An Archive, 2007-10
So concludes the trial of Amanda Knox for the murder of her room-mate Meredith Kercher.
“A jury in Italy convicted American college student Amanda Knox of murdering her British roommate and sentenced her to 26 years in prison shortly after midnight Saturday.
Her Italian ex-boyfriend Raffaele Sollecito was also convicted and sentenced to 25 years.”
I was startled to hear on the radio just now that American inland waters are under attack from Asian carp, which can grow to four feet, weigh as much as 100 pounds, and consume nearly half their body weight each day. They’ve already invaded the Illinois, Mississippi, Missouri, and Ohio rivers, and they’re closing in on Lake Michigan.
“The most drastic action to date to try to stop Asian carp from getting into Lake Michigan was taken Wednesday, when authorities dumped 2,300 gallons of the fish-killing toxin Rotenone into a 6-mile stretch of the Chicago Sanitary and Ship canal. Authorities conducted the massive fish kill to ensure that no Asian carp were in the waterway and could sneak through while the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers shut down for maintenance an underwater electric barrier designed to turn back the fish.”
What’s at stake here, anyway?
“When startled by boat motors, Silver Asian carp can jump 10 feet into the air. With so many of them in the Illinois River, several boaters and Jet Skiers have been injured by the flying fish.”
For many of you, learning that Cornel West considers himself “a bluesman in the life of the mind, and a jazzman in the world of ideas” will be sufficient grounds for dismissing him as a deeply silly man. Does this statement even work as a metaphor? And is there any way to read it in which West is not being condescending not only to the two American musical genres he mentions, but also to the life of the mind and the world of ideas?
But anyway, as Scott McLemee points out in his fantastically nuanced and well-written take-down of West’s latest book, Brother West, there is reason to mourn what once was:
“Cornel West’s work was once bold, challenging, exciting. The past tense here is unavoidable. His critical edge and creative powers might yet be reborn (he is 56). But in the wake of his latest book, Brother West: Living and Loving Out Loud, this hope requires a considerable leap of faith. Published by Hay House, the book also bears a second subtitle: “A Memoir.” It is the most disappointing thing I have read in at least a year.”
For your enjoyment, the sight of West engaging in what he thinks self analysis looks like:
“The basic problem with my love relationships with women is that my standards are so high — and they apply equally to both of us. I seek full-blast mutual intensity, fully fledged mutual acceptance, full-blown mutual flourishing, and fully felt peace and joy with each other. This requires a level of physical attraction, personal adoration, and moral admiration that is hard to find. And it shares a depth of trust and openness for a genuine soul-sharing with a mutual respect for a calling to each other and to others. Does such a woman exist for me? Only God knows and I eagerly await this divine unfolding. Like Heathcliff and Catherine’s relationship in Emily Bronte’s remarkable novel Wuthering Heights or Franz Schubert’s tempestuous piano Sonata No. 21 in B flat (D.960) I will not let life or death stand in the way of this sublime and funky love that I crave!”
It’s not you, it’s him! Although, it could be you! Also, he reads stuff like Wuthering Heights and listens to stuff like Schubert’s Sonata No. 21 in B flat (D.960)-care to see his etchings? And what exactly are the implications of his intention “not [to] let … death stand in the way” of said “sublime and funky love”?
I saw West speak at Bard College in the early nineties and can scarcely remember leaving a lecture as fired up and excited about ideas as I was after that one. I can’t imagine crossing the street to see him speak now.
If you didn’t know, Charles Johnson’s blog Little Green Footballs has been a mainstay of the right-wing blogosphere for years. That officially ended yesterday (though there had been plenty of foreshadowing). Monday’s post listed ten reasons “Why I Parted Ways With The Right,” including “support for fascists,” “support for throwing women back into the Dark Ages,” “support for anti-science bad craziness,” and so on. Says Johnson:
“The American right wing has gone off the rails, into the bushes, and off the cliff.
I won’t be going over the cliff with them.”
The whole list is here.
Although I am not a frequent user of emoticons myself, I can’t say I’m as worked up about them as this person.
I was interested to learn, however, that the inventor of the emoticon is known to history: Scott Fahlman.
On Sept. 19, 1982, the Carnegie Mellon computer scientist sent out a message with the subject head “:-).” It was intended to clarify communication on a message board at the university, and it read, “I propose the following character sequence for joke markers: :-). Read it sideways. Actually, it is probably more economical to mark things that are NOT jokes, given current trends. For this, use :-(.”
For some reason, there is no mention of emoticons on Fahlman’s CV.
A Montana hunter recently got stranded in the back country for four days after a heavy snowfall. Sounds like he did everything right, although he was lucky to find some sheds with a propane heater.
Worried that night was fast approaching and that his wet clothes might lead to hypothermia, he trudged to a small collection of sheds he’d spotted earlier in the Tenderfoot Experimental Forest. He forced open the door of a 4-by-4-foot plywood shed with metal siding, stripped off his soaked clothes and lighted a small propane heater he’d found in the shed to dry out. That took five hours.
One thing I always look for in a tale of survival is the moment when the subject recognizes he is lost and “starts surviving.” This step looks different depending on the climate and terrain, but basically it’s when you stop casting around for the trail and start figuring out how to shelter from the elements, as when this hunter realized it was time to kick in the doors of those sheds.
What’s interesting to me about this moment is that (1) survival absolutely depends on it but (2) I think it must be a very difficult step to take, psychologically. It requires acknowledging that you are not going to find the trail “any minute now,” and that you will probably not be sleeping in your bed or camp tonight. You not only have to admit defeat but also have to start thinking completely differently about your next steps.
A lot of people never make it around this corner, and I suspect they account for the majority of people who end up getting carried out of the woods.
When I think about having to survive in wintry weather, I think of John Muir’s essay “Stickeen”, in which he relates his thoughts upon realizing he’s about to be caught by darkness in the midst of exploring a crevasse-riddled glacier. (The “we” refers to his companion, the small dog whose name gives the essay its title.)
Doubtless we could have weathered the storm for one night, dancing on a flat spot to keep from freezing, and I faced the threat without feeling anything like despair; but we were hungry and wet, and the wind from the mountains was still thick with snow and bitterly cold, so of course that night would have seemed a very long one.
For inspiration in the event that I ever have to start surviving, I have tucked away that calm understated “doubtless” next to the image of crazy old John Muir, calmly dancing for his life in howling wind and blasting snow.
To kick off the traditional Christmas-shopping season, here’s an idea for an inexpensive but thoughtful gift.
It’s useful. (Possibly even vital.)
It’s kind of “hand-made.” (At any rate, the recipient will know you were willing to put some time in-although no craft skills are required.)
It’s the Recipe Filer, a convenient box where all of your favorite recipes are stored, easy to find and use.
Continue reading “Cheap Christmas Present: The Recipe Filer”