Gary Beatrice Discography #5

 It's already our fifth Discography entry of this cycle, which should normally be just getting into our second month, but in this adapted form means that we're almost half-way through. And, it's already our second thematic week. And not only another thematic week, but the thematic week, at least as measured by the sturm und drang (inside joke for CM) that it has caused. The theme this week is based on songs that you hear out and about in the world that you're actually happy to hear, which can also mean that you're not actually happy to hear them in your normal musical rotation. We've all gone to Lowe's or some other outlet of the corporate overlords and heard a song we love and suddenly felt intellectually and emotionally defiled because that song should only exist in our bedroom or car at 3:00 in the morning as we struggle with the greater existential realities. Fortunately for me, very few songs off of Young's Tonight's the Night are on rotation at Bed Bath & Beyond. Conversely, there are songs that we never listen to, but which pop up on the loud speaker at the grocery store which, oddly, give us joy. So, this month's theme, suggested by the haphazardly excellent Mike Kelly, is a celebration of those songs.

Cindy Morgan

I have been a dedicated Trader Joes shopper for decades. True story: I grew up in a beach town in Southern California that had one of the original three TJs. If you shop there you know that the music they play in store is lifted whole cloth from the 1980s and 1990s.If it's poppy and catchy then it is going to be played. Have I sung along to the B52s "Rock Lobster", The Thompson Twins "Hold me Now" (where are they now one wonders) and Aha's"Take on Me" in the aisles? Yes. Yes I have. Even though I sing quite badly I cannot resist when the catchy synth-pop chords hit my ears. I literally CAN'T resist. So basically the way MK has written this prompt I could choose any song from my middle and high school years because a trip to TJ's each week for 20+ years means I have probably heard them all. Twice.

 

I'm choosing one that I was reminded of today because I listened to a podcast about it. Cyndi Lauper will forever be cemented in my music memory for "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" (and also. . .shared name and all that), but the podcast was about "All Through the Night" another track from her 1983 album "She's So Unusual." She had four songs off that album released as singles that spent time at the top of the charts, which in the day was quite an accomplishment. Who knew?

 

To be honest whenever "All Through the Night" or the other hit "slow" song from the album, "Time After Time" come on the radio I always have to pause and remind myself who sang them because they are so different than "Girls. . ." In "Girls it's like she's trying to convince us about the fun part and not about her voice and musical talent--her voice seems ok, nothing great. But in "All Through The Night" it has a clarity and pitch that are cleaner and more focused on its quality. Melancholy, emotive, clear, set against the 8-note repeated synthesized kaliope sound that plays over and over as the melody (I think--I am not music-term fluent). Try to sing along with it and you realize how good she is when she wants to be and how bad you are. Ok sure, that's probably just me, but it sounds simple and isn't.

 

The lyrics are a bit cryptic but that sits ok with the ephemeral nature of the repeated 8 notes that are broken up with the faster choruses:

 

All through the night
I'll be awake and I'll be with you
All through the night
This precious time when time is new

Oh
All through the night today
Knowin' that we feel the same without sayin'

We have no past, we won't reach back
Keep with me forward all through the night
And once we start, the meter clicks
And it goes running all through the night
Until it ends, there is no end

This is the stuff of 8th grade slow dances and HS proms and sitting on your bed with your best friend discussing all the boys you think are cute and might be good kissers. It feels deep when you are a teenager hoping to be with your boyfriend all through the night, but I have to say as a full grown woman it still haunts me when it comes on (in Trader Joes or anywhere else). It's the repeating melody that lures you in--the tinkling notes are whimsical. Lauper's voice comes in and is just so saturated with the feelings of the lyrics we believe this is HER story (it's not--she didn't write it--but I sure BELIEVE that it is). This song represents the magic of good 80s pop: it can always crawl into your softest sentimental spots and make you remember what it felt like to want to have these sort of desperate feelings of loving the way you love when you are full of hormones and hope and looking for meaning in every song they play on KROQ. It's a huge nostalgia trip and after being reminded of it today, I went to the itunes store and bought it and "Time After Time" and have had them on loop for hours.

Alice Neiley

Well, I figure I'll post the long awaited discography entry here as well, that way Scudder won't be able to somehow deny my participation or 'forget' to put it on the blog out of spite since I only have eyes for my puppy now. ANYWAY. 

 

First of all, I'm completely in agreement with Pedro and Lynette about their songs -- in fact, Fill Me Up was actually on my short list, and while Bright Side of the Road wasn't specifically on my list, but Into the Mystic and Domino both were. Okay, enough about my short list. I ultimately decided upon Blame it on the Boogie by The Jackson 5. Technically, by the time that tune was released they were called only The Jacksons, the beginning of that inevitable road for most family bands as things progress, and of course, as we all know, the road to Michael Jackson's unfortunate new...face...and other disasters. Anyway, Blame it on the Boogie is easily the best Jackson song between ABC and the Thriller album, if for no other reason than the dichotomy of its upbeat melody and rhythm paired with lyrics that are basically a guy complaining that his girl likes dancing more than she likes him (wait...does that sound like a familiar story to anybody...like the story of Scudder, me, my dog, and this discography?) ;)

 

Parallels aside, I do love this tune. While Shawn Colvin's Fill Me Up nearly made it alongside Patty Griffin's One Big Love, Blame it on the Boogie actually causes me to dance down cereal aisles, and it's played far less often than ABC  (which happens to be my wife Karen's entry for this theme) which makes my choice better. Fewer plays in grocery stores = a far superior tune. Simple logic. 

 

I love you all. I love this discography. I am deeply sorry about my late entry, and though I won't promise that it's my last serious lapse of judgement, I will try to put my music musings at least at the level of saying good morning to my dog, or goodnight to my dog, or I love you to my dog, or giving her a smooch, but DEFINITELY not at the level of all of those put together... ;) 

Dave Kelley

Sorry for the late submission.  I will go with "Band on the Run" by Paul McCartney and Wings.  I am not a big fan of Wings, but this is a decent song.  It was a huge hit in 1974 which was one of the last uncomplicated years of my life.  With the exception of my grandmother, all of the people I loved were still alive, teenage angst and adult problems were still in the future.

 

Pedro Carmolli

Hello All:  First time reader and poster Pedro Carmolli here.  Since I torment Scudder every Thursday with trivia as payment for him working at the food shelf he has asked(guilted) me into posting.  I do not know any of the rules and probably no one else on this Blog so I hope not to offend everyone with this post.  Once I get to know you, then I hope to offend you properly and in person at some point.

 

Now to answer the question.  I initially thought my answer would be September by Earth Wind and Fire.  I do feel happy whenever I hear that song.  Scientists have done a study on pop music and called it the happiest song ever written.  Cancer is as yet mostly incurable but thank God we know what the happiest song is.  I decided that couldn't be it though because it was not written and performed by Van Morrison.

 

I have, for the longest time, been a Van Morrison fan and I try to convert as many non-believers as possible.  Whenever I have high school or college aged people working with me I make sure to introduce them to His music.  My most recent intern had me fill out an evaluation for her professor.  One of the questions was "What areas does the intern need to improve?"  Of course I wrote at length about her inability to quickly and accurately identify classic rock and roll songs.  This was met with a snicker by her professor who assumed I was joking.

 

Back to the song.  It is not Brown Eyed Girl, which to this day causes Janet Planet (the actual brown eyed girl) to exit any place that is playing that tune.  Too popular.  Nor is it anything from the Moondance album, which I love.  Those seem to be the only "deep cuts" played on the radio by DJs or computer algorithms that think they are digging up unheard gold. 

 

I do feel very happy when I hear the song St Dominic's Preview without having to put it on myself but that has happened to me exactly once in my life so, too obscure.

 

For me, It has to be Bright Side Of the Road from the 1979 Into The Music album.  I hear it out in the ether enough, perhaps once per year or 18 months.  So, definitely not overplayed and nearly every time I hear it I ask whatever stranger or friend is closest to identify it.  The responses range from "buddy, give me a break I am trying to find a sympathy card for my friend whose mom just died" to "really, can't you go 10 minutes without asking me some obscure question," to my aforementioned intern's response "this can't possibly be Van Morrison."  Ahh Good Times.

Jack Schultz

According to my somewhat eclectic music tastes, this is one of the worst songs published since the Paleolithic age.   Yet, whenever I hear it, it brings a smile to my face, probably with a faraway look in my eyes.  It is a biological fact that our sense of smell is one of the strongest triggers of memories.  I think music and particular songs are not far behind the olfactory stimulators.  For me, Dire Straits’ Sultans of Swing and The Police’s Roxanne always (ALWAYS!) remind me of spring break 1979 with George Mahoney and two girls from Da Region going to Dayton Beach in his beat-up Chevy Nova.  Queen’s Little Thing Called Love and the Theme from Taxi always (ALWAYS!) remind me of driving to the 1980 winter Olympics on the spur of the moment (probably a future blog post, unless this one gets me banned).

And Spandau Ballet’s True always makes me smile, because it reminds me of drinking pitchers of beer on the deck of the City View Tavern overlooking the east end of Cincinnati, in the company of a beautiful young lady, far beyond my amorous range in the early ‘80s, the Paleolithic Age, or any age for that matter.  While our friendship was clearly platonic, I was grateful for the time we spent together and must confess I indulged in imagining that it could somehow turn into something more.  Undoubtedly, those fantasies are why this song conjures such pleasant memories. 

As it turned out, I’m fortunate to have later found the true love of my life (Julie), for whom I owe Gary a world of thanks.  I met Julie at his apartment playing Trivial Pursuit with Gary and his wife, who worked with Julie in a bookstore.  It must also be observed that my platonic friend and I have grown to disagree on what makes American great.

I owe Gary further thanks for introducing me to The City View Tavern, which used to be in the back of neighborhood grocery store.  You would walk through this tiny grocery store to find in the rear, a rickety wooden balcony with a breathtaking view of Cincinnati.  It really was an amazing place (no longer a grocery). 

I don’t know how jukeboxes work, but no one was feeding money into it on the couple of evenings I spent there sipping beer with my platonic friend.  The rotation it was playing was small and True would repeat frequently.  The song sucks.  I would never include it on a playlist for my friends (except for this post). Yet, it always (ALWAYS!) brings a smile to my face when I hear it.

Mike Kelly

Chris Isaak - Wicked Game

 

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you

I still can't figure out the difference between parsley and cilantro

It's strange what desire will make foolish people do

You know what else is strange? Being in the grocery store and hearing the song I thought was the hottest thing ever when I was 11

I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you

I never dreamed that I'd be searching the whole store for some snotty organic cheese

And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you

Why wasn't Chris Isaak more famous? 

No, I don't wanna fall in love (this world is only gonna break your heart)

Yeah, no shit it is. There's not a lot I can do with "those green chips that are like healthy Doritos" on a shopping list

No, I don't wanna fall in love (this world is only gonna break your heart)
With you
(This world is only gonna break your heart)

He sounds like Roy Orbison. He deserved better than this

What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way

I used to have a crush on a girl who ended up at Princeton when this song came out. 

What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you

Pretty sure this is the point in the video where Chris Isaak and the model are for all intents and purposes fucking

What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way

Not sure if Gatorade is considered a juice or a soft drink. 

What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you

This matters because one is in the aisle with green arrows and one is in the aisle with red arrows. 

And I don't wanna fall in love (this world is only gonna break your heart)

This is the hottest song to ever be associated with the hideous florescent lights of a grocery store

No, I don't wanna fall in love (this world is only gonna break your heart)
With you

I wish I was on a beach right now 

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you

But I never understood why both people in the video are eating sand. Not hot. 

Strange what desire will make foolish people do

Maybe this line explains why

I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you

Finding the big bag of frozen spinach is a wicked game because it's always hidden way in the back of the freezer

And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you 

The small child in the ice cream aisle almost lost his toe because my janky cart keeps pulling inexplicably to the left

He's right. Nobody loves no one.  

Lynette Vought

Fill Me Up

Shaun Colvin

 

 

   There are many songs I am happy to hear, but the bit in Gary’s directions about a song that makes me feel better about the human condition was a bit of a stumper. Most of the songs that make me smile aren’t all that uplifting except in musical terms. More often than not, the lyrics I enjoy the most are about the no good there is to get up to, instead of hopeful messages. Part of the fun in Runaway Baby is thinking about the wolf in sheep’s clothing.

   

    In Fill Me Up, Shaun Colvin managed to create a song that fulfills both requirements. Wistful and joyful at the same time, she uses painterly imagery to express her acceptance of being alone but also of love and the comfort that comes when one has a friend that is present, although not always in a physical sense. That balance of melancholy and contentment forms a lovely human portrait of independence as well as attachment.

 

    The cover art for the album These Four Walls, a photo collage by Maggie Taylor, is a beautiful complement to the music. Just like Colvin’s lyrics, the art sets up the framework of elements that the viewer can gather together into a personal narrative.  

 

    Every now and then, this song breaks through the usual grocery store hit parade, and it is always a pleasure. It’s kind of like seeing French blue and tangerine together. Both are genuine slices of beauty.

Cyndi Brandenburg

The Lightning Seeds, Pure

Yeah Scudder, I know. I have been a bad discography participant of late, and I almost ignored this thematic challenge too because there are so many songs that make me unexpectedly happy. The seemingly infinite scope of possibility makes picking and committing to just one rather daunting. It’s super easy for me to feel an extra skip in my step in the midst of the drudgery of life (for example, while shopping for new deck furniture because our old stuff is meh and borderline broken) when a blast from the past or something emotionally meaningful infiltrates the mundane. Appropriate or not, I’m really not partial or picky about context. So this month’s selection ended up picking itself, when yesterday I happened to notice it playing in the background--such fun. “Where feelings, not reasons, can make you decide.” Resonant words, whether picking a song, shopping for lawn furniture, or navigating life.

Gary Scudder

Bananarama, Cruel Summer

Well, first off, who doesn't love Bananarama? I mean, it's Bananarama, FFS. That said, I mainly like to hear this song pop up unexpectedly because it reminds me of a good friend and an odd event that helped make my transition into graduate school easier. Much like college, I guess, except on steroids, graduate school can be pretty daunting, at least until you figure out the routine. My ex-wife, a woman of profound intelligence and perception (with the exception of her choice in men), walked out of her first, and only, history graduate party and said, a little too loudly (she got a little tipsy to get through the pain), "It's like the Island of Misfit Toys." What you realize, of course, very quickly, is that it is mainly populated by odd little misfits who could not exist successfully in the real world, and they often disguise their sociopathic otherness by and inflated sense of their own genius and intellectual worth. I can still remember the first in-class question that one of my colleagues asked me. I had written a paper on Peter Gay's The Party of Humanity (most of history graduate school, at least early on, is writing five page reviews of famous books to provide us with a foundational knowledge, or because they simply can't think of anything else to do with us).  Anyway, the first question I ever received in graduate school was from a more seasoned student that we not so lovingly referred to as "the Lungfish." His question: "Do you know Peter Gay's real name?" Obviously, he was asking me the question because he knew the answer, and I had this amazing epiphany: "Ooohhh, so we're just fucking around here; I'm going to own this place." However, the events leading to the selection of this song go back a couple weeks earlier when I first walked into the history TA room. The history teaching assistant office was (and maybe still is) this absurdly cramped little room on the third floor of McMicken Hall at the University of Cincinnati (DK can speak to it's dreadfulness). I walked into the room with some apprehension, and looked around at a room full of folks reading newspapers (when people read newspapers) and books, talking about conference papers they were writing, and getting caught up with each other. One of the veterans looked up at me, the fresh meat, and asked, "How was your summer?" I replied, "Cruel," in honor of a chaotic summer, but also the foresaid Bananarama song. Everyone in the room looked at me like I had lobsters coming out of my ears, with the exception of another first year grad student, Doug Knerr, known to DK and BF - but also CB and MK in a very different context. He looked over the top of his newspaper with this look that said, "Yeah, I know, they're pretentious wankers, but we're going to be cool." It suddenly made graduate school much less terrifying. Even today, whenever I hear Cruel Summer, I always think of that moment and the beginning of a great friendship.

Meditations #5

 "Do not waste what remains of your life in speculating about your neighbours, unless with a view to some mutual benefit. To wonder what so-and-so is doing and why, or what he is saying, or thinking, or scheming - in a word, anything that distracts you from fidelity to the Ruler within you - means a loss of opportunity for some other task."

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book Three

Here, almost two-thousand years ago, MA predicts the corrupting influence of Facebook.

The Inder Experience

 And another amazing friend: the near legendary Inder Singh. He may have begun as our as our contact at Tiger Paws Adventures (actually, he runs it, having taken over from his father) but over the years he's become so much more. Now, there's never a trip when he and I don't get into a fight about something - that's two pretty massive egos in one space - but we always hug it out (at least when we're not working around COVID). I suspect we'd be friends anyway, but we've gone through so many adventures - visa issues in Sri Lanka, travelling around India during a pandemic, sick students, elephants in heat - that our bond has been forged even stronger.  On last spring's trip we were finally invited to his house in Delhi, which was a tremendous treat.

Mohit, Inder, and Steve.

So many amazing pictures.

And the true treasures: his lovely wife and mother.

Posh Inder.

That classic Inder smile.

And the students, as always, loved him.

Kevin and Marcelle

 And when I think of friends who make this all worthwhile I suppose I should share this great picture of my dear friends Kevin and Marcelle. They have become such fun, supportive, and utterly dependable friends over the last few years.

I think this was at one of the last Four Sport Triathlons, obvious a summer one, before the Zombie Apocalypse.

Meditations #4

 "In all you do or say or think, recollect that at any time the power of withdrawal from life is in your own hands. If gods exist, you have nothing to fear in taking leave of mankind, for they will not let you come to harm. But if there are no gods, or if they have no concern with mortal affairs, what is life to me, in a world devoid of gods or devoid of Providence?"

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book Two

As usual, Marcus is sharing some essential truth. Yesterday I was talking to my great friend SW and I was telling him how much his friendship means to me (why guys don't do more of this is mystifying; every time my oldest friend Jack and Dave and I take leave of each other, even virtually, we go out of our way to share that we love each other). Anyway, I was telling SW that our friendship, beyond providing so much joy over the last decade, has also kept me from going to really dark places over the last year and a half. It's not simply the pain and the inability to do something I dearly love, travel, but it's also the terrible realization of the years I've wasted based on a lie. If relationship end, they end, and if both sides were sincere, then no harm, no foul. Instead, so many years of my life - including relationships with other women that were rich and could have been even richer - were destroyed because of a person who lied to me, and who deliberately took advantage of my love for her and my belief in her. That's hard to get past, especially at sixty-one when I'm alone and can't see a time when that will change. Would I do something drastic? Probably not. But, truthfully, if the offer was, it could be over tomorrow, no pain or uncertainty, just a disappearance, a transition into the totality of all things - for big patches of the last year and a half the answer would have been a very simple and grateful yes. Because, Marcus is right, while we don't control many things, the "power of withdrawal from life" is in our own hands. And the notion of taking advantage of that power was something that lay at the heart of Stoicism. Of course, it's not simply the Stoics who struggled with this notion. We are told that the pre-Socratic Zeno, in his dotage, stumbled and shaking his fist, cried, "I come, I come, why dost thou call for me?" Then, at least according to legend, he ended his life. Any of my friends - and many of my students - can quote the classic Scudder lament, "praying for death's sweet release." Now, would I want this to be over because of pain, both physical and emotional, or because of vanity: that is, am I actually just angry with myself for foolishly taking the word of a woman who had never given me any reason to believe her? We do many stupid things for the cause of vanity, and I don't suppose that killing oneself should be one of them. 

The Mean Girls

 As any teacher will tell you, one of the great joys of our profession is when graduating students go out of their way to reach out to you as they head out the door. I think this is especially true for us in the Core division because we don't have majors, which means that we don't spend time with students on a daily basis over four years. So, when they reach out to us it really means something. Recently four of my graduating seniors, known lovingly as the Mean Girls, emailed me about getting together for coffee a couple of days before the ceremony. They are all veterans of the latest Zanzibar trip, which is, amazingly, over two years ago now. I suggested Klinger's, which I always liked, but definitely became my go-to meeting spot during the pandemic: great coffee and treats tied to tables outside. I was able to sit down with Whitney, Emily (I was actually her first professor, 8:00 in the morning on a Monday, four years ago), River, and Tori for two and a half hours as we gabbed specifically about the Zanzibar trip and also more generally about college. It was a wonderful time.

Whitney, Emily, River and Tori. Oddly, they don't look that mean in the picture, which I suspect what makes them so dangerous.

Meditations #3

 "What is no good for the hive is no good for the bee."

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book Six

Of course, Marcus also occasionally leads me astray, well, not actually astray I suppose, but he leads me in directions that I wouldn't naturally go, which I guess means that he's actually leading me on the right path. My frighteningly brilliant friend David, whose PhD is in philosophy, often talks about practical ethics. To me, Marcus Aurelius is the very definition of practical ethics (which is ironic because both David and Al tweak me for my love of MA, which I think they view as diluted Stoicism, which, in some sense it is, although I guess I would argue that is what makes it so useful). Last summer I was sitting in on our pre-semester AAUP meeting and it was time to discuss electing new officers. My name was unexpectedly brought up as a nomination for President. Truthfully, and this should come as no surprise to anyone, I had no interest in the position at all. That said, and this is why it always comes back to Marcus Aurelius, I immediately thought of the Meditations. In the end you have to do what you have to do, and this was one of those situations where what the hive needed was bigger than what the bee wanted. So, I spent this last year - and I suspect the next - as Champlain's AAUP President. It hasn't been too horrible, and I guess I'm as well-positioned as any professor at Champlain to push the administration on doing the right thing; I mean, they would be hard-pressed to fire me (and, sadly, way too many of my colleagues actually are afraid of such things). As part of pushing we've also found ourselves pushing the college on COVID issues, not surprisingly. In this specific case we definitely pushed the college to think of the hive instead of the bee by passing an AAUP resolution, and sharing it with the entire college, stating that the college should require the vaccination for all students on campus (truthfully, if you're just asking me, random dude, as compared to me, AAUP President, I would expand that to all faculty and staff - but even I don't win all my battles). About a week later the college announced that policy, although not that exact policy, in that the required a vaccination but included the tag line about "fully approved FDA vaccine" which I'm not happy with because it's an awfully big loophole. This, in turn, led me to explore the website of two-hundred different colleges to check on how they were playing it. Thus, the battle continues, but, win or lose, it brings us back to MA.

April 23, 2021

Dear President Akande, Vice President Averill, and Dave Finney:

The members of the Champlain College chapter of the American Association of University Professors (AAUP) thank you for your stewardship through this challenging academic year during the COVID-19 pandemic. We know that you are eager to reopen the campus fully and welcome back the entire Champlain College community beginning in the Fall of 2021. While we remain optimistic that cases will significantly decrease as more Americans become fully vaccinated, we feel that as a professional organization that represents and promotes important faculty interests, the safety, health, and welfare of Champlain College’s faculty is paramount to a successful Fall semester and beyond. To that end, the AAUP feels that Champlain’s best path forward is to follow the lead of many other public and private institutions of higher learning who are planning full Fall 2021 reopenings and update Champlain College’s immunization requirements for students to include proof of receipt of a COVID-19 vaccine authorized for use in the United States. 

This means that all students planning to attend in the Fall 2021 semester must be fully vaccinated against COVID-19, except for students who request an exemption for medical or religious reasons. Additionally, we ask you to mandate and/or strongly urge all Champlain faculty and staff to get immunized against COVID-19.

From the onset of the pandemic, the safety of the broader Champlain community has been our shared responsibility. This has never been more true. The importance of a vaccine mandate to make our community safer for all cannot be overstated, and we look forward to seeing the Champlain College administration work to make this goal a reality.

Respectfully,

   

The Champlain College AAUP

   

Officers

Gary Scudder, Ph.D.

President

Eric Friedman, J.D.

Vice-President

Sanford Zale, Ph.D.

Secretary and Treasurer

Meditations #2

 "Your mind will be like its habitual thoughts; for the soul becomes dyed with the colour of its thoughts."

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book Five

This is one of the first passages from the Meditations that draw me to Marcus Aurelius many, many years ago.  As I've gotten older (much more on that to come) my devotion to this philosophy has only intensified. Marcus talks a lot about leading an intentional life, on that doesn't waste moments, and this is something that has definitely carried over into the world of literature and film for me. Besides making me more than a big of a pretentious wanker, I think it has all too often led me to isolate myself. This was definitely a problem in the long term relationship that ended a year ago. She and the kids were usually in the other room watching some dreck on the big screen while I was streaming foreign films on my tablet. The obvious question is: was I better off for doing so, or would it have benefitted me/us if I had given myself up to more bad TV with the pack? I suppose if they had ever let me pick a movie I might be more moved by the notion that I should have joined in (grin). I think it has kept me from reading new books (it's less true in regards to films) as compared to rereading Proust or Dickens or Murakami. There is a purity in beauty, and I guess on some level, consciously or unconsciously, I completely agree with MA here. And this brings me to the Criterion Channel. After having Netflix for years I finally dropped it a few months ago. One night I spend over an hour trying to find something to watch on the streaming service and finally gave up in disgust, and then the next morning I received their email explaining why they were raising their rates; poor timing, as I cancelled it immediately. For a while I kept the DVD service, which I guess was the original service (or, as my friend Sanford would propose, the True Service) because that was always the one that I used to get foreign and independent films. However, even that one become troublesome. Part of is was beyond their control. When the Trump junta decided to destroy the postal service I went from being able to watch three DVDs a week to about four a month (and even I can figure out the finances on that one). The bigger problem, however, was their own doing: just as their streaming service shrank, so did their DVD selection. It was especially annoying when I would choose a film and they would include it in my waiting queue, even though I had got it from them in the past. So, essentially, they had either destroyed all DVDs or taken them out of rotation. In what universe would it be appropriate to take Grand Illusion out of circulation? So, Netflix was already on life support, and then I discovered the Criterion Channel. Anyone who loves foreign films knows about the Criterion Collection; I used to joke that I couldn't believe that my students didn't pool their resources and buy me the Criterion Collection and it's only several thousand films. As it turns out the good folks there also have a streaming service. You don't have access to the entire collection, and it rotates every so often, but the collection is so rich that I can never get through every option. Plus, they include related interviews (what another famous director thinks about that film) or documentaries. And they also offer collections such as Japanese Film Noir or Foreign Films that Won the Oscar, etc. It's like a streaming service that also provides graduate credit. I'm already lamenting its passing because nothing this good that makes me this happy on a daily basis can survive for long.  It's easily the best nine collars I've ever spent per month because I watch at least one movie on the Criterion Channel every day. To be fair, I usually watch a foreign film and then switch over to Amazon Prime to watch the dumbest monster movie I can find (it's sort of like how the ancient Greeks would watch devastating tragedies and then remarkably inappropriate comedies from Aristophanes; yes, I'm actually trying to sell that argument). Anyway, circling back to MA, I guess as the light begins to dim I become even more attached to great films, and find it almost painful to watch something that is utterly vacuous. 

I mean, how can you not love a channel that includes collections like Japanese Film Noir and Czechoslovak New Wave? My friend Erik and I are already talking about creating a new class that would focus on US, French and Japanese film noir.

Exploring

 If I learned anything from last week's stress test (beyond the logic and sweetness of euthanasia) it was that I need to get out and walk more. Once I got past my knee surgery I returned to the gym for my usual six days a week. While I do thirty to forty minutes of cardio every day it's exclusively on the bike or the elliptical. I simply haven't been walking, not simply because of pain in my knee but also because walking has been a bit dodgy because of my poly neuropathy. Of course, this means I should be walking. It's not simply that I need the exercise, but also, to a certain degree, I need to teach myself how to walk again. With that in mind I avoided the gym yesterday and finally explored the walking trail across the street from my apartment. It's actually a wonderful trail and I immediately felt quite stupid for not having checked it out earlier (the opening looks pretty scrubby, but it opens up to a lovely path and it's not too brutally hilly). The new goal is to swap off days - on weight-lifting days I'll do my cardio at the gym - and on non-weight-lifting days I'm going to be walking. Anyway, now you'll know where to find my body when I go missing.

Sadly, I had no cryptozoological experiences. I would have even been happy to run into Tom Bombadil.

Ruins of Desert Cathay

 The other day I received a text from my friend Linda, our eminently great office manager in the Core, which went something like:

LG: "Are these yours?"

GS: "Of course. Who else?"

LG: "I was thinking maybe Wehmeyer."

GS: "Nah, it can't be Steve, these books are about the desert."

Despite Stein's complicated legacy, his story is fascinating. He's buried in Kabul, Afghanistan, and one of my true nerd aspirational goals is to make an homage to his grave.

I guess I found this amusing because when did I become the person who was naturally associated with the arrival of odd old books? The answer, of course, was decades ago. It's also a testament that my friend Steve was the second choice, and that I'm so associated with the desert (another one of those desert-loving English, as SW is wont to opine) that it is a natural foundation for an inside joke.

The other night I was swapping texts with my friend Cyndi and Mike on a Saturday night on what we were doing. I had to admit that it was 8:00 and I was reading a 140 year old first hand account of a Hungarian explorer of western China - and would soon be transitioning to Czechoslovak New Wave cinema on the Criterion Channel. I cannot believe that I'm single.

Nisa

 Last night was a very wonderful Iftar. As we've discussed, several of my non-Muslim friends compete with each other to supply me meals or even host me for Iftar. My most excellent friend, colleague, and travelling companion (and titular little sister) Cyndi being one of the most persistent. Last night she invited three of our favorite students from the Jordan trips: Ines, Liza, and Holly. The pandemic has been rough for so many reasons, but also because we haven't been able to see our students. The other day I ran into my student Lanie when she was dropping off donations at the Food Shelf, and we talked about the fact that we hadn't seen each other face to face since we dispersed at Aiken Hall the night we returned from India. With that in mind, it was so wonderful to see these mishkelgee last night.

Holly, Liza, Ines. All completely kickass, and all heading off to graduate school in the fall. I couldn't be prouder of them.

Meditations #1

 Over the now way too many years of this blog I've, in addition to my daily ill-considered musings, have occasionally tackled more thematic challenges: the daily commentary on Proust's Remembrance of Things Past; a year-long reflection on faith; and three seasons of the Discography (although, to be fair, that is a team effort). With that in mind, I'm not certain that I want to embark on another lengthy thematic quest, but maybe I'll just start tinkering and see what it goes. As I've discussed, part of this physical struggle is that it has left me a little weary - and the drugs, while helping, seem to have left me a little unfocused (or maybe I've just gotten old all of a sudden). Or maybe I just need to make a more concerted effort to work harder and to stay more focused. Hmmm. If I were going to undertake another longer thematic discussion the obvious place would be to reflect upon the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. Partially, the other day, 26 April to be exact, was his 1900th birthday. More importantly, this would be another opportunity to reread the Meditations, one of my favorite works (in fact, when Pedro from the Food Shelf pointed out the other day that it was Marcus's birthday I ignored all of the many things that I needed to do that day and gave myself over hours of re-examining the Meditations). As I've pointed out, I think there are exactly three works that I think have made me a better person (or at least gave me the tools to be a better person): the Qur'an, Marcel Proust's Remembrance of Things Past, and the Meditations. For those of you unfamiliar with the Meditations, and, seriously, you should feel a tremendous sense of personal shame, these are reflections that Marcus Aurelius wrote to himself when he was Roman Emperor. Marcus was out on the perimeters of the empire with the army, and he would retreat to his tent of an evening and writing the notes and reflections that would become what we know as the Meditations. 

Were you to live three thousand years, or even thirty thousand, remember that the sole life which a man can lose is that which he is living at the moment; and furthermore, that he can have no other life except the one he loses. This means that the longest life and the shortest amount to the same thing. For the passing minute is every man's equal possession, but what has once gone by is not ours. Our loss, therefore, is limited to that one fleeting instant, since no one can lose what is already past, nor yet what is still to come - for how can he be deprived of what he does not possess?

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book Two

There was a time - and it's hard to believe that a time like that every existed - when I used to assign my students the Meditations. I've talked about constructing a class around the Meditations here at Champlain, but administrators and my colleagues look at me like a lunatic, which, of course, only makes me want to do it all the more. I've long proposed that if you did nothing other than focus on Book Two of the Meditations you'd, by definition, become a better person. Of course you should read all of it, but Book Two (essentially the second chapter; the Meditations is actually quite short) would give you the tools you would need to be a better person. The passage above is one of my favorites, and I still remember reading it for the first time. One of the similarities between Islam and the stoicism that Marcus Aurelius championed is the need to live an intentional, logical life, to consider the implications, the potential, for good or ill, the weight, of every moment. One thing that makes that possible is to understand that all you possess is that moment. How many people do you know who are crushed (sometimes, obviously, quite legitimately) by the events of the past - and are frozen into inactivity by the thought of what might happen in the future; in the end, you don't possess the past or the future. Yes, you should consider how the past might have shaped you, what you've learned from it - and you should definitely plan for the future - but to get to either of them you have to go through this moment. So, when you pass, Marcus reminds us, all you can actually lose is this moment.

Stress

There's an old chest nut about how you spend ninety percent of all the healthcare money that you'll ever spend in the last six months. Following that logic I may have just slept through my own funeral. As we've discussed, a year ago I was running people ragged in Jordan, Namibia, and India, and now walking is sometimes somewhere between inelegant and a challenge. Over the last six months, not counting innumerable COVID tests and soon to be two COVID vaccinations, I've seen around ten doctors, had a battery of blood work, had two MRIs, an EMG, a visit to Urgent Care, an epidural, knee surgery, waiting on my neurologist appointment, and have had to adapt to weekly physical therapy - and that's not even mentioning the fucking Neti-Pot. Oh, and now we get to add a stress test. Happily, apparently my heart is fine, so, to quote Bill Murray, I got that going for me. It's mainly gallows humor that is helping me get through this stretch. 

I tried to reach a level of zen by focusing on the print, which is why I'm sure it is hanging there. I did better than I thought, and my surgically repeated knee actually didn't bark too terribly.