Newportastic

First off, let's just ignore that on-going Sabres vs Bruins debacle. I'm too ticked to write about it.

However, I don't have enough good things to say about Newport! Here's my Vacay Weekend Getaway To Rhode Island Extravagance Recap, also known as VWGRIER. Er, maybe not. Moving on...


The spring air on Friday had made my office kind of giddy and though we're crazy busy we usually have a darn good time working our butts off. My excitement for the three-day weekend (Happy belated Patriot's Day everybody!) was topped off by an awesome surprise: the wonderful Sig O sent roses to my office. Getting a flower delivery is a guaranteed way to make me blush and giggle like a schoolgirl. Everyone oohs and aahs and I pretend that I'm not beet red.


Once we packed up the magical Sonata and started motoring off toward Newport I kept saying to myself "I'm in vacation mode, I'm in vacation mode..." I have this annoying habit where I have to tell myself to relax and I think I actually may have succeeded for a good portion of the weekend. Meaning probably about 30%, which I consider a win.

That night we checked into the Mill Street Inn and had a fantastic late dinner at 22 Bowen looking out over the water (sort of). The night was cold and blustery and raining sideways, but we had a great time and the Dinner Partner Who Never Wants Dessert ordered a creme brulee for us to share. YUM.

The next day we took a look at our surroundings in the daylight. Gorgeous colonial houses everywhere, cobblestone streets, and of course the harbor. (I posted pictures on facebook - if we aren't friended WHO ARE YOU AND OMG A STRANGER IS READING MY BLOG SWEET! Hm maybe I should get a flickr account).

Over the next three days, we ate a lot, walked a lot, and slept a lot. My favorite part? Splitting a bottle of champagne in the middle of the afternoon. My kind of weekend. The Sig O even let me do a little shopping (window, mostly).

We also did got tickets to do tours of the mansions. They are all jaw dropping in sheer scale and extravagance, and I already can't wait to go back and see more some day. We made it to three - the Elms, Marble House, and the Breakers - all of which had Vanderbilt connections. The mansions are part of a preservation society and, for a fee, can be explored with a self-guided audio tour.

After wandering through those three "homes" I'm fascinated by Gilded Age society more than ever, and got a book on Alva and Consuelo Vanderbilt. Alva was a champion of women's suffrage which was startling news to me. It seems at odds with her reputation as a social tyrant - and certainly employing around several dozen full time servants to run her summer "cottage" (Marble House, appropriately modeled after the infamous Petite Trianon at Versailles) makes her an interesting study. This was around the time Ellis Island opened up so many of her staff were likely immigrants. Also, she adhered to the domestic etiquette of the day - that no female staff were to be seen in public (to be served by exclusively male staff was considered to be a grander luxury).

Clearly I found the mansions just a wee bit interesting.

Now its back to work, playing catch-up and doing laundry. And blogging. Is it Friday yet?

Sporty Spice

A few days ago I mentioned that I've found a bunch of Western New Yorkers at work - or rather, they found me. I think there must be a homing beacon or something, someone says "Wegmans" and it's like Buffalonians and Rochesterites come skidding around corners and hurtling down staircases to holler a Braveheart-esque: "WEGMANS!!!" and share in their love of the best grocery store on the planet. We also all share a secret shame in our pasts: zubaz in Bills colors, worn almost daily in the weeks preceding Super Bowl XXV. That fashion travesty - along with seven foot snowstorms - is enough to bring anyone together.

We've decided to get together and watch the Sabres square off with the Bruins in Game 1 tonight, and I'm psyched. It's Miller time.

In other news, I have a big anniversary with the Sig O coming up. Bet you can't guess where we met over five years ago! Here's a hint: though our mutual friend Foote Steppes likes to say he was the one who introduced us, we really owe it to "John."

To celebrate, we're heading to Newport for some much needed R&R and of course some champagne toasts. I hear those mansions are pretty swank, so maybe we'll check out some listings and see if we can't get ourselves a nice summer home.

Argh. Wherein I Harumph at Hump Day

I owe you a post!

However, I am having trouble finding inspiration. Thus, I present to you another blog, hosted by The Brookline Booksmith, that finds inspiration in unlikely places: The Used Book Cellar.

Who: Cranky McGrumpalot
What: Baba ganoush and salad dressing on...
Where: ....my tshirt. Great.

Thinkin' Thoughts; Wherein I try Not to Hurt My Brainz

Feelin' smaht?

I strongly recommend checking out this article:
The Next Big Thing In English: Knowing They Know That You Know

I loved reading about this foray into neuroscience via English, but I feel like it isn't as novel a concept as the author thinks (Ha! I'm trying to mind read!). Certainly this "cross pollination" of fields offers some new developments to inject some energy into English literature studies. Whether that energy is sorely needed as the article implies... well, you'd be hard-pressed to find a bigger English nut than this lady so just be glad this blog isn't about my indignation over that claim.

Ultimately, this hybridized field could definitely take off. But the way its framed in the Times' article seems a clever repackaging of the process of literary analysis. I can't really blame the author: searching for empirical evidence about what makes literature tick is much sexier than a subjective debate about tone and mood and allegory. It was a good introduction though and I want to read up more.

The best English professors I studied under were always careful to take a step back from literary criticism and look at the underlying factors that contribute to our pathos, or lack thereof, for the characters in our texts. Usually, these factors were framed as historical context - why was this writer compelled to tell this story, and why should readers at that point in time care? Why, for that matter, should we care 25 years later? How about four centuries later? An MRI can't tell us that.

The inherent subjectivity of that search for pathos is what makes fiction worth reading - every reader's experience is as unique and different as the human experience. And the human experience is what drives us to create that literature.

I think the quote from a Brandeis English professor sums it up nicely.

“It’s not that evolution gives us insight into fiction,” [Professor William] Flesch said, “but that fiction gives us insight into evolution.”

And I don't think he means "Inherit the Wind."


Who... is today's blogger? Bleary-eyed, slightly hungover former English major who fancies herself a Sunday morning intellectual
What... is she eating? Tea and toast over the laptop, to get that nice crunchy typing sensation
Wear... ing pajamas and glasses that are smudged with butter from the toast

Inertia

A blog is a broadcast, not a publication. If it stops moving, it
dies.

- Andrew Sullivan

Hey guys, look at my zombie blog!

I'm gonna start a little writing exercise. I'm gonna blog three or more times a week. For realz, k? Hold me to it. My first task? Free association. All stream of consciousness like Joyce but super 2010!

Ok - resurrecting my blog... resurrection - Easter! See Mom, I did pick up something in Sunday school after all. I took a weekend trip to WNY for Easter which had the usual hallmarks of all things Buffalonian and Polish: pierogies, kielbasa, sugar-high children, and Dyngus Day. Seriously, google Dyngus Day now. Look, I did it for you. Once you get over the regret of not having celebrated it for the past however many years of your life immediately remedy that situation by stocking up on your pussywillows and water guns for next year.

I love having this kind of kooky heritage stuff. My wonderful Significant Other (the Sig O) and his family celebrate their Scottish heritage, with kickass music and sheep entrail delicacies, and that's certainly lots of fun. But Scottish (often hybridized with Celtic) heritage has infiltrated a lot of pop culture (see Dropkick Murphys, Ewan McGregor).

The Polish stuff is generally pocketed in Northeastern areas of the States, like Chicago and New York, and so is still kind of obscure to lots of people. It's kind of like a secret handshake to know the words to "Who Stole the Kishka?" or to lay claim to the best pierogi recipe. There are 7 of us Western New Yorkers here at my not-so-new job and 4 of us have Polish families. Pretty cool, huh?

Hooray for rambling! Zombie blog arises! Let's see how long I can keep it going until, uh... I'm searching for a zombie-killing analogy but a lifetime of shunning horror films has left me with a serious dearth of references. All I can think of is Woody Harrelson and Twinkies. So ... have a good weekend!

All Apologies

Apologies to all three of my readers for being MIA these past two months.


I would love to blog every day and write about the wildly fascinating stuff I've been up to (hm, that would probably mean doing wildly fascinating stuff...) but I just can't find my writing groove.


I've been thinking about one aspect of blogging a lot lately: all of my favorite blogs are pretty personal. The writers talk with their audiences and in doing so they describe intimate details about their lives. One part of me REALLY loves how blogs function to share such intensely personal experiences in ways that engage and delight readers. There's some brilliant writing out there and a lot of fascinating dialog thanks to bold bloggers who speak to their own human experiences.


But sometimes I just can't stand the idea of publishing personal stuff. Do I invite the rest of the world into my life? Or do I share a limited version of myself, highly edited to maximize my own privacy? The former option seems terrifying, the latter dishonest.


I'm looking for the happy medium. Obviously an online web log cannot be a completely accurate account of any writer's life, no matter how heavily committed the writer is, and nor does it have to be (Second Life, anyone?). And it's not like I would share my bank account number and PIN.


But just as I'm about to post something personal, for example some thoughts on my deepest darkest childhood fear (Teddy Ruxpin Evil Bear of DOOM, fyi) I think, do I really want this to live in Interwebz Eternity tied to my name? I get the whole nom de plume thing. I really do.


I know I need to get over that in order to churn out some posts that are worth sharing. And frankly, I have no desire to run for public office anytime soon so who cares what comes up when I google myself.


Which I haven't done in a while.


Hm... fodder for my next post (in three months)?

"My new movie is called Baby Bridesmaids. Women will love it."

I should go to a club or something but it goes against my philosophy "why stand in line for booze and dancing when I have booze and dancing in my very own living room?" I hate lines. And I never have the right clothes to go to cool places and if I try to dress like I do I look like a lady of the evening.

Sarah Haskins, I heart you.