Something I've noticed. If I lie down and take a nap during the day―if I can somehow swing that―I usually feel refreshed when I wake up, and I can get more done. If I do the same thing after 10 at night, my concentration is shot and I generally can't accomplish anything. This is frustrating, but not inexplicable.
What seems to work better at night is if I lie down for a bit but keep my eyes open. That seems to avoid sending my body a surrender signal.
Reading on Lionel Shriver's novel The Mandibles: A Family, 2029-2047 is still in progress. Surprises are a possibility, and to some degree expected. Still, I feel like I can share my impressions so as to give you the feel.
For context, I read a good portion of it today in a city water park by the river. Walking back and forth while reading, I kept seeing the same hypodermic syringe on the ground, and registering my doubt that some diabetic had dropped it while taking his insulin shot. There was a shouting match between two guys over one having his dog of the leash and the dog rushing the other guy, although not biting him.
This is not to say it was a lousy day. It wasn't, and the skateboarders on the Korean War monument were enjoying themselves. But it's a near-future story about the decline of America and the globe overall, and the personal conflicts that will rise. It seems only right to bring in supporting evidence from the real world.
The cause of the book's Armageddon-of-sorts is fairly simple to describe. The USA defaults on its debt in what becomes known as the Renunciation. What that means for the Mandibles, an extended Old Money family, is that the dollars they've counted on for security have drastically reduced in value, leaving them high and dry. Carter, a journalist idled by the previous collapse of newspapers, has to take his nonagerian father and the father's demented second wife out of their (once) cushy nursing home and house them in his own flat. Daughter Florence, an aid worker with a brainy teenage son and live-in Latino boyfriend (not the boy's father but a good surrogate) can't afford her house without putting up her eccentric aunt, an expatriate writer no longer welcome in Europe. Her more conservative sister Avery loses her therapy practice while her husband loses his job as an economics professor. They and their children all have to go live with Florence as well.
The characters all come from privilege. Not the vague kind of privilege currently attributed to everyone of Western European descent, but an actual elevation from the troubles of the common folk. This is quite deliberate, and serves a purpose. The fiscal catastrophe brings them low, so you know it's real. We assume that come what may, the great Mayflower families and the descendants of nineteenth century captains of industry will be have their needs met and then some. And some surely will. But maybe even in their class, some are expendable. And Shriver knows that if your story requires breaking stuff, it's more dramatic if it's the Good Stuff.
The author is an interesting figure. She's in essence a left-liberal, but has made some apostasies―most recently on COVID―which cause some to associate her with the right. So does that make The Mandibles a takedown of smug liberals launched by a smug conservative? I don't see it that way. The character of Avery―note that she goes by a three syllable man's name―receives as many barbs as anyone. Shriver is fairly unfair to everyone, in an equitable way.
No, I'd say it's a satirical but humanist dystopia. One that we can reflect on while making our way through this one.
On my appointed rounds today I saw a poster pasted to a lamppost. It was the swaddled figure of Maggie Simpson. Beside her was text reading "Smartphones are adult pacifiers."
This brightened my day, or at least my mood in the moment. I'd have a hard time saying why, exactly. It probably helps that the barb was pointed at passive thinking, surely a worthy target.
To the extent that I have any reason for posting this one, it's just to show that humor is one of those things. Like, when I was a kid and heard this, much of the humor went over my head. Although I did get that "woke up this afternoon" was a contrast to the usual "...this morning." And the singer having two cars to begin with. But see? I'm going down a dangerous road. Analyzing humor rarely leads to funny results.
Today while walking home from grocery shopping I was a few minutes away from the Stop & Shop I passed by a tributary of the river and was just about at an empty parking lot. And what did I see? An honest-to-goodness hawk. Not flying overhead. It was just there, perched on the railing, still and watchful and―at the shortest distance―just a couple of feet from me. It was kind of an unnerving experience because those birds are huge and they're very efficient killers. But I'd be lying if I said it wasn't cool as well.
Later in the same walk I looked down at the sidewalk and saw a pair of black lace panties. It might be significant that the street I was on also has a big laundromat, albeit a number of blocks back. An educated guess tells me that the hawk didn't have anything to do with the skivvies. Still, the writer in me wants to conjecture that it did.
Here―and once again, apologies for not being able to embed non-YouTube videos―is a stand-up bit that was quite celebrated when it first came out. Louis CK is a talented comic who has since been exiled from polite society for behavior that could be called sexual harassment but might be better characterized as "being a moron."
But this routine was hailed as brilliant and insightful, in a way that always rankled me. Because already, people seemed to have stopped asking questions.
First of all, if someone says that they're privileged because "I can get into a time machine and..." well, the question that raises is, "What time machine? Where is there a time machine?"
And any time of history? Not if you land someplace ruled by Genghis Khan and his Mongol Empire, friend. For that matter, you wouldn't get far in Ancient Rome speaking this barbarian Teutonic tongue. It doesn't really make sense to talk about white supremacy on a global scale before the start of the sixteenth century when the powers of Western Europe started expanding across the oceans.
The thing is, if you say that group X has always wound up on top at any time in history, that's not very different from saying that group X is innately superior.
Different approaches to the same material.
This is Joni in what's probably her most acclaimed phase. It's undeniably catchy. And as a non-musician, I have to doff my hat to her guitar playing on this one.
Still you wouldn't necessarily expect the Supremes to take on this intimate singer-songwriter stuff. They're version is noticeably brassed up, not to bad effect.
They were more of an ensemble than is always remembered. The lead vocal here is taken by Jean Terrell, who took Diana Ross's place when she left.
For the record, Flo Ballard is my favorite Supreme.
Today I passed by the pet supply place at the base of the hill where I live. Not too surprisingly, someone was walking in holding a leash. But what was on the end of this leash? At first I assumed it was a small dog. But that wasn't quite right. There's a difference in movement between a small dog and a long cat. And this cat was quite long, actually larger than some dogs.
It also had quite short hair. Not quite hairless, but sleek. I was going to say a Sphynx, but I've looked up pictures of Sphynx cats, and this didn't look anything like that. So that part remains a mystery.
"I see," said Spartacus. "You're all me. That's handy.."
It was indeed handy for some. What it wasn't was interesting.
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By way of explanation, I think the above was written when I gave up trying to write my opinion on whatever I was trying to blog about and made an attempt at (extremely) short fiction. Mainly a demonstration on how my brain doesn't work after I pass a certain level of sleepiness.
I took a notion today to try blogging from work. Sh, don't tell anyone. Anyway, I forget what I wanted to talk about, because I couldn't log in. Like, I could, I remembered my Google password. But because it was an "unfamiliar device" I was supposed to give them an authorization code, which they'd send to my cell, which is dormant now. I got a code through email, but somehow they said they still couldn't verify it was me.
So, I mean, I guess if anyone wants to take over this blog and somehow gets hold of my password, they're still out of luck.
I was out walking today after breakfast and a quick trip to the library. This was apparently around the time it became clear that Biden had enough states to take the presidency and it was all over but the shouting.
Then, of course, the shouting. Well, the cheering, really. A lot of hooting, honking of car horns, some people hitting pots with spoons. And you know what? Go for it. I'm not going to object to anyone feeling joy at the tail end of a year that seems to have become an expletive.
That said, if I never again encounter the sanctimony of so much of what came to be the anti-Trump campaign it will be too soon. It's been a very vapid and substance-free autumn.
Also, <i>Saturday Night Live</i>, you have, what, ninety cast members now? Get one of them to do Biden for you. Jim Carrey shows no sign of having any interest in it.
This evening after work I took the bus home, but rode it a ways past my stop. I went to a coffee shop on the eastern edge of the city. It's still mostly takeout. I got a little cookie and a cup of coffee. From there I headed to the park.
In the park I sat on a bench by the fountain, which hasn't actually had water flowing through it in a while but still looks purdy. I chewed on the cookie, enjoyed the coffee, and read my book. It's an anthology of short stories about witches. Most of the stories I've read in it haven't really grabbed me. Too much worldbuilding and not enough impressionism, but that's just me.
But it didn't matter. With the clocks turned back it was the dark of night by this time. This is a nice little park, a playground and lawn at the base of a long trail. People tend to be socially distanced because it's New England. On the other hand a lot of denizens are maskless. Combined with the scattered lights in the darkness that gives it an otherworldly feel, or more aptly an outside-of-time one. Hanging out there brings a dreamy excitement to the day.
In the past few days I've noticed some places around town that are boarded up. Not closed. These businesses, for the most part, are still operating. But there's a protective layer of lumber around the buildings.
This is election-related, of course. A huge number of places in New York and DC have similar precautions in place. Election-related violence is a bad sign all around, but there we are.
This is the original of a song that's been through a few different versions. Danny Kaye sang it as Hans Christian Andersen. Charles Aznavour did a duet of it with Robin on The Muppet Show.
It's lovely, of course. But what is it? Projection? Metaphor? An actual inchworm won't actually go far with arithmetic. I only point this out so you won't misdirect your anger.
Lynn Garland, Loesser's then-wife, does a nice job on the backing vocals.
