the secret history of mr. crankypants

Well, I just finished reading Procopius's Anekdota, and I have learned two things. Number the first: my Greek is not as bad as I thought. Another three or four books and it should be back where it needs to be. Number the second: wow, this book is one of the few I have ever read that probably should be called "scurrilous." This guy *hated* Theodora, and I'm not too sure why. I know why he was peeved about Antonina, and other sources back him up on the idea that she was a mean-spirited nouveau-riche with very little to recommend her, but seriously -- this guy completely had it in for Theodora. He seems to have not liked Belisarius much, either -- again, other sources say he was kinda insufferable, too, so I'm cutting Procopius some slack on that front. On the upside, Procopius would be far less fawning and much more entertaining on the subject of LiLo, Paris, Tara, the catastro-trainwreckasaurus that is Britney, et al, than Jezebel or TMZ.

In short, I believe that I have found the Ted Casablanca of the archaic world. There are even little moments in Anekdota that you honestly would not be far wrong in translating as "One Blind Vice."

I decided, upon finishing up this book, to take a couple days off from the Greek to work on a hat. Characteristically, I will finish it pretty much when this cold snap ends. It's being worked in Trinity stitch, which you may know as popcorn or blackberry stitch. It's a bit of a pain, but I think that's just because I'm at the point where I had to upsize the needles and add in 42 stitches to the round and I didn't leave a lot of give in the stitches I'd been working as the ribbing. Oops. Also, it appears this may end up being too small for me. (My own dumb fault -- I didn't knit a swatch for gauge.) So one of you lucky (4) readers may end up as the recipient of a charcoal-gray knitted hat with cute little knobbly deedlybobbers all over it. I'll see if I can think up a contest. Also: your head should be smaller than mine...I'm a 7 & 3/8ths, which I know from acquiring a fitted Louisville Bats cap a couple of years ago. You'd think I would have measured the circumference of said cap and knitted accordingly, but you'd be giving me far too much credit for craftiness, subtlety and guile.

Finally: I am mortified, as I spent much of yesterday announcing in dire tones that we were expecting 8 inches of snow. It appears that we are now expecting only two inches of snow. Curse you, National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration! I'll fix your little red wagon one of these days! (Picture your faithful narrator, shaking her clenched fists at the sky.) On the upside -- well, I'm not having to deal with 8 inches of snow.

Also: I decided that I will go to the Democratic caucus on SuperAmazingMegaJumboTuesday. A report will appear here. The mechanics of caucusing are unknown to me; I hope it does not involve fisticuffs. Just in case, I'm going to brush up on the Marquess of Queensberry rules. I'll let you know how it goes.

this is the Andy Rooney episode.

In honor of the writers' strike, I am going to publish a post here that involves the simple stringing together of possibly unrelated sentences. Writing is hard; why knock myself out over this? Especially while my brothers and sisters are on the picket lines? Solidarity forever!

Brr, it's cold in Kansas.
Ever wonder why it's impossible to find a shower curtain made in the USA rather than in China?
I sure do like macaroni and cheese.
I hope the Giants win the Super Bowl.
I do not plan to watch the Super Bowl.
I plan to watch the Puppy Bowl.
I think I'll tape it so on the day that Hillary Clinton and Mitt Romney clinch their respective party nominations, I can watch the Puppy Bowl again, which will cheer me up immensely.
My friend Aimee is going to have a baby boy.
Apparently they are thinking of naming him Dexter, of which I strongly approve.
My dogs Finnegan and Beatrice have lately been behaving so adorably that it is almost painful.
I wish I had a newer car, but I can't afford one.
I feel better about myself when I don't watch television.
I have been reading Flavius Josephus's "The War of the Jewish People against the Romans" and it is remarkably interesting.
I like those slipper socks that have grippers on the soles.
I decided to purchase some cheap jewelry to wear on the tv show that I host. It occurred to me that I should try to look like the people who look good on TV when I'm on TV. So that means big costume jewelry necklaces and modestly-scoop-necked shirts.
My skin is ridiculously dry. I have more lotions and creams stockpiled for this condition than the average Walgreens store.
My hair's too short.
I wish I had a really good book of fiction to read, which I had not already read.
Try as I might, I just can't seem to enjoy Victor Hugo.
I believe that I have unfairly dismissed Eric Dolphy for his avant-gardism.
I have been too lenient in my judgment of Gustave Flaubert, and too harsh against Turgenev.
I am sick of eating oatmeal.
I wish I knew how to play the cello.
I cannot figure out who is watching all of these Law & Order television series.

Wow -- it all makes sense now. I, too, could crank out columns by the bushel like Andy Rooney and Larry King. Seriously, doing it this way is a *lot* easier.

live free or die -- are those my only two choices?

well, I try to stay away from the politics on here but I just have to ask: what is up with the New Hampshire people? Over the years, I have found that I like the *idea* of the common-sense, stoical Yankee...only to find that the *reality* of these sorts of people is disappointing in the extreme. A-yuh. I once got to go to Vermont, and I was very pleased at the prospect, with high hopes for bonding with laconic, no-frills farmer types: I returned, sadder but wiser, and aware that there are a great number of high-end spas run by ruthlessly mercenary New Englanders who look like they're chiseled out of stone. Also: take the Ben & Jerry's tour. But I digress. I just didn't like the sort of "we're going to vote however the heck we want just to spite those gullible rubes in Iowa, who fall prey to television advertising and promotional flyahs. We're the first in the nation because we are sensible and smaht and we'll show you fools! We know best! Stick yah dadgum poll right up in the...no, better yet, I'll answer your goshdahned poll and lie to yuh because you non-Yankee types are morons! We know, because you ah all up here buying metric tons of those maple-sugah candies! And ovahpriced, ovahaged cheese! Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha, live free or die, suckahs! See ya next Novembah!" that was going on.

That having been said: can we just get this whole thing over with? The sniping between Obama supporters and Clinton supporters is giving me a headache. The sniping between Huckabee supporters and Thompson supporters is giving me indigestion. It's almost enough to make me actually watch Nancy Grace.

so may I introduce to you....the one and only Britney Spears

seriously. I just...I mean...wow.

"we hope you have enjoyed the show...we're sorry, but it's time to go."

what would Jesus eat on his birthday? or, refined sugar makes the holiday bright

So the Christmas season is upon us again, and I find myself mystified by some of the great American holiday traditions. Why do we all seem to have this compulsive need to eat completely disgusting candy? Where exactly is it in the Gospel of Mark that there's some kind of discussion of candy at the birth of the Messiah? Maybe it came from the lesser-known adorants, maybe the shepherds, who wanted to bring a gift and could only find a half-eaten box of liquorice comfits coated in non-pareils way in the back of the pantry? Okay, maybe most Christmas candy isn't really all that disgusting (I direct you, tonstant weader, to Gravity's Rainbow and Pynchon's short little digression on the relative merits of English candies). But why this obsession with sweets at Christmastime? My grandmother used to set out large cut-glass dishes of stale candy for various gustatory and aesthetic assaults on the senses. At any rate, it's at this time of year that I suddenly am overwhelmed with the urge to eat hard candies of suspect provenance, well past its sell-by date.

I have been making gifts this year, since as usual I am completely broke. I didn't do as much pre-season shopping this year and am a bit panicky about what I'm going to give my husband. Anything I really want to give him is too expensive for us to really afford. This is kind of frustrating. I admire those women who can whip up sweaters and such in a trice -- I, however, need months at my disposal to make something as mundane as socks or a scarf. I do not know where people find the time. At any rate, I was watching some television yesterday and saw some of the ads...who are all these people purchasing cars as Christmas presents? Who is this wife who is stunned and surprised at receiving a Lexus? Didn't she have to co-sign the loan? Didn't she wonder why thirty thousand dollars disappeared out of the savings account? Are people this stupid? Or, no -- wait -- maybe people don't generally give each other luxury cars as Christmas gifts. Maybe people are pretty much pleased at getting the 8-dollar box of Russell Stover candy with the bow printed on the box.

I did spend the weekend wrapping most of my presents for this year, and making up some Christmas cards. Not that I do it in that made-for-television fantastickal way. I wrap everything in brown kraft paper and then make bows out of real ribbon (I always wanted Christmas presents with real fabric ribbon when I was a child -- so that's what I give now). I had my annual fight with the collapsible shirt-boxes that you can get at Kohl's and Dillards and such, which make intuitive sense until you try to assemble them. Anyway, now I have all these wrapped presents and a nagging sense that everyone's going to be disappointed in what they are getting this year. I try to remind myself that personally, I'm just happy to get a gift in the first place, so maybe it will all turn out okay.

Also, I made cookies. Chocolate-cherry-pecan oatmeal cookies, to be precise. They are startlingly enjoyable. I also hand-dipped some Oreos in that kind of dipping-chocolate. Those are pretty good too. I have not had time to make what is for me the uber-Christmas cookie -- Thumbelinas. Basically, these are butter with a little flour thrown in to make them hold together, a little sugar to make them sweet, rolled in pecans, then baked and globbed up with canned frosting. Trust me when I tell you not to eat more than 20 of these in a sitting. (They're deceptively small...it seems like you could eat four dozen and not break a sweat...but believe me, you'll get sick after twenty.)

Finally, in other pre-Christmas news, I have not yet decided what to do about a tree. I love that winey-piney smell that a fresh-cut tree brings to a house, but it's such a complete hassle to get it and get it home that it seems almost silly to do it for no one but me and Kelly. I have a suspicion that the dogs will attempt to ingest the lower branches and at least one ornament each. Plus, they are tail-waggin' dogs, and this will invariably lead to an infestation of pine needles in odd places that I won't find until late February.

I don't know, I love this season and I love the traditions, but this year, it seems like everything's been so turned-upside-down financially and emotionally that maybe it would just be better to let it all go. Maybe we could spend one year just saying "you know what? You can have a day to think about the importance of religion, the sacrifice made by Jesus Christ, peace on earth and goodwill toward men without having to go through all this rigmarole." As long as there's cookies, I am thinking that I will have done my part. I'll keep you posted on what we end up doing, which will be low-key in the extreme. Unless Oprah happens to be reading this; in which case, I have no real need for a new Pontiac or a refrigerator with a television stuck to its front...what I would really like is a fancy espresso machine to give to my husband, which I cannot afford, and the fact of which is bumming me out.

the evening redness in the west

I have been re-reading Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian, probably because there's all this buzz over No Country for Old Men (of which I am not a big fan). I decided to give Meridian another whirl because I realized I had not bothered with this book since throwing my copy out an open window at Sellards Scholarship Hall in 1987. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps I had misjudged. So, I'm an open-minded person. I'm willing to admit when I've made a mistake.

Okay, I made a mistake. This is a great book. It's not for everyone, and it's obviously not for those it's for at every time in their life. Get off my back, syntax police. Other critics will tell you more, in a more compelling way, than I'm going for here.

Here's my complaint. I got a copy of the Modern Library printing of the book, which has an oddly fetching photo of McCarthy on the front, and an essay by Harold Bloom at the beginning. About which: um, seriously, this should maybe go at the end. Unless the assumption is that the only people reading this edition of this book are people who have already read this book. This essay is odd. It sort of irritated me, which is strange because in many ways I tend to agree with Harold Bloom (i.e., that the point of reading is aesthetic enjoyment, not making some kind of political statement). In many other ways, I do not (i.e., that the best DeLillo book is Underworld; that Bud Powell's "Un Poco Loco" is some kind of watershed moment for music). But in the main, I don't mind him so much. But this essay struck me as unnecessarily condescending, and frankly overwritten.

At any rate. There's an awful lot going on in this book. Under no circumstances would I recommend it to my mother, whom I know quite well. Nor would I recommend it to someone, conversely, whom I do not know well. The violence may be allegorical, but I suspect not. Maybe there's something to the idea that violence is what we bring to the table, and it's the suppression of violence that is the only thing that makes civilization. Living beyond the pale may mean embracing the violence. Shades of Conrad, shades of Melville. This is a fine book, a frightening book, a book that causes me concern. This is why I love to read.

ascension day

Well, I've been having a thing lately that I don't really want to get into, but suffice it to say: yes, I know I have not been posting with any kind of regularity. Management regrets the inconvenience.

Okay, so, just so this isn't the complete waste of space that it could be, I will mention here that I am in a recording studio at this moment, listening to various pieces of music that I may or may not mix onto a Veterans Day piece I've committed to for Friday. (And yes, I know that Veterans Day is Sunday. This needs to air before Veterans Day.) I keep lots of pieces of music in a file here just in case the perfect thing comes up. Fair use covers a lot of this, and our BMI/ASCAP contract covers the rest. I assure you that I purchased all of this. Anyway, if I hear a thing that I like a little bit of, I save it here and then can come back to it if I need it. This makes the craziest list -- sort of an iPod playlist gone all wrong. I just finished listening to a passacaglia that I like and the Brahms Clarinet Concerto. I have decided against both. I am noticing that virtually all of the music I have in here is kind of...well, either ethereal or sad, depending on how you want to look at it. (With the exception of a White Stripes piece I used for a commentator's thoughts on music and his father.) Anyway, it's good to go back through all this stuff occasionally and see what can be deleted. I have a disproportionate amount of Radiohead up here, apparently. That's another strange story, because I was determined that I did not like Radiohead, based entirely on my experience of their first record. I had a friend who adored this tape and played it endlessly and I didn't like it one bit. So, in short, I gave up entirely on Radiohead before they started making music that was right up my alley. I heard some of their other songs purely by accident and couldn't believe I had written this band off. Okay, lesson learned. So now there is a lot of Radiohead on file in studio E. I was kind of delighted to see just now that I have The Hollies' "The Air That I Breathe" in this file. I just love that weird whiny guitar opening with all the wocka-wocka processing on it.

At any rate, the thing I have up here that I want to use but cannot even think about is the Talk Talk song "Ascension Day" from their record Laughing Stock. I am just crazy about that record and have been for years. There's not a lot of instances in which I can use it, but sometimes I just come in and listen to it and it (exceedingly oddly) makes me feel better.

So. Go get yourself a copy of Laughing Stock and don't listen to the recordstore guy who will invariably tell you that this is not what you really want (unless you go to the record store in Lawrence and your counterguy is Kelly, who will cheerfully agree that this is an excellent choice, and that his wife listens to it all the time). Unless this guy is one of those crazy audiophile types, in which case he will probably go completely wiggo over you. But in that case, you should ignore his exhortations for you to buy it on the gold disc or the remastered pressing or get the original Verve release rather than the Polydor...all that stuff is just nuts.