I forget who it was who described jet-lag this way: as if your soul is lagging behind you, unable to keep up with your jetliner, hoping someday to meet up again with your body. By that math, my soul is probably somewhere over Greenland, at best.
So it is 4 a.m. EDT, and I am feeling like it is time to get up and have breakfast. Even the melatonin I took before bed is not counter-acting this.
And have I mentioned it is a little warmer here in South Carolina than it was in Sligo, where I spent the last two weeks?
Nevertheless, it is great to be home--to have slept (if not long enough) in my own bed, to have spent a quiet evening in with the PP and our darling (if adorned with teeth and claws) cats, to have feasted on tomatoes and basil from our garden, to have watched some Olympics on a big flat-screen TV I had forgotten we had bought, to have begun the process of unpacking.
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Notes on the rapture.
One thing I cannot get used to here is that the driver's seat is on the right of a car. I am down with traffic coming on the left side of a road (the "LOOK RIGHT" markings painted on the pavement at crosswalks help), and perhaps if I were spending any time in cars myself, I'd get used to the seat positions, too. But as it is, I look into the window of an oncoming car, and the person in the lefthand seat is turned around getting something from the backseat, and I almost scream, "Look out! Look out! Look out!" before I remember the real deal.
This is especially frustrating in moments like the other morning, when, crossing in a crosswalk and with a walk signal, I was nearly run down by a taxi trying to catch the yellow light. (He had missed by a long shot.) I tried to glare at him, but what seemed to be the driver's seat was empty, and I thought, "Well no wonder: the rapture has come at last, and half the cars are now without drivers."
This is especially frustrating in moments like the other morning, when, crossing in a crosswalk and with a walk signal, I was nearly run down by a taxi trying to catch the yellow light. (He had missed by a long shot.) I tried to glare at him, but what seemed to be the driver's seat was empty, and I thought, "Well no wonder: the rapture has come at last, and half the cars are now without drivers."
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
I take that back.
About ten days ago, I was suggesting that the new-fangled modern exhibitions cannot match the sites themselves. To some extent, I still believe that, but yesterday I saw an exhibition that complicated my earlier thoughts.
This is the Yeats exhibition at the National Library of Ireland. You can visit an online version of the show here, and it is worth doing, whether you can get to the actual show or not.
The exhibition features an array of W. B. Yeats's printed books, manuscripts, typescripts, and photographs. When you enter, there is a small room made of screens, where an audio track plays recordings of his poems, read by the likes of Seamus Heaney and Sinead O'Connor while slides of the text and accompanying images grace the screens. There are four films about Yeats's life and work, featuring images of Ireland, his notebooks, and commentary from notable scholars. There are well-presented cases of copies of his books, manuscripts of his poems and letters, pages from his occult notebooks, photographs of his family. There is a giant-sized replica of The Tower, perhaps his most important book, that you can walk inside of. In there you find a sort of family tree for the poems, tracing them from manuscript to periodical publication to other books where they were published and finally to The Tower--and of course all these stages are represented by reproductions of the artifacts in question.
It really is a marvel, an example of how multi-modal presentation can be put to excellent use.
And although it has been up for a couple of years, it got an ebullient mention in this weekend's NYTimes.
So I revise what I said before. Done well, these exhibitions do not take away from "the things themselves," but give you a new excitement about what you are seeing.
This is the Yeats exhibition at the National Library of Ireland. You can visit an online version of the show here, and it is worth doing, whether you can get to the actual show or not.
The exhibition features an array of W. B. Yeats's printed books, manuscripts, typescripts, and photographs. When you enter, there is a small room made of screens, where an audio track plays recordings of his poems, read by the likes of Seamus Heaney and Sinead O'Connor while slides of the text and accompanying images grace the screens. There are four films about Yeats's life and work, featuring images of Ireland, his notebooks, and commentary from notable scholars. There are well-presented cases of copies of his books, manuscripts of his poems and letters, pages from his occult notebooks, photographs of his family. There is a giant-sized replica of The Tower, perhaps his most important book, that you can walk inside of. In there you find a sort of family tree for the poems, tracing them from manuscript to periodical publication to other books where they were published and finally to The Tower--and of course all these stages are represented by reproductions of the artifacts in question.
It really is a marvel, an example of how multi-modal presentation can be put to excellent use.
And although it has been up for a couple of years, it got an ebullient mention in this weekend's NYTimes.
So I revise what I said before. Done well, these exhibitions do not take away from "the things themselves," but give you a new excitement about what you are seeing.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Does it get better than this?
Right now, I am sitting on a bench, looking out at the college park here at Trinity College in Dublin. If I had not consulted my map, I would have called it the cricket pitch, because it is right next to the rugby pitch, and most days there are cricket games in process here. Just now, one has wrapped up, and the players are changing into drier clothes and making their way to the pub that is the top floor of the next-door pavilion--they call the pub "the Pav"--and where there is an array of outdoor tables for taking your pint.
It turns out Joyce was right, and the cricket bats really do say, "pock, pock." I am always struck by those moments, where I find that something I am seeing or experiencing for the first time really does look or sound just like it does in some work of art. (I felt this way when I first got to Hong Kong, and I found that the mountains there do look like the Chinese ink paintings--and so different from the mountains I had seen in North America.)
Earlier this morning, I had my head immersed in typescripts, trying to figure out at what stage various textual changes were made. It is like detective work, in a way, with some of the glamor and all of the drudgery. But also the moments of "AHA!" which I live for.
But not right now. Right now I am enjoying the sun on my face. And I am enjoying enjoying the sun on my face, because in South Carolina in July, there would be few things I would enjoy less. But here? The last days have been cloudy and rainy, but today there is suddenly blue, up there, in the sky. The wind is blowing, the air is cool, and despite wearing a couple of layers, I am happy for the warmth from the sky. Out in the park there is a young couple running barefoot in the grass, laughing hysterically at something, and also a woman in a bright white skirt walking with her toddler, and a little ways away, people lying on the grass, perhaps feeling the same way I do about the sun.
So what could be better?
Now that I think of it? If I were over at the Pav, with a pint in my hand. So on that note, . . . .
It turns out Joyce was right, and the cricket bats really do say, "pock, pock." I am always struck by those moments, where I find that something I am seeing or experiencing for the first time really does look or sound just like it does in some work of art. (I felt this way when I first got to Hong Kong, and I found that the mountains there do look like the Chinese ink paintings--and so different from the mountains I had seen in North America.)
Earlier this morning, I had my head immersed in typescripts, trying to figure out at what stage various textual changes were made. It is like detective work, in a way, with some of the glamor and all of the drudgery. But also the moments of "AHA!" which I live for.
But not right now. Right now I am enjoying the sun on my face. And I am enjoying enjoying the sun on my face, because in South Carolina in July, there would be few things I would enjoy less. But here? The last days have been cloudy and rainy, but today there is suddenly blue, up there, in the sky. The wind is blowing, the air is cool, and despite wearing a couple of layers, I am happy for the warmth from the sky. Out in the park there is a young couple running barefoot in the grass, laughing hysterically at something, and also a woman in a bright white skirt walking with her toddler, and a little ways away, people lying on the grass, perhaps feeling the same way I do about the sun.
So what could be better?
Now that I think of it? If I were over at the Pav, with a pint in my hand. So on that note, . . . .
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Is this a sign of advancing age?
I was initially going to post this as an update to my post about the British Library, but then it sort of ballooned into its own issue.
UPDATE: Contrary to what I said, the old Round Reading is no longer a museum to itself. I went to pay hommage to it the other day, only to find the door to the Reading Room closed and guarded, with a sign about how it is closed while they install an exhibition. Closed? Now, or at least recently and in just a week or two, it houses blockbuster exhibitions, such as the upcoming Hadrian show, which I will barely miss. However strange it was to go into that room just to see it, without a reader's ticket in my hand, I want it back in its old form! I have been told it will be, after this series of shows about emperors--so where are they storing all the desks?
Anyway, there are activities for children in the Great Court around what had been the Reading Room. Why go see the mummies when you can play with plastic tubing?
I am seeing, though, that this is a larger tendency in museums, seeming to reply to the question: How can we get people interested in our boring old stuff? The answer, typically, is to construct multi-modal shows telling the history of something or another, but without using actual artifacts. Instead, there might be reconstructions of the way rooms worked, complete with "authentic" recreated smells and sounds. Or they might involve flashy films with music of the time rendered techno.
For instance, at Hampton Court Palace, there is the "Young Henry" exhibition, which uses a repeated series of three simple wooden thrones to represent the interactions, roles, and power plays of Henry VIII, Cardinal Wolsey, and Katherine of Aragon. There are a few authentic paintings on the walls, but the real attention falls on the three thrones, each representing one of the three players, that appear in each room of the exhibition. Their positions and their carvings (which give in a sentence or so the person's situation at that moment) shifts, and they are always set on a carpet with a brief motto for the period in question. Somewhere in every room is an audio track, filling in more detail. As the Palace advertises it, "Historic paintings from the Royal Collection, together with audio-visual and hands-on displays, will help you explore and discover a very different King Henry VIII."
Harrumph. Do you really explore and discover when all you're doing is reading brief synopses of historical moments? Are we all so simple that the only way we can follow palace intrigue is through the shifting of chairs, like chess pieces?
And does anyone going through the show really look at the paintings? And it is a shame, too, because some of them are extremely precious and/or give clear views of the situation--from the perspective of the historical moment itself!
But to look at a painting requires more focus than the play of moving chairs.
Which takes me back to the initial question that I imagine curators asking, How can we get people interested in our boring old stuff?
The answer, sadly, seems to be: don't make them pay attention to our stuff, despite its great historical, artistic, etc. value. Instead, give them new stuff to be distracted by, so that paying the price of admission does not require them to look at the old stuff.
Distracted from distraction by distraction, or so someone said.
UPDATE: Contrary to what I said, the old Round Reading is no longer a museum to itself. I went to pay hommage to it the other day, only to find the door to the Reading Room closed and guarded, with a sign about how it is closed while they install an exhibition. Closed? Now, or at least recently and in just a week or two, it houses blockbuster exhibitions, such as the upcoming Hadrian show, which I will barely miss. However strange it was to go into that room just to see it, without a reader's ticket in my hand, I want it back in its old form! I have been told it will be, after this series of shows about emperors--so where are they storing all the desks?
Anyway, there are activities for children in the Great Court around what had been the Reading Room. Why go see the mummies when you can play with plastic tubing?
I am seeing, though, that this is a larger tendency in museums, seeming to reply to the question: How can we get people interested in our boring old stuff? The answer, typically, is to construct multi-modal shows telling the history of something or another, but without using actual artifacts. Instead, there might be reconstructions of the way rooms worked, complete with "authentic" recreated smells and sounds. Or they might involve flashy films with music of the time rendered techno.
For instance, at Hampton Court Palace, there is the "Young Henry" exhibition, which uses a repeated series of three simple wooden thrones to represent the interactions, roles, and power plays of Henry VIII, Cardinal Wolsey, and Katherine of Aragon. There are a few authentic paintings on the walls, but the real attention falls on the three thrones, each representing one of the three players, that appear in each room of the exhibition. Their positions and their carvings (which give in a sentence or so the person's situation at that moment) shifts, and they are always set on a carpet with a brief motto for the period in question. Somewhere in every room is an audio track, filling in more detail. As the Palace advertises it, "Historic paintings from the Royal Collection, together with audio-visual and hands-on displays, will help you explore and discover a very different King Henry VIII."
Harrumph. Do you really explore and discover when all you're doing is reading brief synopses of historical moments? Are we all so simple that the only way we can follow palace intrigue is through the shifting of chairs, like chess pieces?
And does anyone going through the show really look at the paintings? And it is a shame, too, because some of them are extremely precious and/or give clear views of the situation--from the perspective of the historical moment itself!
But to look at a painting requires more focus than the play of moving chairs.
Which takes me back to the initial question that I imagine curators asking, How can we get people interested in our boring old stuff?
The answer, sadly, seems to be: don't make them pay attention to our stuff, despite its great historical, artistic, etc. value. Instead, give them new stuff to be distracted by, so that paying the price of admission does not require them to look at the old stuff.
Distracted from distraction by distraction, or so someone said.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
All the hot girls.
There was one point today during Jay Kumar's Big Bollywood Dance Class when he yelled out to the crowd, "All the hot girls, make some noise!" and really, no one responded. He said, "Come on, you have to cheer now, because you're all hot girls, even the fellas!" and then tried again, and he did get a bit more response. But really: we were all having a great time, but did any of us actually self-identify as hot girls?
Perhaps I should back up and tell you that, as this was happening in the piazza of the British Library, his dance class was composed almost entirely of scholars and older Indian ladies. The former were on their lunch break, all deciding in unison that today was a workday like no other. The latter were there in hopes that there would be some time for some more traditional Indian dances, which there was (though for one woman, who kept going up to him as he was teaching Bollywood dance steps and asking was now the time, it could not come soon enough). We scholars were dressed in our sweaters and days-old trousers, while the Indian ladies were wearing beautiful saris with raincoats, and we were all wearing glasses.
Hot girls!
The event started with a performance by Jay Kumar's troup DanceAsia. Here is a video I found of them, though they did not have sticks at the library:
Then he got everyone out into the middle of the piazza to teach us some fairly simple (but extremely fun) steps so that we could dance to several different songs. There was a decent lot of phootographers there, too--amateur and professional--as well as a reporter from the BBC World Service, who he convinced to come up onto his platform and shake her ass, which she did with great aplomb.
Perhaps I should back up and tell you that, as this was happening in the piazza of the British Library, his dance class was composed almost entirely of scholars and older Indian ladies. The former were on their lunch break, all deciding in unison that today was a workday like no other. The latter were there in hopes that there would be some time for some more traditional Indian dances, which there was (though for one woman, who kept going up to him as he was teaching Bollywood dance steps and asking was now the time, it could not come soon enough). We scholars were dressed in our sweaters and days-old trousers, while the Indian ladies were wearing beautiful saris with raincoats, and we were all wearing glasses.
Hot girls!
The event started with a performance by Jay Kumar's troup DanceAsia. Here is a video I found of them, though they did not have sticks at the library:
Then he got everyone out into the middle of the piazza to teach us some fairly simple (but extremely fun) steps so that we could dance to several different songs. There was a decent lot of phootographers there, too--amateur and professional--as well as a reporter from the BBC World Service, who he convinced to come up onto his platform and shake her ass, which she did with great aplomb.
If you have never seen Bollywood movies, with their enormous extravagant dance numbers, you may not know quite what I am talking about. But seriously folks, these are musicals to a new extreme--beautiful colorful costumes, elaborate scenarios, and music that makes you want to jump out of your seat. There are few situations in these films that cannot benefit from a dance number. Looking forward to a wedding? Dance. Unable to marry the man you love? Dance. Faced with a wedding you dread? Dance. Afraid of losing a cricket match and therefore all your land? Dance then too. Entire plot lines are introduced for the purpose of requiring dance numbers. And the dancing is fabulous! In fact, treated this past weekend to a vast display of fabulousness, I am still not sure that this is not MORE fabulous. Really.
(Now granted: a library piazza full of scholars in drab jumpers and older ladies in raincoats dancing in mid-summer drizzle did not look fabulous, but we FELT fabulous!)
In a way, what he was having us do was not unlike aerobic dancing or disco, except that some of the moves had a particularly Bollywood flavor. In fact, the whole experience made me wonder whether anyone has thought of structuring an aerobics class around Bollywood music and dancing. I am sure they have, but I tell you (or do I need to? You know how I love Bollywood music and films): if I could find one, I would go every day.
In a way, what he was having us do was not unlike aerobic dancing or disco, except that some of the moves had a particularly Bollywood flavor. In fact, the whole experience made me wonder whether anyone has thought of structuring an aerobics class around Bollywood music and dancing. I am sure they have, but I tell you (or do I need to? You know how I love Bollywood music and films): if I could find one, I would go every day.
Saturday, July 05, 2008
In which you wish you were me.
I am just back from the Pride London Parade. Estimates from the organizers and the police said half a million people. The theme was Fairytales, Myths and Legends--can you think of anything that would better lend itself to fabulousness?
(with this theme you can even be fabulous on your mobile.)
The parade got off from Baker Street about half an hour late. The man beside me, temporarily holding his partner's pride flag while he got seated on top of the railing, speculated that there had not been enough mirrors on site for everyone to check their hair. We were standing on Regent Street, just around the corner from Oxford Circus proper, where I had been able to get close right up to the barricade. The parade took about another half an hour to get to us.
Meanwhile there were men walking up and down the parade route selling flags (small rainbow flags as well as larger flags of the Union Jack, but with pink instead of blue) and whistles (on rainbow cords).
After a while, the route marshalls forced people sitting on the curbs to get back behind the barricades lining the streets and then after a bit more the they closed off the crossings, sowe knew it was getting close. After more waiting, we started to hear the bands but could still see nothing, and my neighbor suggested that someone at the front might have broken a heel.
The photographers were waiting too.
Near the front was one of several percussion bands, setting the tone for the marchers.
Needless to say, not everyone marched to the same beat.
(There is no way these pictures do justice to the music and the whistles. Everyone along the parade route blew their whistles along with the music, and also anytime they hoped to get someone in the parade to look for a picture or a smile.)
There were representatives of the London Fire Brigade, the Metropolitan Police, and several branches of the armed services. Apparently this was the first year that they were allowed to march in uniform, and everyone applauded.
(Those of you who live in the land of Don't Ask, Don't Tell--can you imagine such a thing??? Wouldn't that be cause for celebration in itself?)
There were many other organizations represented--advocacy groups, health organizations, churches, a gay soccer team, a gay rugby team, lesbian rollerskaters, older members of the LGBT community. Then there were representatives of various labor unions, companies, the National Health Care system, even the archivists!
There were washboard abs and tricorn hats:
There were advocates for equal rights for transgender and transsexual people--a group not always accepted even in the LGBT community.
There were, uh, hairdos--
. . . and headdresses. . .
And shoes!
(the nipple accoutrements aside, could you walk 2.5 miles in those shoes. Ah, but if you could--how worth it would be!)
And even environmentalists got into the action:
Have you ever seen a green like that?
There was a giant flag, so big that the front of it had to go quite a ways past us before the whole thing was around the corner.
Oh, and don't forget the floats! They were either decorated buses or lorries with elaborate sets, and each one had its own soundtrack.
Someone knew I was coming!
There were men on stilts:
There were men on stilts--with wings!
There were great signs:
Fundamentally, it was a great party--and really just a lead up to the even bigger party now at Trafalgar Square.
Happy Pride, Everyone!
(with this theme you can even be fabulous on your mobile.)
The parade got off from Baker Street about half an hour late. The man beside me, temporarily holding his partner's pride flag while he got seated on top of the railing, speculated that there had not been enough mirrors on site for everyone to check their hair. We were standing on Regent Street, just around the corner from Oxford Circus proper, where I had been able to get close right up to the barricade. The parade took about another half an hour to get to us.
Meanwhile there were men walking up and down the parade route selling flags (small rainbow flags as well as larger flags of the Union Jack, but with pink instead of blue) and whistles (on rainbow cords).
After a while, the route marshalls forced people sitting on the curbs to get back behind the barricades lining the streets and then after a bit more the they closed off the crossings, sowe knew it was getting close. After more waiting, we started to hear the bands but could still see nothing, and my neighbor suggested that someone at the front might have broken a heel.
The photographers were waiting too.
Near the front was one of several percussion bands, setting the tone for the marchers.
Needless to say, not everyone marched to the same beat.
(There is no way these pictures do justice to the music and the whistles. Everyone along the parade route blew their whistles along with the music, and also anytime they hoped to get someone in the parade to look for a picture or a smile.)
There were representatives of the London Fire Brigade, the Metropolitan Police, and several branches of the armed services. Apparently this was the first year that they were allowed to march in uniform, and everyone applauded.
(Those of you who live in the land of Don't Ask, Don't Tell--can you imagine such a thing??? Wouldn't that be cause for celebration in itself?)
There were many other organizations represented--advocacy groups, health organizations, churches, a gay soccer team, a gay rugby team, lesbian rollerskaters, older members of the LGBT community. Then there were representatives of various labor unions, companies, the National Health Care system, even the archivists!
There were washboard abs and tricorn hats:
There were advocates for equal rights for transgender and transsexual people--a group not always accepted even in the LGBT community.
There were, uh, hairdos--
. . . and headdresses. . .
And shoes!
(the nipple accoutrements aside, could you walk 2.5 miles in those shoes. Ah, but if you could--how worth it would be!)
And even environmentalists got into the action:
Have you ever seen a green like that?
There was a giant flag, so big that the front of it had to go quite a ways past us before the whole thing was around the corner.
Oh, and don't forget the floats! They were either decorated buses or lorries with elaborate sets, and each one had its own soundtrack.
Someone knew I was coming!
There were men on stilts:
There were men on stilts--with wings!
There were great signs:
Fundamentally, it was a great party--and really just a lead up to the even bigger party now at Trafalgar Square.
Happy Pride, Everyone!
Monday, July 09, 2007
Forgive the Jet-lagged.
I know, I am not supposed to be using my computer when I wake up in the middle of the night, but after lying there for a while realizing a better way to start my new chapter, I had to get up and just do it. And after that, why, the computer is on, isn't it?
Does it happen to you, when you return home after a lot of travel, that when you wake up in the middle of the night you do not recognize your own room? Last night, my first night back, I was sure that for some reason I was sleeping in a bedroom in a palace. Perhaps this is partly a reflection on the size of my recent hotel rooms, but still.
Vow: tomorrow I will try harder to get over this jetlag. Granted, I stayed up until about 10 on Saturday night, after flying home. Then I woke up at 4:30 a.m. on Sunday (good morning! to my body it was 10:30 a.m.). Then the PP swam (count them) seven events in his second day of a swim meet (including the 400 IM and the 800 free--go PP!), and I worked as a timer. Did you know that standing on concrete with a stopwatch for 5 hours will really wipe you out?
So when he suggested an early "dinner" (i.e. at 4 p.m.), how could I refuse? But I should have, because by 6 p.m., when we were watching Shaolin Soccer on TV, I just could not make it any longer. After a few pages of my latest mystery novel, I was out.
To me it looked like the clock said 5:38 a.m., and I thought, Cool, I might as well get up. Too bad it really said 2:38. But as I said: I needed to do that writing.
Now it is done, and I'm going to take another stab at sleep. Perhaps later I will tell you something about Italy.
Does it happen to you, when you return home after a lot of travel, that when you wake up in the middle of the night you do not recognize your own room? Last night, my first night back, I was sure that for some reason I was sleeping in a bedroom in a palace. Perhaps this is partly a reflection on the size of my recent hotel rooms, but still.
Vow: tomorrow I will try harder to get over this jetlag. Granted, I stayed up until about 10 on Saturday night, after flying home. Then I woke up at 4:30 a.m. on Sunday (good morning! to my body it was 10:30 a.m.). Then the PP swam (count them) seven events in his second day of a swim meet (including the 400 IM and the 800 free--go PP!), and I worked as a timer. Did you know that standing on concrete with a stopwatch for 5 hours will really wipe you out?
So when he suggested an early "dinner" (i.e. at 4 p.m.), how could I refuse? But I should have, because by 6 p.m., when we were watching Shaolin Soccer on TV, I just could not make it any longer. After a few pages of my latest mystery novel, I was out.
To me it looked like the clock said 5:38 a.m., and I thought, Cool, I might as well get up. Too bad it really said 2:38. But as I said: I needed to do that writing.
Now it is done, and I'm going to take another stab at sleep. Perhaps later I will tell you something about Italy.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Nuovo post.
I have never used the Italian-language blogger before. In case you are curious, "preview" is "anteprima," and to see how your post looks on the actual web, hit "Visualizza blog."
But I did not come to this internet cafe to give you Italian lessons. I came to remind you how amazing it is at 6 p.m., when all the church bells in the city go off. Well, many of them. Then a few follow at 6:02, then at 6:05 there are more, then still a few hangers-on around 6:07. Did I say hangers-on? It is now 6:30 and a couple more are going. I had observed this in Roma, and I always took it to be lingua romana for "The sun has gone over the yard arm." Turns out it happens in Venezia, too, where you might be standing just a building and a narrow canal away from a campanile when it lets loose.
Glorious.
Equally glorious was the choral music in San Zanipolo this afternoon. (In case your Veneziano is getting rusty, that is Santi Giovanni e Paolo in standard Italian.) I went in there to see the way the light plays on the stone in the floor, illuminating the entire place with a warmish reflected glow, and the wall tombs carved by Pietro Lombardo. I had not expected to find a choir practicing: there were only four singers, and they were standing on a high balcony, just below the organ pipes. What a sound--and what a way to hear "Maria regina cielo....."
Time to hit "Pubblica post."
But I did not come to this internet cafe to give you Italian lessons. I came to remind you how amazing it is at 6 p.m., when all the church bells in the city go off. Well, many of them. Then a few follow at 6:02, then at 6:05 there are more, then still a few hangers-on around 6:07. Did I say hangers-on? It is now 6:30 and a couple more are going. I had observed this in Roma, and I always took it to be lingua romana for "The sun has gone over the yard arm." Turns out it happens in Venezia, too, where you might be standing just a building and a narrow canal away from a campanile when it lets loose.
Glorious.
Equally glorious was the choral music in San Zanipolo this afternoon. (In case your Veneziano is getting rusty, that is Santi Giovanni e Paolo in standard Italian.) I went in there to see the way the light plays on the stone in the floor, illuminating the entire place with a warmish reflected glow, and the wall tombs carved by Pietro Lombardo. I had not expected to find a choir practicing: there were only four singers, and they were standing on a high balcony, just below the organ pipes. What a sound--and what a way to hear "Maria regina cielo....."
Time to hit "Pubblica post."
Friday, June 22, 2007
Ta ta. So long. Ciao. See ya.
Well, my friends, I must bid you (temporarily) adieu. I am off this afternoon to Italy for one of the most important conferences I will attend this year--and also my very favorite. Or, at least, the last time I attended it, two years ago in Rapallo (also Italy), it was awesome. This is one of those conferences that is not too big, but not to small, and there are some really good papers, but the whole atmosphere is pretty laid back. And what is the subject of the conference, you may ask? The entire thing is devoted to Ezra Pound, the subject of my current research.
The meetings all take place in Venice, which should be gorgeous, but also CROWDED. High season is not my favorite time to travel to major tourist destinations, but so it goes. I am sad to say that Tim's post today about work travel amidst leisure travelers hit it on the head. (But luckily where I am headed, decent coffee will not be in short supply.)
The itinerary is basically this: fly in and out of Milano (where I have never been, but where Futurism and Fascism both began--important to my book), travel to Venezia and spend 7 nights there, then go on a several-stop outing organized by the conference folks (to Verona, Sirmione [on Lake Garda], and Tirol0 [5 miles from Austria], for a mini-conference about Imagism in Pound's daughter's castle), then back to Milano for a couple of days to visit some of the major museums of modern art and design and track down the offices of Il Popolo d'Italia if I can--AND, if I am a very good girl, find a couple fabu Italian yarn stores.
So it seems I am prepared for the two weeks of travel: passport--check, conference paper--check, e-ticket confirmation--check, trenitalia e-ticket confirmation--check, contact solution--check, travel alarm--check, knitting--check. What more could I need? Oh yeah: a prayer that my suitcase makes it to Milano with me.
So have a great couple of weeks, everyone!
The meetings all take place in Venice, which should be gorgeous, but also CROWDED. High season is not my favorite time to travel to major tourist destinations, but so it goes. I am sad to say that Tim's post today about work travel amidst leisure travelers hit it on the head. (But luckily where I am headed, decent coffee will not be in short supply.)
The itinerary is basically this: fly in and out of Milano (where I have never been, but where Futurism and Fascism both began--important to my book), travel to Venezia and spend 7 nights there, then go on a several-stop outing organized by the conference folks (to Verona, Sirmione [on Lake Garda], and Tirol0 [5 miles from Austria], for a mini-conference about Imagism in Pound's daughter's castle), then back to Milano for a couple of days to visit some of the major museums of modern art and design and track down the offices of Il Popolo d'Italia if I can--AND, if I am a very good girl, find a couple fabu Italian yarn stores.
So it seems I am prepared for the two weeks of travel: passport--check, conference paper--check, e-ticket confirmation--check, trenitalia e-ticket confirmation--check, contact solution--check, travel alarm--check, knitting--check. What more could I need? Oh yeah: a prayer that my suitcase makes it to Milano with me.
So have a great couple of weeks, everyone!
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Let's face it.
I'm pooped.
I know: it is not an exciting thing to say, and the more smart-alecky among you will remember (much to my dismay) that I say this a lot. Well, too bad. I am saying it again.
I'm pooped.
Whew.
In the spirit of the archive, here are a few things that take it out of me:
1. Funerals.
2. Traveling to funerals.
3. Traveling too many places in too short a time.
4. Not learning.
5. Teaching swim clinics to little kids.
6. It does not matter whether they are cute and attentive or the picture of ADD: it is tiring to teach little kids.
7. Teaching generally, now that we are being honest.
8. The heat.
9. Wait, it's not the heat, it's the humidity.
10. Yes it is too: it is the heat and the humidity.
11. Teaching swim clinics to little kids in the heat. (No, not little kids in heat!)
12. That my shoulder still hurts. Not too bad, but just a little, and constantly.
12a. UPDATE (how could I forget?): Recent surgery. (Thanks, Scott!)
13. That I am about to take yet another trip, this one overseas.
14. See #3+4.
15. A too long to-do list.
16. Making too many plans.
17. Not having things planned well enough.
18. Shopping.
19. Swim practice, when there are too many people in the lanes.
20. Showering after swim practice, when there are too many people in the locker room.
Now that I am thinking about it, 20 does not usually = "a few." See what I mean?
Have I mentioned how tired I am?
I know: it is not an exciting thing to say, and the more smart-alecky among you will remember (much to my dismay) that I say this a lot. Well, too bad. I am saying it again.
I'm pooped.
Whew.
In the spirit of the archive, here are a few things that take it out of me:
1. Funerals.
2. Traveling to funerals.
3. Traveling too many places in too short a time.
4. Not learning.
5. Teaching swim clinics to little kids.
6. It does not matter whether they are cute and attentive or the picture of ADD: it is tiring to teach little kids.
7. Teaching generally, now that we are being honest.
8. The heat.
9. Wait, it's not the heat, it's the humidity.
10. Yes it is too: it is the heat and the humidity.
11. Teaching swim clinics to little kids in the heat. (No, not little kids in heat!)
12. That my shoulder still hurts. Not too bad, but just a little, and constantly.
12a. UPDATE (how could I forget?): Recent surgery. (Thanks, Scott!)
13. That I am about to take yet another trip, this one overseas.
14. See #3+4.
15. A too long to-do list.
16. Making too many plans.
17. Not having things planned well enough.
18. Shopping.
19. Swim practice, when there are too many people in the lanes.
20. Showering after swim practice, when there are too many people in the locker room.
Now that I am thinking about it, 20 does not usually = "a few." See what I mean?
Have I mentioned how tired I am?
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Everything in Winston-Salem is against the law....
Today it is Winston-Salem, so it must be Thursday. I have committed to way too much travel this month: 2 weeks ago to Tulsa, now to Winston-Salem, next week to Charlotte. Luckily neither today's nor next week's trip requires the quart-sized ziploc bag. But I do have a bit of driving ahead of myself. Just call me the low-paid daddy singing the high-price blues.
But won't you join me please in welcoming the arrival of Fall Break? Hooray, Fall Break.
Hope you enjoy the upcoming weekend. I know I will, because after I get back from giving my lecture, the PP are declaring a moratorium against answering the phone, checking e-mail, grading papers, doing house-related projects, and overexerting ourselves generally.
But won't you join me please in welcoming the arrival of Fall Break? Hooray, Fall Break.
Hope you enjoy the upcoming weekend. I know I will, because after I get back from giving my lecture, the PP are declaring a moratorium against answering the phone, checking e-mail, grading papers, doing house-related projects, and overexerting ourselves generally.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Friday Random 10: I'm not a circus star I don't need a bodyguard Edition.
Dedicated readers of this dedicated foe of evil may now be asking themselves, "Since when did this become an exclusively Random 10 blog?" To which I respond, after protesting that I just wrote yet another post about swimming, "What is there worth saying that cannot be followed by a list of 10 musical tracks?"
Besides, I have been too surly and stressed out lately to say anything not laced with profanity.
But because you are all so nice and patient, here is one piece of free advice for you: do not believe anyone who tells you that it would work to spend time in Tulsa without a car. Do not believe them when they claim that you could call a cab, or use a hotel shuttle. These are lies. If you do not have a car in that city full of amazing art deco buildings that are largely standing empty, you will eat every meal in the hotel. Every. Last. One.
1. "Like the Way She Moves," Chris Isaak
2. "Love Minus Zero," Leon Russell (Leon Russell and the Shelter People)
3. "Functional," Thelonious Monk (Thelonious Monk with John Coltrane)
4. "Love Among the Sailors," Laurie Anderson (Talk Normal: Laurie Anderson Anthology, disk 2)
5. Track 9, Faye Wang (a disk whose title and whose track titles I cannot read)
6. "If Only I Had Known," Peter Erskine Trio (Time Being)
7. "Hop Along, Let's Get Her," Henry Morrisson, John Davis and group (Southern Journey, vol. 12: Earliest Times)
8. "Mississippi," John Linnell (State Songs)
9. "Shy," Peter Murphy (Deep)
10. "It Takes Two," Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock
p.s. According to my internet sources, the real lyric is "I'm not a sucker so I don't need a bodyguard," but I like it better the way I heard it back in circa 1989. So there.
Besides, I have been too surly and stressed out lately to say anything not laced with profanity.
But because you are all so nice and patient, here is one piece of free advice for you: do not believe anyone who tells you that it would work to spend time in Tulsa without a car. Do not believe them when they claim that you could call a cab, or use a hotel shuttle. These are lies. If you do not have a car in that city full of amazing art deco buildings that are largely standing empty, you will eat every meal in the hotel. Every. Last. One.
1. "Like the Way She Moves," Chris Isaak
2. "Love Minus Zero," Leon Russell (Leon Russell and the Shelter People)
3. "Functional," Thelonious Monk (Thelonious Monk with John Coltrane)
4. "Love Among the Sailors," Laurie Anderson (Talk Normal: Laurie Anderson Anthology, disk 2)
5. Track 9, Faye Wang (a disk whose title and whose track titles I cannot read)
6. "If Only I Had Known," Peter Erskine Trio (Time Being)
7. "Hop Along, Let's Get Her," Henry Morrisson, John Davis and group (Southern Journey, vol. 12: Earliest Times)
8. "Mississippi," John Linnell (State Songs)
9. "Shy," Peter Murphy (Deep)
10. "It Takes Two," Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock
p.s. According to my internet sources, the real lyric is "I'm not a sucker so I don't need a bodyguard," but I like it better the way I heard it back in circa 1989. So there.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Wednesday Random 10: Where the wind comes sweeping down the plain Edition
I've been tinkering with my mp3 player: after about a year and a half, I have taken the classical off.
Why, you ask?
I don't listen to it that way.
I do listen to plenty of classical music, mostly on the CD player in my study, and sometimes on the CD player in the living room, and occasionally from my computer's speakers, where I have all my CDs digitized (13,950 tracks and counting).
But I do not listen to it in the car, because the car noise (whether from our noisy old car or the open windows) makes it hard to deal with highly variable dynamics. And mostly these days, I listen to the mp3 player in the car--where I also enjoy playing with the random feature. And frankly, I don't care for random programming that moves back and forth between, say, Gogol Bordello and the slow movement of a Vivaldi concerto. I am all about eclectic, but that does not work for my moods.
So for the last couple of days I have been enjoying Radio Isis on my new long commute. My mp3 player is very fond of Howlin' Wolf, it turns out, as he makes a better than statistically likely appearance in my random samplings. And I love the transitions I would never have thought of myself. Besides, I do not always think broadly enough about what music might work for me at any given moment, and the random feature brings me things I had forgotten.
So! A big set-up for today's early Random 10. I'll be at a conference the rest of the week, so a Friday post is not in the cards:
1. "Trappola Mortale," Nicola Conte (Bossa per due)
2. "Margarita," Grupo Niche
3. "Miracle," Swati Natekar (Essential Asian Flavas)
4. "Buggin' Out," A Tribe Called Quest (The Low End Theory)
5. "The Whistler," Doctor Rockit (Indoor Fireworks)
6. "Fennimores Lied," Ute Lemper (Ute Lemper Sings Kurt Weill)
7. "Everybody Needs Somebody," Wilson Pickett
8. "Pony," Tom Waits (Mule Variations)
9. "Ooh Child/Redemption Song," Molly Johnson (Another Day)
10. "It's a Blue World," Lionel Hampton
Why, you ask?
I don't listen to it that way.
I do listen to plenty of classical music, mostly on the CD player in my study, and sometimes on the CD player in the living room, and occasionally from my computer's speakers, where I have all my CDs digitized (13,950 tracks and counting).
But I do not listen to it in the car, because the car noise (whether from our noisy old car or the open windows) makes it hard to deal with highly variable dynamics. And mostly these days, I listen to the mp3 player in the car--where I also enjoy playing with the random feature. And frankly, I don't care for random programming that moves back and forth between, say, Gogol Bordello and the slow movement of a Vivaldi concerto. I am all about eclectic, but that does not work for my moods.
So for the last couple of days I have been enjoying Radio Isis on my new long commute. My mp3 player is very fond of Howlin' Wolf, it turns out, as he makes a better than statistically likely appearance in my random samplings. And I love the transitions I would never have thought of myself. Besides, I do not always think broadly enough about what music might work for me at any given moment, and the random feature brings me things I had forgotten.
So! A big set-up for today's early Random 10. I'll be at a conference the rest of the week, so a Friday post is not in the cards:
1. "Trappola Mortale," Nicola Conte (Bossa per due)
2. "Margarita," Grupo Niche
3. "Miracle," Swati Natekar (Essential Asian Flavas)
4. "Buggin' Out," A Tribe Called Quest (The Low End Theory)
5. "The Whistler," Doctor Rockit (Indoor Fireworks)
6. "Fennimores Lied," Ute Lemper (Ute Lemper Sings Kurt Weill)
7. "Everybody Needs Somebody," Wilson Pickett
8. "Pony," Tom Waits (Mule Variations)
9. "Ooh Child/Redemption Song," Molly Johnson (Another Day)
10. "It's a Blue World," Lionel Hampton
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