I’m in my hotel in London, sated by a perfect chicken dinner from Nando’s, followed by a nice g&t from a pub down the block. It’s so good to be home!
Colin Firth’s face was almost the first thing I saw at the airport, in an ad for his new movie–he’s welcome to greet me any time. Then Alexander and I made our way slowly here (seventeen hours door to door, Davis to London). Although British train and tube stations need to have lifts and escalators instead of just making me lug suitcases up stairs, things went smoothly.
We checked in and headed straight over to the British Museum so we could see our good friends in the Egyptian Hall, the Parthenon Gallery (Alex likes the fighting centaur pieces), and the enlightenment library room. We didn’t have time to see the new special exhibit on The Book of the Dead, but we’ll be hitting it soon.
Liam and Courtney met us for dinner and then bought us drinks. We shall see them again tomorrow when Courtney talks about World War Z at the conference.
Everything is familiar, except that I’ve never seen London all dressed up for Christmas before (except for in movies). I was exceptionally worried about it being really cold. It’s cold, but not so cold that I’m severely uncomfortable yet. I hope I don’t have to take that back before the week is out. However, if the weather does turn nasty, I at least have the shoes my boyfriend bought for me just a few hours ago. Because, yes, I had absolutely no appropriate shoes for rain/snow, nor the time to get any. (Nor the will–I hate shoes and shoe shopping.) Luckily, although my boyfriend hates shoe shopping as well, he loves me enough to make sure my feet are protected.

Sorry for the short, disjointed blog–when I started traveling, it was yesterday and I’m knackered. I’m going to work on my Shaun of the Dead paper a bit and fall asleep.

A woman interviewed on NPR today explained that if she were flying, she wouldn’t want to walk through the body scan machine because she’s over forty and “there are places no one should see.” She then explained that she’d opt for a pat down.

Um.

I’m not sure how people feeling you up is somehow less invasive than someone seeing a flash of your naked outline.

I think this is a remnant of our conflicted puritan and victorian past, which takes us back to this time of year–Thanksgiving. The puritans came over here for the opportunity to be uptight. No–they didn’t come for religious freedom–they came to establish a theocracy in which they could make everyone follow their interpretation of the Bible (or else), which is the opposite of freedom of religion (their descendants are among us today). Only a third of the people who came were puritans, by the way, the others were fortune seekers and convicts who chose America over English jails (because we were a prison colony, too).

The puritans were famously prudish about sexuality and their bodies. Yet they had a very high out of wedlock pregnancy rate. As long as the couple got married, the community didn’t really say anything about it.

The Victorians who came later were uptight as well. They covered their table legs and referred to chicken parts by color rather than saying breast or thigh. Yet venereal disease ran rampant. Most soldiers in the Civil War were not taken out of duty by death or battle injury, but by some form of sexual pox. 1 in 6 homes in Victorian London was a house of ill-repute.

No wonder all of these people who are so concerned about their privacy are opting instead to have a stranger’s hands caress them. Why settle for a grey outline of my breasts when you can put your hands right on them? (Go ahead–pretend to be outraged–Americans are great at that; I used to know a minister who’s wife would catch him watch Cinemax at 3 in the morning. He would then pontificate about the filth that “they” put on tv.)

(Of course, some people are opting out of flying all together. If they are the people who wanted to start wars for our safety, or accept civilian casualties for our safety, or who believe in preemptive strikes for our safety, or who insisted that if you didn’t agree with Bush then you were siding with the terrorists, then they need to be inconvenienced for my safety. Thousands have died for our “safety”, yet these people won’t go through a scanner? I don’t like waiting in line; I don’t like being inconvenienced; I dislike being blown up even more.)

is here: http://www.matchflick.com/column/2242

Let the arguing begin!

From “The Ballad of Paul Nonetheless” in the collection War Dances:

Despite all the talk of diversity and division–of red and blue states, of black and white and brown people, of rich and poor, gay and straight–Paul believed that Americans were shockingly similar. How can we be so different, thought Paul, if we all know the lyrics to the same one thousand songs? Paul knew the same lyrics as any random guy from Mobile, Alabama, or woman from Orono, Maine. Hell, Paul had memorized, without any effort or ever purchasing or downloading one of their CDs–or even one of their songs–the complete works of Garth Brooks, Neil Diamond, and AC/DC. And if words and music can wind their way into and around our DNA strands–and Paul believed they could–wouldn’t American pop music be passed from generation to generation as easily as blue eyes or baldness? Hadn’t pop music created a new and invisible organ, a pituitary gland of the soul, in the American body? Or were these lies and exaggerations? Could one honestly say that Elvis is a more important figure in American history than Einstein? Could one posit that Aretha Franklin’s version of “Respect” was more kinetic and relevant to American life than Dwight D. Eisenhower’s 1961 speech that warned us about the dangers of a military-industrial complex? Could a reasonable person think Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” was as integral and universal to everyday life as the fork or wheel? Paul believed all these heresies about pop music but would never say them aloud for fear of being viewed as a less-than-serious person.

First, if you haven’t read the boy’s first movie column, you can find it here: http://www.matchflick.com/column/2223

I’ve just returned from a short vacation–went to the redwoods (where I was tricked into hiking), San Francisco, and Ashland, where I was lucky enough to see Hamlet, The Merchant of Venice, and Henry IV, Part 1. One of the actors in the company is deaf, so certains characters in each play (including Hamlet’s father), were deaf as well, and some dialogue was signed in each show. I like the way this normalized difference, although one scene in Hamlet ended up having extra dialogue (just because I couldn’t understand it doesn’t mean that there weren’t extra lines). I’m not sure how I feel about adding lines, and I was distracted every time they had characters signing even when they couldn’t possibly see each other’s hands.

I’m surprised that it took me so long to get up to Ashland–I’ve wanted to go ever since I moved here ten years ago. The town was quaint, though not as quaint as Niagara on the Lake, where the Shaw festival is held. The production quality was high. A few of the local businesses try to Shakespeare it up–the vitamin store is “All’s Well,” for example. I’m looking forward to going back next year, if only to see Henry IV, Part 2 (I can’t wait to see how this turns out!).

While I was away, Denise discovered that an article I wrote had been stolen by this guy: http://www.bobholtonline.com/article/298.htm You’ll note that even though every word is mine, my name is not mentioned, nor is Mental Floss, the fine magazine I wrote the piece for. I have sent the gentleman an email requesting that he revise the post to credit the author. This is the second time I’ve seen someone post my work as their own on the internet. I feel violated.

I don’t have it together enough to send out change of address cards, but let me know if you need the new info.

The moving is done (the unpacking is not). The strangest thing we found? Well, when the loveseat was moved, there was a pile of cat toys underneath, including a really realistic bird. I noted that the cats didn’t have a bird-shaped toy. Yes, the realism was created by realism. It was a new kill, though–no decomposition, no smell.

I’ve managed to unpack the kitchen so far, which is amazing, considering that I’ve moved into a kitchen about 1/6 of the size of the last one. As Dan noted, my new kitchen is smaller than the bathroom I share with the boy.

In other news: my new column on movie villains is up: http://www.matchflick.com/column/2206

Also, one of the first blogs I ever posted was on why you shouldn’t read all of the Sookie Stackhouse novels at once. I received a comment from “joker” who vaguely disagreed with me, but thanked me for reading. I wondered if Charlaine Harris had been googling herself. On my last trip to Canada, I read the latest novel. All of the flaws in the series were fixed. Did I actually add something to the world through literary criticism? I’d like to think so.

Finally, I’m performing my only stand-up show of the year at Luna’s in Sacramento at 8 p.m. tonight. Margaret France is headlining; it’s her last show before she moves to Turkey. Even though I’m exhausted and my back is locked up, I couldn’t say no to performing with my girl tonight.

Okay, off to find my underwear–they’ve got to be here somewhere.

I’ve been packing for my upcoming move across town for a week and a half, including 6 hours this morning (6 more hours after this short break and I get to stop!).
I thought I’d gotten rid of a lot of stuff (half my books) before, but I’ve gotten rid of tons of crap this week. Of course, it doesn’t seem to be making a difference when I look at the boxes, but then, it never does.
Some things I’m discovering in the process–
a. it is impossible to follow physical therapist instructions and move at the same time. Technically, I’m not supposed to lift anything heavier than a gallon of milk (this little rule gets broken almost every day I go to class). In theory, I’m not supposed to have to bend down or to stretch up to retrieve anything–I have yet how to figure out how to live my life with everything at counter level, though. Although my back hurts every day, it’s screaming at me about these rules right now, though its voice is muffled by necessity.
b. everything in my house has decided to break–nothing major, just a few things I have no idea how to take care of and all at once and irritating.
c. I have a bunch of stuff that I can’t really explain. Why would I have a bottle of dry vermouth and a bottle of sweet vermouth when I don’t drink anything that needs either?
d. I have trouble getting rid of potentially useful stuff. I’m usually (99% of the time) too lazy to take my eye makeup off and thus have three full bottles of eye makeup remover. I should really throw them all out, but I could possibly use them all up by the time I’m dead. Maybe. So I saved the most full bottle and threw out the other two.
Sigh.

This week started well–Alexander’s finale concert of the year was amazing. His chamber orchestra played beautifully and their guest conductor was quite impressive.

On Tuesday, I got to pick up my very best friend in the world from the airport. That’s right–Denise Du Vernay had arrived so that we could do our book launch! We spent Wednesday afternoon putting together our power point and then, after my third class of the day, we headed over to the venue. Luckily, Ken was there to help set up the a/v system.

We drew 50 people, including a woman who was buying a book for her son–he had a Simpsons-themed wedding. Our presentation went incredibly–all the more incredibly because we didn’t rehearse–we prefer to riff. The audience was engaged and laughing and the bookstore sold out of the copies they brought to sell. For some reason, our fans decided that book launch event require flowers, so we signed books surrounded by roses and assorted beautiful bouquets. We ended up staying in the room with a few close friends drinking margaritas until way after the staff was ready for us to go. (Then I couldn’t get to sleep cause I was so happy.)

Thursday was more restful, though we decided to invite friends for dinner. Dinner led to ice cream, but then the boy said we had to go home so he could do homework. Naturally, that meant we ended up with ten people in the living room drinking and eating my famous ginger-chip cookies until a bit after midnight.

Yesterday was full–I had three classes (including the one I subbed for) and two department meetings. Then we were off to Berkeley to see Flight of the Conchords. I’d never been to the Greek Theatre before–it’s an open air ampitheatre that seats 8000 people and all 8000 were there. Many people showed up late (knowing that the actual concert would start significantly later than it was supposed to), and managed to be surprised that they couldn’t find seats on the stone concrete steppes. (The women in heels must have had a really hard time.) Arj and Eugene (two comics who appear on the show) opened. Eugene is hilarious.

The Conchords made us smile and laugh so much that our faces still hurt. In addition to all the old favorites, they played three new songs, including a lovely medieval number about wooing a lady that I desperately need a copy of now.

Denise then came up with the fantastic idea of pancakes, so we hit the local IHOP before hitting the sheets.

Today we’re about to have Thai Chicken Soup before we go gather jelly beans. Then we’re off to sushi with Matt, Melissa, and Jo.

Of course, it hasn’t all been a joy–we haven’t managed to sleep enough, my new can opener doesn’t work, not all of our loved ones could be with us, and I feel incredibly guilty that I said Brian To in the acknowledgments of the book when I meant to say Brian Wu (incredibly–I would say excessively, except that this guilt is too justified to be called excessive).

It’s been an interesting year–book group decided that this year needed to be better than the last one back in January, but it hasn’t exactly been going that way for most of us. I hit a really low spot a few months ago. Thank you to everyone who put up with me and who supported me. And thank you to the universe for friends and food and teacher award nominations and kind write ups and book events and best friends and brilliant children.

I recently watched Rachel Maddow’s interview with Rand Paul (available all over the web, so I won’t post a link). Paul, as I’m sure you know, has gotten a lot of press recently because his brand of libertarianism means that he thinks private businesses should be able to discriminate.

As Paul keeps saying, this does not mean that he thinks they SHOULD discriminate, but that the government shouldn’t be able to tell a private business owner how “he” should be able to run “his” business.

Much of the debate has centered on the racist implications of the remarks–but let’s give Paul the benefit of the doubt for the sake of my particular argument. Assuming he’s not actually supporting discrimination, what’s the problem with his argument? Or, what are the two that immediately leap to mind?

1. The government already gets to tell the business owner how to run his/her business in many ways. It gets to tell you about having safe exits in case of fire and that you have to operate within certain health codes and that you have to not abuse your staff in certain ways. Owners are also not supposed to cheat their customers. These regulations are accepted by everyone except those who want to violate the rights of their customers and employees for profit.

2. Paul’s main point is that the government should be regulated, but private businesses should not. That would be fine if the private businesses did not benefit at all from taxpayer funds, but they do. The taxes I pay provide the fire department, the police department, etc. My taxes mean that governmental agencies have to serve me and have to serve private businesses, even if the individuals who serve are racist. Additionally, it means that those members of the fire and police department who would not be allowed into a bigot’s business would have to respond, which is why overt bigotry in business just isn’t allowed.