cats

I just figured out that there are three cats living in my basement stairway. As I noisily took out this morning’s recycling two of them ran out of the stairwell and took off over the chain link fence. Down two or three yards they ran. As I looked over the stairwell, I didn’t imagine I’d see anything since I’d obviously just frightened the residents, but one cat remained, legs tucked under against the cold. This shouldn’t surprise me since I’ve seen cats in my back yard several times, these same cats I’m pretty sure. And I’ve heard cat fights nearby. But I am saddened to think of these cute cats living outside in this terrible cold. We’ve been having pretty bad weather so far – it’s been cold and we did have that enormous 22-inch snowstorm. That couldn’t have been comfortable for them. I am inclined to put out food for them, but I know what that would mean so I’m hesitating. One is a Siamese, one tabby-stripped, and one mostly black with some white. They clearly live here, I’ve seen them in the back yard. What to do, what to do. I feel the generous spirit of the new year. But I fear I will soon be caring for a gaggle of cats. Hmmmm.

SQ 6

Noel
Born is the king of Israel
Really? The king of Israel? This seems an attempt at deep co-opting of one religion by another. Clearly – clearly – by the time this carol was written it was clear that this guy Jesus was not the king of Israel. Not even close. In fact, he was sort of the opposite of the king of Israel – Israel being the land of the Jews. Israel had long since been separated from the religion that Jesus followers founded. Yes, it’s true that Christians had been wandering all around this portion of the globe for many years, doing all manner of distasteful things. But to make this guy king of a land and religious people that do not share the path his followers have taken seems akin to the Mormons converting the dead. They do, you know.

SQ5

I’ll be home for Christmas

Presents on the tree

On the tree? This line has always confused me. My limited experience with xmas gift giving has been with presents under the tree. I’m not even sure how one would put presents on the tree. Attach them to branches with alligator clips? Hang them with those easily bendable ornament hooks? Toss them lightly over branches as we do with tinsel? (This last one would work only with fabric gifts, unwrapped at that.) I could swear that sometimes I hear people render this line as “presents ‘neath the tree,” or “presents ‘round the tree,” but I’m not sure I’m recalling that properly. It could be simply my yearning for reason. I really have no answer for the question of what this line means. If anyone might be reading this blog and has a thought, please feel free to share it.

SQ 4

Deck the Halls
Don we now our gay apparel
Well I don’t think it’s so odd, but many of my gay friends are completely enamored of this line. I suppose the image of getting into all that holiday attire – velveteen pants, wide suspenders with enormous buttons, floppy ties, tailcoats and top hats – can seem intriguingly ridiculous. It certainly does make a man look a dandy. And those women, in their long petticoated dresses, bonnets tied on securely. Now what am I thinking of? It’s those Norman Rockwell-ish illustrations that always accompany this song. So I suppose our gay apparel could be a different conception now. Chaps without jeans, leather military hats, mirror aviator glasses for the men. Heavy flannel shirts, wide belts, ill-fitting jeans and motorcycle boots for the women. But why must it be stereotypically thus? What qualifies as gay apparel? What century’s definition of gay are we applying here? It could be merry apparel, brightly colored apparel, homosexual apparel (but only men, because women long ago claimed a separate label: lesbian. I’ve always thought saying gays and lesbians was like saying people and women…but no one consulted me). And what, exactly, is homosexual apparel, anyway? Any apparel a homosexual is wearing? A specific sort of apparel? Is there a gay uniform? Maybe it’s the “donning” that seems so strange.

SQ 3

O Holy Night
The soul felt its worth

Exactly what is a soul worth? And which soul is this that they’re talking about here. This Jesus guy has to appear first and then “the soul felt its worth.” So you don’t feel your soul or its worth until the savior comes? How does this work? Is it the soul of the entire world? I thought inanimate objects didn’t have souls. It seems peculiar to imply that no souls felt worthy until this guy comes since people had been populating the planet for quite some time before he arrived. So we walked around feeling worthless? Why engage in anything then? Like inventing an alphabet, or figuring out how to farm, or looking after your children…or your dead? Seems like we’d been doing soul enhancing activities for some time already. Or had we…?

seasonal queries

Onward, Christian Soldiers

Onward, Christian soldiers, marching as to war

Well if ever there was a line to make the rest of us non-christians fear – this be it. Here it is buried in song, the real purpose and objective of the Jesus-worshippers. It’s a war: a war to move the rest of us to belief. They’ll hope for a revelatory moment – Paul (nee Saul) on the road to Damascus – but they’ll make battle if necessary. This ain’t no idle threat, neither. Think of the hundreds of years of crusades we’ve endured while Christians saw it as their mission to bring and defend the cross. Missionaries traveling into the deepest, most remote, parts of civilization to bring the “good news” to savages who hadn’t heard yet, converting people at any price. Yes, indeed, it’s a war. And a war is as good a bit of material for a holiday song as anything. It’s the tiny fish bone buried in the joyousness of the season, it’s the buried treasure of Christianity, it’s the id of Christmas. “Wahooo, we get to fight.”

seasonal queries

I'm back! The blog continues...

Every holiday song seems to contain a song of questionable seasonal-ness. Herewith a sampling to take us up to the dreaded day:

Winter Wonderland

To face, unafraid, the plans that we’ve made

At first it seems ridiculous to come across such a line in a song of holiday cheer. Why would we be talking about plans of such immensity that they might frighten us here in this song about how lovely it is to be walking in the snow. Might we be, on our wintery perambulations, contemplating the buildup in Afghanistan? Why, when bundled cozily for a winter stroll with a partner, would we be thinking about the quarterly taxes due on the business we’ve just launched? The line seems decidedly out of place.

The carol sings about having a snowman perform your nuptials. Are these the plans to which it refers? Plans to have Frosty “do the job when he’s in town”? Maybe we’re worried that these plans might cause consternation among the guests, render our marriage illegal, or simply make us look fools. It could be the boldest step anyone’s ever taken with a marriage, the wedding planner was at first shocked but came around as we discussed the possibilities for snow globe guest favors.

On further contemplation we might see it is a serious line dropped without warning into a frivolous song. A poignant reflection of our understanding that no matter how lightly we approach the lifelong commitment marriage is meant to be, it can still unearth feelings of discomfort and unease. Lightheartedness is trumped by wedding anxiety.

new office III

We moved our office into our new digs last month (two blog entries about it back in December). The more I’m in the office the more I like the facility. It’s a really nice building and the students have great places to hang out. My office is still the size of a small fish pond, and I still feel cramped. But I’m getting used to it. This is it so I want to like it. I can’t decide whether to remove most of the furniture and feel a little more open, or keep all my stuff (I have a lot of stuff) and feel surrounded by all my fun. Although the furniture is cubicle furniture, it should have those little ¾ walls around it, it’s still fun to have all that surface area – you could play football on the desk system. But there’s something very cozy about the room and I like that it’s simple to find my colleagues.

The first week of class was a bit rocky. I’ve had to shift my entire approach to undergrad classes. I wound up having to fire and adjunct and take on his class. My teaching partner is having trouble showing up. Things feel pretty stressed in oh so many ways. I wish I were an archivist so I could just sit alone all day looking things up.

inauguration II

Random thoughts on yesterday's big event:
I loved that Justice Roberts made the last part of the oath a question: “So help you god?” Barack answering firmly “So help me god!”

I have never been in a crowd that immense. There were times, not moments, but chunks of time, when we were literally jammed together, no movement possible. Poor six-month-pregnant Rachel at one point thought she’d faint. “Pregnant lady coming through” helped a lot at that moment.

We barely made it to the mall, climbing over a fence and skipping any legal, security-staffed entry, before the official ceremony began. We couldn’t hear well, but well enough. Eventually we got to a place where we could see the side of a jumbotron, but all I needed to do was be there and hear it. I’ve already watched it several times on TV since returning home. I weep every time.

I loved the speech. I loved the direct and nuanced attacks on the prior administration (maybe I can not mention that jackass’s name). “We will restore science to it’s rightful place…” oh yes. Yes. Yes!

The coda to the day occurred on my drive home from the train station. I was behind a car that had driven here from far away (I can’t remember the state). The license plate read “obama12.”

inauguration

Although it was incredible to be on the mall today with two million others to witness history. Although it was amazing to hear Barack Obama deliver his inspiring inaugural address. Although it was fantastic to see the full of Washington DC transformed into a hard-to-access event arena. My favorite moment of the day was watching Marine One, the helicopter carrying former president Bush, fly down the mall away from the capital. My thoughts? Good fucking riddance to the war criminal, hope you are arrested upon landing.

rejoice!

Rejoice!! Tomorrow we will have a real president. After eight years of the guy who stole an election, we will finally have a president who won a majority of the votes. After eight years of a guy who pronounced it "nuke-u-lur" we will have a president who can pronounce multi-syllabic words, knows their meaning, and can use them with ease in syntactically varied sentences. After eight years of a president who lied, committed war crimes, and ran an administration based on ideology and political favoritism we will have a president who will listen to dissenting voices and make thoughtful decisions based on genuine information. Rejoice. Tomorrow we make one more step in America's long road away from a thousand isms. Rejoice. Tomorrow I will believe the arc of the moral universe is long, but it does, indeed, bend toward justice. Rejoice!

I am ever struck by the profound essentialness of symbolism. Yesterday’s concert at the Lincoln Memorial welcoming the Obamas to Washington was, of course, rife with it. But even with a replay of Marian Anderson’s famous rendition of My Country ‘Tis of Thee from the selfsame steps after she’d been denied permission to sing at Constitution Hall, even remembering Martin Luther King’s powerful words delivered also in front of Lincoln’s statue, even with all the readings from former presidents and moving verbal reminders of how far we’ve come, even with all that the most powerful event of the afternoon – more powerful even than the handsome, young, black president-to-be speaking briefly against the backdrop of real marble columns – was an almost 90-year-old Pete Seeger singing not just the happy fellowship verses of Woody Guthrie’s famous song, This Land is Your Land, but all the verses. Even the verses that talked about Americans suffering during the depression, about promises not kept, about abuse of power – he sang those too.

The ban commercial television had held against Pete Seeger was long ago, but he’d rarely appeared since the fifties. He was one of only a few artists who never sold out and never gave in through so many eras of dissent. Time has finally made its circuit. Now he sings as the conscience of music. His voice is weaker now, but his grandson, Tao Rodríguez-Seeger, sounds remarkably like him. The three of them, both Seegers and Bruce Springstein, led the assembled masses, a large young person’s choir, the attending dignitaries, and even the president-elect in singing all the verses – the ones of promise and the ones that point out how far we have to go – of the great anthem. They told the full truth, both by standing there and by singing the complete song. For profoundly symbolic moments – this one wins my vote.

cool stuff

Counting today, only five more days until we have a real president. A president who actually won a majority of the votes. A president who can speak in full sentences, who wants to find the best way instead of the ideological way, and who treats people with respect. Yes, he’s a bit too conservative for me (I’ve said this about him since he declared) and yes, I’m nervous about heightened expectations. But oh my goodness, I never thought, in my lifetime, that I’d have the opportunity to vote for anyone but a white guy for president and I did and he won. Racism, sexism, other isms aren’t over – not by a long shot. But what a start this is.

That’s my countdown moment.

I am all psyched up to see this. A program that allows people to draw an object and then have that object behave with the properties that the object would have in the real world. It’s called Crayon Physics. Looks very cool.

Henryton II

I must complete the Henryton story before it goes from my head. We spent the day as usual exploring the buildings on the grounds. The large main building, white stucco with tropical turquoise trim, still had parking spots marked for visitors and we parked there. All the buildings had been heavily graffitied, remaining windows were rare, and there were often inches of dirt and debris on the floors. Most of the piping had long ago been stripped and that also left evidence of random vandalism.

The day was cold, very cold. But our new outfits kept us toasty. Late in the day a small group of six kids came walking across the great space behind the main building where the auditorium and kitchen had been until arson had destroyed it last year. It’s never clear when you run into other explorers whether you’re meeting friendlies or not, we’re never too comfortable until the conversation takes place. After all, we’re running around abandoned buildings, alone and with significant photographic equipment. Often we leave a photo bag stashed in a room somewhere for later retrieval – the stuff gets heavy. The six of them came tromping up the hill and just the number of them made us leary. But it turned out that one kid was like us – a curious explorer with a camera – and the others were his friends. A young photographer who knew what he was interested in; his self assurance drew his friends to him.

But these poor kids had not dressed for the weather, the one girl was wearing tights and a tiny mini-skirt, another of the boys was wearing skin tight jeans with holes in the knees. They were all dress inappropriately for the ten degrees they’d been marching around in. But I guess the folly of youth permitted them to see the day through. They complained. But they stayed the course. They’d already been to two other abandoned places and had turned up here just as the sun was sinking. We took a few photos of them, exchanged website info, and then we each went on our way.

We peeled off our coveralls, packed our stuff back in the car and took off up the long driveway. As we reached the road we couldn’t believe our eyes. The short iron gate across the driveway, open when we arrived, had been padlocked closed. There was no way out. Slightly panicked we drove back down the driveway to the complex and tried every windy road – but the all just led to small parking lots by the buildings. We drove down to the power plant by the railroad tracks. It seemed we could drive along the tracks on the large gravel bed, but there was no telling how long we’d have to drive to find a way out. As far as we could see in either direction, no exit.

We were locked inside the Henryton Psychiatric Hospital. That’s what my partner kept saying on the phone as she began calling people to come help us get out. “Bring big bolt cutters.” “Call a strong guy to come with you.” We knew we could get out. It was simple to just step around the gate. But the car. The poor car would have to stay at Henryton until we figured out who to call, and that would almost certainly be a couple of days. Not a pleasant prospect.

We sat just beyond the locked gate in the warm car (thanks to Zeus for enough gas) watching the traffic go by on the main road. We felt wistfully close to freedom. If only we could just lift the car over the gate. There was no driving around the side – the cold and rain had made a wet mess, and we weren’t even sure the space between the gate and steep hillside was wide enough. As we waited, and my partner made phone calls, a pick up truck stopped on the main road. It backed up, just out of our view and the driver sat for a while. At first we thought he was going to rescue us, but he spent so much time doing other things we assumed he had just stopped for his own reasons. I could see his orange hunter’s hat as he walked around his truck and got back in. Then he sat some more. Finally he started the truck back up and drove the twenty feet to the driveway we sat in. He started to drive by, but then turned in slowly and drove fifteen feet down the driveway to the other side of the gate and stopped. His headlights shone directly into our eyes. I got out of our car, as my partner was still on the phone trying to find us a way out.

“Are you stuck in here?” “Yeah, we were taking pictures all day and it was locked when we tried to leave.” “Can you help us get out?” Just as he was saying yes and I was jumping with mental excitement, my partner showed up at my side. And our rescuer knew her. She had spoken to a class about the photography she was doing. He had been a student in the class. She was famous. We were rescued. He dialed his cell phone and said “Hey old man, what’s the combination for Henryton?” And he undid the heavy, very modern, combo lock that was holding the gates closed. I’d never been so grateful to see a hunter in my life. Obviously he was a local guy who knew just who to call to get anything done. Phew! And Thanks!

It was an adventure we didn’t particularly like having. But underscored how careful we’d have to be on our upcoming trip to New York State. Up there, no one would know us and there’d be no one near by to come rescue us. No taking any chances that could wind us trapped somewhere. Right, no take no risks – that’s definitely not us.

commencement

Yesterday as I was sitting at commencement for the umpteenth time I thought back to my own college graduation in the bicentennial year of 1976. Our ceremony was held for the first time in Washington Square Park, where it’s been held ever since. I had been thinking of teaching high school upon my release from the educational system, but New York City was on the verge of bankruptcy. The front page headline in the October 30, 1975, NY Daily News read “Ford to City: Drop Dead.” Schools were scaled back to four major areas: English, math, history, science. Experienced teachers lost their jobs and no new teachers were in the mix. The country wasn’t in much better shape, but at least the president wasn’t explicitly denying them bail out funds.

New York University is the largest private university in the country and gives about eight thousand degrees each year. (The school I teach at now doesn’t even have eight thousand students. Nowhere close.) Those eight thousand students and their teachers had to file into the park at the beginning of the ceremony and then file out again at the end. In order to cut down confusion of regular folk getting in the way of people trying to return their academic garb there was a small sentence at the end of the program reading “please remain seated until the recession is over.” Now that would have been a long sit. And today…an even longer sit, I’m sure.