Hope & Recycling

A story featured on the radio this morning captured my attention. California scientists are working on an early alert system for earthquakes. As someone whose major natural disaster home environment was pretty much limited to blizzards, I've always found earthquakes both exotic and scary.
But my life now brings earthquakes much closer to home. I married a man from San Francisco, who was right in the middle of the '89 earthquake, and my brother lives in Los Angeles. Earthquakes have gone from frightening and far off to something I actually worry about. An early warning system sounds fantastic to me.

What intrigued me about this story, however, wasn't the system itself but where it was being implemented. The scientists were using equipment from a Cold War bunker that tracked seismic activity produced by nuclear detonations in testing that occurred across the globe.

They say the best thing to do in the event of an earthquake is get under a table. During the Cold War students were drilled to 'duck and cover' during a nuclear attack. While the former actually works, the latter was obviously akin to using Swiss cheese for armor.

Still, this radio essay left me hopeful about the human condition. We may not have achieved nuclear disarmament, but we're a lot closer than we were in the age of duck and cover. And if a Cold War bunker can be transformed into a site that saves lives, who knows what other transformations we might be capable of. History is not without its own sweet sense of irony.

Toxic History at Blockbuster

One of my favorite parts of teaching is examining the strange relationship of history and popular culture. History, myth, and historical references pop up in the most unusual places. Usually these episodes make me laugh or smile, sometimes it makes me cringe.

Like today at Blockbuster.

I'm showing Terrence Malick's The New World to my classes to discuss the ways in which the myth of Pocahontas has become deeply engrained in American society - to the point where the New World claims to be historically accurate yet still portrays a romance between Pocahontas and John Smith. No, it didn't happen (if you'd like to know more - go here). But the myth has such strength that most people cling it fiercely.

Even the guy at Blockbuster.

Me: I'm looking for Terrence Malick's The New World

Blockbuster Guy: Is that the one about Pocahontas? With Colin Ferrell? That has almost no talking?

Me: *Grits teeth* Uh-huh.

BG: *punches title into computer* No offense but that movie is creepy as hell. I mean, she was like, fifteen.

Me: *trying not to groan* Yep, and that's not all. She wasn't fifteen, she was eleven and there was no relationship.

BG: *taking me to find movie* What do you mean?

Me: *really not wanting to launch into history lecture in middle of video store* Well, John Smith wrote a story to get lots of attention back in England, but the love story is made up.

BG: Are you sure? Cause I read something that said they had sex.

Me: *chokes a little* ??????

BG: Yeah, I read that. Creepy. I mean, fifteen. Creepy, man.

Me: No. They didn't have sex. It was made up. She was eleven. And yeah, that part of the movie is creepy.

BG: If it's so creepy why are you watching it?

Me: I'm teaching it. I'm teaching the way stories are made up and talked about like they're true history. Most people don't know the real story.

BG: What do you mean the real story?

Me: I mean that John Smith made up his romance with Pocahontas to get attention. She went to England and married another guy, later, when she wasn't eleven.

BG: *looks skeptical* Oh.

Me: *Sighs, leaves Blockbuster feeling rather defeated*

I'd like to say that I actually think there is a lot of worthwhile footage (historically) in The New World. It shows how awful life in Jamestown was, Malick consulted Powhatans about their cultural heritage. I like a lot of the film.

But the romance kills me. A part of me understands why popular culture clings so fiercely to Pocahontas/John Smith love story *shakes fist at Disney,* but the real story is compelling too.

So I'll do mini lectures at Blockbuster if I have to, and I'll keep trying to change the story. One video store at a time.

Mulish Me

Stubborn. Yep, that's me. Stubborn.

On a good day I like to think of myself as feisty and iron-willed, on the bad days: obstinate. But if I'm tired, lacking coffee, or heaven forbid, hungry you'd all best duck and cover.

Stubbornness cuts both ways. On the one hand I have a feverish focus when I'm working toward something I believe in. On the other, if I think you're wrong it's hard to change my mind.

And I have an irrational tendency to reject suggestions out of hand, simply because I am such a mule. Most of the time, this knee-jerk 'no' doesn't hurt me. Others it costs me until I finally come around.

Like with sashimi.
I'm not a big fan of fish. I don't care for the flavor of salmon (the fish that everyone else fawns over) and most of the rest of the ocean's bounty leaves me cold.

So for a long time I rejected sashimi out of hand - certain that if I didn't like cooked fish, I mostly certainly wouldn't like it raw. How wrong I was. Now I love sashimi (thanks to my husband for making me try new things) - except for salmon, of course.

Missing out on certain foods doesn't leave me with a strong sense of regret. Missing out on things that improve my writing, however, makes me kick myself. Where is this rant coming from? Well...*cringes*....I watched my first episode of Veronica Mars this week.
What????? You say. How could you not have watched Veronica Mars while it was on?

I know, I know - yet it was this very sentiment that made me dig in my mule hooves and refused to get on board. Actually it was more than that, it was everyone saying "if you liked Buffy, you'll love Veronica." I'm a rabid BVS defender and so any comparisons raise my hackles, and thus stubborn me avoided the show, ignored the rave reviews, and let it slip away unwatched.

What's even worse? Duncan (Teddy Dunn) was a good friend of my brother's in college.I haven't ever met him, but I knew he was in the show and my brother vouched for the fact that he is a cool guy. Did I realize he was a romantic lead? Uh, no - I was too busy laying my ears back and kicking at anyone who tried to tell me I was missing out. *Ducks as objects are thrown*

Yes, I know. I am terrible. Did I mention that my stubbornness is a double-edged sword?

But yesterday a writer I admire, Becca Fitzpatrick, used Veronica Mars to demonstrate snappy dialogue; something I've only seen work with Joss Whedon's shows. And it was awesome. Her interview lifted the veil of smug "I know what's best for me and don't you try to tell me otherwise," and I realized that my stubborn streak had really cost me this time around.

Thank goodness for DVDs; and yes, I'm buying all the seasons now. And one of my New Year's resolutions for 2010 will be to accept more suggestions from others and really rein in the mule that can be me.

Just don't try to get me to eat salmon; honestly, I don't like it.

In the Arms of the (Fallen) Angel

Autumn is the perfect time for a ball. I'll be attending Willow Manor's fete.

In this dress.


My date: Patch from Hush, Hush. And no, you may not have the next dance with him. Happy release day, Becca!!

Octobrrrr

We lost fall. I don't know how it happened.

After the warmest September on record, October arrived in a cloak of winter. Temperatures dropped 30 degrees overnight and this morning:
The first time it happened was Saturday, but I'd hoped it had been a fluke. But today there's no deluding myself. Winter is here.
Minnesota has a reputation for being a frozen wasteland 11 months out of the year, but that's a lie. It's only a frozen wasteland in January and February (okay and sometimes March). Most of the year we have glorious weather.

And autumn is the best of all. But this year we're missing it and it's breaking my heart. Leaves blanketed in snow are still green. I haven't walked along the Mississippi to gaze at sun-dappled reds, golds, and bronzes reflected in the river's surface.If you need me, I'll be sulking.

For Whom the Books are Written?

I was intrigued by this New York Times article, and I got to thinking about who loves or hates certain books and why and what age has to do with it, if anything.

Earlier this year there were several interesting posts like this one and this one, that debated the merits of "great literature." More recently Nathan Bransford reminded us why it is silly to ask if any number of these "great" pieces of writing would be publishable today.

Such discussions are usually limited to the realm of adult literature, but this morning's piece in the Times brought the debate to children's books.

Are there books out there pitched as "children's lit" that you think are actually for adults? As a writer of children's literature I'm biased toward believing nearly all such young lit is universal and offers something to readers of all ages, but are there books that are written in such a way that they might captivate adults but leave children befuddled at best and bored to tears (or in Edward Gorey's world, to death) at worst?

Scenes from the Dentist's Chair

Wednesday, October 7, 1:40 p.m.

Me: *Trying to not listen to scraping of tools on teeth, but only other option is Lite FM. Hating Lite FM more than ever in this moment.*

Dental Hygenist: *scrape, scrape, scrape, grind; chattering happily about son's rain-sodden flag football games*

Me: *Trying to envision band of crazed eight-year-olds tearing through the mud in quest for football much in the style of Lord of the Flies, smiling despite mouth full of sharp implements* "Unnnng-ghhhhhh, nnnnnnnk-mmmmmmp."

DH: "Yes, they're so cute out there." *pauses from scraping, pulls out object that resembles miniature whetstone*

Me: *stops breathing*

DH: *begins to sharpen tools*

Me: !!!!!!!!

DH: *smells fear, smiles kindly* "I'm just honing these so I can be more efficient."

Me: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Lite FM: This is the sound of my soul, this is this sou-oouundd