Fat & Happy Puppy

It's great having people visit, because I get to be a tourist at CW without feeling like an interloper. Tonight Peter G. and I ate at the King's Arms, which is a high-class joint specialising in dishes that are inspired by the eighteenth century. We could have sat inside and listened to the violin player, but instead we chose to sit out under the grapevines. It was a cool mid-eighties today, perfect for dining al fresco. I had veggie ravioli, not very period but so good I nearly expired from the deliciousness.

Afterward we went to the Governor's Palace for another concert, this time a quartet. A German flute (wooden, forerunner of the modern orchestral flute), an English flute (basically a big fat recorder), a viol de gamba (sixteenth century instrument that was slowly going out of style due to the fact it was very quiet), and a harpsichord. From 1758. Yup--an actual period instrument, what was around when Geo. Washington was dancing the minuet.

It's okay. Have a moment. I did.

The concert was lit by candlelight and it was lovely, apart from the small child who couldn't seem to stay on her chair and spent most of it rolling around on the carpet. Afterward we caught the bus home, where Nicki found her "congratulations you got promoted" present she gave to herself waiting for her. Huzzah. I've been lusting after this book for three years, ever since I saw the Nelson & Napoleon exhibit at the NMM. And now it's mine.

Happily, my carpooling friend is back today, so I can sleep later since I don't have to catch the bus to work. It takes a lot out of you, eating and concerting your way through CW.

Crack Book: Noun

While still in Point, some of my friends and I came up with the term "crack book" to describe a book that was literally too good to put down. You know--the book that is so good, you go to bed an hour early just so you can lie there reading it? The first crack book was Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson, and since then, few others have entered the hallowed pantheon. Crack, of course, it the illegal but highly addictive substance, which, when applied to literature, suggests a certain metaphor. For example: if Snow Crash is addicting like crack, then perhaps other books are other edible substances. Romance novels are cookie books--so bad for you, but hard to resist and easy to consume in large quantities. Gone With the Wind could be like foi gras--delicious, but think too long about where it came from and you start getting uncomfortable. Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, on the other hand, is like a seven-course banquet with all your favourite foods, one that you could eat over and over (and over) again. I'm using my favourite books as examples, but I'm sure you could come up with some of your own.

I was musing on this, because I had a conversation the other night with a friend where I described Patrick O'Brian's books as "--crack books, but, pure, unadulterated crack, like--crack but better than crack" and she helpfully suggested "ah, no black tar heroin for you, this is pure china white," causing me to shout "yes!" (Only after we hung up did I start to wonder how she knew the difference between black tar heroin and china white, but never mind)

Patrick O'Brian is the author behind the eighteen Jack Aubrey/Stephen Maturin novels. They are set aboard the British navy during the time of Napoleon and they are so wonderful, so evocative, so funny and heart-wrenching that I have been forced to ration myself, or else you, dear readers, would find me in my apartment, Trainspotting-like, jabbering on about spars, Sophies and Boccherini. As soon as I finished HMS Surprise on the train back to Williamsburg, I immediately broke out into a sweat, jonesing for my next fix. Then again, that could have been the cold. Nevertheless! These books are Pure. Bliss. In. Novel. Format. Page after page of delectable naval jargon, broken up only by a description of Stephen Maturin diving naked into the Indian Ocean or Jack Aubrey queuing his hair. I wish that I could rub the pages on my eyeballs and absorb them directly into my bloodstream.

Like I said: china white.

I am rationing partly because Mr. O'Brian is sadly no longer of this world and so there are a finite number of Aubrey/Maturin novels, and there is nothing like encountering a good read for the first time. I've been holding my rapaciousness at bay by reading other Napoleonic navy books. Apparently, this is a giant sub-genre I was completely unaware of. And so far I have yet to encounter anything that satisfies as well as Mr. O'Brian's books, but, like the sport of sailing itself, there is no such thing as a bad work of naval fiction. CS Forrester's Horatio Hornblower series goes quickly, very rigidly, very by the book, no pun intended. Dudley Pope's Nicholas Ramage series, on the other hand, is not as well written, but the story lines are certainly evocative. According to these authors, there were no actual people involved in the major naval battles, just lots and lots of fictional characters. I just picked up Mr. Pope's first book and was thrilled--nay, ecstatic to see lists and lists of other Napoleonic naval titles on the inside front cover, waiting for me to snort them up my nostrils.

So, if anyone is wondering what to get me for an apartment-warming present in July, the answer is: book store gift certificates.

Or the number of a really good twelve-step program. Either way.

David Plouffe Needs to Stop Sending Me Emails

Seriously. I get at least two emails a day from the Barack Obama campaign. You are getting my support. You're not getting my money--sorry, but until Barack Obama is president and starts handing out lollipops with hundred dollar bills* for sticks, I don't have any extra.

The concert went well on Sunday. I was sad that more people didn't show up, but I had a lot of fun. One of the pieces went a little awry at the last minute--trying to come in after a ten minute instrumental part we've only heard once will do that to you--but overall everyone was very positive. Afterward, a couple members of the choir, the director and myself went out for dinner. I thought I was just getting a ride home, but they talked me into eating out. (and after being, uh, "stuck" in Wmsbrg for a month with no kitchen, I must confess I didn't protest too hard) We took the Colonial Parkway through Yorktown to admire the dogwood trees and then had dinner at a posh little restaurant on the York River. I can't wait for visitors so I have an excuse to show off Yorktown...they have ships and pubs on the water and redoubts that were built by the British in a last-ditch attempt to stop the Continentals. Woot. Dinner was shrimp and gumbo and smoked gouda cheese grits...and I still have dreams about it.

Then yesterday was a Very Good Day. First off my boss announced that due to maintenance of the clothes conveyors, they were shutting down the shop on Friday, so I have paid day off. Yay! Then I had my review, and my boss along with two supervisors told me they were Very Pleased With My Progress, which was a huge sigh of relief. I told them "Now that I know the techniques and what to do, I need to focus on quality and getting my speed up." Sewing in the 18th century is completely unlike modern sewing--I had to relearn a lot of my mad skillz. But I'm getting better.

Then, and this is bliss, my bike arrived. YAY. My poor Schwinn Searcher which has been a faithful companion since I was fifteen arrived in several pieces which took me about an hour to put together. For a few heartstopping minutes I thought the threads on the left pedal had been unfixably damaged, but I carefully cleaned it out with my Leatherman and got it in tightly. Yay!

The final Yay! came when I took Windsong** out to seen an apartment. I have been talking with a woman who works here about rooming with her and one other person, and I was pretty much decided that I'd take the room, unless it was disgustingly horrible. Happily, the apartment was very nice--my room is the size of the place I'm living now AND I'll have my own bathroom--and better yet, the woman who put the ad up is like a younger, thinner, more excitable and sweeter version of me. I mentioned how I wanted to get a dog and name it Horatio, she told me that her car was named Hamlet. I noticed a biography of Turner on her bookshelf, she told me a story of driving up to DC on Christmas Eve to see a Turner exhibit. She said "I'm an Anglophile" I started singing "Rule, Britannia." So yay. As long as the application goes through, and I don't see why it wouldn't, I'll be moving in July.

So it appears that things are going well, and I'm slowly working my way into the fabric of the community here. I know there's been some confusion out there in NLD-land: this job is a full-time, year round commitment, it's pretty much up to me when I want to leave. Of course, I probably won't be sewing for the rest of my life, but...on the other hand, I could see staying here for awhile. Now that my TV is dead*** I've been spending a lot of time writing, and that is good. I'm also thinking about taking up embroidery--not faffy needlepoint from a kit, but drawing a picture on fabric and going from there.

One of the cutter/fitters has been working on muslin mockups of the Fife & Drum Corps uniforms. They are getting all new coats, because the research powers that be have decided the red is probably more "redcoat" and less maroon-y, which is what it is now. They want to get the coats done by July, because the Fife & Drums are going on tour to Europe to perform in some tattoos there. I was chatting with her about how odd it is that the Continental troops would have red coats, since, ya know, the enemy ALSO had red coats, but apparently they put the boys in red so that they wouldn't accidentally get shot. (The real targets were in blue) She also mentioned how there is only one Continental coat left in existence, and it's in the Smithsonian--years ago CW people went up there to examine it and draft a pattern and that's where they get their uniforms from--and she also told me that the Mount Vernon Ladies' Association has one of Washington's original uniforms. Same deal: CW has examined it and has a pattern. Which got me thinking if they would let ME see it. One of the questions my reviewers had was if there was anything I'd be interested in doing or knowing about the clothes, and I mentioned how I'd (very much) like to borrow the patterns and make myself a suit of clothes. Yes, breeches and a coat--oddly enough, although the gowns are pretty, they aren't as appealing to me as the men's clothes.

As I went back to my machine, my mind started wandering. It does that a lot--I have a LOT of time to think--and I started wondering if anyone had ever patterned Nelson's coat. Meaning the one I used to visit all the time at the NMM. Ironically, a few hours later while on my break I noticed a new book in our library: Dressed to Kill, which is all about Naval fashions and masculine attire from c. 1750s to 1860s or so. And, of course, Horatio features prominently--and there are sketches at the back of all his clothes, cut away breeches and all. It was strange seeing something so "familiar" in such a formalized, posed way, and in the midst of all this 18th-century clothage. I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm getting over Nelson, but perhaps my interest is being subsumed by something else. What, I cannot say.

In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy my day off--Friday I must go get a helmet and do laundry. And then maybe I'll give my poor sitzbones a rest.


*And he will.

**Yes, my bike is named Windsong, and your point is?

***My fault. Long story. Don't ask.

A Friday Night In

During our orientation stroll around the historical area last week, our orientation leader pointed out the hospital and said a few things about historical surgery, prompting me to note that back then a good doctor could have someone's arm off in under thirty seconds. (I know this because I learned it at the National Maritime Museum, and did I ever mention I saw the tourniquet that may have been used when they amputated Nelson's arm? Yes? Well, not recently, anyway.)

Anyway, the very opposite of that speed and skill would be when an incompetent doctor--say, a doctor who's been out carousing and suddenly needs to perform emergency surgery only the only tool he has to hand is a rusty knife--a rusty butter knife, with the crumbs still on it from that morning's toast. Yes, this incompetent, drunken doctor, rooting around in there, attempting to have your arm off, possibly pausing at times to take another swig, or point out to an observer the intricacies of the human body or (more likely) to stand back and wipe his brow, exclaiming "My God, didn't expect THAT!" as the patient lays there, dazed and praying for death.

The only reason I paint this lovely little picture is because that's what I felt like last night, and if it hadn't been for sweet, sweet Midol I might just have thrown myself in front of the cannon.

Luckily, I'm feeling much better.

But I brought my magic pills with me. Just in case.

Caucus Among Us

Everytime I go into the break room, CNN has been talking about the caucus that takes place in Iowa tomorrow. I'm quite excited to see actual wheels of democracy turning (and I'm sure the poor beleagured sods in Iowa are as well), so I have been paying close attention to what's going on. One poll says that Barack Obama, who will sit down to tea with leaders of the world and unite us, is up by seven percent. Another poll says the Democrats are in a three-way dead heat. Another poll says that Barack Obama and John Edwards have formed a secret cabal and are going to short-sheet Hillary Clinton's bed tonight. Either way, I'm excited. And the Republicans are apparently wide open too, with Mr. Religious White close on the heels of That One Guy and the One Who Was a POW. Whatever. They all look alike.

But I realised that I don't actually know what a caucus is, so I turned to my friend the internet. Apparently it's a way of choosing the party's candidate, but the only way to do it is by showing up to the place of voting (Masonic Hall, sweatlodge, local school, etc.) and STANDING IN A CORNER. I would make fun--but then again my favourite country has men in furry bear hats standing guard outside Buckingham palace. There's no way to caucus anonymously, and, God forbid, should a snowstorm strike tomorrow night, the entire system could be thrown into caos. Apparently Hillary Clinton is offering free childcare for her supporters. I don't know what is scarier: leaving your toddler at home surrounded by matches and unguarded outlets or leaving them in the hands of Clinton supporters.

That was really mean. I do like Clinton, I just don't think she'd be able to make our cars run on leftover plastic bottles and teach our children long division, like Barack Obama will.

But don't take my interpretation of the caucus laws for granted, here's another take on it.

Meanwhile, I don't have to do any caucusing, or even any primary voting for awhile (when is the primary in Wisconsin anyway?) my big decision is basically taken up with whether or not I should buy this book. Some of my loyal readers may have cottoned on that I have a little preoccupation with Nelson, starting with an exhibition I saw in 2005 at the National Maritime Museum. (oh, NMM! How I miss thee.) This is the book of the exhibition. The book is a brick of a tome, suitable for coffee tables, alternately, murder. To buy it from the NMM would cost about $100, including shipping, but Amazon has it for $59.95, with free shipping. Still, sixty bucks is a lot of money for a book, but I'm still really impressed with that exhibit, and it would definitely make a nice addition to the Nelson collection I have. A good resource for future projects. hmm... if only I hadn't spent that birfday money on that tattoo...

mah birthday...it comes

I know you're not supposed to get excited about your birthday unless you're like, *twelve*, but I'm really looking forward to mine. I'm doing one of those justifying things, like "New birthday? New panties!" or "oh, I can totally bid on the George Washington figure on eBay beacuse IT'S MAH BIRTHDAY!" Oh, and while I'm on eBay...might as well see if "horatio nelson" hits anything.

Oh. BUGGER.

Now. I know you all love me, but I also know that paying 700+ dollars for a piece of paper that Horatio Nelson once scribbled his name on is ridiculous, so I'm not going to suggest for a second that mah birthday is coming up and we all know how much I like Admiral Nelson.

Nope. Not gonna do it. Because I love you all more than I love Nelson.

Am, instead, going to sit back and enjoy my small plastic Nelson figurine, my Nelson bookmark, my Nelson cards, my Nelson winestopper and my Nelson books (none of which were actually touched by Nelson, but some of which came from Greenwich which is very close to where Nelson was and one card was even, I believe, bought from a shop on Nelson Road) and think about maybe making that paper-mache Nelson I was thinking about maybe making.

Nelson's autograph would be cool. But being surrounded by people I love is even cooler.

Trafalgar Day isn't a REAL Holiday

One year ago I was attending a symposium on "Sex and Lies in Nelson's London," and two years ago I was watching in fascination as British Marines danced the hornpipe at Trafalgar Square. Today I'm waiting on chocolate-chip pancakes.

Mmmm. Pancakes.

The test didn't go as well as I'd hoped. The score I got was better than average, but not the glowingly brilliant number that will ensure me instant access to any institute of higher learning. So this is a problem. Obviously if I'd sucked, then another round of GRE would be in order, but since it's only blah, I'm not sure if I'm up for taking it again. Of course, with my weak admissions application, I could probably use a strong test score. We'll see.

The fun part about the GRE is that you take it on a computer, so the questions automatically get harder or easier depending on whether you get questions right or wrong. So by the end of the math section I was literally getting questions like, "What is a SQUARE?" Although, I did better than I thought I would on the math section.

Meanwhile, I am enjoying being home and being petted. We went out for fish on Friday and then over to the Mr. & Mrs's house so I could play with the beasties. (they have TWO chocolate labs and they are very happy to share, so I am now happy to report that my best jeans are covered with brown hair and dog slobber. Aw.) And yesterday I went and visited with Grandma for three hours, and we only politely mentioned Bill O'Reilly once. Or twice. Or mabye three times. But the important thing is she didn't have to reach for her heart medication, so I guess I was not too politic. Today mom and I are going shopping--mom has a list of places, and dad has helpfully written "Packer shirts/sweaters--new? (For all of us?)" on top of the list. Dad and Mom are taking a road trip which includes two Packer games next week, so they will need some new shirts. Dad always wears Packers gear when he travels. Don't believe me? You should see the photos of us from Scotland. There we are: St. Andrew's Golf Course--and there's dad, proudly supporting the Green Bay Packers National Football assosiation. *love*

And it totally unrelated news, for all you slavering HP fans out there (okay, me) I was shocked to read a report last week that JK Rowling has outed Albus Dumbledore. At a reading of her book, she was asked if Dumbledore ever found true love, and JK "quietly" responded that Dumbledore is gay. I was completely surprised. Not only because this is a major character in a children's book, but because JK has shared something about the character that's not explicitely stated in the "canon" as we call it. I love that she recognises that the characters have a life beyond the pages of this book. Ironically, I responded exactly how I did when anyone else comes out, first with, "Really?" then with "OMG!" then with, "I'm proud of you," then, finally,
"And?" I always maintained HP is a radical book, now I'm sure of it. Whoo!

Ow! Ironic brick!

This from an email I received from a professor of colonial studies (who, I am happy to report, reacted much more enthusiastically when I emailed him):

"Frankly, I wouldn’t try calling historical sites. The person on the phone is not going to be able to answer your questions and they are often as much invested in preservation and maintance of the site and don’t really have the resources to answer specific historical questions. You’d have more luck working with historical organizations or with academics."

Cheers, mate.

So, I have flipped my schedule around and will spend tomorrow morning working, tomorrow evening studying, Thursday morning working, Thursday night traveling, Friday morning pacing anxiously, Friday afternoon taking the GRE, Friday night eating fish and celebrating Friday night with my parents.

I am incredibly nervous, stressed out, irritated, deydrated, upset, angry, stressed, overprepared, hungry, tired, stressed, carnivorous, lonely, maladroit and stressed.

Also I suspect I'm going to be getting the monthlies on (you guessed it) Friday. Most women are blessed with acne, cramps and/or a slight upward swing in emotional tendencies. Only I am lucky enough to combine near-bipolar mood swings with crushing, agonizing pain. Not that I'm blaming female hormones for the way I'm feeling today, but the only other option is the fact that I'm just like this naturally. Rarrr!

In other news--Sunday night is Trafalgar Day. I tell all of you this so you have time to lay in some rum so you can toast the "Immortal Memory!" But not--dear God, please not--"Admiral's Rum" which is a travesty. No, Pussar's if you can afford it, Bacardi if you can't.

Liberally biased

My good friend Laura sent me the above video, which is about Conservapedia, the conservative alternative to Wikipedia. Wikipedia, for those of my readers who don't know, is an online encyclopedia that anyone can edit, the theory being that everyone knows a little about something, and eventually the whole thing will be mostly truthful. Teachers won't allow you to quote Wikipedia directly, but they do require updaters to cite their sources, so you can check out the firsthand material if you're writing a paper or something. Generally, they're pretty good. And, according to Conservapedia, pretty liberal. This video uses the definition of "homosexuality" as an example: on Wikipedia it "...refers to enduring sexual and romantic attraction towards those of the same sex..." Conservapedia does not start out with a clear-cut definition, but gets straight to the heart of the matter: "Sexual relations between men is condemned in both Old and New Testaments. It is forbidden directly four times in the Bible"

Conservapedia then goes on to have pictures of Moses, a brain infected with AIDS, a rock of Methamphetamines, a picture of Sodom and Justice Antonio Scalia, which might lead the casual viewer to suspect that there's some sort of agenda going on here, since there are no happy homosexual pictures, like a nice clean house or Freddie Mercury.

In the interest of science, I decided to conduct my own investigation. I don't really have an opinion about the homosexuals (tho I'm pretty sure Conservapedia got it wrong on the Mark Foley bit), so I thought I'd see what Wikipedi and Conservapedia had to say about something I am deeply, passionately, all-consumingly interested in.



Like Admiral Horatio Nelson.


Both Wikipedia and Conservapedia have the picture posted above, but that's where the similarities end. You would think, due to the constant love and deference Nelson showed to his king and country Conservapedia would have more to say about him, but the entry is barely two pages long--and all it has to say about his time in the Mediterranean: "...Nelson was content emotionally during the months spent there. On board his ship was a well-trained crew, and amongst his crew was his son whom he had taken on board; waiting for both was a loving wife. And it was during this time that Nelson changed from an enthusiastic young officer to a genius of a commander. Some of his success in his mission was due to the British minister in Naples, Sir William Hamilton." And there's absolutely no mention of Lady Hamilton. Nada. Someone who konws nothing about Lord Nelson (which doesn't include my faithful readers, I trust!) would think that Nelson was happily married with a doting wife, isntead of passionately in love with the wife of his best friend. Who eventually bore him a daughter. (the mistress, not the friend) Scandalous, true, but no more so than some of the scandals that have seized our nation's leaders--and at least Nelson stuck around instead of flitting off to a new woman every few months. Wikipedia on the other hand, has much more information about Nelson, including people who helped him, like his uncle Captain Maurice Suckling. Also Wikipedia gets his title right.

I was pretty surprized to see Conservapedia fail theNelson test so badly. If there's an entry, I thought, then surely it will have been lifted from Wikipedia--how liberal could an entry be about a man whos last words were "Thank God I have Done my duty?" Apparently too liberal for some.

Conservapedia's Nelson
Wikipedia's Nelson