Happy Leaf Day

Since I'm having a Canada-themed summer, I feel like I should be celebrating Dominion-hood, but, like most Americans, I can't manage to understand Canada as remotely well enough to do that. 

(Aside: Driving around the Maritimes during my vacation, I listened to much of the CBC's copious coverage of the World Cup group rounds.  There was lots of hand-wringing over the fact that, since the national team didn't qualify, Canadians were all rooting for other countries, and what could that possibly mean for the Great Question of National Identity?  To which I can only say, to whomever it may concern, "Calm down already.  You're just fine the way you are.")

Anyhow, I bought a package of maple-leaved balloons one night at Zeller's (I was there every other day - my camera eats batteries like candy), which I split up for various secretaries to spring on my Canadian boss and pastor this morning.  It does occur to me as somewhat ironic that July 1 probably represents the nadir for the appearance of naturally-occurring red foliage in the northern hemisphere.

Incidentally, according to my company's widely-distributed "Diversity Calendar," today is also the national holiday of Somalia, Rwanda, and Suriname.  Geography being what it is, I will use today to be thankful that Canada is extremely dull by comparison.

I'll post more trip details over the next few days and our own upcoming holiday weekend.

Election Reflection

The only reflection I care to make about the current election is, "Thank God, it's over!" (Specifically referring to the campaign season, in case there was any question.)

But I can reflect with some nostalgia, related only to the marking of time, on some past elections:

• The first current event/news item I recall being aware of and (nominally) understanding was the 1984 presidential campaign. I turned five a couple months before the election. I knew who Reagan was, and, rather morbidly for a kindergartner, remember knowing that he had been shot at some point.
  


• The '88 election happened when I was in the fourth grade, and we did an election cycle simulation in class. The candidates were dinosaurs. The parties were Carnivore and Herbivore. I campaigned for Triceretops (A Cabbage In Every Pot). I don't recall who won. I do recall that my teacher wore yellow eye shadow.
  


• We were living in Italy at the time of the 1992 election, and our Italian landlord and his, erm, dubiously connected family showed up at our front door at around 7:00 the morning after, bewildered and asking how on earth Bill Clinton had won the election. I still don't know what he found so puzzling about it - they were definitely expressing confusion, not disapproval.
  


• 1996 was the fall of my senior year of high school. We were living outside San Francisco at the time. The political climate of that part of the universe really can't be accurately described using only the written word. I got into a mischievous habit of rhapsodizing about the brilliance of Joseph McCarthy in my civics class just to horrify my peers. Fortunately, the teacher, who couldn't have leaned any farther left without actually standing on his head, got a kick out of it. At the same time, I was driving my mother's '67 Mustang to school each day. Great car, but it had a dinky AM radio that only received KSFO. Let me just tell you, if you've got a taste for the utterly bizarre, you must sample San Francisco-based conservative talk radio.
  


• The first presidential election in which I was old enough to vote was in 2000. One of my iconic memories of my college years is of sitting on my roommate's bed (she was from Florida, ironically), watching the NBC news on her computer until the small hours of the morning, cooing maternally over how pathetically exhausted all the poor anchors looked in rolled-up shirt sleeves and tie-less.
  


• I watched the late coverage of the 2004 election in an empty hotel bar in Cambridge, where I'd gone to meet up with a college friend who was in town on business. All ideological considerations aside, I'm absolutely certain, that, had Senator Ketchup won that one, I would have been driven certifiably insane within two years by the news media's incessant crooning over how young John Edwards is! I certainly hope I receive that kind of affirmation when I'm 51...
  


• Speaking of Mr. Edwards, the gentleman he succeeded in the Senate has the Best Name Ever.
  

• 2008, it seems, will go down in history as the year I got sicker than a dog, left work at 10 am, and therefore got to vote with all the senior citizens, hoping my vision was straight enough that I actually voted for my intended candidates. On the other hand, I stopped being able to tell most of the candidates apart months ago. (My dad's line: "McCain is the guy who hangs out with that lady who looks like your mom." Which hadn't occurred to me before, but...she kinda does.)

Happy election day. I'm going back to bed now.

Stacks Cred

Ooh, I forgot to do my Word World homework! Don't worry, I'll make it up.

In the meantime, spending a week with Republicans and cheese curd has left Wende with a case of the giggles. Though I can't much comment on librarian centerfolds, the topic of literati as rabid fan holds promise (confession: though I've never written a fan letter, sent or otherwise, I have left a comment on a band fan forum that included three tiers of properly nested parentheses).

Whether Chris Cornell reads Salman Rushdie, I truly cannot say - and when I think about it, Mr. Cornell may well be more the John Irving type. To my knowledge, however, Soundgarden never played Tehran, so perhaps that's something.

On the other hand, there's evidence enough that the rocker gene can coexist with literary taste. Depeche Mode's Martin Gore has self-identified as a bookworm, as has Ghosts' pianist Mark Treasure (the only rock musician I know of who, when asked to name his most serious vice, replied that he spends too much time with books instead of people). Mark Stroemer, 12-foot-tall bass player for The Killers, somehow managed to overcome his Las Vegas upbringing to become a Henry Miller aficionado.

It would be hard to call Art Garfunkle rock, exactly, but his bibliophilia, like his music, is a phenomenon all its own.

One of my favorite current pop bands has a lead songwriter with a classics degree and a frontman who studied art history (the drummer was once a substitute teacher). Fed up with being pinned as too Oxbridge for rock'n'roll, they responded, somewhat counterintuitively, by inviting Irvine Welsh to direct one of their videos.

The intellectual pursuits don't stop at bookishness. Brian May did, ultimately, return to complete the doctoral work in astrophysics that he had once abandoned in favor of a homemade guitar. And, speaking of Queen, Freddie himself was a renowned philatelist - a fact that, in my mind, unequivocally proves that, no matter how weird someone seems, it's always possible that he is, in fact, much, much weirder. (He also collected cats). Also, much like a retiree in Boca, Paul Stanley took up painting in middle age, and some of his output isn't half bad (no word on whether he wears silver platform boots in the studio).

And that's just what I can think of off the top of my head.

The real question, now: Does Itzhak Perlman read Marvel Comics?

Poor Starving Tourists

I've been seeing a few news items like this lately - in this latest development, Rome (the city, not the Catholic Church) has placed a ban on snacking near historical attractions for the duration of the summer travel season.

Have you been to Rome? Italians can't keep people from driving on the sidewalks - how do they expect to enforce a prohibition on ice cream cones?

Life at Garden Level

Glorious spring day in Chicagoland, and kids were out playing when I came home from work. Two little girls and a boy, aged around 6-8, were out on the lawn right outside my kitchen window, and said hello as I went into the building. It being so warm out, I opened the windows right away, which the three kids saw as an invitation to talk to me through the screen while I puttered about in the kitchen.

I should specify that I...lack a natural affinity for children. As long as they're not being overtly obnoxious brats, they can be entertaining for periods of less than five minutes. At higher doses I quickly get frustrated and panicky and weepy, even if the kids are still behaving in a way that normal adults find adorable. It's me, really, it's just me. Fortunately, I wasn't in a Wicked-Witch-from-Hansel-and-Gretel mood.

Lexi came in and jumped up in the window, but the fact that there were people there spooked her, and she ran off.

Kid: Why did the cat run away?
Mella: She's not that friendly. Sometimes she's scared of people.
K: Why?
M: I think she's just a little skittish.
K: What does skittish mean?
M: Um...it means she's easily startled by noises and things.
K: Do you have a baby?
M: Me? Oh, no.
K: Because I hear something that sounds like a baby crying sometimes.
M: Oh, that must be the cat.
K: You have a cat?
M: (Um, yeah, short term memory girl.) Yes...here, let me see if I can get her to come back.

(I go retrieve Lexi but she wants nothing to do with the window urchins, and wriggles away.)

K:I've never seen a cat like that! What kind of cat is that?

(Never seen a Siamese cat? Don't kids watch cartoons any more?)

K: What are you doing?
M: I'm loading the dish washer.
K: Oh, I know someone with a dish washer!
M: (You live here. You have a dish washer in your own kitchen.) Hm.

K: Don't you have a daughter?
M: (Is she looking for playmates?) No, I don't.
K: Why not?
M: (Reproductive biology lesson? Nah.) Well, because I'm not married, for one thing.
K: Well, you need to get married!
M: (Holy Grapefruit, it's begun.) Ha Ha. Ok, I'll work on it.
K: My mom and dad are married.
M: Oh, that's good, I'm glad. Hey, don't lean on the screen, I don't want it to break.
K: Can we come into your house?
M: (Oooooh, boy.) No, I don't think that's a good idea.
K: Why not?
M: Well, I have some things I have to do tonight, and also, it's not a good idea for you to go into strangers' houses.
K:You're a stranger???
M: (Oh dear...) Yes, we've never met before, have we?
K: But you're nice.
M: (Drat, gotta work on that). Er, thank you.

K: Did your dad go to work?
M: Well...I'm sure he did, but he lives in New York.
K: NEW YORK??? Where does your mom live?
M: She lives in New York, too, with my dad.
K: Why do they live so far away?
M: Well...that's where they live. That's where their house is, and their jobs. I live here, and my job is here.
K: But why don't they live with you?
M: Well, for one thing, I'm 28.
K: Oh yeah? Well I'm 7 and my parents live with me!
Older sister pipes up: That's because we're kids, stupid! (to me) It's good they're not dead. My mom's parents are dead. They died before I was born. So they're my ancestors, not my relatives.
M: Er...
K: So you live here by yourself?
M: Yep.
K: What do you do in there???

K: (spies Blue Sam through window) Is that a picture of your cat?
M: No, that's just some art.
K: Who made it? Do you color?
M: Hm, no I don't think I've colored in a while.
K: Why not?
M: Well, when you grow up, you usually have fun doing other things.
K: Like what?
M: Well, I like to read books.
K: Can you read us a book?
M: (This is becoming more worrisome, and I'm approaching saturation) You know, I don't think I have any kid books. I only have long books.
K: That's ok.

At this point, and I'm not kidding, they broke into a spontaneous fist fight and ran off.