fellmama: (job)
After the travesty that was Sneeze on Sunday, I cleansed my spirit with The Potter's Field, the seventeenth of Ellis Peters' Brother Cadfael mysteries, and, in my opinion, one of her best. (Although it was perhaps just the lingering bad taste of 1950s trash.) Whenever I return to Peters, I am surprised at how well her novels are written. Not only are they a far cry from the typical mystery pulp, they hold up well against all but the very best modern writers. The only thing that hampered my enjoyment was remembering who did it and how from a previous reading.

Last night, I finished Guns, Germs, and Steel, by Jared Diamond. Generally speaking, it was an excellent book, but it made me nervous. I don't know much (if anything) about most of what he covered, but I was disturbed in the few parts where I did. For example, he discussed Linear B's inefficacy, using it as an example of a non-starter script--the kind that developed but eventually went nowhere. What Diamond did not mention that Linear B was peculiarly inefficient because it was being used to write a language other than that for which it was developed; that is, it was not invented to write Greek (or Mycenaean, if you prefer). This may seem like a quibble--after all, we function perfectly well in English using a modified Latin alphabet--but Linear B is a syllabery. It is ill-suited to adaption, because its symbols stand for syllables that may appear differently or not at all in the adoptive language. This is the primary reason why no literature was developed in Linear B. Even more worrisome, Diamond doesn't note that our only examples of Linear B were preserved by accident (fires baking warehouses where tablets were stored). This writing system was not meant for permanence. One could argue that GGS covers a huge span of history in a relatively brief volume, and that I am simply nitpicking. However, I feel that to do so, Diamond must have chosen his examples very careful. Omissions and oversimplification detract from the work. I also disliked Diamond's laundry list of qualifications. If your work is good, it will speak for itself; drawing attention to your suitability only brings it into question. Otherwise, I enjoyed it. I'd recommend it to those with an interest in anthropology or agriculture.

In other news, it turns out that I may be mildly allergic to the contact lens solution I've been using. No wonder my contacts have been too itchy to wear.
fellmama: (idaho)
Instead of the next Brother Cadfael, I chose to read Sneeze on Sunday, a collaborative effort by Andre Norton and Grace Allen Hogarth, both of whom I sincerely hope are no longer inflicting their scribblings upon the world. This mystery, composed in 1952, was only published in the U.S. in 1992, and for good reason. First, it displays a determinedly unenlightened attitude. The hired man, Chris, a "tall negro," talks in a sort of ridiculous patois: "Fixin' to come yist'dy . . . Mail don't go nohow this forenoon . . . I could jes' ax him to come by . . ." and, my personal favorite, "Did reckon to come along here afterwards, but they wasn't no time lef', time I got done." Bear in mind that this novel is set in Massachusetts, not Georgia. The authors' apparent ignorance can eventually be explained away as simple racism; Chris, in addition to talking like some booze-addled hack's idea of Uncle Remus, is superstitious AND lazy. Welcome to the Amos'n'Andy show.

The title of the work is taken from an irritating little rhyme quoted by the "heroine" when she sneezes on a Sunday. The relevant portion of the rhyme runs as follows: "Sneeze on Sunday/shelter seek, the Devil will have you/the rest of the week." Sadly for Norton and Hogarth, it would be INCONVENIENT for a murder to actually HAPPEN during the prescribed timespan, so the first murder occurs one week AFTER the sneeze. Further adding to everyone's annoyance, this woman cannot remember the rhyme, and must be reminded of it by the ENIGMATIC HUNK with a MYSTERIOUS PAST. He refuses to tell her the REST of the rhyme, which is withheld until the last few pages of the novel in a pathetic attempt at creating suspense.

Sneeze on Sunday attempts to establish a Gothick atmosphere by having the characters PLAN A MURDER in THEIR VERY OWN HOMETOWN as an ELEGANT and SUBTLE use of FORESHADOWING. This is hardly original, of course, but becomes even more trite when one man quotes an extended passage (at least three hundred words) from The Hound of the Baskervilles. He does so from memory with no effort--inexplicable in context except as a vain effort to contribute some sort of legitimacy to this derivative drivel. Apparently copyright laws are different in CLICHÉLAND where quoting AN ENTIRE CHAPTER from SOMEONE ELSE'S BOOK does not count as PLAGARISM. Frankly, the novel would have been improved if it had simply been The Hound of the Baskervilles published as I Sneeze on Conan Doyle's Grave.

The ostensible heroine of this "book" is obnoxious and incompetent. The improbably named "Fredericka Wing" is established as a pitiable wretch from the beginning owing to "what happened to well brought up New England women when they got into their thirties and hadn't married"--both an excellent example of prose and a well-thought-out explanation of why Fredericka is a stone-cold bitch. She is a "scholar" who earns her living as a librarian. Her "scholarship" is a proposed biography of women who wrote STUPID TRASHY GOTHICK NOVELS in the previous century. Fredericka manages to alienate the entire town through being BITCHY and STUPID. The only people willing to tolerate her by the end of the book are proved to be either a)dumber than she is (exception: ENIGMATIC HUNK who has an inexplicable attraction to IDIOCY) or b)murderers. At the critical peak of the mystery, when it has become obvious to all but the very dimmest of lichens that she is conversing with a murderess, Fredericka not only GOES OUTSIDE IN THE DARK with said murderess--the equally improbably named "Philippine"--but allows Philippine to WALK BEHIND HER carrying A HEAVY FLASHLIGHT. Upon waking, it takes her more than twenty pages to realize that, when someone walking behind you says "I've dropped the torch!," it is IMPOSSIBLE for someone ELSE to pick up the flashlight and IMMEDIATELY conk you on the head. After smacking Fredricka (as the reader has been itching to do for 194 pages), Philippine, who at this point has accomplished two cold-blooded and near-perfect murders, throws her unconcious victim DOWN A DRY WELL rather than simply BASHING HER HEAD IN as any HALFWAY COMPETENT murderess would do. Fredericka survives to contribute ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to the dénouement, as she is confined to a hospital bed suffering from CRIMINAL STUPIDITY. The solution of the mystery is thus left to her HANDSOME and SUPERSMART QUASI-BOYFRIEND, who is, incredibly, both a college professor AND a professional "spycatcher." "The Colonel" narrowly escapes death himself when he and his police chief buddy attempt to arrest Philippine WITHOUT HANDCUFFS OR BACKUP. She pulls a gun on them! (Wow, a prepared villain. Will wonders never cease). Fortunately, in the most hackneyed ending since "Speed," Philippine CRASHES HER GETAWAY CAR into ANOTHER CAR that is PARKED IN THE DRIVEWAY because she is GOING TOO FAST. She does not survive. Having been spared the unpleasantness of dealing with an icky murderess, the "steely-eyed" Colonel (sadly, I am not making this up) visits Fredericka in hospital to scold her about the dangers of turning her back on anyone for a second (nowithstanding his encounter with Philippine). Together, they conclude that Philippine was such a successful murderer because she was so LIKEABLE. Thus suitably chastened and rendered feeble, Fredericka will become an IDEAL MATE, give up her pretensions to SCHOLARSHIP, and settle down to POP OUT BABIES.

I could go on in this vein forever; suffice it to say that this novel is all that is wrong with America.
fellmama: (job)
I love this movie.

According to the "Which Big Lebowski character are you?" quiz:




Why don't you check it out? Or we cut of your Johnson!



Since my life is boring, I've decided I'll just talk about the books I'm reading instead. I just finished A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson. It was excellent, even though it got preachy in parts (as his books inevitably do). I highly recommend it for people who are interested in the history of science or just like to know things. There was NO MATH involved. I move on to Guns, Germs, and Steel and the next Brother Cadfael.
fellmama: (job)
Apparently fruity mixed drinks are less gay than cocktails. *raises eyebrows*


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fellmama: (idaho)
So many of my friends would adore this job . . . yet I am strangely unmoved. I have so many skills from this--I'm almost a bonafide expert in phenolics extraction--but none of them are marketable in my field. Except maybe Excel.
In other news, I will continue to get the Byrd Scholarship this year (*phew*), which means that my tuition bill will be tiny. This is a good thing. My parents and I have seriously discussed denying one of my loans, even before I knew that I'd be paying this little. I think I'll try to convince them to spot my rent instead. I wish I was rich.
Remington, if you're reading this, give me a call. I want to celebrate!
fellmama: (job)
As of today, I have offically been a migrant worker. I picked cherries for six hours. It was astonishingly pleasant, all things considered, but I have concluded that cherry picking is not the career for me.

It was great to see Stephanie ([livejournal.com profile] smika, not [livejournal.com profile] princessrosebud). You need to come visit us in Walla Walla sometime. That is an ORDER, missy!

Marta, I remember when we found out that we both adored this album. That was when I started to think you were really cool.
fellmama: (sword)
You all lose. The major difference between plant and animal phenolics is that there are no such thing as animal phenols and, thus, no such thing as animal phenolics.
[livejournal.com profile] alientheater animated more icons for me because she is great.
Two more months to go.
fellmama: (love)
I love working in the grad student computer lab. The internet is soooo fast. A pleasant change from home.
We had to learn how to extract asparagus phenolics today. Hey, all you science smarty-pantses, here's a question for you: what's the major difference between plant phenolics and animal phenolics?
My father has this horrible OhJays CD which he makes me listen to on the way to work. I think I'm going to remove my own brain with the asparagus grinder.
fellmama: (iris)
The lassitude of summer has set in with a vengeance. Damn dial-up.

I went to Walla Walla on Thursday to visit Will and Marta, and to meet up with the darling Stephanie. It is horribly hot there, but the company made up for it. Sorry I didn't get a chance to see the other Walla Walla dwellers. I think people from Walla Walla should be called "Walleyes," like the fish. I'm sure that would just thrill them, too.

I have Warcraft now. I will not be doing anything productive for the next few weeks, at least. Like learning German, which I need to do. Damn graduate schools.

This subject line must be from a song business is starting to become pathological. Maybe I'll give up and let myself repeat them.
fellmama: (love)
Well.

I'm back.

Italy was lovely. We spent a few days in La Spezia/the Cinqueterre, drove to Verona and spent a week there, drove up through Cortina and Bolzano, then returned to Malpensa and Milan. For any further details, you'll have to corner me in person. Suffice it to say that doing grappa shots with my parents was extremely bizarre.

I had fun, but I really missed Moscow/Walla Walla and everyone contained therein. (And you all know who you are. And if you're not contained in the Moscow/Walla Walla subset, you fit under the lj blanket. So there.)

I spent today with the charming [livejournal.com profile] zoing--going to the grocery store is so much more fun with a crazy person. Going to see Harry Potter tonight . . . ooh fun.

(Props to [livejournal.com profile] benefitz and [livejournal.com profile] gordonjuan for the music. You are . . . the wind beneath my wings.)
fellmama: (complaining~illi_vanilli)
Well. So I'm updating this from the basement of Dad's conference center in Verona. This has been an . . . interesting week. The first three or four days I was so homesick I wasn't enjoying myself much. I think the thought process runs like this: I miss Whitman. I am not at Whitman. Ergo, I must be home. I am not home. If I can't be at Whitman, I want to be at home. I'm homesick. Or something like that.
You Idahoans will enjoy this. We get off the airplane, get in the car, and start our drive across north Italy. What do we see in the first ten minutes?

1. Rigs.
2. A deer crossing sign.
3. A tractor.

It's like we never left!

La Spezia was really nice--a small city on the coast. We wandered around there and one day took a boat to the Cinqueterre, which is absolutely stunning. Too many tourists, though. Go in the off season. Sunday we drove cross-country to Verona, and we've been here ever since. I'll write more about it later.

In conclusion, have wonderful days, all of you, and I'll be back next week.
fellmama: (vodka~lunar8i8star)
My room is a disaster area.

My dad is coming in two hours and I'm not ready to go.

My stuff isn't stored at the house.

I haven't checked out.

My last post from Whitman for a long, long time.
fellmama: (dance)
I am listening to Ben Kweller live RIGHT NOW, SITTING IN MY ROOM.

This is fuckin' cool.

I love Whitman.
fellmama: (Default)
Whitman College tuition, 2003-2004: $25,400

Drink cover at the Haven, 4/24/04: $3

A drunken Clark chasing his "bruthas" (a pair of terrified ducks),
insisting that they're keeping it "Is-ree-al!": Priceless
fellmama: (mary)
Ave Maria Gratia plena, Dominus te cum.
Benedicta tu en mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Jesus.
Sancta Maria, Regina Coeli, dulcis et pia, O Mater Dei.
Ora pro nobis peccatoribus, ut cum electis te videamus.
fellmama: (Default)
I feel better now. Ruty and I had a talk. And I'm remembering now that things have a way of working out.
I can't help but feel, however, that this is a less than auspicious beginning.
fellmama: (Default)
Grammar God!
You are a GRAMMAR GOD!


If your mission in life is not already to
preserve the English tongue, it should be.
Congratulations and thank you!


How grammatically sound are you?
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I am glad of this--if I'd gotten anything less, some of you (*cough*Rachel*cough*) would have taunted me mercilessly for years.

I feel like I have been both productive and useless these last few days. How can this be?

I am so looking forward to the weekend. So much fun it will be.
fellmama: (mary)
I feel I should make the obligatory "back at Whitman" post. Here goes:

*ahem*

BLAH BLAH BLAH had fun at home
BLAH BLAH BLAH Aspen and Stephanie RULE OMG <3<3<3
BLAH BLAH BLAH *giggle*
BLAH BLAH BLAH SO MUCH HOMEWORK
BLAH BLAH BLAH weather is GORGEOUS
BLAH BLAH BLAH missed Whitman SO MUCH

/end idiocy.

So.

We watched much Red Dwarf. That was fun. Aspen taught me how to knit with double-pointed needles, so now I can knit socks. Theoretically.
fellmama: (libra)
Heard a good soprano joke today. Aspen, you are officially exempted from sopranodom for the purposes of the following:
Q: What's the difference between a soprano and a Jaguar?
A: Most musicians have never been in a Jaguar.

I listened to "Take a Chance on Me" by ABBA for FORTY-FIVE minutes straight last night.

I am sad.
fellmama: (Default)
This is what I think of in spring:

in Just-
spring       when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame baloonman 

whistles       far       and wee 

and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring 

when the world is puddle-wonderful 

the queer
old baloonman whistles
far       and         wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing 

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and 

it's
spring
and 

       the 

               goat-footed

baloonMan       whistles
far
and
wee 
--e.e. cummings
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