John & Belle Have A Blog

What I read on my summer vacation

The missus and I are on vacation. (We should have left a note for you before now, explaining the dearth of posts.) Showing off the kids to the folks in the old country, Ameriky.

They've got real selection in films on the plane now. I watched "Caddyshack". It holds up well, but I think comedy technology has, in objective, absolute terms, improved since then. What do you think? Are humans getting better at being funny, just like they are figuring out how to make smaller phones?

I read Iain M. Banks, The Algebraist. Cracking good space opera.

Jetlag pretty bad.

But went to see "Batman Begins". Very satisfactory.

One of the things I love to do whenever returning home - HOME-home: where I grew up, Eugene, OR - is go to Smith Family Bookstore and buy old paperbacks for the camp covers. We collect. It's hard to do this in Singapore. The supply was never large, and - no kidding - the jungle reclaims. Climate very hard on paperbacks. Anyway, there were still samples from our last expedition, couple years back, in a box in the hallway of my parents' home. Vardis Fisher on top. The Passion Within; original title. "Peace like a river", from the "Testament of Man" series. Can't find a scan of the exact cover, but this and this should give some not erroneous notion. Normally it wouldn't cross my mind to actually read these things. But, why not? Vardis Fisher + google = hey, he's, like, the Napoleon Dynamite of mid-20th Century Idaho letters. Go ahead, poke around. Here, for example.

The Harper Prize for Children gave Fisher the first financial cushion he had ever known. He resigned from the Writers' Project, married his third wife, Opal Laurel Holmes, built a house and modest ranch on a choice piece of Idaho land near Hagerman, and turned his attention to the project that he thought would be his most enduring contribution to American literature. He was convinced that in the tetralogy he had not fully understood Vridar's (nor his own) problems. To tell his story aright, he would need to explore the breadth of all human history, especially the evolution of the religious instinct. He envisioned a series of novels based on rigorous research in anthropology, psychology and history that would begin with prehistoric man and proceed to modern times. Children of God and his work on the Writers' Project had affirmed his dedication as a researcher. He knew that religious themes would invite scrutiny from many quarters, not just from the Mormon world. Expecting more modest sales from books in the series, he planned to alternate them with novels about the early American West. The Americana, he felt sure, would enable him to carry the series to completion and repay the publisher for standing with him.

In time he named the 12-volume series The Testament of Man. Eleven novels prepared the way for the final instalment, a retelling of Vridar's story as Orphans in Gethsemane (1960). The modest attention that Orphans received revealed how much Fisher's fame had declined since the 1930s and how much he had miscalculated in his plan to assure Testament success with Western novels. Darkness and the Deep (1943) and The Golden Rooms (1944) opened the series ably enough; non-verbal humans took readers to unfamiliar ground and invited a good deal of sympathy for the characters. But as the series progressed Fisher increasingly let the weight of facts overpower the imaginative dimension – a tendency that he had been warned against as the tetralogy neared its conclusion. ( No Villain Need Be had especially been faulted for didactic emphasis). Continuing the pattern in the Testament, Fisher tended to tell rather than to show. Few readers who purse all twelve volumes of The Testament leave it concluding that its chief merit lies in its creation of characters. Increasingly, the novels recount versions of a protagonist who talks with a companion about religious errors that pervade his society. The novels become novels of ideas more than novels of character or action. Fisher desires, it is clear, that his readers will decide that his protagonists (always ahead of their time) see to the heart of the matter.

After the publication of the fifth volume of the series, the publisher bailed out. Another small house published six and seven, but when Fisher moved to the Christian era, no publisher could be enticed to take on the series. Four years later, Alan Swallow of Denver signed on to take the series to the end, ending the deep despair that had overtaken Fisher.

Yeah, it's not very good, turns out. But it's mediocre in a way no book would be today, probably. Chapter 1 opens with Hareb, unhappy father, trying to track two of his children - Piamon and Peta - having incestuous sex in a dank cave. (They're gnostics, or something, and Peta is a sophisticated fop with a theory that you have to mortify the flesh with vice, or something.) Wife Takuda is all misery, since Hareb does nothing but remind her that she is evil for having taken his godhead, his virginity. Hareb's son, David, needs to save beatiful Helene from the Antioch brothel into which she has been sold. (He gets no sympathy from Hareb.) David saves Helene, despite his distracted worrying about whether Helene has been forced to provide 'boyish' favors, and if so, which, and to how many. He is caught. To the mines with David, probably. Daughter Soulai is trying to trick her large-jawed jailor, Markos, into giving her poisoned wine so she won't have to be burned alive as a Christian. Her trick works. Hareb is resolved to flee into the desert alone and pull off his own genitals, or something. That takes us up to p. 17. Like Homer says: "So far as anyone knows, we're a nice, normal family." But even Homer nods. And so, I fear, does Fisher. The book is actually quite boring, being mostly too much philosophy and theology. It reminds me of pre-revolutionary French pornography, minus the pornography. And no jokes. And with a rather incongruously impressive patina of genuine historical and scholarly erudition over the whole. I don't think I'll keep reading.

Mad Love 4 Snoop Derby Derb

What does it say about the Corner that John Derbyshire is far and away the least crazy person writing for the blog?

"Mr. Derbyshire a) blames the administration for not being serious about nuclear proliferation, b) expects a pullout from Iraq and a civil war, c) is happy Michael Jackson has been acquitted and d) supports euthenasia."

Er, yup.  As opposed to:

(a) Is fine with North Korea having a bagful of nukes and Iran just about to get same, after four and a half years of this administration sternly declaring that neither thing will happen.

(b) Expects a major US presence in Iraq indefinitely **or** a pullout soon, followed by Shias, Sunnis and Kurds all dancing arm in arm round maypoles.

(c) Would like to see California prosecutors give more attention to thieves, rapists, and murderers, and less to harmless freaks.

(d) Believes in the Golden Rule, and most certainly would NOT wish, either for myself or a loved one, either to be kept in a vegetative state for 15 years, or, when it was finally determined that I could be allowed to die, be slowly dehydrated to death.

The preference for action over empty words; a skepticism about the possibilities for multicultural harmony in Third World nations; a desire to spend limited law-enforcement resources on crimes that actually harm people and their property; and a fondness for the Golden Rule; these seem to me to be pretty solidly conservative principles.

Meanwhile, J-Lo is speculating about the hotness of Condi Rice hooking up with Angelina Jolie. OMG!!!! Jonah, naturally, veers between warbling about William Shatner and sharing the fruits of his deep thinking about Adorno: "Part of the problem -- at least for me -- is that Marx and Freud when combined by folks like Marcuse and Adorno were even dumber than they were when considered separately." I could go on about J-Pod, but...

Bad Wedding Food

Raffi offers some speculation on why wedding food is bad, bolstered by his work at a caterer's and associated dining on leftovers. Is it mostly bad, actually? I guess I haven't been to that many weddings, so maybe I've been lucky. Let's grant that the food is often bad.
One way to avoid this is to hire a caterer who makes really tasty food, clearly. For our wedding John and I hired this woman, Cynthia Battaglia, (in Sag Harbor) and her food is amazing. She's catered a number of parties for my family in NY subsequently, and it's always been great.
Another part of the solution, I think, is to just avoid the whole sitting-down to an actual meal part. The food tends towards lowest-common-denominator stodginess under the best of circumstances. Also, everyone is stuck at the table and can't mingle. We got married in the afternoon, and just had an oyster/seafood station, and a big table of breads and cheeses and dips, and lots of people circulating with trays of little tasty stuff. I was going to serve only Chatham Artillery Punch, but my grandad was so horrified by the idea that there wouldn't be an open bar that he kindly supplied one; thanks, Grandad! (He was right, too; my family probably would have rioted.)
On the whole, everyone told me that planning my own wedding would be a horrible chore, and I wouldn't enjoy myself on the day, and blah blah blah. I thought, huh? All my best friends and family will be there, with tasty food, and lotsa booze, in a beautiful spot, to celebrate this happy occasion--whence the sucking? And, indeed, it was great. Of course, I was lucky in that I didn't have to pay for the location, since we had it at my grandad's on the lawn.
The caterers were already setting up when I came in from the pool to get dressed, and they looked at me like I had six heads. "Did you already get married, before, and this is just a party?" one asked. "What? No. I'm getting married in, like, half an hour?" "Your hair is wet!" another stammered. "It's easier to put up that way." I think I was the least bridezilla person they had ever seen. So, my advice to brides and grooms is to relax!
P.S. Re-reading this post I realize that I may have kind of missed the point, which was that you have to spend a lot of money to get good food. Ummm, yeah. This just reminds me of the extent to which reading the NYT's big Class multi-parter reminded me that I'm not so much of the regular person. I was totally sympathizing with the blue-blooded Nantucketers in this article, and I'm not sure that was the point (or, if it was, it probably shouldn't have been!). 

iPod Shuffle Hack

Man, I totally want to get into the now-famous Make magazine for this hack.
1. Cut the neck-cord of your iPod shuffle.
2. Insert a gold chain.
3. Thread both the iPod and a human vertebra onto the chain.
This is the shizznit. I hope I don't get stopped by homeland security at my next stop in the States.

Il Porco Rosso

Zoë loves the Miyazaki movie "Porco Rosso", and she likes to play that she is friends with him. The other day, she wanted to play something that went like this: "let's pretend that Superpig read on my blog that I'm having a tea party and only girls are invited, and he's really jealous." So young, and she already understands everything about the blogging.

People would go, 'Wow, Liz! You look great!' And she had cancer!

Wow, who knew Cathy Horyn was fat before? Well, she's a lot thinner now, she'll have you know.

One-Eyed Egyptian Sandwich

Oh, sure, there are lotsa recipes at J&BB for people who know how to cook. But what about the people who don't know how to cook? When will they get to cook something the Belle way? Now's you're time to shine, people. Marvel, at the wholesome food that is...The One-Eyed Egyptian Sandwich. My grandmother taught me to make this. The grandmother who couldn't cook worth a damn. Oddly enough, she's the only person in the family ever to have written a cookbook, but that's another story.

One-Eyed Egyptian Sandwich:
1 slice bread (whole-wheat is better)
1 egg
1 1/2 T butter
salt and pepper

1. Tear a circular hole in the middle of the bread, about twice as big as a quarter. Eat it.
2. Melt the butter in a pan over medium heat. When it stops bubbling, put in the bread and fry it on one side for about 30 seconds.
3. Flip the bread over, fried side up. Now, crack the egg over the bread so the yolk falls in the hole. Fry for 30 or so seconds more.
4. Flip the bread over carefully. Fry till done as desired.
5. Put salt and pepper on it.
And, voilà! A taste of old Egypt, or something. Actualy, my great-great grandmother did live in Egypt for a while, and went to the King Tut dig, and also shacked up with some low-rent Egyptian prince. So maybe she made it up.

Being Square

I was just thinking about the expression "square the circle", and I realize I'm not totally sure about what it means. People were trying to construct a square with an area identical to a given circle...using only a compass and a straight-edge, maybe? Must be, because otherwise...hm. But you really can do so in non-Euclidean geometry, IIRC? But can your straight-edge be getting a lot of play in the non-Euclidean world, or do you have an infinite series of curved-edges to use? That could take up a lot of room. Someone help me out here.

This just reminds me that one of the things I have looked forward to in having school-age children is that I will very slowly get to re-learn all of math, at a painless pace. All the worries I'll have when Zoë and Violet are teenagers will surely be compensated by the fun of re-learning the calculus, right? That was the only part of HS math I liked. That, and graphing imaginary numbers on those wonky polar graph things.

John has sucessfully explained zero to Zoë. She was counting the people in the elevator as they left, until only she and I were on, and when we got out, she said "and now there's zero people in the elevator!" Right on for the null set, baby! I ran into a little trouble trying to explain infinity the other day, however. All in good time, I guess.

Jinx

I just bought and read the first half of Jinx, the big fat Image trade paperback edition. This book is quite good, and 500 pages long, so I guess I should be happy. But I was a bit disappointed that all the pages immediately fell out. No. It would be more accurate to say that the contents fired out as thought the cover were a gun, the paper bullets. The thing was apparently bound using some sort of yellow superchemical that repels paper. I suppose I could find some old-timey bookbinder. Do you think Bendis' work deserves morocco or calf? And a quick google finds this learned disquisition:

It is a disputed question, among book-lovers of taste, whether the whole of a small collection should be bound in the same material and of the same colour, or whether diversity should prevail. There are valid reasons for either plan. A library where both morocco and calf bindings are adopted, in the various hues which are given to each leather, has a pleasant and lively appearance. If glaring contrasts in hues be avoided in neighbouring volumes, as they stand upon the shelves, an air of lightness and vivacity will characterise the apartment. But the contrast must by no means be too pronounced. Dr. Diblin, a great authority on all such matters, warns us especially against the employment of either white vellum or scarlet morocco as a material for the jackets of our volumes. Both are too decided in appearance, and impart a ‘spotty’ look to the shelves. Of course this objection applies only to single volumes or small sets in libraries of limited extent. If for instance, a whole press, or set of shelves, could be appropriated to vellum-clad volumes of the Fathers and patristic theology, the effect would be good. The decision on the general question of uniformity versus variety must be left in great measure to individual taste.

Where the collection is small, say, sufficient to fill two ordinary bookcases (about 500 volumes), an excellent plan is to reserve one case for standard English authors, and bestow in the other, works on science, art, travel, foreign books, etc. Let all the bindings be of morocco, either ‘whole’ binding or ‘half’’ binding according to the value and importance of the book. If maroon morocco be chosen for the books in the first press, an olive green for those in the second, the effect will be chaste and massive. Both these leathers ‘throw up’ the gilding of the back splendidly. Where expense is not a primary consideration, the back should not be scrimped in this matter of gilding, or, as it is technically termed, ‘finishing’. A morocco-bound book should bear a good amount of gold on the back; but the patterns of the tools should be carefully selected.

You know, the whole bookbinding thing is effectively just paleo-case mod. Did the Victorians ever do wacky things like send their pages to the binder and say: screw Dr. Diblin! make my shelf of patristic theology look like a Tie Fighter? (Conversely has anyone ever bound computer guts in morocco, with 'intel inside' gilded on the spine?)

UPDATE: Then the next thing you know, I see this. So that's what I need to do. I guess.

 

That's Like Hypnotizing Chickens

Slate's worst ad song ever competiton has been neatly won by, well, the worst ever pairing of an ad with a song: Royal Carribbean Cruise Line's use of Iggy Pop's "Lust for Life". My jaw was certainly on the floor the first time I saw that ad. Can you get it "in the ear" on Royal Carribbean? Also nice, though:

"The NFL's use of Lou Reed's 'Perfect Day' in a Super Bowl ad for itself. The ad: A montage of home movies and official films shows fans enjoying the thrills of the sport with Reed's song about heroin and suicide playing in the background."

Ummm, yah. On the other hand, for straight-up ads for Quaaludes, Pantopon, and more, see this (via b0ingb0ing). Mmm, Pantopon Rose.

Happy Birthday to Me!

It's my birthday!

Muslim Feminist

Wow, right on to this chick. Read the whole thing; it's really inspiring. Also, LGF's Charles Johnson and I probably totally agree about this article. It's not just cats and dogs living together. It's more like cats and a dog-analogue species domesticated by the intelligent dwellers in a gas giant orbiting the twin stars of Aldebaran living together. Mmm, my favorite part is when it snows little flakes of ammonia. Hey, have you read The Algebraist yet? I recommend it. Lots of gas-giant-y goodness.

Catfight!

Woohoo! Sign me up for the blogger women jello-wrestling tourney! That'll get CNN's attention, for sure. I think I'll start with... Majikthise. Eventually, after I whup Wonkette and go to the finals, I'll have to face off against Michelle Malkin. This is going to be totally hott! Of course, I'm just assuming Kaye Grogan gets eliminated early in the other conference. (John's comment, re: the Waring/Malkin bout: "ew." Me: "What? I can totally take her!?" John: "I bet she bites.")

Positive Developments

Via Jim Henley, I found the wonderful Fester's Place, which is doing yeoman's work collecting information from various sources about the state of affairs in Iraq. See here, and just scroll down for more. I am curious to read how his analysis of specific predictions made by pro-war blogs pans out. Also, why not read this incredibly depressing article in the Washington Post about Iraqi civilian casualties?

In Baqubah, in central Iraq, a suicide car bomber killed Hussein Alwan Tamimi, the deputy chairman of the Diyala provincial council, as he was accompanying his ill sister to the hospital, according to a fellow council member, Khadija Khuda Yakhsh. Four of the official's bodyguards also died. The sister was wounded.

In Mosul, also in the north, attackers blew up two motorcycles rigged with explosives next to a coffee shop frequented by police officers, killing five people, the Associated Press reported.

Gunmen firing randomly from three speeding cars killed nine Iraqis in a crowded market area in Baghdad, a Defense Ministry official told the AP. Interior Ministry officials gave a slightly different account, saying the victims had been waiting at a bus stop.

I'm afraid it goes on in the same vein for quite some time.

Pie Fight

Zoë's likes this old Curious George learning game. As you can clearly see from the screen cap if you click, one of the features is "Pie Fight". Three clowns behind three lecterns with pictures. "Click on the one that's bigger." "Click on the one that's different." That sort of thing. If you get it right, the clown gets a pie in the face. If you get it wrong, the clown pies you. So Zoë gets all the way to level 6. And there's a bird, a turtle, and a dog. All the same size. "Click on the one that's different!" Enthuses the voice. Zoë looks at me in horror. Well, what would YOU click?

[Hmmmm, had a blogpoll, but it was making the page go wonky. Oh well, democracy has no place in biology anyway. Vote in comments, if you care to.]