they may still get used as far as I know--they're not in such bad shape). This would have been a really cool picture, but I didn't see Monkey in the distance as I snapped it, so I cropped her out. It's still kind of neat, but not as neat. Another hard learned photography lesson for me.
We had a nice morning, and made it home in plenty of time to get the supplies for a Sopranos party meatloaf and beer for some Final Four watching with Suh-weet and Queen of Spades. Complete with between-game Jenga (not enough time for Scrabble). What a stack! Suh-weet claims that we "approached Jenga immortality."
I guess any kind of immortality is acceptable, but I was always hoping for more. Then again, we only "approached" it, we never attained it; so, how disappointing is that?By the way, the basketball games kind of sucked.
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