The Pumpkin King

2011-08-22T19:35:00.000-07:00

Classy Evenings in Santa Fe

About 6 yesterday it started raining. It was one of those flash flood, monsoon rains where it goes from not-raining to you're-soaked-to-the-skin-if-you step-out-for-5-seconds-raining in about a minute. And since we do live in the desert the drainage system on our street, like many in this town, leaves something to be desired. So in about 5 minutes we have current running down our street, and the water's starting to come up onto the curb, dramatic, but pretty normal for the summer storms.

Anyway, it's getting time to leave for the opera, so Jackson puts out the trash like the good husband he is, since they come fairly early on Monday. When he comes back in he says jokingly, "I hope the trash can doesn't float away out there," (who sees where this one's going?). We get ready and are pulling out of the driveway when he says, "Uh, where is the trash can anyway?!" It sure wasn't where he left it and sure enough, we drive about a block or two down the street and there it is, floating along merrily, our bags of trash bobbing along in front of it! It's still raining pretty hard at this point and yes, we are in our opera clothes (it's Santa Fe so not super fancy, but still) and yes, I'm about 8 months pregnant but there we are, at least ankle deep in running water, (mostly Jackson I have to admit) grabbing the trash can and fishing our bags of trash out of the creek-like street. Pretty amusing scene, I'm sure. One of those "Santa Fe is so spiritual" moments I guess.

At any rate, about 15 minutes and a change of clothes later we're on our way again and uneventfully make it with about 10 minutes to spare. So the moral of the story is always make sure to leave yourself plenty of time when you're going to the opera!

2010-04-17T18:18:00.000-07:00

Well, it's finally spring and I feel inspired to pick up the blog again. Also, Peculiar recently (well, sort of) got a laptop, so I no longer have the excuse that I can never get to the computer because someone's always editing photos.

Maybe it's a remnant of hibernation instincts, but nothing interesting seems to happen in the winter. Fall is good, and there's often expeditions, vacations, not to mention harvesting the garden. But then after October things get busy and the Christmas fast begins so there's not even any good eating to write much of until Christmas. This year the space between Christmas and Lent was extremely short, so right as we were recovering from the business of Christmas it was time to gear up for Lent.

But Pascha was a few weeks ago and with it, obligingly, came beautiful, bright, warm spring weather. Last year I tried to plant a garden starting from scratch in the snatches of time between my sisters' weddings, moving into a new house and Holy Week/Pascha. Given the circumstances, it was really more successful than could be expected. That's not to say I was happy with it though. I did get a good amount of basil and tomatoes, and even a watermelon, but we decided to take a trip to Turkey right in the middle of the harvest. It was a fantastic trip, but I couldn't help being discouraged to return home to a frost-damaged, bedraggled mess of a garden. I wasn't even sure if I'd do one this year.

But the Baker Creek catalog came again, with its seductive heirloom charms. Then the greenhouse had raspberry plants on sale,and the staff assured me that berries do, in fact, grow well in New Mexico (we'll see about that), and one of the workers gave me 6 tomato starts. . . and now I have my two beds ready to go again and have lettuce, peas and other greens in the ground, with the first little lettuces coming up today.

And so we're off! I started the hot weather crops inside today. In addition to my 6 tomatoes I started some striped Turkish tomatoes, a purple tomato called "Cherokee Chocolate," an early, cold-weather cucumber from Russian, a big rust-colored cucumber from the Himalayas, some purple eggplant that are supposed to do well in short growing seasons, an eggplant that looks more like a tomato, again from Turkey, two kinds of melons and basil. I'm not trying corn again this year. I got a few mediocre ears last year and it takes up alot of space and nutrients. Ditto the winter squash - I did get several pumpkins last year only to have them go bad before we could eat them. For being such a staple crop I have NOT had good luck with winter squash, so I think I'll take this year off. I hope to have better luck with them in the future though, since there are so many interesting varieties out there!

2009-02-04T18:51:00.000-08:00

Good Food Blog

So I was going to to to the gym and go swimming tonight, I really was. But at 4:50 one of our needier clients called, and kept me on the phone discussing her estate plans until 5:40. They're supposed to come in and sign their wills tomorrow and really just want them to go away at this point, so I thought it best to put in the time tonight.

So I pull into the gym parking lot about 6:00 (and lap swim only lasts until 7:00) still trying to make a go of it and there is literally no parking space to be had. I think they were having some kind of elementary/high school basketball game there because I doubt this many people are into free weights and Pilates, even in Santa Fe. People are parked on the sidewalks and all along the road. At this point I give up and decide to to home and cook dinner. What's in the fridge? Uhhh, we have plenty of egg from the chickens, who are still laying well, there's some red chile sauce, so huevos rancheros are an option, although I doubt the beans I made about 2+ weeks ago are still good (blech!!). There's a few slices of bacon, some pasta, random cheeses left over from a squash tart I made over the weekend. I know there's some kind of dish that involves pasta, a cream sauce and bacon. . .pasta. . car-something. Well, if the universe is set againt me getting any exercise this week (which it is, I've meaning to go every night this week!) I might as well have pasta with cream sauce and bacon, right? Right!

My old standby, Cooks Illustrated let me down but Google brought up What Geeks Eat, about halfway down the page. They had a super-simple receipe for Pasta Carbonara, which was exactly what I was looking for. Upon looking more closely, a recipe for Bacon Donuts with Maple Glaze showed up ("Can you make those now?" says Mr. P.), along with Pistachio Lambchops, a paella and a blogroll full of delicious sounding blogs.

So check it out!

2008-10-16T19:44:00.000-07:00

"WARNING TO THE PEOPLE OF SANTA FE"

Really, I'm not going out of my way to find this stuff. There were a bunch of these lying in a big stack on top of a newspaper rack near Ohori's. I hope you find it as amusing as I did:

2008-10-14T19:51:00.000-07:00

I would cry if this wasn't so darn funny in a Monty Pythonish sort of way. . .

Warring Monks Threaten Destruction of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre

Excerpt:

The dispute over the Deir al-Sultan monastery [a small monastery on top of the Holy Sepulchre Church] is a more recent phenomenon dating back to Easter 1970. When the Coptic monks, who had controlled the area, went to pray in the main church and left the rooftop unattended, Ethiopian monks seized the opportunity to change the locks at the entrances before the Copts returned.

Relations between the two groups have remained tense ever since [ya think?], with the Coptic Church refusing to relinquish its claim to the monastery and posting a single monk there at all times. In the midst of a blistering heatwave in the summer of 2002, the Coptic monk on duty moved his chair from its agreed spot to a shadier corner. The move was taken as a hostile manoeuvre by the Ethiopians and 11 monks needed hospital treatment after the ensuing fracas.

Again, do you really need to make movies that make fun of religion? We do a much better job in-house, sad to say.

2008-10-13T20:38:00.000-07:00

"Welcome Red Autumn"

This was the last day for the garden. There's a chance of snow tonight, with a winter storm warning in effect. The lemon-grass plant has long been in, and today the rest of the herbs joined it in the long southern window. We pulled all the green tomatoes using headlamps in the dark. They are all crowded in a cardboard wine-box, with the basil plants I cut thrown on top.

It turned out to be a better year for the garden than I was expecting, especially considering my modest goals for the season. The basil did fairly well, well enough to make and freeze several batches of pesto. I would have liked more tomatoes, but we got enough to enjoy a consistent diet of fresh ripe tomatoes for the last couple months.

The problem with gardening this year was that it simply wasn't hot enough for things like tomatoes, eggplants and peppers to be really happy. Growing up in Texas, "not hot enough" is a new challenge. It has never occurred to me before this year when I tried to grow something that having a cool summer could possibly pose a problem. This summer was one of the most enjoyable I've spent in Santa Fe. We only had a few weeks of consistent 90+ weather, and the heat broke extremely early -- sometime in the middle of July I believe. And this was after one of the slowest-coming springs and summers I have ever seen here. Our last freeze was in June!

A cold spell in mid-July really set everything back. It did warm up again in August and September, but by then the plants simply didn't have enough time to get going again before it started falling into the 40s at night. I've been covering the tomatoes at night for the last month or so.

I tried three kinds this year: Striped Romans, a salad sized "white" tomato, and a large pink "Tajik" tomato whose seeds I got last year from a vendor at the Santa Fe Farmers Market. The white tomatoes were really a very pale yellow, but tasted simultaneously more mellow and more interesting than most standard yellow tomatoes. We grew the striped ones last year on the farm, and they are a fun, delicious tomato. The Tajik tomatoes were good and sweet but very slow to develop, so we didn't get as many of them. Here's a picture of all three kinds:

I've already requested the Baker Creek Catalogue for 2009. Dangerous, I know, especially when I'm not sure where I'll be next year, or how much room I'll have to grow things. Well, seeds don't take up that much room, right? And they keep for a looong time. . .

2008-10-08T15:18:00.001-07:00

Okay, One More

From David Brooks:

[Sarah Palin] represents a fatal cancer to the Republican party. When I first started in journalism, I worked at the National Review for Bill Buckley. And Buckley famously said he'd rather be ruled by the first 2,000 names in the Boston phone book than by the Harvard faculty. But he didn't think those were the only two options. He thought it was important to have people on the conservative side who celebrated ideas, who celebrated learning. And his whole life was based on that, and that was also true for a lot of the other conservatives in the Reagan era. Reagan had an immense faith in the power of ideas. But there has been a counter, more populist tradition, which is not only to scorn liberal ideas but to scorn ideas entirely. And I'm afraid that Sarah Palin has those prejudices. I think President Bush has those prejudices.

Thank you! That nails the frustration I've been feeling since the Palin pick. I want to be a conservative (I think, whatever that means these days) but the idea that someone who cannot compose a coherent sentence without days of intensive preparation might very well be in charge of the United States, along with the largest military and nuclear arsenal is in world, is insulting and unacceptable. I've watched in shock as the "She's next door to Russia, so she has great foreign policy," argument has migrated from some Fox news pundit ("Okay, he's a Fox news pundit, what do you expect?") to Cindy McCain ("Okay, maybe she's not the brightest bulb in the shed, and she probably picked it up from the moron news pundit"), then on to McCain himself (WHAT?!?), then on the Palin's tortuous attempt to defend it to Couric (words fail). They really expect us to believe this? Really?

When I first started paying attention to politics it was the conservatives who seemed to embrace and support the intellect. William Buckley was a big fan of St. John's, a college based on the redical notion that some books are objectively "Great," that Truth is not subjective, and that it can be dicovered, at least in part, by us through diligent inquiry. This was in contrast to the intellectually shoddy liberals who filled up colleges with things like Women's Studies, Diversity Studies, etc., etc., etc.

And now it's this party, and Mr. Buckley's political and ideological (but not physical!) descendants who are championing the vice-presidential nomination of a woman who can't even name one magazine or newspaper that she reads on a regular basis! And seriously, with no exaggeration, she cannot form a coherent sentence, and has major problems with prepositions, subject, objects, and all those pesky things only elite, arugula-eating, America-hating liberals care about.

When asked about global warming, she said twice that she's "not going to solely blame all of man’s activities on changes in climate." Huh? To be precise, that's what she said in the Couric interview, direct quote. But then she said pretty much the same thing in the VP debate. Okay, I think she was trying to say that she doesn't think that climate change is solely attributable to man-made causes. Fine. I know there are alot of smart people out there that think that. Fine. It's not the position I have a problem with. But c'mon, it's not that hard of a statement, especially if it's one you truly believe. So why can't she get the subject, object and preposition right, and in the correct order? Is that really too much to ask in a vice-president?

One of the justifications of studying logic and rhetoric in a classical education is that the ability to speak clearly is intrinsically tied to the ability to think and reason clearly. Clear speaking shows clear thinking. One of the best reasons to study Euclid is not as much to understand geometry as it is to expose your mind to one of the clearest and most elegant presentations of any subject that you will ever find. As you go through the propositions you are training your mind to think clearly and logically, moving easily from one mathematical truth to the truth. The same process is followed in Apollonius and Newton (although it's perhaps not quite as straightforward there), and even up through Einstein.

This nomination is a resounding slap in the face to those of us who value ideas, the intellect, and civil political discourse. If we hadn't just suffered through eight years of an aw-shucks, Joe Six-Pack, inarticulate president (and I voted for him in 2000), this might be a little more palatable. It also might be more palatable if we were not on the brink of a potential Great Depression, involved in two messy, horribly mismanaged wars to which I can see no honorable end, and facing a resugent Russia, and increasingly powerful China, and the possibility of a nuclear Iran. Oh yes, and it might be just a tad more acceptable if this incoherent VP were not the VP of a 70+ man with a history of cancer. Given all that, a party that would put forward a VP candidate of this caliber under these circumstances does. not. deserve. to. win. In fact, it fully deserves not only a second but a third helping of its own ass that's going to get handed to it on a plate this November.

UPDATE: William F. Buckley's son Christopher has just endorsed Obama. Read the whole thing.

2008-10-01T13:30:00.000-07:00

(Obligatory?) Political Anecdote for the Season

So I'm listening to an interview with McCain and he's trying to explain how proud he is of Palin's valuable experience, etc. etc., so he says she's been a mayor, she's been a governor, etc. "Don't forget the PTA!" I snarkily gripe at the radio. Well, gosh-durn it, he must've heard me through the radio because the next thing I knew he was talking about her experience on the PTA. Wow. Wow-eee wow wow.

Pass the popcorn! This election is better than anything you could ever make up!!!

How Wall Street Meets ~~Main St.~~ E. Palace Ave.

On Monday, after the Bailout bill failed and the market jumped without a parachute, my Lawyer Overlord came back from a lunch appointment, and straightway sent me out for vodka. Upon returning he had me make up Greyhounds for everyone (me & him).

Financial Crisis 0
jack 1

2008-09-30T20:31:00.000-07:00

Wow.

Watch at least 'til the "ZAP". And check out the backup singers. The guitarist is Mr. P's favorite.

Bill Maher, you got nothin' on this!

Hat tip to Orthodixie.

2008-09-27T20:41:00.000-07:00

UPDATE

As promised, pictures of local businesses I encountered on my last trip to Texas:

2008-08-30T20:17:00.000-07:00

MEET FRIEDRICH!

Well, we ended up with a rooster after all:

I decided to call him Friedrich (that's Fr-ee-der-ick), short for Friedrich the Fearsome, which is certainly how he sees himself. He's a very pretty bird (which is the main reason we still have him), and this photo doesn't do him justice. He has very nice, long, iridescent tail feathers, and he has more reddish-brown feathers growing in with his black and white.

I'd like to keep him, because he's quite a character, but we'll see. . . He just started crowing this week. He's still getting the hand of it, and right now, at least, he confines himself to fairly civilized hours, but I have to think that'll change. A crowing rooster is quaint and picturesque at 9:00am, not so much at 6:00am, especially on a Saturday. So, charming or not, Friedrich, you'd better behave, or else Peculiar might get a hankerin' for some homemade chicken noodle soup:

2008-08-27T12:50:00.000-07:00

UPDATE: I was wanting to post this earlier, but didn't have my book with me. How can you translate to film this inimitable line:

Indubitably there was a sort of heavy dragging, and a most detestably sticky noise as of some fiendish and unclean species of suction.

And no, it appears that the new movie is NOT playing here (at least not presently). Probably just as well.

P.S. I also just gave Peculiar a jolly good Lovecraft line about a sunfish. Check it out.

Anyone else catch this? A new Cthulhu movie! It's simply called Cthulhu, and is loosely based on Shadow Over Innsmouth, which I was just re-reading last night. There's a gay-love subplot, apparently, and Tori Spelling's in it (no, not the title role, be nice!). I'll have to see if it's playing here. Might be worth a matinee ("If we sneak in a lot of beer," says Peculiar). Stay tuned.

2008-07-22T20:21:00.000-07:00

Science!

I think I just might have the scoop on this one. Odious, Steve, this is for you (although Mr. P will no doubt be highly amused/appalled when he gets back from the bottom of the Grand Canyon).

Apparently, a scientific research materials company called Eppendorf has developed a line of automated pipetting systems called epMotion. And what better way to sell automated pipetting systems than making a music video with. . . a boy band?!?!

Oh yes. You have to take a look. Don't ask any questions. Just do it.

But if you insist, here's a sample of some of the lyrics:

Pipetting all those well-plates, baby,
sends your thumbs into overdrive
And spending long nights in the lab makes
it hard for your love to thrive.

CHORUS:

And it’s called epMotion
(whisper: ‘cause you deserve something really great)
Girl you need epMotion
(whisper: yeah girl it’s time to automate)
It’s got to be epMotion
(whisper: no more pipetting late at night)
Only for you epMotion
(whisper: girl this time we got it right)

DNA
RNA
Proteins
Cell Cultures
Less reagents
Faster workflow
Saves you money
Well, well, well

Well, well, well indeed.

I am waaaaay too amused by this.

2008-07-08T18:44:00.000-07:00

Support Your Local Businesses!

On a recent trip to the Great Republic, I mean. . . uh. . State, that is, of Texas I was very sorry not to have a camera handy when I saw the following business establishments:

The Yahweh Beauty Salon
That one was in my lovely hometown of Killeen, right across from my old high school.

Chupacabras Ice Cream Parlor
In Dallas, one of the quaint, "ethnic" neighborhoods.

That's all I know, folks. Unfortunately, I didn't have the chance to patronize either of these fine, local, family-run (presumably) establishments. I don't know what kind of ice cream flavors they had at Chupacabras (I'm open to suggestions) and Yahweh Beauty Salon (or maybe it was Beauty School, or Academy), well, I just have no idea. There's material there for a short story, but it might not be believable.

2008-06-28T12:53:00.000-07:00

For all of you out there who, like me, can spend hours with a hymnbook (or any songbook, really), here's:

The Cyber Hymnal

You know all those old hymns you've heard just the first line of and can't remember any more, and that one line gets in your head and drives you crazy since you CAN'T FIND THE REST OF THE SONG???? You can probably find it here. They have hundreds, if not thousand of hymns here, lyrics, scores and accompaniment. Mostly Protenstant-ish hymns, but also quite few I reognize from the newer Catholic Hymnals (I'll let you decide if that's a good thing. . .).

But why are many of these traditional hymns so freakin' hard to sing? I was looking at old songs I hadn't sung in years and not only are they written for high sopranos, but they often have huge, awkward jumps, then they throw in all sorts of random chromaticism, just for the fun of it. Did they want the congregations to sound bad, or were people just better singers back then?

Oh yes, and they have translations of certain hymns into very unexpected languages indeed!

2008-06-25T19:41:00.000-07:00

Things I Like About Biking Around Town:

1. Getting exercise without going to the gym.
2. I can eat more chocolate & cheese (see #1).
3. Playing Go To The Head of The Stop Sign Line (that one's really fun downtown!)
4. Being outside.
5. Save a little money. (And I do mean a little here. Since I live so close to everything I go to on a regular basis, I'm only saving about $20/month, even with $4/gallon gas! Not exactly an incentive.)
6. Sticking it to the Man!!!! (well, kinda. . . a bit. . . maybe)

Things I Don't Like About Biking Around Town:
1. Everyone looks at you.
2. There is a set, inverse ratio between the length of my skirt and the strength of the wind.
3. I look like a dork, I'm sure of it, especially with the helmet. Yes, yes, I wear one, don't worry.
4. You arrive at work (or church or wherever) hot and sweaty.
5. You have to think out things (errands, appointments, shopping trips, etc.) a bit further in advance. You don't have quite as much spontaneity. But that's probably a good thing, I suppose.

2008-06-23T17:46:00.000-07:00

They grow up
so fast. . .

They're starting to look like chickens, don't you think?

It was only after spending time with chickens that I saw the connection between birds and dinosaurs. . . I'm really glad they don't get much bigger than they do!

2008-06-18T16:41:00.000-07:00

New Mexico is Odd

I know it's a shock to everyone, but New Mexico is a strange place in more ways than one. But here are the things that make me make that statement today.

State Seal:

Okay, I know most normal people don't pay much attention to state seals. And I don't blame them. But working in the legal profession I deal with various state agencies often, and from time to time I find myself studying the seal (or other such things) on the walls of various state buildings while I'm waiting for someone to do something. But this Seal must be the most (well, one of the most) amusingly politically incorrect official symbols out there. Look at it. It's got the Mexican Eagle with a snake, perched on a cactus, as in the Mexican flag. But then there's this large, American Bald Eagle perched benevolently over the Mexican Eagle, protecting it with its strong, encompassing wings. Don't worry, cute little Mexican Eagle, we'll protect you.

Then there's the State Motto, which is on the Seal, but you can't really see it. It's Crescit Eundo, which officially translates as, "It grows as it goes."

Stop sniggering. It's the Official Motto.

No, that's not funny, not funny at all. You should be ashamed of yourself.

There was some talk a few years ago about changing the motto, with its more-than-slightly-ambiguous implications, but nothing ever came of it. According to the omniscient Wikipedia it's a quote from Lucretius, De Rerum Natura, of all things, describing a thunderbolt. It was thought that the quote would suggest "dynamic growth."

Stop it.

But both of these things really are good symbols of New Mexico: odd, quirky, kind of clueless in an amusing sort of way, with not-so-subtle sordid undertones.

In another odd New Mexican story, I just saw that the mayor of Santa Fe has invited the King of Spain to come out for a visit. Spain still has a King, who knew? Anyway, that would be amusing. I wonder if all the scary Spaniards of Northern New Mexico would turn out en masse to sing the Spanish equivalent of God Save the King. I'll keep you posted.

2008-06-16T19:01:00.000-07:00

Chickens!!

Well, as promised, here are some pictures of the newest addition to the family.

Here they all are, pecking and peeping away:

We got six: two Araucanas, two Buff Orptingtons and two Rhode Island Whites. My favorites by far are the Araucanas:

They are fairly mellow-tempered, for chickens, and seem to be the most intelligent and curious of the lot. I think they were the first to have an inkling of a reality outside their box. I'm told they're closer to wild chickens than most breeds, which might have something to to with it. Plus, they lay greenish-blue eggs, (really!) which is certainly a plus!

Here are the Buffs. They'll be a really pretty golden color, and seem fairly easy-going too. I took them all outside for the first time the other day and the Buffs were the first (and quite enthusiastic) to take to the concept to eating bugs, and anything else that moved. Good for them!

And here's the Rhode Island White (below). As of now, this is my least favorite of the breeds. They're quite skittish and are prone to start peeping hysterically if separated from their companions for any amount of time. Apparently it's a rare breed that was developed in the 1800's and has been brought back due to the increased interest in heirloom/heritage flora and fauna. They're supposed to be good layers like the better-known Rhode Island Reds.

I know most of these aren't very good pictures, but I wanted to get these up to at least give you all something to look at. They've grown alot just since I've taken these pictures. Their wings are pretty well feathered out and they're starting to get real feathers on their tails and shoulders. Towards the end of the week they started to notice that they had wings. One would stretch her wings out and flap them, much to the disquietude of all her sisters: "What are you doing?!?!? What's going on?!?!?!? AAAAHHHHH!!! Hey, look, newspaper. I think I'll peck it. . . "

The neighbors have "custody" of them this week, which is just as well since I'll be out of town the latter part of the week.

Pretty cute, huh?

2008-06-12T09:06:00.000-07:00

Stuff People Like

Just in case you were wondering:

Stuff White People Like Limited in its scope to yuppies, but then, I suppose most yuppies are white, so, okay, whatever. But keep in mind the Stuff White People in the Midwest Like would be completely different. It would include Jello, Collections, Lawns, Family Reunions, Lakes, Family Reunions at Lakes and Target, among other things.

Stuff Black People Love This is a really funny site. Examples of stuff black people love: Multisyllabic names that end with a vowel and Seeing White People with shorts on when its cold outside (it's like Groundhog Day!).

Stuff Catholics Like Oh so true, so true!! Examples: Retreats, Babies (duh!), Knees, Relics, Miracles, okay but Clapping in Church? I lost you on that one. I was Catholic for 18 years or so and I never clapped in church, unless the occasion warranted it. So it's become a Catholic Thing to clap after the service is over. Really? Funny post though.

I couldn't find Stuff Orthodox People Like but it really writes itself, doesn't it. It's too easy. Standing, beards, icons, incense, monks, calendars, anything Russian or Greek, arguing about esoteric things that no one really understands but that doesn't stop us, etc., etc., etc. Suggestions?

But then I found that, as is the case with most things you start looking into on the internet, this is only the tip of the iceberg. So if you're interested in, say Stuff Iranians Like (it's really, really not anything you might be thinking), it's out there!!

2008-06-11T14:09:00.000-07:00

Unlikely Operas Part II

This seems to be turning into a theme. Here's something else I have never thought of as an opera, but, hey, why not? I mean, if you've already got gay cowboys, doesn't an opera logically follow? I haven't read the story yet, or seen the movie, so maybe it's not as odd as it seems at first. What do you think? You can hear some of the composer's music here. It's not my favorite style on first listen, but I only listened to a few pieces out of many.

2008-06-02T20:01:00.000-07:00

Huh?!?

What's just about the last thing you think about when you think opera? What is so far removed from opera that it's inconceivable to think about them in the same sentence? Umm. . . crazy communist dictators? No, they already did that one. Ummm. . . the Royal Navy? No, got tickets to that one already. How 'bout. . .Al Gore? No, it has nothing to do with 2000 or Florida, which would be perhaps vaguely entertaining. Just imagine the possibilities. A plaintive aria and chorus of retired Manhattannites who have just discovered they have tragically voted for Pat Buchannan. A stirring end-of-act chorus of protesters, vote-counters, commentators, with Bush and Gore soaring over it all (I suppose Bush would have to be the tenor). The Supreme Court could have a complex, dramatic nontet (maybe a ballet thrown in?) with two opposing themes that somehow fit discordantly together. Definitely potential. Anyone interested?

But no. It's ummm. . . . global warming? Yeah. Italian composer Giorgio Battistelli has been working on an opera based on. . . um. . . An Inconvenient Truth. . . yeah. . . for La Scala in 2011. I tried to find some information on this guy, but it's pretty thin. I've found adjectives like "post-modern", and "experimental", and the opera in question will be done in a "multi-media" format. None of which inspires confidence. His choice of subjects is quite interesting though. His works include an opera about a drunk who's in charge of maintaining Lennin's preserved body, Richard III (in English with a Flemish opera company) and something about Hector and Achilles, although I haven't been able to find much about that at all.

The only way in which I see this working is probably not the way he's going to do it, given the experimental, atonal, multi-media thing. It could maybe be neat if they went totally Pagan, with a rockin' contralto Gaia singing like Fricka. . . maybe. But somehow I don't think that's the tack there're going to take.

2008-05-28T16:54:00.000-07:00

After more than a year of blogging idleness, Kate's latest meme (via Voracious Reader) has roused me out of my stupor. Well, and the fact that Peculiar is gone for a month might have something to do with it too. I'm more inspired to blog when I don't have to pry someone else off the computer first. . . I think anyone who might remotely read this blog has already seen this, but on the off chance it's new to anyone, feel free to respond.

Anyway, here goes.

The rules:
Bold what you have read, italicize books you’ve started but couldn’t finish, and strike through books you hated. Add an asterisk* to those you’ve read more than once. Underline those on your tbr list.

Jonathan Strange & M. Norrell
Anna Karenina
Crime and Punishment
Catch-22
One Hundred Years of Solitude
Wuthering Heights
The Silmarillion*
Life of Pi: a novel
The Name of the Rose
Don Quixote
Moby Dick
Ulysses
Madame Bovary ("Emma on French crack" is a pretty good description, but Emma on French crack might at least be funny!)
The Odyssey*
Pride and Prejudice
Jane Eyre
A Tale of Two Cities
The Brothers Karamazov
Guns, Germs, and Steel
War and Peace
Vanity Fair
The Time Traveller’s Wife
The Iliad*
Emma
The Blind Assassin
The Kite Runner
Mrs. Dalloway
Great Expectations
American Gods
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
Atlas Shrugged
Reading Lolita in Tehran
Memoirs of a Geisha
Middlesex
Quicksilver
Wicked : The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West
The Canterbury Tales
The Historian
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Love in the Time of Cholera
Brave New World*
The Fountainhead
Foucault’s Pendulum
Middlemarch
Frankenstein
The Count of Monte Cristo
Dracula
A Clockwork Orange
Anansi Boys
The Once and Future King
The Grapes of Wrath
The Poisonwood Bible
1984
Angels & Demons
The Inferno
The Satanic Verses
Sense and Sensibility
The Picture of Dorian Gray*
Mansfield Park
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
To the Lighthouse
Tess of the D’Urbervilles
Oliver Twist
Gulliver’s Travels
Les Misérables
The Corrections
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay
The curious incident of the dog in the night-time
Dune
The Prince
The Sound and the Fury
Angela’s Ashes
The God of Small Things
A People’s History of the United States : 1492-present
Cryptonomicon
Neverwhere
A Confederacy of Dunces
A Short History of Nearly Everything
Dubliners
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Beloved
Slaughterhouse-Five
The Scarlet Letter
Eats, Shoots & Leaves
The Mists of Avalon
Oryx and Crake : a novel
Collapse : How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed
Cloud Atlas
The Confusion
Lolita
Persuasion
Northanger Abbey
The Catcher in the Rye
On the Road
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
Freakonomics
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
The Aeneid (yes, fellow Johnnies, I somehow didn't finish this one, I know, I know)
Watership Down
Gravity’s Rainbow
The Hobbit*
In Cold Blood
White Teeth
Treasure Island
David Copperfield
The Three Musketeers

It is an odd list. Anyone else?

2007-06-14T13:41:00.000-07:00

Well, I finally made the leap and signed up with a Google account, so I can return to the world of blogging (albeit sporadically for the moment). When I have a few minutes at public libraries I can relate the joys and tribulations of interning on a small-scale, organic farm. Oh joy! Time's up for today, though!

2007-01-07T15:21:00.000-08:00

SNOW!!!!

Perhaps some of you have heard about the unprecedented 2-4 feet of snow that fell on Northern New Mexico last week. This was the view that greeted me last Saturday:

Yes, that was our driveway and that's me, waist-deep in snow! Luckily we were bright enough to park at the top of the driveway:

The lump to the left is our landlord's car. Took us about 2 hours to dig them out. Luckily someone in the neighborhood has a plow, so the road going out was fairly passable!

2007-01-03T17:11:00.000-08:00

Happy Birthday!

Today is Tolkein's birthday. So raise a glass of mead and enjoy a bit of Beowulf!

2006-10-31T08:56:00.000-08:00

Happy Halloween!

Your Halloween messge from the Pumpkin King:

Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays. (Is anyone surprised?) Part of the appeal, no doubt was that, growing up in Texas, Halloween was about the time when the oppressive heat finally broke and you were convinced that the earth wasn't going to be scorched into a cinder, at least, not for another year. Here in milder climes, the summer usually breaks sometime in August, by now we're well into cool weather.

But more than the change of the season, Halloween was a time when strange, unusual things could happen. The pattern of ordinariness was disturbed and suddenly your teacher would show up looking like a witch, the check out girl at the store was Wonder Woman, your father turned into a scarecrow. You got to stay up late, wander the streets after dark and eat more candy than everyone knew you should. But more than that, there was the sense that everyone, even the adults, joined in in a delightful game, even if just for one night. I loved the houses that set up graveyards, mini haunted houses, numerous pumpkins or otherwise really got into the night. I was delighted when the adults that passed out candy dressed up too, or tried to scare us with some kind of prank.

The (Catholic) school I attended put on a wonderful Halloween Carnival every year. It wasn't a sanitized All Saint's Day Festival, or a Fall Festival, but a real Halloween Carnival, complete with a haunted house. Everyone came dressed up -- teachers, parents, students and there were no limitations on the kinds of costumes you could wear. There were witches and devils, vampires and princesses. I went as a mermaid one year in a great costume my dad made for me. Perhaps the most original costume I saw over the years was a gumball machine! There were games and a cakewalk (by the way, does anyone do those anymore?), bobbing for apples, a costume contest and, of course, the haunted house. The fifth and sixth graders always got to put on the haunted house, turning the P.E. room into a thing of terror to the younger kids. Looking back, it wasn't anything too elaborate: blacklights, maybe a strobe light, fake blood and cooked spaghetti and peeled grapes, and a bunch of ten-year-olds popping out from behind things, running about screaming, moaning and grabbing passers-by. But it was always the highlight of the Carnival, and the older kids loved putting it on. Fifth grade was by far my best year of gradeschool (maybe of all schooling) and one of the highlights of the year was putting on the haunted house. We started planning it in late September and we all tried to get done with our schoolwork early so we could go string milk cartons together (what the purpose of that was I don't remember) or color huge murals with blacklight crayons.

With this kind of background, it came as a surprise to me that there were people who didn't celebrate Halloween because they considered it demonic or associated with paganism. "C'mon," I thought, "No one takes the ghosts and witches seriously, it's just fun to get dressed up and let yourself have a good scare." In recent years, however, I've heard that point of view more often. At my church, for example, there is an All Saints' party tonight, where people come dressed as a favorite saint. Although no one has said it aloud, the implied sentiment (and sometimes implied sentiments are worse than spoken ones) is that Halloween isn't quite the thing one should be doing. The All Saints parties in past years have been amusing and not unpleasant, but they certainly pale in comparison to my memories of Halloween. There's something missing. I heard someone recently say, as a criticism, "Halloween is a time when people say, 'I'm tired of being good, I'm going to put that aside, just for today.' It's a time when people embrace the things they shouldn't be doing and do horrible things . . ." I just don't think it's that simple.

Halloween, and our celebration of it, is a fairly complex thing these days. Here in America we don't have too many public celebrations, especially ones involving pagentry or creativity. Most of our even semi-public celebrations are, frankly, rather stiff and boring. They don't have to be, but by and large they are. But Halloween, on the other hand, is all about pagentry and surprise. Last year, I think, I happened to be eating in downtown Santa Fe on a Saturday summer morning. As we were leaving the restaurant, I saw a colorfully dressed crowd go by, with floats and banners. Looking closer, I realized that it was Gay Pride weekend, and this was the big parade on its way to the Plaza. Think what you will about the idea of Gay Pride, but it looked like the crowd was having a pretty good time. I thought, "It's too bad that you have to be gay to get dressed up and have a parade." Well, Halloween is pretty much the only time when all of us, straight, gay, male, female, etc., can dress up and be theatrical in a socially acceptable way. A friend of mine who grew up in Italy said that he was surprised to see how people celebrated Halloween here. In Italy, he said, people had festivals and got dressed up in the Spring, usually right before Lent. That way, the merry-making was intertwined with the liturgical life of the church.

It seems that most cultures have some sort of festival where things are not what they seem, a time to get outside your usual roles and routines, a celebration of the unexpected and odd. Halloween is the only thing that even vaguely fills this role in our culture. Perhaps that's why "alternative Halloween parties," such as All Saints parties or Fall Festivals, have always felt flat to me. The idea of an All Saints' party, where one can only dress up as a saint, fails to fulfill this need to embrace, at least temporarily, the unexpected and odd (not the evil and demonic, there is a difference).

Halloween also, even for us unbanized moderns, still in some way marks the change of the seasons. On a vulgar, commercial level, Halloween is the start of the "Holiday" season, albeit perhaps not something to be celebrated as such. It's the beginning of the end of the year, signalling the time to start preparing for a new year. The ancient Celts did this by bringing their flocks down to winter pastures, cutting firewood and deciding which animals would be slaughtered. We order new calendars, buy tickets for Thanksgiving and Christmas traveling and start thinking about Christmas gifts and plans. Pitiful as it is, it's still some sort of marking the change of seasons, moving into a "special" time of the year.

Whatever truly dark side there is to this day, I (thankfully) have no firsthand knowledge of. I've heard from people who claim to know these things that genuinely dark things are done this day and this night. I'll let them have their opinion; that's one google search I don't want to do. But dressing up with red plastic horns and a pitchfork seems miles away from occult rituals attempting to call up and commune with real demons. Evil is real, we see that by reading any newspaper. Real evil isn't about cheap thrills, ghosts and graveyards and such, but about greed, hatred, fear, jealousy, hard-heartedness, addictions, the mundane but horrible things that twist, warp and deform the soul. Real evil kills laughter, companionship and the healthy enjoyment of the gifts God has given us out of His goodness. But real evil isn't what 99.99% of us are celebrating today. For most of us, it's a time to meet our neighbors, practice generosity, and perhaps put our dignity aside for the day and join in the game!

2006-10-31T08:51:00.000-08:00

Thanks to Eve Tushnet for this quote. There should be more FLannery O'Conner on my reading list, maybe I'll try to pick this one up.

In any case I can't climb down off the high powered defense reflex whateveritis. The fleas come with the dog as Mr. McG. ...says. If you were Pius XII, my communications would still sound as if they came from a besieged defender of the faith. I know well enough that it is not a defense of the faith, which don't need it, but a defense of myself who does. The Church becomes a part of your ego and gets messed in with your own impurity. It's a situation I can't handle myself so I wait for purgatory to do it for me.
--The Habit of Being: Letters of Flannery O'Connor

2006-05-22T20:16:00.000-07:00

PYTHON ATTACK!!
When I was little I used to pretend I was a python. One of my favorite books was a book of Peanuts comics, in which Snoopy imitated a python and a vulture among other things. The vulure was okay, but the python really captivated me. One of my favorite games for a good long time was "Python." This consisted of sneaking up as quietly as I could to my unsuspecting prey, grabbing it as high as I could reach (usually the knees), squeezing as hard as I could and crying, "Python attack!!" It was great fun. Needless to say, though, my parents didn't believe me when I crawled into their bed one night saying there was a python in the bathroom. There was though. Well, some sort of snake. They were pretty surprised when they went to take a shower in the morning. . .

With that background, you will understand my delight at the Bear-eating Pythons of Borneo. All manner of python inspiration!

As those of you who know me will surely guess, I shamelessly stole this link from Peculiar. Yes, he found it first, and I'm brazenly upstaging him while he does the dinner dishes.

2006-05-15T19:49:00.000-07:00

Confessions and (possibly) Hope on a Thursday Morning

Thursday morning. That means I have to make the 20-30 minute drive out to Nambe to tutor the kids. To ensure I get there on time I have to leave by 8:15, but I have a pretty good chance of making it if I leave 5-10 minutes later. At any rate, the kids are usually running a good bit late themselves, so everything works out. We get out the door on time this morning (a rarer occurrence than I would like), but we don't have time to get any breakfast, or even make a caffeine-laced beverage. I really don't want to go through the morning without either of these things, and I should have time to stop somewhere to do something about this.

The next issue to be delt with is cash. Not having a cash-rich job anymore, I scrounge the house, my purse, the floor, for petty cash, loose change, anything. No such luck. We do have, however, a can on the table wherein we were collecting spare change for the poor and hungry during Lent. Needless to say, we haven't turned it in yet. . . hmmm. . . I'm hungry. . . I think even Peculiar was a bit appalled to see me taking a can opener to it, but I did put in an I.O.U. $4 less I'll have to count later!

The only place that's on my way where I can get a fast, cheap, somewhat decent breakfast and coffee is McDonalds. I noticed a few weeks ago their coffee has drastically improved. It seems to be on the low side of coffee-shop coffee instead of at the same level with gas station coffee (which I've also noticed is getting better -- I guess capitalism does really pay off from time to time!). So, although there are many better cups of coffee in this town, McDonalds, I have to say, is acceptable in a pinch. And, try as I do to hide the fact, I do have a weakness for the sausage-egg breakfast sandwiches. I'm secretly glad when I'm "forced" to get one, whether on a roadtrip or on a morning when breakfast is necessary but unavailable through more acceptable means.

I pull in to the parking lot, with plenty of time, but am dismayed and appalled by the length of the drive-through line. Do this many people really get their breakfast here? I heard on a commercial awhile back that some astounding number (a third, maybe?) of Americans get breakfast there, but had hoped it was just overstated propaganda. Maybe not. The only thing worse than the number of people there is that I'm one of them.

I decide that going in must be faster than the drive-through. Usually, fast food restaurants are a bit scary. Maybe it was just unfortunate timing, but the last time I ate in one my dining companions were several rough-looking cholos, a guy in a wheelchair who kept up a constant, incoherent conversation with himself in Spanish, and the pimply high-school-drop-out looking counter attendants who couldn't seem to figure out the timing of onion rings and fries. But this morning, however this McDonalds actually felt like. . . a restaurant. The people in line looked like they, too were on their way to work, running short on time, a bit ashamed to be there. I noticed a group of happy looking retirees sitting at a table, leisurely reading papers, drinking coffee and obviously enjoying an idle morning. The whole place had the feel of an early-morning diner, that particular combination of leisure, efficiency and anticipation of the day.

Now, don't misunderstand me, I'm no fan of McDonalds, or fast food in general. I was properly appalled by "Supersize Me," and, having worked in a restaurant, have seen firsthand the gustatory damage inflicted on the populace by these places. But I have to say, while waiting for my ill-gotten breakfast I found myself setting the heavy case against McDonalds aside, at least for a few minutes. It's a crazy-busy, insane world, after all and at that moment I was grateful for the small comfort and pleasure that this place could provide for me and my fellow diners. Maybe the world isn't such a dark place after all. I read in a reliable source not long ago that McDonalds is now the number one purchaser of. . . fresh apples, apparently substituting them for fries upon request in some areas. And they're now offering Newman's salad dressing and purchase milk from a natural (if not organic) producer. (I know all this, in case you're wondering, from looking up incredibly boring information on very large companies for hours a day.) Incredible as it sounds, a big, evil corporation can, seemingly, change for the better, even if it is only to boost its bottom line. Still, better is better, whatever motives are behind it. Hmmm. . . that gives me a bit of hope for the day.

2006-05-10T21:46:00.000-07:00

Surreal Shopping Adventures

I was standing in the card aisle at Albertson's a few days ago, my brain slowly turning to mush, paralyzed by the sheer number of choices in front of me. I'd made the mistake of stopping by the card section in the first place, looking for a tasteful, preferably blank card for Mother's Day. Needless to say, that was not forthcoming at Albertson's. Apparently they don't trust people to think of things to say to their loved ones for themselves. But as I was there, I thought, "Maybe I should get a card for my mom from my sisters and me. . . that would be good. . . I doubt they would have thought of it. . . this one will do. . but what if they have thought of it. . . what if one of them has already gotten something?. . .Oh, look, cards for an aunt, maybe I should get a card for my aunt (I'm actually going to be seeing these people, otherwise I wouldn't bother). . . oh, but it's her birthday on Mother's Day, should I get a birthday card instead/too? . . . and here's cards for grandmothers. . . maybe I should get one of those. . . " Those card companies are evil, I tell you. But the point of the story is that as I was looking at all these cards in a growing stupor, my eyes fell on somethig quite extraordinary. It was a card in Spanish, rather large, with a beatific, gold-trimmed picture of the Virgin on the front. The gilt Spanish letters read something to the effect of, "At this time of the year, we appreciate all the things you do, blah, blah." I idly picked up the card and opened it. Inside was a the characteristically Catholic depiction of the Sacred Heart of Mary -- you know, the picture where you see her heart exposed, surrounded by thorns and on fire. It's a bit odd to begin with, but this one went above and beyond. In the exposed heart was a small, red light that, as I opened the card, started blinking in time to "Für Elise," which promptly started playing in that high-pitched, distorted card-playing way. Living in Santa Fe, one gets accustomed to Catholic oddities (both earnest and malicious), but even so, this one made my jaw drop. I was standing in the card aisle, laughing out loud in disbelief. I really wanted to get it, to give to someone who would appreciate it, but it was rather on the expensive side, so I passed. I might have to go back though. . .

Then, if that wasn't odd enough, I finally made it to the obnoxious self-checkout that's usually more strouble than it's worth. Behind me I hear a voice say, quite clearly, "Habeas corpus." I hear a very young sounding child dutifully repeat, "Habeath corputh." I turn around to see a rather large hispanic gentleman with a small girl sitting in the grocery cart.

"Habeas corpus."

"Habeath corputh."

I'm not sure what this little exercise in juriprudence, or maybe simply Latin, was supposed to accomplish. Looking in the cart doesn't give any meaningful clues -- several cases of pop and a family sized package of cheap chicken. As I eavesdrop on their talk I gather that this man has temporary charge of the girl and it seems her mother is sick. Maybe he's trying to explain why she has to stay in the grocery cart: "I've suspended Habeas corpus," or perhaps he means it literally in Latin: the great advantage of adults over children.

When I get to my car, I find I do, in fact, have the items I believed I purchased, assuring me that this strange episode was not a dream after all. I'm not sure if that's comforting. . .

2006-05-05T19:10:00.000-07:00

I finally finished Susan Cooper's The Dark is Rising series. I started it a few years ago and just got around to reading the last two books, The Grey King and Silver on the Tree. It's a strange series; I'm not quite sure of my motives for finishing it. Stubbornness, maybe, or an somewhat idle curiosity. It's interesting, but dry. You feel that the author deliberately set out to create a Middle-Earth or Narnia that knocks the reader upside the head with its explicit non-Christianity. Not that I mind at all if a work of literature is not Christian, but going out of your way to make a work non-Christian seems as contrived as dragging in unnecessary and awkward Christian elements when they have nothing to do with the story. The same is true of any religious or philosophical system. Whatever the story is, let it be that and just tell the story. Let the reader draw his own conclusions.

Aside from that, the world-system present in the books is downright gloomy and frankly pretty boring. It's good ol' dualism, with two forces, the Light and the Dark, competing against each other for mastery of the world, or some such thing. But their striving feels more like a modern courtroom battle than any glorious battle of old. Both sides are governed by a Higher Magic, something that seems to be right out of the Enlightenment, and must abide by its rather arbitrary and boring laws and decisions. The series feels a bit like a video game wherein the hero has to overcome various random obstacles to get the prize, whatever that is, only to be given another set of clues and can proceed to yet another level before they can defeat the Big Bad Guy at the end of the game.

So why did I read all five books? Well, they were interesting, and well-written enough that I kept hoping if I hung in long enough I'd get through the preliminary muck and get to the good stuff. It never really happened. All the elements of a good story were there but they somehow never managed to come together and stay together. There were definitely good bits though, and scraps for the imagination to feed on. I'm grateful for Peculiar's orophilia: the setting of the majority of The Grey King, Cadair Idris, seems spectacular and seeing the pictures of the mountain made the story much better.

So if you want a diverting, light read, I'd recommend them. If you're looking for something more heroic and hearty look elsewhere.

2006-04-13T21:50:00.000-07:00

The world stands out on either side

No wider than the heart is wide;

Above the world is stretched the sky, --

No higher than the soul is high.

The heart can push the sea and land

Farther away on either hand;

The soul can split the sky in two,

And let the face of God shine through.

but East and West will pinch the heart

That can not keep them pushed apart;

And he whose soul is flat -- the sky

Will cave in on him by and by.

Edna St. Vincent Millay, Renascence

2006-03-29T21:05:00.000-08:00

Being Good, Divine Eros and Lots of Bitching:
A Gloomy Lenten Post

Here's a very good observation that I certainly agree with:

But the chief lesson I’ve learned is this: no matter our income bracket, geographic location, political affiliation, ethnic background, religion, etc. human beings are fundamentally the same. We all harbor hopes, dreams, aspirations, insecurities and prejudices based on stories we tell ourselves and think of as true. We are all deeply concerned with what other human beings think of us. We all desperately want love. And we have all created ingenious defense mechanisms to protect ourselves when we feel close to rejection or failure.

Those defense mechanisms are what gush like blood through burst arteries from every enraged comment, nasty e-mail or snide article that I’ve come across about myself or my current path. Threaten people, however inadvertently, and they’ll bare their fangs and crush their windpipes against the metal leash in their rush to attack you back. Every single one of us carries around a mental suitcase filled with pride, and an intense need for validation. I am a good, smart, worthy person, and to prove that I need to be RIGHT. I need to make the RIGHT choices, have the RIGHT opinions, the RIGHT career, the RIGHT life. Someone comes along telling us that no, actually what you think is right isn’t right for me, and what’s our first reaction? Tear the motherfucker to shreds.

I think this extreme defensiveness and pride in many (most?) cases comes from a deep-seated existential feeling of insecurity and unworthiness. We need to be told we're good and right because deep down, we're not really too sure. We're not even sure what it means to be a good person. So we vacillate between distracting ourselves with trivialities and adopting and hiding behind some set of ideas we've deemed to be RIGHT, both in order to hide from ourselves the insecurity that looms. Those ideas could be religious, political, ideological, whatever. But neither approach really works well:

I don't know about anyone else, but Pascal's "distraction from wretchedness" becomes more and more my motivation. I find myself singing, not because I like the song, but because old iniquities are coming to mind and I don't want to remember them. I read while I watch movies, because with only one distraction I might notice my fallen state, and the knowledge of how low I am is intolerable.

The only reason I ever do anything good is because the idea of being caught doing something "not good" is so humiliating. It's like "good publicity," rather than public scandal. And I always have the TV on, too, in case my mind wanders from the book I'm reading or the essay I'm writing. and if I sense that a moment is approaching for which I have nothing to distract me from the jagged chasm that is my undistracted mind, I check my email.

I won't attribute the quotes. I'm not sure the authors want to be named. Let me know if I'm wrong.

Now the somewhat odd thing about this insecurity that is so prevalent, especially in this country, is that the majority of this country still claims to be Christian. The central tenet of Christianity is that God is love and that God loves us more than we could ever imagine. Think about that for a second. The gospel says, "For God so loved the world. . . " not, "God tolerated the world most of the time," or "God didn't hate the world too much." Further, it's not simply a disinterested, inert sort of love, but a love more intimate and personal than any we can imagine. God doesn't just love humankind in the abstract, he love individuals: jack, Kate, Larissa, even odious. At least, that's what's preached. But how much do any of us actually believe that? I think more of us, deep down have an inherited, nagging belief in a nasty, heretical sort of god who is angry, vengeful, exacting, and leaves no room for mistake, freedom or love. If we really believed, I mean really, experientially believed that we were personally loved by the Being Who created the universe, would we really be bothered if someone disagreed with us, belittled us, or really, harmed us in any way? Would it matter? The insecurity that compels us to lash out in despair would finally be resolved. Why would we need earthy validation if we knew that our real selves -- not the narrow mean selves we're forced into being -- were forever irrevocably loved.

Love is the lowering of our guard, the setting aside of all those defensive mechanisms because they're no longer needed. It's letting that inner, vulnerable, authentic self act. And it's terrifying. But how can we love and set aside the crutches, the facades, the stratagems if we're terrified? We can't. And here's the paradox -- you can't receive love unless you throw away all that crap that lets you live in this sad broken world. But we still have to live here. You give your best to some people and it gets spat back in your face. You let your real self act only to be forced to a hastily retreat. Hide, lick your wounds and recover, while the protective armour grows ever thicker. This cycle is bad enough when it comes to other human beings. When it comes to God it's nothing short of evil. We have this picture in the back of our minds of a horrid god. You can't love this god, so you try, for awhile, maybe, to appease him, to look good for him. You do all the RIGHT things. But you know it's not you. Your real self retreats further and further and becomes more and more inaccessible to the real love that is the Real God. Or maybe you turn away outright, rebelling with all of your being at the blasphemy that such a monstrosity could govern the universe. But still, you seek love, you hope there is good, real good, not merely rightness, at the back of things.

Worse yet, the fear and insecurity eventually can, and does, deform the soul, making it smaller, less noble, less recognizable as a being that, as C.S. Lewis says, "if you saw it [a transfigured soul in all its glory] now, you would strongly be tempted to worship." At that point, it's not a matter of rightness, or fault, but what the soul has become:

'But it can't be that the Lord will lay sin to our account," said the woman; 'He won't charge it to us, when we're forced to it; he'll charge it to them that drove us to it.'

'Yes,' said Tom; 'but that won't keep us from growing wicked. If I get to be as hard-hearted as that 'ar Sambo, and as wicked, it won't make much odds to me how I come so; it's the bein' so -- that ar's what I'm a dreadin'.' Uncle Tom's Cabin, Harriet Beecher Stowe

And that ar's what I'm a dreadin' too.

Where to leave this post? I know, with the deepest part of me that it is real goodness at the back of things. But how to reach it? Still, I fear and am reluctant to "become transparent," good advice I heard not too long ago. I don't want to admit, even to myself, the shortcoming, the frustrations, the lack of love on my own part. Why? Because I'm afraid someone (God?, myself?, society? some psychological fragment from the past?) will say, "See, I was right all along. You've admitted it. I always knew you'd prove me right."

The real tragedy in Eden was not that they ate the fruit and disobeyed. The real tragedy was that they believed a lie about God -- that He wasn't good. Any real attempt at change, progress or repentance must start with healing that fundamental wound.

2006-03-22T21:51:00.000-08:00

Here's something funny: the spell check on blogger doesn't recognize the word "blog." Go figure.

2006-03-22T20:54:00.000-08:00

Crazies

Bored at work today, I succumbed to temptation and started checking out the server blogs. I've been a fan of the Waiter's for awhile now, after discovering him after a very trying shift last summer. I think I read almost the entire blog at one sitting, cheering and laughing hilariously (I'm sure the vodka didn't hurt). From there I've clicked around to Server Stories, The Insane Waiter and Bitter Waitress (and she's not kidding!). I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, but I am a bit, at seeing how it's the same job, whether you're in NYC, the Midwest, Oregon or New Mexico. The verbal tips, the uncontrolled kids, the awkward dates, the mind games, the nasty passive-aggressive menopausal women who hate you because you're still young and cute and won't let them sit there until midnight when all they've eaten is a cup of soup and a half a salad between them. But we have our own cast of characters here in Santa Fe that I haven't seen on any of the other blogs. We call them the crazies, but there are sub-groups: crazy old hippies, crazy yuppies, crazy tourists and crazy old regulars. They're not just obnoxious and clueless, but there's something about them that makes you keep just a bit of distance from the table and always have the wine key close at hand. Sometimes very close. Open, even.

After turning my brain to mush at my new non-restaurant job, I needed a break. Inspired by my blog reading I went by the old restaurant to say hi and see who had gotten fired since I'd left last month. It was a slow lunch so I was talking to the hostess when another waitress came up to say hi. As we were chatting a couple left, a man in his fifties and a lady who appeared to be his mother.

"Everything was great," she says. "Too much food but great."

We smile and say something mindless and they leave.

"Wasn't she all dolled up?" says the hostess.

And she was too. In her 70s or 80s, heavy makeup, brightly dyed hair (or wig), with a sour, petulant look on her face, carrying a large, black purse with that fluffy trim that looks like a small fuzzy animal is trying to make its escape.

"Did you see her eyelashes?" the waitress asks, "Well, she took them off and put them on her plate! I thought they were a spider or something until I realized what they were. They were all sparkly."

Eyelashes? I can see wiping off lipstick when eating or even taking out a retainer if necessary but eyelashes? Maybe she was having a hard time seeing her food.

We had a lady one night who asked for grenadine in her water, to "give it a kick." Water, mind you, not sparkling water, not club soda, flat tap water. When the waitress went back to the table the lady was passing it to her two dining companions, all obviously excited about this new culinary sensation.

Then there's the lady who takes her toy poodle with her into restaurants, dressed up in doll clothes and jewels (I hope they're not real, but you never know). If anyone complains she has a doctor's note, saying she needs the dog for "health reasons."

There's more, oh so much more, but it's getting late and I just had to re-type the half of the post that the computer just ate.

2006-03-18T20:47:00.000-08:00

HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY!

Listening to Irish punk while drinking beer (no whisky in the house, probably a good thing) is a great way to celebrate St. Paddy's day and lift one's spirits a bit after two weeks of Lent. Of course, the Catholics get a dispensation for corned beef today. No such luck for those of the eastern persuasion. I'm tempted to sniff and feel a bit superior until I remember hearing that the ancient Irish monks were allowed game in honor of the saint -- a huge boon, since traditionally monastics don't eat meat at all, especially during Lent! Certainly one of the beauties of Christianity is its insistance on the ability of the material to represent and even interact with the spiritual. I had a somewhat coherent post in mind, but as I try to order my thoughts my sweet husband has taken to singing the praises of whisky with the closest equivalent in the house: tequila, e.g. "There's nothing like whisky to make maidens frisky."Oh dear. Maybe a coherent post will have to wait until tomorrow.

2005-02-20T23:48:00.000-08:00

Kodiak is an island several hundred miles southwest of Anchorage. It's a rather large island, the second largest in the country (I think the largest might be the Big Island in Hawaii but I'm not sure). From Anchorage it's a short flight of an hour, or a 4-6 hour drive to Homer and then a nine hour ferry ride to the island. Although it's large, there's only about 60 miles of road, or so I'm told. Most of the road runs more or less down the western coast. The main town is the town of Kodiak, located on the northwest side of the island. It has several thousand people, I was told 10,000 but I wouldn't be surprised if it was less than that. The main industry there is fishing and almost everyone has some kind of boat. There's salmon, of course, in the summer. King crab season is in the winter when the crabbers go out at night heading off to the cold, merciless Bering Sea. There's not a huge amount of tourism there, and the tourists who do come are typically the hunting and fishing types.

The climate is a temperate rainforest, just about as far from the desert southwest as you can get. But to give an idea of the scenery, the another temperate rainforest is Ireland. In the summer the mountains are a lush, rich green. There wasn't much growing in the winter, but that made it easier to hike and get around.

Besides the town of Kodiak, there are a handful of native villages on the island, most, if not all of which are only accessible by boat or float plane. The largest has a few hundred people and the smallest ones only a handful. I didn't get to visit any of these, but here's something about one of the smaller villages, Karluck.

In some ways, life is still harsh in Kodiak. Not so much so compared to how everyone lived a few generations ago, but by today's standards, it can be a bit grim. Tsunamis are a real danger there; so much so that they have tsunami alarms around town that are tested every week (every Wednesday at 2:00). Strong wilds are fairly common. In January there were a few days of hurricane force winds(90 m.p.h.). I wasn't there for that, but I'm told the windows in the buldings bowed in with the gusts, so much so that I think wooden boards were placed against them. Earthquakes are to be expected, although I didn't feel any while I was there. And there is always the danger of nearby volcanoes errupting and burying the island in ash. All of these natural disasters have, in fact occurred in the last 100 years.

The only place to buy clothes on the island besides thrift stores is Wal-Mart, and that has only been there for the last few years. There is a handful of fast food chains (yes, including McDonalds) and a few grocery stores. The food all has to be shipped in from mainland Alaska, at the closest, and so the cost of living is quite high.

The island is beautiful, but a very different beauty from my desert, landlocked home. It is a land of high, rocky cliffs, topped by towering, moss-laden Spruce trees, with a clear cold sea crashing below. Mountains soar straight from the ocean to a height of 3,000 ft. Vegetation grows anywhere it can -- on trees, rocks, even the roofs of houses! To some extent, events and schedules are still largely dictated by the weather. For example, no flights in or out of the island are ever guaranteed. Fog, wind or rain can all prevent planes from taking off and landing for several days. The main air strip on the island is not terribly long, and is bounded by water on both sides. Understandably, planes don't take off or land unless the pilot can see both ends of the airstrip.

It's a different world, to be sure. Even when compared to the rest of Alaska.

2005-02-13T17:53:00.000-08:00

Well, the Alaskan adventure is over. A bit shorter than I expected, I admit, but quite often it seems what we expect is a very different thing from what actually happens. It's good to be in sunlit lands again, although it does feel a bit odd that it's light at 7:00 a.m. It feels as though it should be much later. It's also a real treat to see snow again, which might sound a bit funny coming from Alaska, but Kodiak, being an island has a very mild climate compared to mainland Alaska, and is more like the Pacific Northwest (so I'm told) than the frozen North. The island is known as the "Banana Belt" of Alaska. While I was there the temperature hovered consistently in the high 30's to low 40's, day and night, with occasional colder spells. It was rarely ever cold enough to snow, and any snow that did fall was usually washed away the next day by rain.

In contrast, it started snowing soon after I arrived in Santa Fe. Within a few hours the car was covered with several inches of lovely fluffy snow. The next day the sun came out as usual, bright and clear. The snow was dazzling, almost blinding in the sun, and very crisp and clean-looking, especially against the clear, deep blue sky. I've seen a good bit of snow since then, even waking up to find it coming down a few days. It's been a wetter winter here than many in recent years and I'm told that "the whole of Northern New Mexico is squishy." There's lots of mud, to be sure, with all the snow turning the yuppie dirt roads to ankle-deep ruts.

Yes, it's good to be back, not to mention the green chile, the sunsets, and the smell of pinion burning. But there are some great northern stories that need telling. Like the last day I was there. It was Theophany, which in the Eastern Church occurs 12 days after Christmas and remembers the baptism of Christ. But it's a much bigger feast than that, it's also the sanctification of water, and by extension, the natural world. It's a very rich feast, which deserves more of an explanation, but that must come another time. One of the things that is done on Theophany, however, is the blessing any natural body of water nearby. In New Mexico this is a bit tricky, but on a rainforest island in Alaska it's a different story. We blessed Shahafka Cove, less than 100 yards from our front door, right across the street.

It's a Slavic tradition for the priest to throw a cross into the water, and for the slightly insane members of the congregation (in our case, pretty much all of us) to dive in after it. In Russia they cut a cross-shaped hole in the ice to do this, and they use a metal cross, so our frolicking about in the Bering Sea in January after a wooden cross was child's play in comparison. It was cold enough, though. We made quite a spectacle, I'm sure, trooping across the street in procession, in an array of odd and unseasonable outfits, singing, led by a fully vested Orthodox priest. I'm told the first year they followed this tradition a neighbor called the police, believing the school was some kind of cult that had decided to commit mass suicide. In addition to merely getting in the water, the tradition is also to submerge oneself three times, in remembrance of baptism. I emerged with a bright red face, on the verge of hyperventilation, unable to feel my legs. It was great fun though. Everyone headed straight for the showers and then warmed up with hot chocolate in front of a fire. Like I said, child's play compared to Russia and Serbia but still, it makes for a good story.

2004-12-13T14:47:00.000-08:00

Oh, sunlight is a good thing!! I arrived back in the sunlit southern lands today, after a long trip from dark and stormy Kodiak. Amazingly enough, both I and my luggage arrived at our destination. At the same time even! A pretty impressive feat, considering how many thousands of miles we covered in a relatively short time. Peculiar sends his greetings, who was, when I left, working on a church in a small village on the other side of the island accessible only by boat and float plane. I never thought the sight of a cowboy hat in an airport would be so comforting until I came into Dallas today. Even though Texas is only about half the size of Alaska, it's still a decent enough place.

2004-10-01T08:19:00.000-07:00

It's been a busy summer. Made even busier by a two week trip to Alaska in early June, a move at the end of June, a wedding in July, a road trip in August and early September during which I put 4,600 miles on my surprisingly well behaved car; transporting all my stuff about 800 miles in a very cramped two door car a few week ago, and then trying to condense said stuff into two bags to take back to Alaska for an indefinite stay on Kodiak Island. My flight leaves in four and a half hours. Whew! Perhaps that somewhat excuses the sparse blogging of late. But before I vanish in the great frozen north, perhaps a few highlights and observations of the summer that I've been meaning to get up here for awhile.

OPERA
To close out my earlier opera commentary, I ended the 2004 Santa Fe Opera season with a wonderful performance of Don Giovanni. After hearing none to enthusiastic reviews of the production I went with low expectations, which were delightfully surpassed. Anna Maria Martinez, as Donna Elvira (who is fast becoming my favorite character in the opera), was especially wonderful. From the moment she walked on stage in her extravagant pink dress she had the voice, presence and passion required for the role, and never slipped out of it. Don Giovanni was the perfect mix of intriguing, amusing, unnerving and, at the end, revolting. He and Leporello played off each other very well, with the perfect balance of comedy and horror. Donna Anna had the voice for the role but the singer (I don't have the program in front of me, so sorry to everyone who's not Anna Maria Martinez) didn't convince me that she understood what was going on with her character. Don Ottavio was very good and for the first time I actually felt sorry for him, instead of just impatiently waiting for his arias to end. The final scene, when D.G. is taken screaming down to Hell, was staged very effectively. The stage, which had been only partially lit throughout the whole production, was flooded with full, blinding light. The seduction and deception that is Don Giovanni's character is no longer effective or possible and Don Giovanni falls screaming into the blinding light.

ALASKA
As can be discerned from earlier blogs, Alaska is a wonderful place. I highly recommend it, at least, during the summer. We'll see how the winter goes. If you get there, I highly recommend the Anchorage Guest House as a clean, well-run, inexpensive place to stay for the inevitable night or two you'll have to stay in Anchorage. I also highly recommend getting out of Anchorage as soon as possible. Not that there's anything wrong with Anchorage. On the contrary, I found it a pleasant enough city, as big cities go, but you don't go to Alaska for the city life. Try to get down to Seward or Homer (you can find shuttles to both). The drive itself is more than worth it. Glaciers, lush green mountains, lakes, clear blue green rivers, the ocean, and these are the views from their highway! The Homer Hostel is a great place to stay. Again, very clean, well-run and friendly. The Old Inlet Bookshop in Homer is a great place, extremely dangerous for any bibliophile on vacation (books are heavy!!), and the owners are awesome people who tried to track me down in two states to send me some books that mistakenly ended up back at the store. In Homer, try to take a beach walk at low tide. I was told of a trail where jellyfish and other interesting tidal pool life can regularly be seen, but we didn't get there. The Moby Dick Hostel in Seward was decent, not as nice as the others, but a decent, inexpensive bed if you're not too picky. Go to the Kenai Fjords National Park in Seward. You can see Exit Glacier and even hike up to the ice field. I got part of the way up and saw some great views, but was prevented from going further by time constraints, snow, and bears. If you can, take advantage of Alaska's Marine Highway System, a network of ferries stretching from Juneau and Haines across the Gulf of Alaska all the way to Dutch Harbor in the Aleutian Islands, a distance of something close to 2,000 miles. We took a ferry from Homer to Kodiak Island. It was about a 9 hour ride, some of it through open water (not protected by land). It was very exciting for a landlubber like me. If you have a night ride, I suggest bringing a tent or sleeping bag and camping on the top deck, although in the summer you don't want to sleep too much (I think the sun went down sometime around midnight).

I liked Alaska so much I've decided to go back and volunteer at an amazing school I found on Kodiak. Their motto is "Alaskan Adventure in Education," and they do everything from sea kayaking to singing and performing all over town to folk dancing to running a great bookstore/coffeeshop (Monk's Rock, if you're ever in the area). Oh yes, and academics too. Seriously though, it's a wonderfully integrated, classical education (high school) that the students love. As I mentioned before my flight leaves today, so I should probably shower and/or put on some real clothes soon. Oh faithful readers (if there are any left out there), I'm afraid the blogging will remain sparse, since computer access in Kodiak will be sparse, but I'll try to post as often as possible about whatever adventures await in the far north.

Oh yes, and I must say that river rafting is every bit as wonderful as Peculiar claims. I had the extremely good fortune to be able to go on a six day trip with him this summer on the Main Salmon River in Idaho. It was great fun, although a bit cold and rainy at the beginning (good practice for Kodiak!). You'd do better to read his descriptions (and see pictures) here, here and here since I'm running out of time.

NORTH TO THE FUTURE!!!
(The Alaska state motto. Really. I couldn't resist.)

2004-09-15T08:16:00.000-07:00

Still alive, in case anyone was wondering. After putting nearly 4,600 miles on the car and traveling through six states I'm now back where I started for a few more days. Hopefully in that time I can get some interesting, coherent posts up. But not now.

2004-08-09T21:48:00.000-07:00

I rose today in the early morning and seemed to sense something new. Indeed, in a single night the back of the summer had been broken. The air was filled with the cool aroma of autumn, the smell of decaying leaves, a longing for distances. -- Pavel Florensky, The Pillar and Ground of Truth

Somehow it's gotten to be late summer. I'm not sure how that happened since it seems like just a few weeks ago we were talking about things that were going to happen, "when summer gets here," and now it's dying. There is a marked change in the air, the wind blows cool although the sun, as if aware of it's defeat, shines all the more fiercely (like of one Melville's harpooned leviathans -- I'm reading Moby Dick). The battle has been won, however, for all intents and purposes, the cold will return, now it's just a matter of time. A corresponding change comes in the spring, when you know the winter has been defeated, no matter how many more cold days are in store. The change first came a few weeks ago, before the end of July even, but now has become more pronounced. The apples have started to fall and the peaches won't be far behind.

The restless rustling of the leaves, especially at night, the mellow richness of the light, even the richer character of the heat all testify to the change. While out walking today I noticed some of the leaves were beginning to show a hint of yellow around the edges. Every year I think this time has come much too soon, that there should be weeks, if not months left of summer, and although that may be true in central Texas it's certainly not the case here in northern New Mexico (in Texas the autumn change doesn't come until late September or October).

This time of the year is always bittersweet. The days are lovely and the nights cool but the air carries the awareness of time passing, life changing, and the memories of things past. Soon the nostalgia will be overshadowed by the excitement of the coming fall and winter, the spirit of adventure stirs and it's time to be off somewhere to climb the mountains that tempt with golden leaves. But now, it's just a gentle sweet sadness, the ending of things.

It appears that the soul finds itself in seeing this death, that it has a foretaste of resurrection in this fluttering. -- same as above

The time corresponds well with the Orthodox (Christian) feast of the Falling Asleep (Dormition)of the Mother of God, the 15th of August. Although it's one of the major feasts of the year, it's not one of the easier ones to explain to people:

"So what is it you're celebrating?"
"The Falling Asleep of the Mother of God."
"Huh?"
"The death of Mary, the mother of Jesus."
"You celebrate her death?"
"Well, yeah, but it's not just that. . ."

Even after several years of celebrating this feast I can't explain it very well, except to say it does make sense with the bittersweet ending of the summer and the ecclesiastical year (the church New Year is September 1). In the feast, as in the passing of summer, the soul, as Florensky says, has a foretaste of resurrection. Life is joined with death and death becomes life-giving and triumphant, even when seen through tears and sorrow. I'd like to explain more but I become bogged down in historical traditions, lengthy explanations and the like. Perhaps another time. One of the particular characteristics of Orthodoxy is that it doesn't fit well into soundbites; there are no short answers. Everything builds on everything else to form one integrated world-view and it's difficult to take out one piece and try to explain it without going into everything else. I love the connectedness of it all, but it does make it difficult to explain much of anything to anyone without being faced with a blank, bored, glazed over stare. Perhaps Orthodoxy is a bit like Entish in that way, you don't take the time to say anything unless it's worth taking a long time to say.

Oh ye apostles from afar,

being now gathered together

here in the town of Gethsemene,

Give burial to my body.

And Thou my Son and my God,

receive now my spirit.

Thou art a gold entwined tower

and twelve wall encircled city,

a throne besprinkled with sunbeams,

a royal chair for the King.

Oh inexplicable wonder

that thou dost milk-feed the Master!

-- Hymns from the Dormition Fast

2004-07-31T16:00:00.000-07:00

"It is very good for a man to talk about what he does not understand; as long as he understands that he does not understand it."

-- G.K. Chesterton

So continues the summer opera commentary. Agrippina was another excellent production. The singers were all astounding, especially the two unexpected countertenors. Especially impressive to me were Christine Goerke (soprano) as Agrippina, Kristine Jepson (mezzo-soprano, I suppose no castrati were available) as Nero, and Christophe Dumaux (countertenor) as Otho. With all the countertenors and women-substituting-for-castrati the opera was the opposite of Simon Boccanegra, at least in voicing. The orchestra was also much different from Simon Boccanegra. It was almost entirely composed of strings, including an oversized-lute-looking-thing called a theorbo, two trumpets (I think), at least one recorder, and a harpsichord.

Handel is good in that his music sounds as hard as it is, but is still delightful to hear when well done. He treats the voice as if it were a string instrument, demanding very impressive, long runs and delicate trills everywhere. The listener is impressed and delighted regardless of his knowledge of music, kind of like vocal fireworks. The obvious level of difficulty is gratifying to the singer, because those runs are hard, and everyone knows the work you put into it. On the other hand, some music (Mozart comes to mind) is extremely hard to sing well, but is written in such a way that the difficulty is not as obvious; the listener doesn't often realize the effort it has taken to master a piece unless he knows music well, or sees the score, or has tried to sing the piece. Mozart is particularly hard on sopranos in that he never lets you settle into one range of the voice, octave (and more than one octave) jumps are common, and you sing a measure or two in the low D-G range only to jump up to a high G or A for a gratuitous trill, then back down to middle C in the space of a measure. But since Mozart is a genius the listener's first reaction is not, "Wow, that was a huge jump, that's impressive," but perhaps, "This is a fun piece."

But back to Agrippina. The singing was excellent, lots of vocal fireworks, but the opera was over three hours long. It was also colder than I expected and I was wishing midway through the first act I had worn heavier clothes. Also, I was also tired, and the production didn't start until 9:00, all of which made it difficult to follow all the tedious intrigue, plots and betrayals that comprised the opera. But unlike Simon Boccanegra, none of the intrigue or betrayal mattered too much; Agrippina is a comedy and all the plotting was merely an excuse for arias, some slapstick comedy and way too much groping. I've always found that one has to be in a certain frame of mind to really enjoy comedy, and that frame of mind is not aided by being cold and tired. So probably because of the external factors, the plot and characters seemed a bit flat to me. I found it hard to care much about any of them or keep straight who was lying to whom and why. Not that we're supposed to care too much. I would agree with Odious that the second act could have been left out, but there were some real musical gems there, including Ottone's lament on his miserable fortune, and Agrippina's amazing, "My thoughts torment me," aria at the end of the act (I don't have the libretto in front of me).

Another odd thing about the opera was the cheeriness of Handel's music (think Messiah) juxtaposed with the creepiness of the situations and characters. For example, during one aria Agrippina is trying to convince her husband that she has nothing in her heart for him but love and faithfulness (she has been scheming against him throughout the whole opera). Although she is lying through her teeth the music is perfectly serious, supporting her in her earnest deception. I guess I'm too used to Mozart or later composers who would give at least a hint of her deception in the music.

But all in all, a great performance. I might even see it again if the opportunity presents itself.

2004-07-28T18:22:00.000-07:00

Life has been extremely good lately. For starters, it's apricot season and we have more fresh apricots than we know what to do with. A tree down the street is dropping fruit and we got another bag from a co-worker. So far we've made apricot ice cream, an apricot gallette (kind of a cross between a pie and a tart) and I made apricot muffins the other day, which were a huge success at work. Dried apricots were tried today but they turned out very small and sour (kind of like one of our cats, except we don't try to eat her. . . much). And we still have a large container in the fridge and a huge basket on the counter. Maybe more muffins are in order. We might try canning or jelly-making if we get ambitious enough, but ambition has not been a buzzword in the house lately. For those of you interested in our various culinary endeavors, check out Milk and Honey, a blog recently started my roommate and fellow cook (especially Cooking with Jack, which details a wonderful dinner we fixed last weekend).

It's also been an operatic day. We're now lazily getting ready to go to a production of Handel's Agrippina, which I've heard good things about. And I like Handel, so it should be a good night all around. I finally listened to the first disc of Wagner's Parsifal this afternoon, which has, unfortunately, been in service as a paperweight on my desk for several weeks. I can't say it did much for me, especially after all the rave reviews I've heard of it. Listening to music, really listening to it, and not just using it as background noise, is hard for me to do with only me and the CD player. But I wanted to give Wagner a chance, since several people whose taste and judgment I trust like him very much. And to be fair the only exposure I've had to Wagner has been Tristan und Isolde at the end of a school year, after spending the semester analyzing Bach and Mozart. That went something like, "There's no chord structure here, it's all about sex, let's go play softball." Probably not the best approach. As an interesting observation on Wagner, however, I've noticed that, despite Nietzsche's whining about Wagner being all about emotion and therefore feminine and only for women, all the Wagner fans I've known have been men, for whatever that's worth.

But it seems the shower is free and we had attended to leave in ten minutes so this post will now come to an abrupt end.

2004-07-27T10:02:00.000-07:00

Here's a site I've just stumbled upon that does the internet proud: bibliomania.com
You can find online copies of classic fiction, poetry, short stories and such. I took a quick look and they have everything from Dickens to Tolstoy to Mark Twain to Gogol to Yeats and T.S. Elliot. Granted, reading a classic on a computer screen isn't quite the same as having a wonderfully bound, illustrated edition you can curl up with on the couch, but still, access to a very impressive library that's never closed and no overdue fines! Check it out.

2004-07-21T21:23:00.000-07:00

It's summer and in Santa Fe that means it's opera season! Now, for starters, let me say I don't understand opera. I like it, but I really don't know what I'm talking about, so be warned. But nonetheless, this year's season promises to be very good, and I hope to go to at least one performance of each of the operas, and I intend to write something, no matter how ill-informed, about each of them. So there, all disclaimers aside.

The season opened with Verdi's Simon Boccanegra, which I saw last Wednesday. I knew nothing about the opera, except that there was only one female role and I had heard it described as "a bunch of baritones shouting at each other," but I enjoyed it immensely. The singing and acting were excellent. There was only one female role, a soprano (of course) but one the male side there were more than just baritones. There was at least one tenor, the young, idealistic lover (of course) at least one true bass, whose low notes were powerful enough to be heard clearly over the orchestra while facing upstage (they were miked, but still, it was impressive). The complex story defies simple synopsis (here's the SFO summary) but it's got all the elements of grand tragedy: passionate love, illegitimate children, mistaken identity, political intrigue and betrayal. The staging and costumes were extremely well done. I was so engrossed in the performance as a whole I didn't notice much about the music itself (I'm not sure if the music is meant to be separated from the performance).

I agree with Odious that the opera is not about power, whatever the folks at SFO want us to believe; political power and turmoil only provide the background for the real story, in this case a story about (not surprisingly) love, vengeance and forgiveness. Interestingly, one of the driving forces of the plot is a character (Maria) who dies in the first few minutes of the opera, whom we never see, and who never sings a note. Yet the rest of the opera is a reaction to her life and death. Her lover, Boccanegra, pursues political power to make himself worthy of her, and dies twenty-five years later calling her name. Her father spends those twenty-five years mourning her death and seeking vengeance on Boccanegra, whom he sees as the cause of his daughter's death and dishonor.

Watching the performance, I had some possible insights on how one is to approach opera, something which puzzles me. The way not to approach it, at any rate, is in some dry, strictly intellectual way, as if one was going to a required lecture, or, worse yet, trying to "get something" from it. Like a good many other things, such as poetry, the first step to getting anything out of it is to enjoy it. And one of the keys to enjoying it, I think, is to sit back and be willing to take it at its own pace. If an aria lasts ten minutes and doesn't really advance the plot much you have to be willing to forget about the plot, the time, and the dessert sitting in your car and for those 10 minutes go along with whatever exalted emotion the character happens to be expressing. It's similar to the soliliquies in Shakespeare; the action moves not forward, but downward, deeper. You can't enjoy Hamlet if you just want to get to the end of the story as soon as possible because Hamlet isn't really about the story, the story is just the excuse for Hamlet to meander about until the story (and his meandering) comes to an abrupt end.

One of the things about opera that seems to alienate many people is the unashamed, obvious, sustained, exaggerated emotion that seems to comprise so much of it. There's a tendency to ridicule or dismiss such overt emotional displays, or, at least, be uncomfortable with them. I have a theory that this might be because we're constantly bombarded with cheap sentimentalism via radio, T.V. and all other forms of pop culture. In trying to avoid the cheap emotion one reacts badly to any display of emotion. Perhaps opera gives voice to those important, beautiful or terrible moments in our lives that, in real life, slip by all too quickly. In real life, life keeps going, giving little time for reflection or contemplation; in opera the action pauses while a character contemplates or revels in a situation or emotion, giving articulate expression to those moments which, in real life, are often mumbled and stumbled through, tongue-tied and confused.

Well, it's just the beginning of the season. Plenty more time (hopefully) to ponder these things as the season progresses.

2004-07-20T22:21:00.000-07:00

As can be imagined, living with Kate from The Little Bookroom is any bibliophile's dream. The amount of books and bookshelves in this house is astounding. The variety of books is no less astounding. Sitting on the desk in front of me now is The Saga of King Hrolf Kraki, a medieval Icelandic saga, Analysis of Shaolin Chin Na (I have no idea), Pavel Florensky's The Pillar and Ground of Truth and The Wagner Operas, by Ernest Newman. And that's just a small sampling. The shelves are lined with everything from Plato to the Chronicles of Narnia to Conan and the Spider Goddess to Jane Austen to Diseases of Cattle and How to Recognize Shrubs. This extremely impressive collection by far dwarfs mine, which seems so prodigious when I have to move it. I love it. It's like being given a spoon in Whole Foods and being told, "Take what you want, don't worry about money." A summer of unbridled literary nibbling. Yummy.

For starters, I've been nibbling steadily of the above-mentioned Saga of King Hrolf Kraki. I idly picked it up while waiting on a slow internet connection and was hooked. The style is refreshingly straightforward and uncomplicated, but that's not to say uninteresting. After reading it I can see how Tolkien's style was influenced by these Northern sagas. Unfortunately, King Hrolf is much too short, but I'm pretty sure I can find a few more Icelandic sagas in the house (and how many houses can one say that about?). The juxtaposition of the no-frills, almost deadpan narration and the outrageous deeds being narrated is quite delightful. For example, an Elfin woman visits King Helgi, who is very depressed because his wife has left him because she found out she was really his daughter (he didn't know either). The woman appears to be an ugly old hag but the king gives her shelter anyway and thus breaks a curse that was laid upon her and she turns out to be, of course, indescribably beautiful:
She said, "Now I will leave. . . " "No," said the king," there is no possibility that you may leave so soon. We will not part that way. I will arrange a quick wedding for us, because you please me well."
She said, "You are the one to make the decision, my lord." And so that night they slept together. . . After this, she went away.
The king was now somewhat happier than before. [I would hope so!]

And speaking of weddings, this is another great little speech, again by King Helgi, but this time to his wife/daughter's mother:
"The situation is this: I want us to drink to our marriage this evening. There are enough people here for such a celebration and tonight we will share one bed." [Well, since we've got all the people here, why not? I mean, ladies, if that doesn't melt your heart, what will?]

And speaking of melting your heart, I've found a copy of C.S. Lewis's The Allegory of Love, one of the few books of his I have not read but have wanted to for quite a while. I've only just started this one, but it promises to be very interesting. It attempts to give an account of the emergence of the medieval European idea of courtly love. According to Lewis this new conception of love was radically different from the classical ideas of love as expressed in Plato, Aristotle, Virgil, St. Paul and the authors of earlier medieval sagas, such as Beowulf and the Song of Roland. The consequences of this revolution are still with us today, he says, serving as the "food both of modern sentimentality and modern cynicism." Haven't gotten too much further than that, but like I said, it looks very promising.

But what am I doing writing here when there are so many books to read? Back to the nibbling!

Oh, and, according to King Hrolf, such a thing as berserkers (warriors whose name says it all)really did exist! Very cool!

2004-07-15T11:35:00.000-07:00

So much to write, so little time.

Well, I'm back, finally, and things appear to have returned to whatever state of normality I'm accustomed too. First, a long overdue review of a very enjoyable book: Eagle Dreams by Steve Bodio. I read the book (much) earlier this year and, like several of my fellow bloggers, was very impressed. After attending a book signing of Steve's in Albuquerque I was determined to finally get this post up.

But back to Eagle Dreams. It's a delightful cross between a kind of love affair and an adventure story that takes the author and reader literally to the other side of the world in pursuit of an elusive image that captured the imagination of the author as a boy. The other side of the world, in this case, is Mongolia and the image is a man on horseback hunting with a golden eagle perched on his arm. I can't say I'd given much thought to either Mongolia or the Kazakh nomads who hunt with eagles before reading this book, but after reading it I've also become a bit enamored with this fascinating corner of the world where camels and pick up trucks are both found in the streets, where the diet seems to consist mostly of vodka and meat and where a home remedy for pneumonia involves wearing horse meat for a day. Besides taking the reader to a land few have ever thought of, much less experienced, the book is just fun to read. The style is informal without rambling and very funny; I found myself laughing out loud more than once. Quite amusing is the resourceful use the Mongolians have found for Lenin's writings and the meaning of the author's name, "Steve" in Mongolian. But as I read the book, the thing that struck me most was that it was an account of the pursuit of a dream. Dream is not exactly the best word, especially with all it's Hallmark-greeting-card-connotations, but, hey, it's in the title so it's not too far-fetched. What I mean is a sense of wonder and adventure that sees the world as something both exciting and mysterious. The picture of the man and the eagle was the beginning of an adventure that has in part defined the author's life. The book is an account of that adventure and an invitation to the rest of us to be a part of that adventure, even if that is only the few hours vicarious pleasure of reading the book.

So, expand your horizons and go get the book. You'll probably have to special order it here, or better yet, get a small local bookstore (if you're lucky enough to have one nearby) to order it for you. More detailed reviews by my fellow bloggers are here, here, and here with links to other cool things. Happy reading!

2004-07-10T15:26:00.000-07:00

Still digging . . . the end might be in sight. . .much to the chagrin of my newly adopted cats, who spend their time hiding in the chaos and plotting to take over the world.

2004-07-05T22:02:00.000-07:00

Moving is not at all a pleasant experience. More to come after I finish digging myself out from piles of random crap and chaos. . .

2004-06-21T08:23:00.000-07:00

Yes, in case anyone was getting worried, I am back from Alaska, but just haven't had the motivation to do much of anything, including posting. It was an amazing trip. If you have any love for the outdoors, for nature, for mountains or rivers or water, you would love Alaska. It's amazingly beautiful, but like nothing else I've ever seen. We got to see several glaciers, hike around one. We saw moose and bears (black, from a distance) and eagles. I met people from all over the world, up there on vacation or hoping to find lucrative summer work. I met people from Mexico, India, Australia, New Zealand, Denmark, Lithuania, Kazakhstan, Britain, and all over the lower 48. I met one guy hitchhiking up to Fairbanks for a folk festival he was going to play in. I met a couple retired women from California trying to find mindless work for the summer. I met a really nice girl from Pennsylvania preparing to go on some intense, two-week backpacking trip. I met a couple from Unalaska (an island in the Aleutian chain, about 600 miles west of Anchorage) who worked there as longshoremen. They were heading back home on a four-day ferry ride at the end of a month-long vacation to mainland Alaska. Everyone seemed to be on some sort of adventure, and Alaska seems to be a place where such adventures can still happen.

2004-06-11T17:18:00.000-07:00

Oh yes, and I did want to post a scathing review of Troy before leaving, but this one of Kate's just about says it all.

2004-06-11T16:58:00.000-07:00

Short update from Kodiak, Alaska. It's beautiful up here. I haven't gotten to see much of Kodiak yet; it's been cloudy and rainy since we got here a few days ago. I'm told there are mountains, but I haven't seen any yet. Today it's been raining pretty steadily and it's in the 40's. Nothing dries up here, it's too humid, so my shoes have been a very cold shade of damp for the last several days, ever since hiking around the glacier in Seward. But don't get me wrong, it's great. People keep apologizing for the weather (as if they could do anything about it) but after New Mexico I'm loving the grey and cold. All the hills I can see are a rich green and you see water everywhere. Lots of gulls and an occasional bald eagle. A three masted sailing ship docked in one of the harbors a few days ago. It was one of those floating classrooms, where you spend a year at sea sailing around the world. The students learn how to sail the ship, set the sails, everything. We got to tour the ship and meet some of the students and the captain. I was told that that particular ship got around Cape Horn a few years ago, yard arms in the water the whole way with hurricane force winds. Very cool.

2004-06-02T08:44:00.000-07:00

Well, despite much whining and chaos I'm off for Alaska today. If I can get to a computer I'll post updates from what I'm sure will be an amazing trip. See you in a few weeks. . .

2004-05-22T22:08:00.000-07:00

And a heads up on two promising new blogs.

Nine Scorpions written by a recent law school graduate friend of mine who should have some interesting insights into the judiciary system among other things.

Also, The Journey Project, which has some interesting things to say about changes, transitions, and the Christian faith.

2004-05-20T23:11:00.000-07:00

I live in a very odd place (in case you haven't figured that out by now). I was reminded of this a few weeks ago by a rather strange encounter, strange, even by Santa Fe standards.

I have a friend who is nearly a black belt in Ja Shin Do, a little-known martial art focused primarily on self-defense. This friend kindly offered to teach me some basics of the art, an offer I happily accepted. We finally got together to practice a few Saturdays ago, and had barely started when a yellow VW bug drove up and a couple got out and approached us. The couple, a man and a woman, were probably in their sixties or so and the man came up to my friend and said that he had seen us practicing and wanted to introduce himself since he was some kind of marital arts master or teacher or something. Fair enough. My friend started to make a polite bow to this man, who stopped him saying, "Don't bow to me, I only bow to the heart of the Lord Jesus Christ." Okay, great, fine, I respect that. But then this guy starts talking. For those of you familiar with Dr. Bronner's soap products, you'll have a pretty good idea what this guy sounded like; rambling doesn't begin to do it justice. He talked for a good fifteen minutes at least, about subjects ranging from all the martial artists he knew who were in prison to how God and Adam did Tai Chi in Eden to his martial arts classes. He told us about some black belt he knew, who was "wearing orange pajamas" now for killing two guys. "Bu'cha don't hear any about that, do ya?" he said, "No, all you hear about is ommm, ommmm (chanting in a monotone), Home on the range (breaking into song)." He was quite fond of the phrase "rat bastards," which he applied to the North Koreans, who were teaching us martial arts but all the time pointing missiles at us and to the Mayans (yes, the Mayans, ancient Central American civilization) who made roads but couldn't invent the wheel because they were too busy. . . how shall we say . . . engaging in unnatural forms of birth control. Then he asked if we were Catholic, informed us that he and his wife were, but hadn't always been, and said we should come to his church sometime. That's when he started in about God and Adam doing Tai Chi in paradise. "It says in Genesis that God had fellowship with Adam," he explained, "So what do you think they were doing? Drinkin' beer and shootin' the sh*t? No, they were doing the forms and the animals," (apparently some form of martial arts). "But then," he went on," Adam says to God, 'God, I love you and I want to have fellowship with you and your son Jesus and all, but the serpente (serpente, he wouldn't say snake or serpent) here, he's telling me something different." As he talked about the serpente he made a serpentine movement with his arms. So it went on like this for awhile, as I tried to think of ways to get out of the situation while at the same time dumbstruck at the spectacle. I was considering pretending to go into convulsions but wasn't sure if even that would get him to shut up. So he finally comes to an end with the comment, "So Adam says to God, 'Yeah God, I want to have fellowship with you and all, but I'd really just rather stay here with the b*tch," gesticulating to his wife, who came over to join him with a smile on her face. Then they walked off arm in arm while I just about collapsed on the ground and my instructor stoically tried to pick up where we left off on punches. At that point, however, it was pretty much a lost cause. The scary part is that I've probably given much more coherence to the event than was actually there! Only in Santa Fe!

2004-05-18T15:02:00.000-07:00

Just watched Akira Kurosawa's Throne of Blood and am quite impressed. It's an adaptation, more or less (one commentary said "transposition," which is probably more accurate) of Shakespeare's Macbeth, one of my favorite Shakespearean plays, set in feudal Japan. Although Shakespeare's dialogue is not preserved at all, it is one of the best film presentations of Macbeth that I have seen.

Macbeth is about evil, and I'm not just talking about the witches. I mean the things one does against better judgment, addictions, temptations, things that make one less real, less oneself, less human. This kind of evil is inherently seductive but ultimately empty, petty and repulsive. Kurosawa captures this theme wonderfully and we watch as the main character, in this case the warrior Taketoki Washizu, seduced by ambition, otherworldly spirits, and his cunning wife, falls from being trusted, honorable warrior to a paranoid tyrant destroyed by madness and the evil he has heeded.

Asaji, the Lady Macbeth character, is truly terrifying. Her highly stylized makeup and costume, her lack of any visible emotion and her exaggerated demure femininity make her poisonous words all the more chilling. While we can at least enjoy the drama of Shakespeare's Lady Macbeth ("Come you spirits,/That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,/And fill me from the crown to the toe, top-full/ of direst cruelty. . ."), Asaji is shockingly pragmatic. When Washizu objects to murdering his lord on the grounds that it is high treason, she calmly responds Washizu's lord secured his own position by murdering his predecessor. The delicate rustle and swish-swish of Asaji's robes becomes absurdly disturbing as she rushes with swift, birdlike steps, blood-stained spear in hand, to frame the guards whom she has drugged.

Without soliloquies, Kurosawa eloquently shows the seduction and destruction of Washizu and the doubts, struggles, rage and despair of a man who betrays and destroys himself for nothing. I definitely want to re-read Macbeth and I'm looking forward to seeing Kurosawa's Ran, an adaptation of King Lear, which is also supposed to be excellent.

2004-05-16T18:38:00.000-07:00

A wonderfully lazy Sunday evening. I have a few posts simmering, but I emphasize the word lazy in that last sentence and you draw your own conclusions. It's been a long and somewhat insane week. Although I like restaurant work well enough, it's hard, really hard at times, and last week was no exception. Physically, you're on your feet for up to ten hours a day, if not more; carrying heavy trays and bus tubs, trying not to strain your back and trying to dodge the other servers, customers trying to find the bathroom (yes, around the corner ma'am, well, if it won't open it probably means there's someone in there) and the dishwashers dancing and trying to smack each other with wet towels as you try to get through. Mentally, you're keeping a list of what all needs to be done and in what order (need to run table 60's food, take 63's order, get 55 butter, and, oh look, there's people on 61, wonder how long they've been sitting there). Emotionally you have to keep an appearance of calmness, friendliness and sanity while you deal with some pretty strange characters and tables that want to know your life history while you're trying to remember their order, along with the ever-increasing above mental list. A few nights ago I had cleared off a table and was standing there with my arms full of heavy plates and the customers ask if I know how to get to Canyon Road, a street with a ton of galleries and even more tourists. So I tell them how to get there. They then go on to ask how long I've lived in Santa Fe, where I'm from originally and if I like the town. All the while the plates are getting heavier and heavier and I feel the silverware start shifting ominously. But I smile and answer their questions as quickly as possible. Then they say something like, "So are you married, are you with anyone, are you single?" "Uh . . . I'll go get your check now." Yeah, people are weird and you certainly see that in the restaurant business. So all in all it's pretty draining. And then it doesn't help that you get done in the middle of the night, high on adrenaline. So we go next door to the bar to have a drink (as in one) and compare horror stories from the night. But the next thing you know the bar staff, who knows us, repeatedly shows up with free shots of whatever the bartender has concocted and then it's some ungodly hour of the night and you have to work a double tomorrow and hmmm. . . can anybody drive home? But all that being said, the money is very good (usually), I like my co-workers, can't complain about my manager and I do have a perverse liking for the insanity and chaos. It's certainly a lot more fun than any office job.

2004-05-11T14:15:00.000-07:00

And finally, an amusing tidbit courtesy of the Great Bob:

I hate looking for apartments. It's just like buying a car, making small talk with the leasing agent while they try to sell you an apartment with dead cockroaches in the bathroom. Seriously, I looked at two places on Saturday and both of them had dead cockroaches in the bathroom. I realize bugs happen, but if you have a model apartment you're showing to prospective tenants, it should be free of all deceased (and living for that matter) bugs. It just does not bode well for me.

2004-05-11T13:36:00.000-07:00

So, as promised, a post on Utility. Part of the reason I've been procrastinating on this post is that as I've been thinking about the topic I realize I'm using the label of Utility to tie together several modern cans of worms (I'll leave that metaphor for you to sort out!). But nonetheless I think there is a common thread, even if a better label could be used.

By Utility I mean the widespread assumption that any pursuit or activity is justified by its usefulness: usefulness being defined by the thing's ability to make money. A corollary (I think) to this assumption is that everything is (or, at least, should be) marketable and one has a duty to market anything one can. This focus, although rarely put in such simple and crude terms, leaves little room for the pursuit of something for an intangible, unmarketable gain or end. I have repeatedly run into this assumption, especially in the years since I've graduated from college and everyone, from family and friends to total strangers, wants to know what I'm going to "do" with my rather expensive education.

For those of you who might not know, I went to a small, liberal arts college whose curriculum is based on the Great Books of Western Civilization. We start with Homer and the Greek philosophers and playwrights and, in the course of four years, take a whirlwind tour of the philosophy, literature, math, science and music that has shaped the Western World, ending with Einstein and quantum physics. I could go on for quite a while about the program, it's advantages and disadvantages, etc., but for the narrow purposed of this post, all you need to know is that the program is antithetical to this notion of Utility. Most of the students come to the college for immaterial gain: pursuing truth, finding the meaning of life, wrestling with the ideas that have intrigued mankind for many years, becoming more human. These goals are not means to a good (i.e well-paying) job but are ends in themselves. Given this mindset, it's not hard to understand the frustration when we hear, "Wow, that sounds really great, but what are you going to do with an education like that?" What do you mean, what am I going to do with it? Isn't it enough that I did it? Although I'm sure most people wouldn't put it in these words, the underlying question is, "How is that education going to justify itself, how is it going to 'pay off'"? The thing that that question misses is that education does not necessarily have anything to do with a vocation or how you pay the bills.

But education is not the only place I see Utility rearing it's sleek, efficient head. The same assumption has radically changed how we view what were once called leisure activities and the arts. Today many children participate all kinds of classes in music, dance, sports, and many other activities. But those activities, with the exception of sports, find little place in the adult world. Many people, as they get older and this utilitarian mentality creeps in, begin to think something like, "Well, I'm not going to ever be a professional singer, dancer, painter, violinist, so why should I bother if I'm not ever going to 'do' anything with it." As a practical example along these lines, one of my roommates teaches music at the above-mentioned college. She regularly sees students who have an incredible natural talent for singing, but who have little inclination to refine that talent, or whose parents won't support them in any training of that talent. I'm talking about $25 a week voice lessons, not something elaborate or expensive. And the reason for this is, you guessed it, that the student is not planning on "doing" anything with the talent, that is, not making money professionally with the talent.

As another example, a few months ago I was privileged to sing at my friends' wedding, not as a job or as a "professional" but because they're my friends. Just yesterday at work a fellow server asked if I had been the one singing at their wedding. When I said I was she said, "What are you doing here? You could be making a million dollars!" Although I appreciated the compliment the underlying assumption there again was if you had something that could be marketable you had a perverse duty to focus on that thing and market it. I speak of music because that is what I am most familiar with, but I would be surprised if the mentality wasn't the same in other arts: writing, theater, fine arts, etc.

When applied to the arts, this mentality makes art inaccessible to people and more of a sterile, elitist, boring snobbery. In a community where singing, playing music, or writing are a part of everyday life, an especially talented singer, instrumentalist or writer can be all the more admired, not as a god or an idol (American Idol nonsense) but as a truly talented artist. The appreciation would come not only from a pleasurable response to the art but also from a knowledge of how hard it is to play/sing/write well. Today we get our music and entertainment prepackaged and predigested from professionals because God forbid one of us commoners should aspire to tread on such sacred ground.

This might seem like a stretch, but I see this Utilitarian mentality creeping into how we view ourselves and each other. As with education and art, beauty and personality are becoming a commodities as we subscribe to the myth that we are, in actuality, masters of nature and can, through diet, exercise, drugs, dye, and plastic surgery control and normalize how we look, talk and act. Those lucky few that naturally have the body, face or personality that is deemed beautiful find themselves facing the same expectation of "doing" something with that commodity. Hence the comments,"She's so pretty, why doesn't she have a boyfriend? He's such a great person, why isn't he dating anyone?" or, "She has such a great figure, why does she always wear such baggy clothes?" Like I said this might be a bit of a stretch, because in this instance I think there might be more at work than just utilitarian mentality; here might also be an underlying desire for beauty to be seen (revealing a beautiful figure) or rewarded (having a boy/girlfriend). But with the utilitarian mentality pervading so much of today's thought, it's understandable why such talk would be suspicious.

In all of these manifestations I see a flattening of life. We've exalted the means and forgotten about the ends, those things that make the daily grind worthwile and bearable. I've heard that people today have more leisure time than ever before. Yeah, I find this hard to believe too, but imagine what would happen if all those hours spent mindlessly in front of inane sitcoms were spent doing beautiful, enjoyable things.

I'm tempted to end on that note, or worse yet, indulge in some Lennin-like rapsodie about how beautiful the world would be and perhaps someday you'll join us and it'll all be wonderful with rainbows and singing bunny rabbits, but I'll spare you. The problem with talking about this non-Utilitarian approach is that it rapily falls into sentimentalism and cheap cliches: money can't buy everything, there's more to life than a paycheck, etc. I think the sayings have become cliches precisely because we have forgotten what they mean. We've forgotten the real and manly power of beauty and other intangible, unmarketable things and so they're consigned to the same category as those hideous inspirational calendars, Oprah's self help guides and the Chicken Soup for the whatever-ridiculous-category-you-can-think-of Soul books.

As an example of someone who is not subscribing to this mentality, I pesent a friend of mine, Kirsten. Kirsten is a wonderful singer who has trained and sung professionally and, if she chose, could have a very successful career as a professional singer. But she lives here in Santa Fe, raises her daughter, keeps a luscious garden (a real accomplishment in Santa Fe) and gives voice lessons. In the eyes of Utility it's just hippie nonsense to think that living a simple, if beautiful life, can make up for not pursuing a successful career if one is able. But by making that choice Kirsten has given Santa Fe many small beautiful moments it would not have otherwise had. For example I've been working with her for a couple years now, fighting this Utilitarian mindset all the way. She worked with me for months on the songs I sang for my friends' wedding. If it hadn't been for her, that singing would not have been as good as it could have been and that wedding would have had a little less color and beauty than it had. Small, yes, I said small moments of beauty, but that doesn't make them less important. My friends could have played a CD of a professional singer singing the same songs, but even though the quality of singing would have been much better, it would have made for a less colorful, less memorable event. And that's only one example of who knows how many?

2004-05-11T11:39:00.000-07:00

I’m reading G. K. Chesteron’s biography of Thomas Aquinas. I figure if anyone can make me more sympathetic to Aquinas, it’s Chesterton. It’s not that I particularly dislike Aquinas, but having not understood what Aristotle was trying to do, and having only the vaguest understanding of Christianity, I understandably couldn’t appreciate what Aquinas was doing with the two. I think we read Aquinas only briefly at St. John’s, and then it seems to have been either right before or right after a break, so I understood even less of what I might otherwise.

Chesterton’s biography so far is, as he admits, more of a sketch than a biography. I haven’t read any Chesteron for some time and find myself having to adjust to his particular writing style. Reading Chesterton is like taking a leisurely stroll with many jaunts off the path to explore some butterfly or flower that has caught his eye. Sometimes I wish he would be more explicit about some of his assumptions and definitions, but at the same time, I enjoy the stroll.

2004-05-11T11:22:00.000-07:00

Well, the class wasn't as bad as it could be. The woman teaching it didn't take herself or the class too seriously, which was refreshing. And now I know not to serve alcohol to minors or to . . . to . . . ummm, I'll get it . . . to people in penguin suits! No, that's not quite right, is it? Hmmm . . I'll remember . . . maybe five hours wasn't long enough . . .

2004-05-10T06:59:00.000-07:00

Oh dear. I keep promising certain people a post about the particularly modern (arguably) curse of Utility. But I've been lazy and distracted so it hasn't materialized. I'd do it now, but I have to go to an alcohol servers' class. What this means is that I go to a five hour "class" and hear how not to serve alcohol to minors, and not to serve alcohol to drunk people. Hmmm . . . I know, it's so complicated that you need at least five hours to get it.

2004-05-05T16:44:00.000-07:00

Has this ever happened to you? You go into a restaurant. It's not very crowded, in fact you're one of only a few tables in the place. "How nice," you think. But then you wait forever for your server, wait forever for your food and then the waitress is nowhere to be found when you want your check, or, she drops off your check and you wait fifteen minutes for her to run your credit card. "What's happening," you wonder, "They're not busy at all." Well, dear readers, I will enlighten you. The waitress, not being busy with any other tables, and not wanting to hover too near your table, frightening you, has probably found something else to occupy herself and every so often remembers, "Oh yeah, I have a table, don't I?" And the kitchen is probably trying to stave off boredom by telling incredibly dirty jokes in Spanish, and maybe doing some singing and dancing (our kitchen crew sings and dances). It's an odd fact of the restaurant business that it doesn't function very well below a certain threshold of business. If the waitress has several tables she's constantly out on the floor, keeping an eye on the tables and taking care of things. But if she's only got one table (you) then she only comes out when she thinks you might need something, which might or might not correspond to reality.

Such was the state of things yesterday. We did 14 people for lunch yesterday, so I spent most of my time looking through the dreaded Alaska guidebooks (I was much less grumpy by then), balancing my checkbook and making phone necessary calls. The first hour or so of dinner was pretty much the same so I spent the time writing, reading Kipling's Plain Tales From the Hills, which I'm liking very much, watching with amusement as the bartender struggled through Heidegger's Being and Time and talked about Being with said bartender. We did get busy later, but, just in case those first few tables were wondering where their waitress had gone, now they know.

2004-05-02T22:16:00.000-07:00

I had meant to post on several interesting things tonight, but that didn't happen. Maybe tomorrow . . .

2004-05-02T22:11:00.000-07:00

Warning: This is a rather grumpy post, written at the end of a rather grumpy day (or at least, a grumpy evening). Read at your own risk.

I'm supposed to be planning a two week trip to Alaska for next month (yikes!). Now I suppose any normal person would think that was great fun. But 1) I intensely dislike and find it very stressful to plan anything (I don't even pack lunches) and 2) I have serious doubts about the whole concept of tourism. It's a lot of work, a lot of money and a lot hassle and I don't really see the point. It's different if you're visiting friends or family, or if you have some connection to the place you're going, but to just go somewhere for the sake of experience seems kind of pointless. Living in a tourist town and working in a tourist restaurant I constantly hear people talking as if they knew Santa Fe after spending an afternoon looking at the jewelry for sale on the Plaza. You get to know a place by living there, not by running around frantically doing all the things the guidebooks tell you. To me, guidebooks have a knack of making everything seem horribly boring and unattractive. I guess it's because they reduce the real living experience of a city to a checklist of things that has to be "done" in a certain amount of days. With that kind of attitude it's really hard to get excited about a trip, or to plan anything. I was fortunate enough to be able to go to Paris for a week a few years ago and I had the same problem then. It was a wonderful trip, but in the weeks leading up to it I was looking to it with dread, seeing only the hassle, the packing, the desparate attempt to refresh my French and the exhausting flights. Even then the guidebooks were totally uninspiring, making the Lourve, Versailles and Notre Dame seem like cheap tourist traps. The problem with tourism, ultimately is that you can't see or get any real sense of a place in such a brief time, so you end up rushing from one experience to another, ending up totally exhausted, with a nice set of pictures to show for it (if you're lucky) and the smug pleasure of being able to say, "I've been there."

2004-04-28T13:14:00.000-07:00

I was off yesterday and took a walk down by the Santa Fe "River," which is still running. It was very green with that early spring green that's not quite at home in the world yet.

The tentative leaves
of the first green of spring,
one half light and one half green,
remind me of you.

2004-04-26T21:52:00.000-07:00

I was working a lunch shift today and ran some drinks to a table for another server. As I dropped off the drinks, I heard one of the customers says, "They don't want to be embodied, you know. They just want to go home." I don't make this stuff up! Needless to say I dropped off the drinks and didn't ask any questions.

2004-04-24T10:08:00.000-07:00

The Santa Fe Farmers' Market opened today for the season! I love going to the market on Saturday mornings in the summer. For a desert, there is quite a bit of agriculture around here. I wasn't expecting much today, it being so early in the season, except some lettuce, eggs and maybe some crafts but I walked away with tomatoes, green onions, Mexican oregano, carrots, mountain mushrooms, lamb stew meat, fresh goat milk and a small cake of honey-blueberry goat cheese. There are quite a few characters there. One booth sells plants, small crafts and sage sticks and proudly displays a sign, "Temporarily out of free lobster." I guess it's their trademark. Then there's this really cute old lady with the smallest spectacles I've ever seen who sells colorful, handmade fuzzy hats. Another booth sells hats, scarves and jackets made out of dog hair that's been spun into yarn. It's actually a very soft yarn, but very expensive. Speaking of yarn, one of my favorite booths is a lady who sells beautifully colored, hand-spun, hand-dyed yarn. It's also a bit expensive but the colors are some of the most brilliant I've seen and I like working with the uneven texture of the yarn. There's also honey, eggs, fresh flowers and potted plants, handmade soaps, jellies and herb mixtures. There's usually a few musical groups playing for tips. Today there were only two groups, one playing bluegrass and the other playing Peruvian pipes and other instruments I couldn't immediately identify. Last year there was a group four or five girls playing Bach string pieces quite well. Everyone is usually in a great mood and you usually see at least one person you know. It's just great strolling through the booths in the morning sun, sipping good strong coffee, hearing the strains of music floating in the air and seeing the amazing variety of nourishment this desert has to offer.

2004-04-21T11:29:00.000-07:00

As can be guessed from the dearth of postings, I've been busy lately. Turns out working full time is well, very time consuming. I had kind of forgotten about that, not having had a very firmly set schedule for the last six months or so. In the meantime, it's full-blown Spring in Santa Fe, one of the greenest I've seen here. We've gotten above average precipitation in the last few weeks, the reservoirs are full and overflowing (the first time I've heard of that happening!), making the Santa Fe River run again. By any most other standards it's more of a creek than a river, but still, it has water in it, which is noteworthy around here. Even some of the acequias (old irrigation ditches) in town are running.

I took advantage of the beautiful weather a few days ago and went on a delightful hike with some friends. We followed another "river" and came to a very impressive (for New Mexico) waterfall. It was probably 12-14 feet high and was running with some force. You could, with a little climbing, get down to some boulders behind the fall and watch the water as it came down. It was late afternoon by the time we got there, so the light was perfect, full on the water but not blinding. The water, needless to say, was freezing but bearable in small doses since the day was warm. One of the interesting points on the hike was passing through a small clearing. On one side of the trail was the water with water vegetation and a large area of rose bushes. On the other side of the trail was a field of prickly pear and scrubby desert vegetation. Ample opportunity for metaphor and symbolism there, any takers?

2004-04-14T18:22:00.000-07:00

Christ is Risen, and you, o death, are annihilated!
Christ is Risen, and the evil ones are cast down!
Christ is Risen, and the angels rejoice!
Christ is Risen, and life is liberated!
Christ is Risen, and the tomb is emptied of its dead;
for Christ having risen from the dead,
is become the first-fruits of those who have fallen asleep.

I absolutely love the Easter Homily of St. John Chrysostom. It captures so well the joy and graciousness of Easter, Pascha. I also love how the Orthodox Church knows how to feast as well as how to fast. After the 40 day fast of Lent is the 40 day feast of Pascha. Fasting is not even allowed for the first week after Pascha (Bright Week). We feasted very well on Pascha. Our service ended at about 2 a.m. or so Sunday morning and we remained feasting until about 4 a.m. or so. There were copious amount of cheese of all kinds, ham, sausage, beef, and numerous desserts. I heard there was a salad of some sort but I didn't notice any. I finally got to sleep about 5 a.m. You know you've stayed up too late when noon seems much to early to have to be anywhere!

The next day was spent going from one feast to another. Started at noon with a wonderful meal with some friends, then went to church for one of the sweetest services of the year, Agape Vespers, then over to visit another church in town who was celebrating after their vespers service with even more meat, cheese and chocolate. Finished up the evening happily discovering Nelson's Blood, a drink concoction of champagne and port which Odious has so kindly found a name for.

And, as St. John goes on to say, the feast is for everyone, not just those who fasted and somehow "deserve" to feast:

Let us all enter into the joy of the Lord!
First and last alike receive your reward;
rich and poor, rejoice together!
Sober and slothful, celebrate the day!

You that have kept the fast, and you that have not,
rejoice today for the Table is richly laden!
Feast royally on it, the calf is a fatted one.
Let no one go away hungry. Partake, all, of the cup of faith.
Enjoy all the riches of His goodness!

So keep the Feast!! The joy of Pascha is so great that it takes at least 40 days to even begin to take it in, so don't be surprised if I keep writing about it for awhile.

2004-04-13T08:34:00.000-07:00

Now all things are filled with light; heaven and earth and th nethermost parts of the earth; let all creation, therefore, celebrate the arising of Christ, whereby it is strengthened.

We celebrate the death of death, the destruction of Hades, and the beginning of another life eternal and leaping for joy we hymn the Cause, the only blessed and most glorious God of our fathers.

-- Canon of Pascha

2004-04-11T22:55:00.000-07:00

CHRIST IS RISEN!

Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death,
And upon those in the tombs, bestowing life!

2004-04-10T06:49:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday we heard Hell cry in alarm as Christ called Lazarus back from its grasp. This Saturday, only a week later, we hear Hell groan again, but this time in its death agony:

Today hell cries out, groaning:
I should not have accepted the man born of Mary.
He came and destroyed my power.
He shattered the gates of brass.
As God, He raised the souls that I had held captive.
Glory to Thy cross and resurrection ,O Lord.

Today hell cries out, groaning:
My dominion has been shattered.
I received a dead man as one of the dead,
But against Him I could not prevail.
From eternity I had ruled all the dead,
But behold, He raises all.
Because of Him do I perish.
Glory to Thy cross and resurrection, O Lord.

Today hell cries out, groaning:
My power has been trampled upon.
The Shepherd is crucified and Adam is raised.
I have been deprived of those whom I ruled.
Those whom I swallowed in my strength I have given up.
He who was crucified has emptied the tombs.
The power of death has been vanquished.
Glory to thy cross and resurrection, O Lord.

Holy Saturday, for the Orthodox Church is extremely joyful; you can hear the rumblings from under the earth as Christ frees the souls of all the righteous, from Adam and Eve to Job to John the Baptist. The battle is over, and it's only a matter of time before He bursts from tomb in glory.

2004-04-09T20:16:00.000-07:00

There are so many awesome hymns from Holy Friday it's difficult to choose only a few but this one, from one of the later services, is beautiful:

When the pious Joseph saw that the sun had hidden its rays, and the veil of the temple had been rent at the death of the Savior, he did approach Pilate and did plead with him, crying and saying:

Give me this stranger who from his youth has wandered like a stranger. Give me this stranger whom his kinsmen killed in hatred like a stranger. Give me this stranger at whom I wonder beholding him as a guest of death. Give me this stranger who knoweth how to take in the poor and stranger. Give me this stranger whom the Jews in envy estranged from the world. Give me this stranger that I may bury him in a tomb, who being a stranger hath no place whereon to lay his head. Give me this stranger to whom his mother, beholding him dead, shouted, crying, ÂO my son and my God! Even though my vitals have been wounded and my heart burns as I behold Thee dead, yet trusting in Thy resurrection, I magnify Thee.Â

In these words the honorable Joseph pleaded with Pilate, took the SaviorÂs body, and with fear, wrapped it in linen and balm, placing Thee in a tomb, O Thou who grantest to all everlasting life and the great mercy.

And then here is a dialogue sung between Christ and His mother modeled after the Magnificat (My soul magnifies the Lord, etc.):

Mourn not for me, Mother, as thou beholdest me in the grave; for I thy Son, whom thou didst conceive in thy womb without seed, shall rise and shall be glorified. And being God, will ceaselessly exalt aennobleble those who in faith and longing magnify thee.

My eternal Son, I escaped sufferings at thy strange birth and was supernaturally blessed. And now, beholding Thee, O my Son, dead and breathless, I am pierced with a spear of bitter sorrow. But arise Thou, that I may be magnified by Thee.

The earth, O my Mother, hath hidden me by mine own will. And the gate-keepers of Hades trembled at beholding me clothed with a robe spattered with revenge; for I being God, have vanquished mine enemies with the Cross, and I will rise again and magnify thee.

Let all creation rejoice, and all the earthly be glad; for Hades and the enemy have been spoiled. Let the women meet me with myrrh; for I redeem Adam along with Eve and all their descendants, and will rise on the third day.

Mourn not for me, Mother, as thou beholdest me in the grave; for I thy Son, whom thou didst conceive in thy womb without seed, shall rise and shall be glorifies. And being God, I will ceaselessly exalt and ennoble those, who in faith and longing magnify thee.

Already, on the evening of Good Friday, you can hear the first rumblings of Hell, and begin to smell the fragrancence of the Resurrection.

2004-04-09T07:58:00.000-07:00

Today He who hung the earth upon the waters is hung on the tree.
The King of the angels is decked with a crown of thorns.
He who wraps the heavens in clouds is wrapped in the purple of mockery.
He who freed Adam in the Jordan is slapped on the face.
The Bridegroom of the Church is affixed to the cross with nails.
The Son of the Virgin is pierced by a spear.
We worship Thy passion, O Christ.
We worship Thy passion, O Christ.
We worship Thy passion, O Christ.
Show us also Thy glorious Resurrection.

We see a strange and fearful mystery accomplished today.
He whom none may touch is siezed.
He who looses Adam from the curse is bound.
He who tries the hearts of men is unjustly brought to trial.
He who closed the abyss is shut in prison.
He before whom the hosts of heaven stand with trambling stands before Pilate.
The Creator is struck by the hand of his creature.
He who comes to judge the living and the dead is condemned to the cross.
The conqueror of hell is enclosed in a tomb.
O Thou, who hast endured all things in Thy tender love,
Thou hast saved all men from the curse.
O long-suffering Lord, Glory to Thee!

-- Hymns from Matins of Good Friday

2004-04-08T17:07:00.000-07:00

Today (Thursday) we remember the Last Supper, the washing of the feet and the betrayal of Judas. The latter gets the most attention in the hymns, I think. I'm not sure why, maybe because it's the most dramatic, the most unbelievable, and it leads into Good Friday, which we begin commemorating tonight.

When Thou wast feeding Thy disciples at the supper,
Thou didst know Judas’ intention to betray Thee;
And Thou didst accuse him of this,
Though recognizing him to be beyond correction,
For Thou didst desire all to know that Thou wast willingly betrayed,
To snatch the world from the grasp of the enemy.
O long-suffering Lord, glory to Thee.

When Thou camest to Thy voluntary passion, O Lord,
Thou didst cry to Thy disciples:
If you lack the strength to keep watch with Me for a single hour,
why did you promise to die for Me?
See how Judas sleepeth not but hastened to betray Me to the transgressors.
Arise and pray, lest anyone deny Me when he sees Me on the cross.
O long-suffering One, glory to Thee!

What caused thee to betray the Savior, O Judas?
Did He expel thee from the ranks of the Apostles?
Did He take from thee the gift of healing?
Did He send thee from the table while taking supper with the others?
Did He wash their feet and pass thee by?
How hast thou forgotten such good things?
Thine ingratitude is notorious,
But His long-suffering and great mercy are proclaimed to all.

2004-04-08T14:42:00.000-07:00

Oh great, the Mormans are showing up on the advertising for my blog!

2004-04-08T14:30:00.000-07:00

I have good news! I got a "real" job waiting tables at a legitimate, established, Santa Fe restaurant where some good friends of mine work. I'd applied there before but they just fired a server and my friends recommended me to the managers, I went in, talked to them and I start training next week! Now why am I so excited to start yet another job? Because this means I can quit working for Stalker Chef out at the weirdest restaurant ever. Unfortunately, this means I won't have anymore crazy stories from there, but at least I get to keep my sanity (whatever I still have of it at least). I haven't posted too many stories about Stalker Chef & Co., but I will try to do so soon. Every time I'd come home from work and tell my roommates about the night they would either not believe me, or be in hysterics on the floor (literally, in some cases) and would always tell me, "You've got to write this down." It has certainly been a learning experience.

I'm not at my own computer right now so I can't put up the Holy Week post. Maybe this evening. Today is when things really start getting intense. There was a 2 1/2 our service last night, a 2 1/2 hour service this morning and at least a three hour service tonight. It's so awesome though. There's no way I'd be going if it wasn't.

2004-04-07T10:42:00.000-07:00

On a different, but related note, I did my Easter shopping today. For those of you who don't already know, the Orthodox Lent is more or less a 40 day vegan fast. That's no meat, butter, eggs, cheese, etc. So walking through the cheese aisle and finally being able to get something again is always very exciting. I usually walk through the store with a dopey grin on my face, very happy with the world. Funds are a bit tight this year, but I got some brie and some German cheese that looked very interesting (sturdy peasant cheese is how it was described, hmmm. . .), along with milk & butter. Only a few more days . . .

2004-04-07T10:38:00.000-07:00

Today (Wednesday) we remember the woman with the alabaster jar who annointed Jesus as he sat at the table of Simon the leper. Her great love and generosity is contrasted with the treachery of Judas who, seeing what he perceived to be an extravagent waste of money by the woman, went to the Pharisees and "from then on, sought an opportunity to betray Him." The hymns for today are quite striking:

The harlot came to Thee, O Lover of mankind,
pouring myrrh and tears on Thy feet.
At Thy command she was delivered from the stench of her eveil deeds,
but Thy graceless disciple, though breathing Thy grace,
rejected it and wallowed in filth,
selling Thee in his love of money.
Glory, O Christ, to Thy compassion!

A harlot recognized Thee as God, O Son of the virgin.
With tears equal to her past deeds, she besought Thee weeping:
Loose my debt as I have loosed my hair.
Love the woman who, though justly hated, loves Thee.
Then with the Publicans will I proclaim Thee,
O Benefactor who lovest mankind.

Oh the wretchedness of Judas!
He saw the harlot kiss the footsteps of Christ,
but deceitfully he contemplated the kiss of betrayal.
She loosed her hair while he bound himself with wrath.
He offered the stench of wickedness instead of myrrh,
for envy cannot distinguish value.

The harlot spread out her hair to Thee, O Master;
Judas spread out his hands to lawless men:
She in order to receive forgiveness;
He in order to receive some silver.
We cry to Thee, who wast sold for us and yet didst set us free:
O Lord, glory to Thee!

I know this is getting long, but I can’t help adding the beautiful hymn of St. Cassiana, commemorating the woman:

The woman had fallen into many sins, O Lord,
Yet when she perceived Thy divinity,
She joined the ranks of the myrrh-bearing women.
In tears she brought Thee myrrh before Thy burial.

She cried: Woe is me!
For I live in the night of licentiousness,
Shrouded in the dark and moonless love of sin.
But accept the fountain of my tears,
O Thou who didst gather the waters of the sea into clouds.
Bow down Thine ear to the sighing of my heart,
O Thou who didst bow the heavens in Thine ineffable condescension.

Once Eve heard thy footsteps in paradise in the cool of the day,
And in fear she ran and hid herself.
But now I will tenderly embrace those pure feet
And wipe them with the hair of my head.
Who can measure the multitude of my sins,
Or the depth of Thy judgments, O Savious of my soul?
Do not despise thy servant in Thine immeasurable mercy.

2004-04-05T21:19:00.000-07:00

I was beginning to get concerned about my roommate, who left a few hours ago to get toilet paper and cleaning sponges from the store. But she has happily returned, having been ensnared by what she calls, "A perverse fascination with Wal Mart." I didn't ask any more questions. But it's probably for the best, since she was so bored that she wanted to experiment with my face and makeup.

2004-04-05T21:13:00.000-07:00

Continuing with Holy Week, one of the unusual things about it is that the services are backward; the morning services are done at night and the night services are done in the morning. There are a few reasons for this but I think it's mainly to set this week apart from every other week, and also to signify that the events that take place are, in a sense, outside normal chronological time. So for the first three evenings of Holy Week, starting with last night, we do what's called Bridegroom Matins, a morning service done at night, remembering the parable of the 10 virgins. It's kind of a warm up for the rest of the week, encouraging the listeners to be vigilant, and be strong for the last week of the Fast. The distinguishing hymn of the service is:

Behold, the Bridegroom cometh at midnight,
And blessed is the servant whom He shall find watching,
And again, unworthy is the servant whom He shall find heedless.
Beware, therefore, oh my soul, do not be weighed down with sleep,
Lest thou be given up to death, and lest thou be shut out of the kingdom.
But rouse thyself crying: Holy, holy, holy art thou, oh our God.

I realize as I write this that the words of the song by themselves fall far short of conveying it's beauty, especially when sung in context. I can't read the words without hearing the distinctive Russian melody, and remembering the experience of standing in a candle-lit church with the daylight fading and the sense of anticipation, wonder, awe and a touch of fear. When you hear this hymn, you know that it's finally Holy Week.

And here are some hymns for today (Monday, hopefully other posts will be more timely as the week goes on). The translations are a bit odd and inconsistent in places, but not unreadably so.

Verily, on this present day shall be revealed to the world the solemn Passion as a saving light; for Christ of his own goodness shall come to suffer. And he who holdeth all in the hollow of his hand consented to be suspended on a Tree to save man.

O thou unseen Judge, how wast thou seen in the flesh, and how camest thou to be killed in the body by transgressors of the law, judging our case by thy Passion? Wherefore, we address to thee praise and magnification, O Word, and in unison we offer glory to thy power.

Verily, this present day usereth in with splendour the Passion of the Lord. Come, therefore, O feast lovers, let us welcome it with songs; for the Creator cometh to accept crucifixion, examination, lashes, and to be condemned by Pilate, smitten on the face by a servant, and to bear all things to save man. Wherefore, we cry unto him: O Christ God, Lover of mankind, grant forgiveness of sins to them who in faith worship thy pure Passion.

2004-04-05T20:45:00.000-07:00

I really, really, really hate daylight savings. Why in the world do we do it? Do any other countries share this masochistic tendency? I was just getting used to being able to get up before 7 with a minimum amount of pain. But no longer. It seems that the time change has produced an anomaly in space/time, resulting in a greatly increased gravitational field around my bed, especially in the mornings. It didn't help that I forgot about the time change until Saturday night, when I was thinking, "Well, it's late, but getting up in the morning won't be too bad."

2004-04-03T21:48:00.000-08:00

So today (the few hours left of it) is Lazarus Satruday. In the Orthodox (Christian) Church, the Saturday before Palm Sunday we remember Christ’s raising Lazarus, who had been dead four days, as recounted in John‘s gospel. I hadn’t realized it, but the four days is essential to the story. According to Jewish tradition at the time, the soul remained near the body for the first three days after death. Elijah, Elisha, and Christ Himself raised people from the dead during these first three days. But on the fourth day the soul departed and went to Hades, Gehenna, the place of the dead from which no one had ever returned.

In the gospel account, Mary, Lazarus’ sister comes to Jesus and says, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” She believes that He could have healed Lazarus but now that he is dead he is beyond even Jesus’ power. Death is the end, the final word, the final defeat. By calling Lazarus out of the tomb, Christ does something completely new and changes everyone’s basic conceptions of life and death.

Here is an excerpt from some of the hymns sung for today:

When Lazarus, four days dead, heard Thy voice below, O Savior, he rose up and sang Thy praises, crying joyfully: “Thous art my God and Maker; I glorify and worship Thee, for Thou hast raised me up.”

“Though I lie in bonds, O Savior,” Lazarus cried from below to Thee his Deliverer, “Yet shall I not remain for ever in the depths of hell, if Thou wilt only call to me, ‘Lazarus, come out,’ for Thou art my Light and my Life.”

“I implore thee, Lazarus,” said Hell, “rise up, depart quickly from my bonds and be gone. It is better for me to lament bitterly for the loss of one, rather than of all those whom I swallowed in my hunger.”

“Why dost thou delay, Lazarus?” cried Hell. “Thy friend stands calling to thee, ‘Come out.’ Go then, and I too shall feel relief. For since I swallowed thee, all other food is loathsome to me.”

“O Lazarus, why dost thou not rise up swiftly?” cried Hell below, lamenting. “Why dost thou not run straightway from this place? Lest Christ take prisoner the others, after raising thee.”

Let Bethany sing with us in praise of the miracle, for there the Creator wept for Lazarus in accordance with the law of nature and the flesh. Then, making Martha’s tears to cease and changing Mary’s grief to joy, Christ raised him from the dead.

This upcoming week of Holy Week is an intense, all-consuming, extremely beautiful week in the Orthodox Church. I’ll try to post some of the highlights from the services, with possibly a few comments, if I’m up to it. I think you'll enjoy it, even if you’re not particularly interested in Chrisitanity or Orthodoxy.

2004-04-02T15:23:00.000-08:00

A lovely cool rainy day in Santa Fe. There's nothing like the smell of the desert (inasmuch as Santa Fe is a desert) after a good rain. Any adjectives I'd use to describe it, like "clean" or "invigorating" sound, unfortunately, like something off the back of a soap box and completely miss the reality. You just have to experience it for yourself. Oh well, off to work I go . . .

2004-03-30T12:13:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking about poetry lately. Some friends and I have started a very informal writing group, which has inspired me to start writing again, and much to my surprise, I've found myself writing poetry. I say "much to my surprise" because poetry is not something I've understood or appreciated over the years. But actually trying to do something of my own has given me much more respect for those who do it well.

Part of the reason I have not understood poetry is that I have never been sure how to approach it. You can't approach it the same way you approach a novel, or an essay, or any other kind of writing. You need a certain leisure to read poetry. You can't skim it, hastily looking for the main ideas or skipping over the dull bits to get to the good stuff. Poetry must be savored and enjoyed. You have to stop thinking of what you have to do next, or what you should be doing now, or what you've left undone during the day. You have to set all that aside to really appreciate anything, whether it be poetry, good food & wine, conversation, anything. But many things do yield some pleasure even if they're only slightly and hurriedly attended to. I can talk to friends on the phone while doing other things, but I know I enjoy it more and get more out of the conversation if I just sit down and put everything else away. A great meal will taste good even if it's eaten in five minutes, but how much better would it be if one really enjoyed it. Poetry, however, (at least, I've found) will not give up anything to a hurried, careless reader. She is quite demanding and will not speak unless she knows she has your undivided attention. And not just your attention, for that can be rushed and hurried too. She won't speak unless she has you, all of you, freely and truly wanting to spend time with her, for her own sake.

Language, emotion and discipline all meet in poetry, and one must have an understanding and a love of all those things to really approach it. It's that intersection of those very different things that makes poetry both hard to approach and hard to write but all the more amazing when it's done well. In my small attempts, I've found the editing of poetry to be quite difficult. It's hard to change one thing, a word or a line, without changing the feel and tone of the poem. It's like, as a friend pointed out, one of those picture-puzzles, where you have to slide tiles around to make a picture. Pictures have alot to do with poetry; the poet sees something in a certain way and then translates that vision into words, not a flat description, but through the careful selection of words, using their sound and rhythm, tries to make the reader see what they saw.

I'll end this hopefully-coherent post with some gems I've stumbled on lately. The first it by Yeats, and it's short enough to quote here:

When You Are Old
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crown of stars.

The other is much too long to quote in its entirety here, and this link where you can find it comes courtesy of Peculiar. It's the Anglo-Saxon saga The Seafarer. It's long, but well worth it.

Not for him is the sound of the harp
nor the giving of rings
nor pleasure in woman
nor worldly glory --
nor anything at all
unless the tossing of waves;
but he always has a longing,
he who strives on the waves . . .

And now my spirit twists
out of my breast,
my spirit
out in the waterways,
over the whale's path
it soars widely
through all the corners of the world --
to me it comes back to me
eager and unsated;
the lone-flier screams,
urges onto the whale-road
the unresisting heart
across the waves of the sea.

2004-03-28T14:42:00.000-08:00

So for those of you who didn't believe me about red bluebonnets, here they are. Apparently, an Aggie bred them as part of a project to grow the Texas state flag out of the Texas state flower. Only problem is that bluebonnets are naturally, you guessed it, blue. Well, that's no obstacle for the dedicated Aggie, so now we have red, white, and pink bluebonnets in addition to blue. And, since maroon is a shade of red (and also since an Aggie is doing the study) we now have, you guessed it, maroon bluebonnets as well. I'm guessing that, since orange is only a few steps away from red, it will only be a matter of time before we have orange bluebonnets, which I can just see covering downtown Austin in the spring. Seriously, these horticulturists have managed to obtain colors never before seen in nature. That's pretty impressive, even for an Aggie. Congratulations, guys.

All this brings up to an interesting dilemma: to the native, loyal Texan, it would seem that the idea of creating un-blue bluebonnets would be horrifying, bordering on blasphemous. But if such a thing is done for such a noble purpose as to produce a living Texas flag, is such a desecration excusable, perhaps even laudable? But I'll leave that to other, more Texan, minds to work out for themselves.

2004-03-27T08:32:00.000-08:00

So, for the records, Austin is a pretty great city. No, I didn't go for SXSW (South by Southwest, a HUGE annual music festival). I was there checking out some possible future options. I was totally seduced by the place. Not only the oxygen, water and colors, but also the energy of the place. It's a very young city (obviously with the university there) and there's always something to do, if you want to do anything. I'm not myself too much into the "nightlife" scene but it's nice to be able to go get something to eat, or go somewhere to study or read in the middle of the night if you want. Here in Santa Fe, your options after 10 or so are severely limited (think Denny's and bars). And it was great walking around downtown with the smells of fresh cut grass and barbecue hanging in the air.

2004-03-24T07:44:00.000-08:00

Made the long trek from Northen New Mexico to the lush hills and plains of central Texas. It was a relatively uneventful drive, especially considering most of it was through the back roads of Texas in the middle of the night. The problem with back country roads at night is, of course, the wildlife, so I had to keep pretty alert to look for deer. Fortunately deer (at least the ones I saw) had the sense to realize that the best way to avoid getting hit is to run away from the road, and not across it like rabbits or squirrels. I think I saw a pretty large snake slither off the road, and I startled a fawn that was resting right next to the road, I think I saw an opossum and a cat, but that was about it.

Spent the first day in TX high off the extra oxygen, the water and humidity and the green of spring in full bloom. Although it's still too early for bluebonnet season, a few early bloomers are out, much to my delight. You can tell I've lived in the desert too long when my first instinctual thought on seeing so much green grass is something like, "How do they water it all?"

2004-03-20T00:19:00.000-08:00

So here's a really cool word: pelf - wealth or riches, from the old French pelfre meaning booty.

2004-03-19T22:45:00.000-08:00

So I work at a very strange restaurant/inn in Northern New Mexico. Every night I come home and tell my roommates stories about the surrealities of the evening. More on that later. So tonight I thought that everything would be more or less normal, we only had one table, a mother and two daughters from Miami. After two bottles of wine and a wonderful meal they were quite pleased with everything. As they were finishing up with dessert they invited the chef and I to join them. I missed the segue, but the next thing I know the mother is reading Stalker Chef's (more on that later) palm. Turns out she's clairvoyant, and have been "seeing things" since she was six or so. I was expecting something simple, like "You have a great life line," but no, this was on a completely different level. She told this guy some really personal stuff, and then proceeded to try to "open up" something in his head. It was all through a translator, going a mile a minute, so I think some stuff got lost in translation. Still, I decided I really needed to reset the dining room when she started stroking his hand, saying that he should feel warmth, and should smell smoke on his hand . . . yeah, I'm not making this up, folks.

2004-03-13T14:41:00.000-08:00

The Pumpkin King Returns!!