The start-wearing-purple sweater is off the needles--all that is left is the sewing (bleh). I should have realized that such a chunky yarn would make a WARM sweater. I suppose that will be a good thing in sweater season, but I hope I have not accidentally made a sweater too warm for SC.
But this means I need to find a new project. How exciting! I have gotten a good bit of self-pity yarn lately, and the PP even made a trek to a yarn store that is a little ways from town with me last week, before the shoulder went ultimate haywire. The ladies at the yarn store (like pretty much everyone who meets him) were so amazed by him: he was actually interested in the yarns (I had set him on a mission to find some specific things, and the PP loves new things anyway) and he was looking at a book called something like Knitting for Men, and picking out prospective sweaters (all of which, of course, involve cables that I do not know how to do yet--but soon!). They were amazed that he was not just itching to get out of there. "He's a keeper!" they kept saying.
Don't I know it. And none of us knew then how incredibly kind he would be to me the entire time of the weekend of doom.
Anyway, today is a big day!
This morning I go to see the shoulder specialist who comes highly recommended from another swimmer and my coach. I have my x-rays and my MRI pictures in a little envelope for him, along with some paperwork. If I do not document him to death, I hope he will be able to come up with something.
Then this afternoon is my first appointment in a while with the physical therapist. While I do not expect us to make any immediate progress on the actual shoulder problem, he should be able to help me get the joint loosened up and re-strengthened after the arthrogramathon.
I'll post a report after my appointments, but keep your fingers crossed for me.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Confusion: my mistake.
Dear Readers,
A couple of folks have expressed confusion at what sent my weekend south.
The real answer is that we don't know. But the going hypothesis is that about 5% of the population has a severe pain reaction to the "dye" (not really a dye, but a chemical whose name I do not remember) that they use in an arthrogram. That could explain why the pain in my shoulder began on Friday and increased so dramatically. Or, it could have been a little bit of that, exacerbated by the "palpating" in Friday's appointment. Or it could have been the 15 cc of fluid that was injected into my already tender shoulder. Or some combination of the three. Or there could be an infection in the joint, but that does not look likely, since my temperature is remaining very steady at normal, and the pain is going away instead of increasing.
What I do know is that the pain that came on this weekend was not caused by sports, since I have not done any since the needlefest on Thursday.
And what else I know is that this pain makes me nostalgic for the soreness I had before the test. You know, the pain that led me to get the test? Won't it be grand to get back to that point?
Again, sorry for the confusion.
Yours truly,
Isis
A couple of folks have expressed confusion at what sent my weekend south.
The real answer is that we don't know. But the going hypothesis is that about 5% of the population has a severe pain reaction to the "dye" (not really a dye, but a chemical whose name I do not remember) that they use in an arthrogram. That could explain why the pain in my shoulder began on Friday and increased so dramatically. Or, it could have been a little bit of that, exacerbated by the "palpating" in Friday's appointment. Or it could have been the 15 cc of fluid that was injected into my already tender shoulder. Or some combination of the three. Or there could be an infection in the joint, but that does not look likely, since my temperature is remaining very steady at normal, and the pain is going away instead of increasing.
What I do know is that the pain that came on this weekend was not caused by sports, since I have not done any since the needlefest on Thursday.
And what else I know is that this pain makes me nostalgic for the soreness I had before the test. You know, the pain that led me to get the test? Won't it be grand to get back to that point?
Again, sorry for the confusion.
Yours truly,
Isis
It's all just a matter of time-uh.
I may not yet be able to drive my manual-transmission car, but that does not mean I am not making progress.
For instance, as of today, I can use my left hand to pull up my pants! And I can touch my face with my left hand! Perhaps even wash said face!
The secret to my success? I am glad you asked: it is a combination of pill consumption that even an old person would envy and many hot baths, where I practice moving my left arm around in a low gravity warm water context. Oh yeah, and the passing of time.
Today I am more sore than yesterday, but it is no longer the joint hurting anymore but instead the muscles. Muscles that have been clenched into leetle tight wads and have recently been getting bits and pieces of workouts as I try to lift my arm (much exhaling of breath).
And, thanks be, I CAN KNIT AGAIN.
I am working on the world's simplest, chunkiest, start-wearing-purplest sweater. I have now finished the front and the back, and I have knitted the shoulders together using that cool move where you knit them together and bind the stitches off all in one slick move. (Good thing that move is slick, because there is nothing slick about the series of moves it presently requires to pour myself a cup of coffee.) Now I have started on Sleeve #1, making notes about mistakes as I go, so I can replicated them on Sleeve #2. Exciting news on the sleeve front is that I have learned the "make 1" increase. Watch me go!
Stay tuned as tomorrow I try to leave the house!
For instance, as of today, I can use my left hand to pull up my pants! And I can touch my face with my left hand! Perhaps even wash said face!
The secret to my success? I am glad you asked: it is a combination of pill consumption that even an old person would envy and many hot baths, where I practice moving my left arm around in a low gravity warm water context. Oh yeah, and the passing of time.
Today I am more sore than yesterday, but it is no longer the joint hurting anymore but instead the muscles. Muscles that have been clenched into leetle tight wads and have recently been getting bits and pieces of workouts as I try to lift my arm (much exhaling of breath).
And, thanks be, I CAN KNIT AGAIN.
I am working on the world's simplest, chunkiest, start-wearing-purplest sweater. I have now finished the front and the back, and I have knitted the shoulders together using that cool move where you knit them together and bind the stitches off all in one slick move. (Good thing that move is slick, because there is nothing slick about the series of moves it presently requires to pour myself a cup of coffee.) Now I have started on Sleeve #1, making notes about mistakes as I go, so I can replicated them on Sleeve #2. Exciting news on the sleeve front is that I have learned the "make 1" increase. Watch me go!
Stay tuned as tomorrow I try to leave the house!
Monday, April 23, 2007
What a weekend.
You may not find this as exciting as I do, but I am typing with two hands!
This is exciting, because for pretty much the entire weekend, I had no use of left arm. And what moving it did, felt like someone was ripping it out of my shoulder socket.
You see, that shoulder pain I was feeling on Friday got even worse, and I realized that it was important that when I described the arthrogram itself as sucking beyond most sucking--well, now I knew what some more sucking felt like.
Sucky.
As Friday went on the pain got worse and worse, and finally we convinced the doctor's office that I was not just being whiney, but really hurting, and they gave me vicodin. Cool: that helped some, and it definitely mellowed me out, but what they did not tell me and should have (and indeed the directions from the pharmacy even contradicted this) was TAKE WITH FOOD. I had taken the first dose right at dinner time, but I kept taking it every four hours as prescribed, so by the early morning my stomach was getting empty. And then, when I tried to eat, I could not eat more than one bite without being sick.
Four times of that later, and still in excruciating pain (this is early Saturday morning), we were trying to contact the on-call doctor again and again. Having started this rigamarole around 5:30 a.m., we finally reached a nurse around 10:30, and then around 1:30, I was back at the doctor's office, where I got stronger drugs. (The car ride, though, was no fun.) The new meds had anti-nausea stuff in them, too, thanks be.
Yesterday things kept improving and by evening I could be up and around. Even getting to the bathroom was no big deal! And solid food! And, can you believe it, I was able to knit again.
This morning feels like a whole new day. Thanks to super-meds, I got good sleep, and at one point I even managed to turn onto my right side (away from the sore arm).
Does this blog sound like I am charting the accomplishments of an infant?
No work for me today, which is dicey, given the time of the semester. But my goal is to able to drive by tomorrow.
This is exciting, because for pretty much the entire weekend, I had no use of left arm. And what moving it did, felt like someone was ripping it out of my shoulder socket.
You see, that shoulder pain I was feeling on Friday got even worse, and I realized that it was important that when I described the arthrogram itself as sucking beyond most sucking--well, now I knew what some more sucking felt like.
Sucky.
As Friday went on the pain got worse and worse, and finally we convinced the doctor's office that I was not just being whiney, but really hurting, and they gave me vicodin. Cool: that helped some, and it definitely mellowed me out, but what they did not tell me and should have (and indeed the directions from the pharmacy even contradicted this) was TAKE WITH FOOD. I had taken the first dose right at dinner time, but I kept taking it every four hours as prescribed, so by the early morning my stomach was getting empty. And then, when I tried to eat, I could not eat more than one bite without being sick.
Four times of that later, and still in excruciating pain (this is early Saturday morning), we were trying to contact the on-call doctor again and again. Having started this rigamarole around 5:30 a.m., we finally reached a nurse around 10:30, and then around 1:30, I was back at the doctor's office, where I got stronger drugs. (The car ride, though, was no fun.) The new meds had anti-nausea stuff in them, too, thanks be.
Yesterday things kept improving and by evening I could be up and around. Even getting to the bathroom was no big deal! And solid food! And, can you believe it, I was able to knit again.
This morning feels like a whole new day. Thanks to super-meds, I got good sleep, and at one point I even managed to turn onto my right side (away from the sore arm).
Does this blog sound like I am charting the accomplishments of an infant?
No work for me today, which is dicey, given the time of the semester. But my goal is to able to drive by tomorrow.
Friday, April 20, 2007
The so-called results.
Just back from my appointment with the orthopaedist.
The OUTSTANDING news is that there is no rotator-cuff muscle tear, and no serious degradation of the biceps tendon. And all that means NO SURGERY. HUGE sigh of relief.
The bad news is that they cannot really tell why I am experiencing this pain, so it is back to physical therapy, which may or may not do anything. Apparently my labrum, which is a part of the shoulder that the ball of joint touches, I THINK, is stretched, but this probably is not the source of pain but rather a symptom of swimming.
The doc had a student with him today, so they did a lot of "palpating," which in regular human speech means touching the places where the pain is and moving my shoulder all around to see what hurts. All that, plus the leftovers from yesterday's arthrogram fun, mean that my entire left arm fucking hurts. I am wondering what the repercussions of an entire afternoon of bourbon drinking might be..... Probably would not put me in the best frame of mind for this evening's swim team banquet, which includes masters + kids team.
So I am really happy not to be looking at surgery, but profoundly frustrated not to know what to do. I do have an appt with a special shoulder doc for next Friday, so maybe he will have some more detailed or specific sense of things.
Oh, and no swimming for now, of course--but you had guessed that, hadn't you?
The OUTSTANDING news is that there is no rotator-cuff muscle tear, and no serious degradation of the biceps tendon. And all that means NO SURGERY. HUGE sigh of relief.
The bad news is that they cannot really tell why I am experiencing this pain, so it is back to physical therapy, which may or may not do anything. Apparently my labrum, which is a part of the shoulder that the ball of joint touches, I THINK, is stretched, but this probably is not the source of pain but rather a symptom of swimming.
The doc had a student with him today, so they did a lot of "palpating," which in regular human speech means touching the places where the pain is and moving my shoulder all around to see what hurts. All that, plus the leftovers from yesterday's arthrogram fun, mean that my entire left arm fucking hurts. I am wondering what the repercussions of an entire afternoon of bourbon drinking might be..... Probably would not put me in the best frame of mind for this evening's swim team banquet, which includes masters + kids team.
So I am really happy not to be looking at surgery, but profoundly frustrated not to know what to do. I do have an appt with a special shoulder doc for next Friday, so maybe he will have some more detailed or specific sense of things.
Oh, and no swimming for now, of course--but you had guessed that, hadn't you?
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Ow ow ow.
One thing is certain: I would not be able to stand up to tortune.
I did successfully get my arthrogram + MRI done today, and, 4 hours later, I am home to tell the tale. The MRI was no big deal: as I explained to the tech who was giving me the earplugs, the PP's snoring pretty much sounds like that, so I sleep in earplugs all the time. And they do wrap you up pretty well before they send you into the magnetic tube, so it is pretty easy to hold still. And they give you a nice blanket, since the room is about 45 F. So all in all, not bad.
But the same cannot be said of the arthrogram. If you have never had such a test, it goes like this: they take an X-ray, then they use some kind of fancy camera to look at your shoulder (or whatever) while they try to figure out where to stick a needle, then they mark you with a sharpie, then they inject you with numbing solution, then they stick in the needle, inject dye (to magnify the contrast of various kinds of tissue) into the joint, take another picture, and presto you are done.
Well, presto, that is, if they can quickliy find the right spot to shoot in the dye. The doctor did mention that sometimes that is not so easy, but I figured I would not be such a case. I am sorry to have to tell that I was indeed such a case. I was not allowed to wear a watch during the procedure, and if I were I am sure I would not have been allowed to consult it, but I can tell you that however long it took, of moving the spinal needle around while it was stuck in my shoulder, and trying to get it readjusted, and all amidst tissue that has not been feeling the best lately, seemed like an eternity. Even with the numbing, you still of course feel quite a bit, and it is that horrible metal on tissue feeling, combined with the fun probing feeling. Combined with eternity.
But now the procedures are done and I am off to my massage appointment, which I have been anticipating all day, although she'll have to avoid all the little bandages and injection points. And tonight may be one of those nights that requires its share of scotch.
Results tomorrow, gods and goddesses willing.
I did successfully get my arthrogram + MRI done today, and, 4 hours later, I am home to tell the tale. The MRI was no big deal: as I explained to the tech who was giving me the earplugs, the PP's snoring pretty much sounds like that, so I sleep in earplugs all the time. And they do wrap you up pretty well before they send you into the magnetic tube, so it is pretty easy to hold still. And they give you a nice blanket, since the room is about 45 F. So all in all, not bad.
But the same cannot be said of the arthrogram. If you have never had such a test, it goes like this: they take an X-ray, then they use some kind of fancy camera to look at your shoulder (or whatever) while they try to figure out where to stick a needle, then they mark you with a sharpie, then they inject you with numbing solution, then they stick in the needle, inject dye (to magnify the contrast of various kinds of tissue) into the joint, take another picture, and presto you are done.
Well, presto, that is, if they can quickliy find the right spot to shoot in the dye. The doctor did mention that sometimes that is not so easy, but I figured I would not be such a case. I am sorry to have to tell that I was indeed such a case. I was not allowed to wear a watch during the procedure, and if I were I am sure I would not have been allowed to consult it, but I can tell you that however long it took, of moving the spinal needle around while it was stuck in my shoulder, and trying to get it readjusted, and all amidst tissue that has not been feeling the best lately, seemed like an eternity. Even with the numbing, you still of course feel quite a bit, and it is that horrible metal on tissue feeling, combined with the fun probing feeling. Combined with eternity.
But now the procedures are done and I am off to my massage appointment, which I have been anticipating all day, although she'll have to avoid all the little bandages and injection points. And tonight may be one of those nights that requires its share of scotch.
Results tomorrow, gods and goddesses willing.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Trying again.
I went to swim practice last night, for the first time since March 21.
You see, the alternative exercise thing has not been going as well as I would like.
Here is an exchange I had with my coach last night during a set of vertical kicks:
That about sums it up. Sure, I had been doing some spinning classes, which I really enjoy, but getting signed up for them requires surrendering your first-born, and I am all out of first-borns. And although I can sometimes muster the energy and dedication to get out for a run on my own or a cycle in the basement, sometimes I cannot.
So I had to face the swimming demons and get back in the pool.
Here, for the sake of testimony and bandwagons, is last night's practice:
900 kick warm-up (was supposed to be 1000, but I did not have time once I took off my short fins)
450 designated kick set (3 x 150: 50 easy, 25 fast, 25 easy, 50 fast)
50 random extra
300 kick (while the others were doing some kind of drill-swim thing)
~900 combination vertical kicking and lap-kicking in the diving well
300 kick (3 x 100 descend BR kick @ 2:00: 1:10, 1:04, :57)
200 kick easy
TOTAL: ~3100 yards
I realized in the course of this that whatever streamlining I was doing back when I was just kicking may have been the aggravating factor, keeping the shoulder from healing. Coach says I am not allowed to beat myself up for this, so I am working on LIVE AND LEARN. Or in this case, probably LIVE, GET SURGERY, AND THEN MAYBE LEARN.
MRI got postponed yesterday because of stupid scheduling snafu (though not until after I spent over an hour sitting in the Dr.-Phil-infused waiting room trying to get work done), so now that happens Thursday. Maybe I can still get my results Friday--we shall see.
Chin up.
You see, the alternative exercise thing has not been going as well as I would like.
Here is an exchange I had with my coach last night during a set of vertical kicks:
COACH: So, how is it going, being back?
ME: It SUCKS.
COACH: But isn't it better than sitting home by yourself?
ME: Yeah, that sucks more.
That about sums it up. Sure, I had been doing some spinning classes, which I really enjoy, but getting signed up for them requires surrendering your first-born, and I am all out of first-borns. And although I can sometimes muster the energy and dedication to get out for a run on my own or a cycle in the basement, sometimes I cannot.
So I had to face the swimming demons and get back in the pool.
Here, for the sake of testimony and bandwagons, is last night's practice:
900 kick warm-up (was supposed to be 1000, but I did not have time once I took off my short fins)
450 designated kick set (3 x 150: 50 easy, 25 fast, 25 easy, 50 fast)
50 random extra
300 kick (while the others were doing some kind of drill-swim thing)
~900 combination vertical kicking and lap-kicking in the diving well
300 kick (3 x 100 descend BR kick @ 2:00: 1:10, 1:04, :57)
200 kick easy
TOTAL: ~3100 yards
I realized in the course of this that whatever streamlining I was doing back when I was just kicking may have been the aggravating factor, keeping the shoulder from healing. Coach says I am not allowed to beat myself up for this, so I am working on LIVE AND LEARN. Or in this case, probably LIVE, GET SURGERY, AND THEN MAYBE LEARN.
MRI got postponed yesterday because of stupid scheduling snafu (though not until after I spent over an hour sitting in the Dr.-Phil-infused waiting room trying to get work done), so now that happens Thursday. Maybe I can still get my results Friday--we shall see.
Chin up.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Unimaginable.
My heart is breaking for the Hokies. I cannot quite wrap my head around this, but I suppose I try by thinking about one of my very favorite people in the world, one of the very sweetest people you could ever hope to know. He went to Va Tech, introduced me to the campus after the fact, and although I have no idea where he is now, he is always and forever a part of my soul, and so, by extension, is the college town he fell in love with.
My breaking heart goes out to everyone there.
My breaking heart goes out to everyone there.
Have a nice day.
How exactly are we to express our minute rage at those small injustices life gives us?
I am not talking about the real, big ones, the substantial affronts or serious injustices, the times when everyone agrees we have a right to our fury. But what I mean are the small things--the scheduling mishaps, the cuttings in line, the feelings badly expressed, the unintended insults, or perhaps bad climate conditions that do not lead to any real disasters. Because these things, too, generate their own small angers, the kind that leaves us not righteously indignant, but embarrassed at the smallness of our world-view. These are the times we feel like children, but unaccountably inhabiting overtall, overweight bodies, perhaps with less hair than we’d like, or more hips, but still wanting to let loose one of those completely-unaware-that-there-is-a-world-there wails, the kind where fresh tears come leaping out of your eyes, almost like in cartoons, and everyone around you, whether in our home or in an airport waiting area, has to feel our pain and just deal with it. But no, big person in your increasingly saggy and wrinkled skin, such an outburst is not something you can indulge.
Instead we must smile that furious smile we reserve for the people we cannot speak to, for fear of upsetting our karmic balance or getting ourselves in real trouble. These are the times we hope we are scoring real points, accumulating a case against someone who told us we have the tools to deal with life. We might imagine a courtroom scene with that person, where we lay out all our exhibits, each lettered in an alphabetic order that cannot really conceal our indignation. Because we have our positions ready: we can go forward with our opening arguments, our evidence, our peroration. Our case is irrefutable, really, and they should have made a deal with us before the jury marched in. But it is too late for that now, and we know we have victory locked up.
Assuming that there is any justice, really.
I am not talking about the real, big ones, the substantial affronts or serious injustices, the times when everyone agrees we have a right to our fury. But what I mean are the small things--the scheduling mishaps, the cuttings in line, the feelings badly expressed, the unintended insults, or perhaps bad climate conditions that do not lead to any real disasters. Because these things, too, generate their own small angers, the kind that leaves us not righteously indignant, but embarrassed at the smallness of our world-view. These are the times we feel like children, but unaccountably inhabiting overtall, overweight bodies, perhaps with less hair than we’d like, or more hips, but still wanting to let loose one of those completely-unaware-that-there-is-a-world-there wails, the kind where fresh tears come leaping out of your eyes, almost like in cartoons, and everyone around you, whether in our home or in an airport waiting area, has to feel our pain and just deal with it. But no, big person in your increasingly saggy and wrinkled skin, such an outburst is not something you can indulge.
Instead we must smile that furious smile we reserve for the people we cannot speak to, for fear of upsetting our karmic balance or getting ourselves in real trouble. These are the times we hope we are scoring real points, accumulating a case against someone who told us we have the tools to deal with life. We might imagine a courtroom scene with that person, where we lay out all our exhibits, each lettered in an alphabetic order that cannot really conceal our indignation. Because we have our positions ready: we can go forward with our opening arguments, our evidence, our peroration. Our case is irrefutable, really, and they should have made a deal with us before the jury marched in. But it is too late for that now, and we know we have victory locked up.
Assuming that there is any justice, really.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
I know all there is to know about the waiting game.
Going for an arthroscopic MRI (where they squirt dye into the shoulder to better see what's going on with soft tissue) on Monday morning, and on Friday I discuss the results with the doc.
All that to say the cortisone shot did not really do the trick.
So we'll see....
All that to say the cortisone shot did not really do the trick.
So we'll see....
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Progress?
I don't want to jinx anything, but I think this cortisone shot might be doing its thing.
The PP and I had dinner at friends' last night, and then this morning we went to swim practice with our old swimteam. It was great to see folks after way too long, but because there have been, ahem, coaching changes there, there was no coach, just a group of swimmers, including my coach-friend who helped me train for Nationals. A feeling of frivolity was in the air, so we had "practice" moreso than practice. To me, it was GREAT to be in the water again (after a week and a half), so I did not mind kick-kick-kick. During a fly set, where my lanemate was swimming a 25 fly fast, I'd swim 25 fly kick underwater (with the big fins), and my lanemate was almost swimming on top of me, and he said he could get a draft off me. That was funny.
At one point in the "practice" the group was doing a set of 50s, where you swim 25 build and then 25 easy, IM order. I did most of the set kicking with short fins, but I tried out a little breaststroke swimming (with a much narrower, tightened in pull, in order not to strain the tendon), and that felt good. I also swam 4 x 25s of freestyle with short fins (and with a much wider entry, again to avoid the tendon). That felt good, too. So it was not enough swimming to make anything hurt or sore, but just to feel around a little.
This coming week is our team's spring break, so I think after that I will try to come back slowly.
Meanwhile, spin spin spin!
The PP and I had dinner at friends' last night, and then this morning we went to swim practice with our old swimteam. It was great to see folks after way too long, but because there have been, ahem, coaching changes there, there was no coach, just a group of swimmers, including my coach-friend who helped me train for Nationals. A feeling of frivolity was in the air, so we had "practice" moreso than practice. To me, it was GREAT to be in the water again (after a week and a half), so I did not mind kick-kick-kick. During a fly set, where my lanemate was swimming a 25 fly fast, I'd swim 25 fly kick underwater (with the big fins), and my lanemate was almost swimming on top of me, and he said he could get a draft off me. That was funny.
At one point in the "practice" the group was doing a set of 50s, where you swim 25 build and then 25 easy, IM order. I did most of the set kicking with short fins, but I tried out a little breaststroke swimming (with a much narrower, tightened in pull, in order not to strain the tendon), and that felt good. I also swam 4 x 25s of freestyle with short fins (and with a much wider entry, again to avoid the tendon). That felt good, too. So it was not enough swimming to make anything hurt or sore, but just to feel around a little.
This coming week is our team's spring break, so I think after that I will try to come back slowly.
Meanwhile, spin spin spin!
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Thursday Unrandom 10: I will give you anything just please don't stop spinning Edition.
It is now officially one week since I last swam. Wow--time flies, sort of.
I'm pleased to report that the cortisone shot seems to be helping, in that there is not the lingering achiness in the shoulder that I had before, although I cannot be certain whether that difference is from the shot or the lack of swimming. It is sooooooooo tempting to try swimming again, but I will be patient, although I may break down at some point and do another kick practice, just to be in the water. It is a little like a cost-benefit analysis: will just being in the water feel good enough to make up for not being able to use my arms? Often, yes, if I am not trying to do the kicking too frequently.
But I digress, because I came here today to tell you about my recent bike ride. Wish you could have joined me today for my beautiful ride through wine country. It was a gorgeous day, nearly incandescent, with lush scenery.
OK, let's be honest.
Wine country = my basement.
"Incandescent" = completely artificial lighting.
"Lush scenery" = boxes, paint cans, old light fixtures, and the water heater.
But it was 30 minutes on the trainer, with some good intensity mixed in, and I am happy for that.
(But unhappy that I cannot think of as good a name for the bike trainer as "thrillmill." How about "strainer"?)
This is just another episode in the continuing saga of not swimming, which has also included some pleasants jogs around our local park full of blooming daffodils and tulips, some time on the bike machine and thrillmill at the Y, and a fun spinning class (GREAT instructor + pretty fun music = all the difference), and long walks with the PP. I need to get out for a run tomorrow, but for today I'm feeling sweaty from the cycling, and happy from the little adrenaline burst.
The greatest difficulty in indoor cycling, as you may know, is heart-wrenching boredom. But a few good tunes can really help. So here is the playlist from my recent ride:
1. "L.I.P.S.T.I.C.K.," Ralph Myerz and the Jack Herren Band
2. "Natasha '75," Ralph Myerz and the Jack Herren Band
3. "Single," Pet Shop Boys
4. "Somebody's Watching Me," Rockwell (don't even say it)
5. "Stop, Drop and Roll," Squirrel Nut Zippers
6. "Bedlam Ballroom," Squirrel Nut Zippers
7. "State of the Nation," New Order
8. "Such a Lovely Thing," Devotchka
9. "Sunday Arak," Balkan Beat Box
10. "Take Me, I'm Yours," Squeeze
Can you tell that I was using my little player that plays tracks in alphabetical order? (Some by artist, of course.)
I'm pleased to report that the cortisone shot seems to be helping, in that there is not the lingering achiness in the shoulder that I had before, although I cannot be certain whether that difference is from the shot or the lack of swimming. It is sooooooooo tempting to try swimming again, but I will be patient, although I may break down at some point and do another kick practice, just to be in the water. It is a little like a cost-benefit analysis: will just being in the water feel good enough to make up for not being able to use my arms? Often, yes, if I am not trying to do the kicking too frequently.
But I digress, because I came here today to tell you about my recent bike ride. Wish you could have joined me today for my beautiful ride through wine country. It was a gorgeous day, nearly incandescent, with lush scenery.
OK, let's be honest.
Wine country = my basement.
"Incandescent" = completely artificial lighting.
"Lush scenery" = boxes, paint cans, old light fixtures, and the water heater.
But it was 30 minutes on the trainer, with some good intensity mixed in, and I am happy for that.
(But unhappy that I cannot think of as good a name for the bike trainer as "thrillmill." How about "strainer"?)
This is just another episode in the continuing saga of not swimming, which has also included some pleasants jogs around our local park full of blooming daffodils and tulips, some time on the bike machine and thrillmill at the Y, and a fun spinning class (GREAT instructor + pretty fun music = all the difference), and long walks with the PP. I need to get out for a run tomorrow, but for today I'm feeling sweaty from the cycling, and happy from the little adrenaline burst.
The greatest difficulty in indoor cycling, as you may know, is heart-wrenching boredom. But a few good tunes can really help. So here is the playlist from my recent ride:
1. "L.I.P.S.T.I.C.K.," Ralph Myerz and the Jack Herren Band
2. "Natasha '75," Ralph Myerz and the Jack Herren Band
3. "Single," Pet Shop Boys
4. "Somebody's Watching Me," Rockwell (don't even say it)
5. "Stop, Drop and Roll," Squirrel Nut Zippers
6. "Bedlam Ballroom," Squirrel Nut Zippers
7. "State of the Nation," New Order
8. "Such a Lovely Thing," Devotchka
9. "Sunday Arak," Balkan Beat Box
10. "Take Me, I'm Yours," Squeeze
Can you tell that I was using my little player that plays tracks in alphabetical order? (Some by artist, of course.)
Friday, March 23, 2007
In the meantime...
Thanks for the words of support for my last post: I really appreciate that. The resounding question seems to be what I will do for exercise since I am not swimming, and since no one seems to think that knitting counts. Funny, that was the big question for me, too, the thing that kept me in the water for as long as it did.
I decided on Wednesday night, while I was showering after my shortened practice, to join the local YMCA, since it seems to be the nearest gym with the widest offerings. When I got home that night I checked out their workout classes (they also have a pool with open swim hours, for a future time when I want to do swimming at times other than designated masters practice). I was specifically hoping for spin classes (yes, Joe, I am a lemming!), because I used to enjoy them for off-season triathlon training, and even taught them for a little while. Next to swimming and actually doing a big bike ride, they are my favorite kind of exercise--and definitely the best indoor thing. The Y does have spin classes, along with various other aerobic classes--including something called "Body Blast," which just seems like it would smell bad. I see they also have Yoga, which might be good if I can modify some of the arm stuff, or just for the future. Also, there are the usual cardio machines and weights, although I am not looking for weight stuff just yet. In short, this might be a good thing generally, as it will fill in some facility gaps I have been feeling since the move. So my application form is filled out, and I'll go tomorrow morning while the PP is at swim practice.
Also, I ran yesterday. Woo-hoo! I wore my little music device to keep me motivated, and to block out any impressions of people laughing at me. Truth be told, this was my third run of recent times, as I did a bit of running during recent travel. Yesterday's was 50 minutes, a combination of running and walking, and, I think, 2.5-3 miles. (I don't have one of those fancy GPS gizmos.) (And I'll ask the PT today whether I need to wear a sling.)
It is funny: 6 years ago when I had my bad ankle tendonitis (way worse than the shoulder thing, because I did not realize what it was as it was setting in), it was running and cycling that were impossible, swimming the only alternative. Now? Isn't it ironic.
Today I'm also getting an injection in the tendon, to see if that helps with the healing and inflammation. I know that for some people, these things really work, while for others, not so much.
We'll see how it goes.
I decided on Wednesday night, while I was showering after my shortened practice, to join the local YMCA, since it seems to be the nearest gym with the widest offerings. When I got home that night I checked out their workout classes (they also have a pool with open swim hours, for a future time when I want to do swimming at times other than designated masters practice). I was specifically hoping for spin classes (yes, Joe, I am a lemming!), because I used to enjoy them for off-season triathlon training, and even taught them for a little while. Next to swimming and actually doing a big bike ride, they are my favorite kind of exercise--and definitely the best indoor thing. The Y does have spin classes, along with various other aerobic classes--including something called "Body Blast," which just seems like it would smell bad. I see they also have Yoga, which might be good if I can modify some of the arm stuff, or just for the future. Also, there are the usual cardio machines and weights, although I am not looking for weight stuff just yet. In short, this might be a good thing generally, as it will fill in some facility gaps I have been feeling since the move. So my application form is filled out, and I'll go tomorrow morning while the PP is at swim practice.
Also, I ran yesterday. Woo-hoo! I wore my little music device to keep me motivated, and to block out any impressions of people laughing at me. Truth be told, this was my third run of recent times, as I did a bit of running during recent travel. Yesterday's was 50 minutes, a combination of running and walking, and, I think, 2.5-3 miles. (I don't have one of those fancy GPS gizmos.) (And I'll ask the PT today whether I need to wear a sling.)
It is funny: 6 years ago when I had my bad ankle tendonitis (way worse than the shoulder thing, because I did not realize what it was as it was setting in), it was running and cycling that were impossible, swimming the only alternative. Now? Isn't it ironic.
Today I'm also getting an injection in the tendon, to see if that helps with the healing and inflammation. I know that for some people, these things really work, while for others, not so much.
We'll see how it goes.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Frustratsia.
The time has come: I need to stop swimming. I hope this is temporary.
Last night was the kind of practice that has become too typical for me lately, where I spend most of it frustrated or angry or crying. I kicked for an hour, 2000 meters, and called it a night.
At first I thought that doing this kicking thing, which I have been doing since the beginning of Februrary, would be a way to be in the pool while I recovered from this injury. When I realized this week that I am going to need to do a bit more rest before I can get back to swimming for real, I had to look at what will likely be 4-6 more weeks of kicking, and I just cannot do that. Not because kick is so horrible, but because at every practice I have to watch all the other people swimming for real. Like Monday night, when a couple of guys in the lane next to me were doing a good practice together and since they are relatively recently returning to the sport, I could have hung with them if I had the use of my arms. I just wanted to badly to be in their lane, doing their practice.
So no more pool for me for a while. Please, keep your fingers crossed for me, that it is not too long.
Last night was the kind of practice that has become too typical for me lately, where I spend most of it frustrated or angry or crying. I kicked for an hour, 2000 meters, and called it a night.
At first I thought that doing this kicking thing, which I have been doing since the beginning of Februrary, would be a way to be in the pool while I recovered from this injury. When I realized this week that I am going to need to do a bit more rest before I can get back to swimming for real, I had to look at what will likely be 4-6 more weeks of kicking, and I just cannot do that. Not because kick is so horrible, but because at every practice I have to watch all the other people swimming for real. Like Monday night, when a couple of guys in the lane next to me were doing a good practice together and since they are relatively recently returning to the sport, I could have hung with them if I had the use of my arms. I just wanted to badly to be in their lane, doing their practice.
So no more pool for me for a while. Please, keep your fingers crossed for me, that it is not too long.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
The infamous 100 things.
OK, Joe is saying everyone should do it, and I see other people are, so I will, too.
100 things about me:
1. I am a lemming, apparently.
2. I am a superhero, or a goddess, but not in real life, where sometimes I cower in my house.
3. But my house kicks ass--you'd want to cower here, too.
4. I am not trying to be arrogant about the house, it's just that it is about 90 years old, with gorgeous windows, tons of wood, beautiful high ceilings, and two doorways per room.
5. And some questionable plumbing.
6. I like to plant things in the garden, but I have not done any of that since we moved last August.
7. We = me + Patient Partner + 2 cats.
8. Patient Partner is amazing. I am finding it harder and harder to imagine life without him, even though I never found it easy.
9. The cats are nutso, but I love them too.
10. I like to make up stories about the cats and their rich inner lives.
11. I have recently become obsessed with knitting, which I taught myself to do a few weekends ago. So far I have made 3 + 3/2 scarves.
12. I would like to learn to make hats.
13. I would like to learn to make ridiculous hats.
14. Knitting calms me.
15. I really need that.
16. I love swimming.
17. I cannot swim right now because I have tendonitis in my biceps tendon.
18. And lingering tightness in my anterior deltoid.
19. Sometimes after kicking 3000 yards I want to scream. (see #14)
20. Or cry.
21. But I cannot bear to be out of the water.
22. I do not love running because I feel like a trundling lump.
23. And I do not know how to breathe properly.
24. I know, it should be easy when you are not in the water.
25. I love cycling, but we do not do it anymore.
26. Partly this is circumstantial, partly because my bike is a hair too big, and partly it is because it takes so much time.
27. I have a great job where I get to spend a good bit of my time doing the things I want to do.
28. The other parts can be a drag, of course.
29. I enjoy cooking, but I do not find enough time to do it, especially with evening swim practices.
30. I am not afraid to try new things.
31. Because I just act like a clown when I am bad at things, to cover up the embarassment.
32. I enjoy learning new languages.
33. I love traveling.
34. I have done a lot of traveling alone, which is not exactly my preference, but it has its upsides.
35. But it is good to come home (see #3).
36. I rely on my friends, who sustain me.
37. And who I have a really great time with.
38. I spend almost all of my disposable income on (1) music, (2) yarn, and (3) eating out.
39. The PP and I do not have children so, according to a friend, we can throw our money away.
40. We really try not to do that, my recent visit to the Virgin Megastore excepted.
41. Oh yeah, and the dinner after Nationals where I accidentally ordered a $150 bottle of wine.
42. Blame it on 2 days of racing.
43. I am very proud of my medals from Nationals.
44. And the wine was pretty great.
45. I went dogsledding while I was in graduate school.
46. It was one of the best weeks of my life.
47. I secretly want to race dogs now.
48. But the sled won't get far in South Carolina.
49. I am on spring break right now, which is how I am finding time to actually write in my blog again, which I have missed.
50. But the knitting comes first.
51. I wish I were taller and thinner.
52. I have never felt a desire to have children.
53. I often admire and envy families with children.
54. I had no brothers or sisters growing up.
55. I am very, very good friends with my parents.
56. I often wonder what it would be like to have a sister or brother.
57. I am very bad at sharing my space.
58. The PP is an exception, but it took me a long time to learn to do that.
59. It was worth it.
60. He still teases me about how I thought we should have houses next door to one another.
61. That was not such a crazy idea, really.
62. But not financially viable.
63. I do not really like to shop, but recently I have been thinking a lot about shoes.
64. And bags.
65. I am not a religious person.
66. I have a profound sense of the ineffable.
67. Thinking too much about environmental problems makes me emo.
68. I would like to travel to Antarctica.
69. But not on one of those cruise ships where you take your photo with penguins.
70. I know how to play the piano.
71. But I never practice, and I do not play enough.
72. I wish I played more, and that I had real musical ability.
73. I am a jack of all trades, master of none.
74. I do not really mind that, most of the time.
75. I love sweets.
76. I wish I were more creative.
77. I wish I were more willing to take risks.
78. I would like to live in Italy for a while.
79. I love eggs. That's why I order a omelet.
80. I watch too much Law and Order.
81. I am more likely to participate in sports if I can do so with friends. (see #1)
82. I like watching basketball on TV.'
83. I frequently cannot watch UNC basketball on TV without leaving the room in agony.
84. I am not a Duke fan.
85. I am learning to be a Clemson fan, unrewarding though it can be.
86. I do not watch many movies.
87. I am mildly afraid of movies.
88. I am not afraid of French pastries.
89. I am addicted to the Washington Post's daily sudoku puzzle.
90. That is not the first video game I have gotten hooked on.
91. I just finished knitting my fourth scarf.
92. That leaves 2 partials to go.
93. I find knitting scarves out of that ribbon where there are little strings everywhere CONFUSING.
94. My favorite part of the knitting is the yarn.
95. Soon I will learn to knit hats.
96. And afghans.
97. And little animals.
98. And how to use those round knitting needles.
99. I will wrap the entire world in little knitted things.
100. Look out world.
100 things about me:
1. I am a lemming, apparently.
2. I am a superhero, or a goddess, but not in real life, where sometimes I cower in my house.
3. But my house kicks ass--you'd want to cower here, too.
4. I am not trying to be arrogant about the house, it's just that it is about 90 years old, with gorgeous windows, tons of wood, beautiful high ceilings, and two doorways per room.
5. And some questionable plumbing.
6. I like to plant things in the garden, but I have not done any of that since we moved last August.
7. We = me + Patient Partner + 2 cats.
8. Patient Partner is amazing. I am finding it harder and harder to imagine life without him, even though I never found it easy.
9. The cats are nutso, but I love them too.
10. I like to make up stories about the cats and their rich inner lives.
11. I have recently become obsessed with knitting, which I taught myself to do a few weekends ago. So far I have made 3 + 3/2 scarves.
12. I would like to learn to make hats.
13. I would like to learn to make ridiculous hats.
14. Knitting calms me.
15. I really need that.
16. I love swimming.
17. I cannot swim right now because I have tendonitis in my biceps tendon.
18. And lingering tightness in my anterior deltoid.
19. Sometimes after kicking 3000 yards I want to scream. (see #14)
20. Or cry.
21. But I cannot bear to be out of the water.
22. I do not love running because I feel like a trundling lump.
23. And I do not know how to breathe properly.
24. I know, it should be easy when you are not in the water.
25. I love cycling, but we do not do it anymore.
26. Partly this is circumstantial, partly because my bike is a hair too big, and partly it is because it takes so much time.
27. I have a great job where I get to spend a good bit of my time doing the things I want to do.
28. The other parts can be a drag, of course.
29. I enjoy cooking, but I do not find enough time to do it, especially with evening swim practices.
30. I am not afraid to try new things.
31. Because I just act like a clown when I am bad at things, to cover up the embarassment.
32. I enjoy learning new languages.
33. I love traveling.
34. I have done a lot of traveling alone, which is not exactly my preference, but it has its upsides.
35. But it is good to come home (see #3).
36. I rely on my friends, who sustain me.
37. And who I have a really great time with.
38. I spend almost all of my disposable income on (1) music, (2) yarn, and (3) eating out.
39. The PP and I do not have children so, according to a friend, we can throw our money away.
40. We really try not to do that, my recent visit to the Virgin Megastore excepted.
41. Oh yeah, and the dinner after Nationals where I accidentally ordered a $150 bottle of wine.
42. Blame it on 2 days of racing.
43. I am very proud of my medals from Nationals.
44. And the wine was pretty great.
45. I went dogsledding while I was in graduate school.
46. It was one of the best weeks of my life.
47. I secretly want to race dogs now.
48. But the sled won't get far in South Carolina.
49. I am on spring break right now, which is how I am finding time to actually write in my blog again, which I have missed.
50. But the knitting comes first.
51. I wish I were taller and thinner.
52. I have never felt a desire to have children.
53. I often admire and envy families with children.
54. I had no brothers or sisters growing up.
55. I am very, very good friends with my parents.
56. I often wonder what it would be like to have a sister or brother.
57. I am very bad at sharing my space.
58. The PP is an exception, but it took me a long time to learn to do that.
59. It was worth it.
60. He still teases me about how I thought we should have houses next door to one another.
61. That was not such a crazy idea, really.
62. But not financially viable.
63. I do not really like to shop, but recently I have been thinking a lot about shoes.
64. And bags.
65. I am not a religious person.
66. I have a profound sense of the ineffable.
67. Thinking too much about environmental problems makes me emo.
68. I would like to travel to Antarctica.
69. But not on one of those cruise ships where you take your photo with penguins.
70. I know how to play the piano.
71. But I never practice, and I do not play enough.
72. I wish I played more, and that I had real musical ability.
73. I am a jack of all trades, master of none.
74. I do not really mind that, most of the time.
75. I love sweets.
76. I wish I were more creative.
77. I wish I were more willing to take risks.
78. I would like to live in Italy for a while.
79. I love eggs. That's why I order a omelet.
80. I watch too much Law and Order.
81. I am more likely to participate in sports if I can do so with friends. (see #1)
82. I like watching basketball on TV.'
83. I frequently cannot watch UNC basketball on TV without leaving the room in agony.
84. I am not a Duke fan.
85. I am learning to be a Clemson fan, unrewarding though it can be.
86. I do not watch many movies.
87. I am mildly afraid of movies.
88. I am not afraid of French pastries.
89. I am addicted to the Washington Post's daily sudoku puzzle.
90. That is not the first video game I have gotten hooked on.
91. I just finished knitting my fourth scarf.
92. That leaves 2 partials to go.
93. I find knitting scarves out of that ribbon where there are little strings everywhere CONFUSING.
94. My favorite part of the knitting is the yarn.
95. Soon I will learn to knit hats.
96. And afghans.
97. And little animals.
98. And how to use those round knitting needles.
99. I will wrap the entire world in little knitted things.
100. Look out world.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Times matter.
Recently Scott wrote about masters swimming, arguing that times should not matter there. Granted, he was talking about swimming times in the grand and glorious sense--national records, world records, even racing with one's competitors. He did allow that times could matter as a benchmark for individual assessment, although I suspect he would note that an adult swimmer measuring their success or failure against their times from their youth is in for nothing but hurt.
This is true. As adults, we not only lack the time and compunction to train at the level necessary for peak achievement, but our bodies are disintegrating around us. I suppose I am even more aware of this fact since I am still not able to use my arms for more than 600 yards in a practice (total), but I also see around me plenty of other swimmers with injuries or whose bodies are betraying them.
But I want to argue for the importance of competition in mastsers swimming.
I am not writing from the same perspective as Scott, since I have no dreams of real glory, nor do I have much of a swimming past. I swam avidly growing up, but only during the summer season. There was one year when I swam year-round, but I did not much care for it, and I knew that I would never be that calibre of swimmer. Really, I swam all year just to be in better shape the next summer.
The coach at my previous team often argued that his swimmers should be super-serious about the sport, prioritizing it above other activities, willing to train with great dedication. "Jack of all trades, master of none," he would say. Sure, if you want to achieve, you have to put in the work. But I hate the idea that kids who are willing to put a good bit into swimming, but want to do other things too, were discouraged.
To me, there is an analogy between these two positions, that masters swimming times are irrelevant and that swimming should be the top of the list for kids who swim.
What I would hope for instead--or really, in addition--is a space for achievement and even small bits of private glory, even with the knowledge that those achievements and that glory would not matter to the wider world.
One of my favorite aspects of masters swimming is seeing people who you might not expect kick ass. For instance, the man who broke world records in the 90+ category in the 1000 free and 1650 free at nationals last year. Sure, those records might not mean much compared to the current time standards for Olympic trials, but to do that swim--and to prepare for that swim--at that age is pretty awesome. Similarly, when you see someone who can hardly walk helped to a starting block so that they can dive in and then swim like a shark to beat everyone in your heat, that is awesome too.
What I am saying is that masters swimming (like other lifelong sports) offers many ways to achieve glory. For me, someone who often wonders what it would have been like to take my swimming seriously as a teenager, it is the chance to achieve the physical and mental gains that come with athletic discipline. And times are definitely a part of that. To be able to qualify for various national or world meets means something important: it means that the work I am putting in (limited, as it is, by life and other obligations) is paying some kind of reward. Then to race with the other swimmers in my age group who show up means something more: it is an acknowledgement of all of our place in a sport that we love.
So even though I do not swim just for the times, and I do not swim just to race, and I do not race just to win, the swimming, the racing, the times all matter.
But not as much as getting back to something other than kick.
This is true. As adults, we not only lack the time and compunction to train at the level necessary for peak achievement, but our bodies are disintegrating around us. I suppose I am even more aware of this fact since I am still not able to use my arms for more than 600 yards in a practice (total), but I also see around me plenty of other swimmers with injuries or whose bodies are betraying them.
But I want to argue for the importance of competition in mastsers swimming.
I am not writing from the same perspective as Scott, since I have no dreams of real glory, nor do I have much of a swimming past. I swam avidly growing up, but only during the summer season. There was one year when I swam year-round, but I did not much care for it, and I knew that I would never be that calibre of swimmer. Really, I swam all year just to be in better shape the next summer.
The coach at my previous team often argued that his swimmers should be super-serious about the sport, prioritizing it above other activities, willing to train with great dedication. "Jack of all trades, master of none," he would say. Sure, if you want to achieve, you have to put in the work. But I hate the idea that kids who are willing to put a good bit into swimming, but want to do other things too, were discouraged.
To me, there is an analogy between these two positions, that masters swimming times are irrelevant and that swimming should be the top of the list for kids who swim.
What I would hope for instead--or really, in addition--is a space for achievement and even small bits of private glory, even with the knowledge that those achievements and that glory would not matter to the wider world.
One of my favorite aspects of masters swimming is seeing people who you might not expect kick ass. For instance, the man who broke world records in the 90+ category in the 1000 free and 1650 free at nationals last year. Sure, those records might not mean much compared to the current time standards for Olympic trials, but to do that swim--and to prepare for that swim--at that age is pretty awesome. Similarly, when you see someone who can hardly walk helped to a starting block so that they can dive in and then swim like a shark to beat everyone in your heat, that is awesome too.
What I am saying is that masters swimming (like other lifelong sports) offers many ways to achieve glory. For me, someone who often wonders what it would have been like to take my swimming seriously as a teenager, it is the chance to achieve the physical and mental gains that come with athletic discipline. And times are definitely a part of that. To be able to qualify for various national or world meets means something important: it means that the work I am putting in (limited, as it is, by life and other obligations) is paying some kind of reward. Then to race with the other swimmers in my age group who show up means something more: it is an acknowledgement of all of our place in a sport that we love.
So even though I do not swim just for the times, and I do not swim just to race, and I do not race just to win, the swimming, the racing, the times all matter.
But not as much as getting back to something other than kick.
Why editing matters.
Greetings! I am back now from New York City, having enjoyed the authentic New York experience, i.e., a mid-March sleetstorm. The joys of such a thing in The City include not having proper footware (I do not recommend Mary-Jane-style shoes, as the snow can fall or seep right in from the top), gale-force winds funneled by tall buildings, and stepping off curbs into feet-deep snow banks which may or may not contain a puddle of ice water at the bottom.
But now that I have spent the better part of the week considering the processes and theoretical backing for editorial practice, I need to comment on this, from the NYTimes:
Well, I am just back from the biennial conference of the Society for Textual Scholarship, and I am here to tell you that neither I nor the STS support the version of editing conducted by Mr. Cooney.
For starters, Mr. Cooney appears not to have included any kind of note on the text, indicating what he used as his copytext, what his principles for emendations were, and what his editorial perspective was. And where was his table of emendations, indicating modifications made to support 2001 knowledge in favor of more up-to-date information? Furthermore, any good textual editor (and I do have some experience here) knows that rather than modifying the text to suit a particular point of you.
How many times must we tell you, Mr. Cooney: Follow. The. Text.
But now that I have spent the better part of the week considering the processes and theoretical backing for editorial practice, I need to comment on this, from the NYTimes:
WASHINGTON, March 19 — A House committee released documents Monday that showed hundreds of instances in which a White House official who was previously an oil industrylobbyist edited government climate reports to play up uncertainty of a humanrole in global warming or play down evidence of such a role.
In a hearing of the House Committee on Oversight and Government Reform, the official, Philip A. Cooney, who left government in 2005, defended the changes he had made in government reports over several years. Mr. Cooney said the editing was part of the normal White House review process and reflected findings in a climate report written for President Bush by the National Academy of Sciences in 2001.
Well, I am just back from the biennial conference of the Society for Textual Scholarship, and I am here to tell you that neither I nor the STS support the version of editing conducted by Mr. Cooney.
For starters, Mr. Cooney appears not to have included any kind of note on the text, indicating what he used as his copytext, what his principles for emendations were, and what his editorial perspective was. And where was his table of emendations, indicating modifications made to support 2001 knowledge in favor of more up-to-date information? Furthermore, any good textual editor (and I do have some experience here) knows that rather than modifying the text to suit a particular point of you.
How many times must we tell you, Mr. Cooney: Follow. The. Text.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
That Thomas Wolfe plaque.
Greetings! As Jarrett would say, rumors of my blog death have been exaggerated. It has just taken me a little while to process a few things about my recent trip to the southern part of heaven.
Here is something Ian Williams said about his own trip, which, stars being aligned, coincided with my own:
Here is something Ian Williams said about his own trip, which, stars being aligned, coincided with my own:
Almost without fail, Tessa and I have journeyed to Chapel Hill every year to teach one of Dr. Peter Kaufman's classes at UNC. And without fail, it's always a fantastic trip, getting to dip our toes in the undergraduate experience once more and meeting a cadre of cool kids. I use the word "kids" self-consciously, because every time I step onto campus, time stops and I am eighteen years old again, wondering what Jon, Chip and Bud are doing for dinner. In essence, I don't feel that different from them, even though they were born in 1987 and I have a toddler who keeps yelling "Daddo has ears!" (emphasis mine)
I agree with some of this. I admit it: I spent a good bit of my time there sitting on my favorite couch in Davis Library (NCMarcus: Davis says hi back) doing the work I needed to do for my own classes. I even took a nap there, even though I was facing out the window and I knew that some 2000s version of my 1990s self would walk by and laugh at me. And I ate or tried to eat at all my fav places, wondered at the transformation of Chez Lenoir, tried to track down a couple of old profs, dropped way too much money at the Bull's Head, wandered around Fortress Greenlaw, ate a sandwich in the Pit, etc. etc.
And don't get me wrong: it was seriously cool to give a talk at my own alma mater about the subject of my own undergraduate honors thesis in front of professors and new students.
But I cannot agree with what Ian said in the bolded part of his message. In large part, I think this is because in the years since I left UNC I developed a new relationship to college campuses, such that without even realizing it I made the nostalgic return that I really desired impossible. You see, because I spend most of my days on college campuses, grading papers, trying to get the youth of America to think for itself, navigating jaywalking people on cellphones--because of all this, when I looked around the Pit, I saw not latter-day versions of myself, but instead I saw ......... my students.
I felt as if I had entered some kind of liminal zone, where I could not really identify with the faculty there, even though they could now be my colleagues, and I could not really identify with the students, because (apart from the distinct lack--thanks be--of orange) they could be the sleepy faces looking back at me at 9:30 a.m. Here I was, looking for the big reconnection, only to find . . . I'm not sure what, but not that. It was not until I took a 6-a.m. walk around familiar territory (Winston, Spencer, Grimes, the rose garden around the planetarium), while most everyone else was still snoozing, that I could reclaim the campus as my own.
So what does it mean to require a post-rapture landscape for such a feeling?
And it was not until I returned home and was narrating the trip to a friend and burst into absolutely unexpected and overwhelming tears that I realized the biggest gap in the whole thing. How can you go back to something when one of the biggest somethings about the thing is not there? You know, I noticed this visit that there is a new commemorative Thomas Wolfe plaque on campus: I suppose he was right.
Monday, February 26, 2007
The Old North State.
I know, I know. From where you're reading, North Carolina is hardly north, but still. If you find yourself in the greater Chapel Hill area on Tuesday evening, and you have any interest in the poetry of W. H. Auden, you might consider going to this.
Meanwhile, if you find yourself in the greater Chapel Hill area anytime between now and Wednesday morning, why not get in touch with me? I'll be the one eating at Pepper's Pizza (which I hear has a new location), drinking from the Old Well, shopping at the Bull's Head, getting misty-eyed in the Pit, napping in Davis Library, and generally acting like a dorky alum.
Meanwhile, if you find yourself in the greater Chapel Hill area anytime between now and Wednesday morning, why not get in touch with me? I'll be the one eating at Pepper's Pizza (which I hear has a new location), drinking from the Old Well, shopping at the Bull's Head, getting misty-eyed in the Pit, napping in Davis Library, and generally acting like a dorky alum.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
The ultimate haywire comes home to roost.
On Monday morning I went to meeting of a reading group, and I had to make the following excuse: "I did not do the reading, because this weekend, my house was overrun by a band of gypsies."
Sure, you are probably thinking. And your non-existent dog ate your homework.
Or maybe you are thinking, Honey, back away from the Bruno archives.
But I am not making this up.
You see, on Saturday night the PP and I and some friends went to see the Luminescent Orchestrii at the The Bohemian/Horizon Records, where they were giving a concert that was also a recording for WCNW's Tower of Song series. For those of you who, like me, have a bit of a thing for the Romanian gypsy sound, or klezmer, or tango nuevo, or all of the above, you should not pass up a chance to see Luminescent Orchestrii, as they are fantastic musicians and singers who bring together a wonderful hybrid sound that will launch you from your seat, whether you do or do not know how to dance to something in 11/7 time. Dance anyway. Life is short.
Anyway, mid-way through the second set, they noted between songs that they needed a place to stay, and the PP's head nearly spun around three times. What he was thinking, it turns out, is that we have two extra bedrooms plus a futon couch and that we should put these people up. Life is short.
So we did.
As our friends who we'd gone to the concert with were leaving, they said, "if you take the gypsies home, be sure not to take home the groupies." Luckily, we so succeeded. The band packed up their stuff, packed their instruments and gear into their mini-van (like a well-oiled packing machine, I might note), and off we all went to our house.
Over limoncello and herbal tea, my fantasy of talking about my current favorite kind of music with actual practitioners came true. When I noted that one of their songs sounded like Astor Piazzolla, they acknowledged his influence. They told us a little about trips to Romania and Hungary and various gypsy music festivals, and then everyone went off to respective bedrooms and crashed.
In the morning, the PP and one of the band member brought home pastries and we all feasted and chatted, and after a while everyone went off to do his or her own thing. It all seemed so normal, yet so not: at one point I realized that we had a fiddler playing on our front porch, a bassist listening to my CDs of Renaissance choral music back in the TV room, and the guitarist practicing riffs in my study. Later the bassist joined him in my study and they worked out a new song. I kept looking at the PP in disbelief, only to be greeted with a similar disbelieving look from him.
Then they left, and the house was silent, as if none of it had ever happened. But there is still, several days later, this great creative energy here in the study.
Sure, you are probably thinking. And your non-existent dog ate your homework.
Or maybe you are thinking, Honey, back away from the Bruno archives.
But I am not making this up.
You see, on Saturday night the PP and I and some friends went to see the Luminescent Orchestrii at the The Bohemian/Horizon Records, where they were giving a concert that was also a recording for WCNW's Tower of Song series. For those of you who, like me, have a bit of a thing for the Romanian gypsy sound, or klezmer, or tango nuevo, or all of the above, you should not pass up a chance to see Luminescent Orchestrii, as they are fantastic musicians and singers who bring together a wonderful hybrid sound that will launch you from your seat, whether you do or do not know how to dance to something in 11/7 time. Dance anyway. Life is short.
Anyway, mid-way through the second set, they noted between songs that they needed a place to stay, and the PP's head nearly spun around three times. What he was thinking, it turns out, is that we have two extra bedrooms plus a futon couch and that we should put these people up. Life is short.
So we did.
As our friends who we'd gone to the concert with were leaving, they said, "if you take the gypsies home, be sure not to take home the groupies." Luckily, we so succeeded. The band packed up their stuff, packed their instruments and gear into their mini-van (like a well-oiled packing machine, I might note), and off we all went to our house.
Over limoncello and herbal tea, my fantasy of talking about my current favorite kind of music with actual practitioners came true. When I noted that one of their songs sounded like Astor Piazzolla, they acknowledged his influence. They told us a little about trips to Romania and Hungary and various gypsy music festivals, and then everyone went off to respective bedrooms and crashed.
In the morning, the PP and one of the band member brought home pastries and we all feasted and chatted, and after a while everyone went off to do his or her own thing. It all seemed so normal, yet so not: at one point I realized that we had a fiddler playing on our front porch, a bassist listening to my CDs of Renaissance choral music back in the TV room, and the guitarist practicing riffs in my study. Later the bassist joined him in my study and they worked out a new song. I kept looking at the PP in disbelief, only to be greeted with a similar disbelieving look from him.
Then they left, and the house was silent, as if none of it had ever happened. But there is still, several days later, this great creative energy here in the study.
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