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Tal Tales
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Last night I saw “The Coronation of Poppea” at the LA Opera. The opera was composed by Monteverdi, something like 350 years ago; it’s one of the earliest operas still performed.
The story covers how Poppea displaced Octavia as the wife of Nero, prior to the fall of Rome. It’s four hours long, counting the two intermissions. Four. Hours. Long.
I’m not sure why LA Opera is doing what it is currently doing in the way of staging and costumes. In my previous review of Parsifal, it was Robert Wilson’s extremely sparse staging which dominated one’s impression (such as the Neon Donut of Wisdom, the really REALLY slow movements—when there was any movement at all—and so on). This one had slightly more elaborate set design; in Act 1, there was a 8-foot-diameter sphere on stage right, and a large upright cylinder on stage left. That’s about it.
Costuming was even weirder in this one than in Parsifal, though. Whereas in Parsifal the costumes were generally minimalist (except for the guy who was dressed as a letter y), this one had:
1. A man dressed (as a woman) in what appeared to be two rolls of paper towels draped over the front and back, connected by sides of grocery bag. Really, it looks kind of like an Erlenmeyer flask—the ones that are kind of triangular.
2. The same man appearing later in a large amount of black and white crepe fans, stapled to him and to each other.
3. Seneca the poet, in what appeared to be a mu-mu made of shreds of plastic bags
4. Nero in royal purple gowns which had a large number of triangular flaps cut out; imagine the royal Whiffle Emperor of Rome and you’ve about got it.
Below is my plot synopsis:
ACT I
The goddesses Fortune and Virtue are insulting each other, while Love watches.
Fortune: Nobody listens to you anymore, Virtue. Go away.
Virtue: Alas, too true. Especially in this opera. (leaves)
Love: Awesome. Let’s mess stuff up.
Ottone (Poppea’s former lover): Hmm. There seem to be two guards here outside Nero’s bedroom. It’s as if he wanted not to be disturbed. On the other hand, they’ve fallen asleep.
Guards (waking up) Man, Rome sucks. And Nero’s too busy messing around with Poppea to do anything about it. And you there; if you say anything about this, we’ll kill you.
Ottone: Got it.
(at this point, Nero and Poppea emerge, cuddly, and say farewell to each other)
Nero: Goodbye.
Poppea: Goodbye.
Nero: Goodbye!
Poppea: Goodbye!
Nero: Goodbye, my love.
Poppea: Goodbye, dearest.
(this goes on for about ten minutes)
ARIA: “Oh, how I hate long goodbyes”
(Arnalta, Poppea’s nurse and confidante, comes out at this point. She (played by a man) is dressed in the two-rolls-of-paper-towel-cum-grocery-bag outfit described earlier. She is also wearing a hat which consists of a central pyramid, about a foot high, which seems to be made of tuna fish can lids, flanked on either side by a pair of—I swear this is true—bat wings, about a foot and a half long each. She cautions Poppea to be careful of ambition, and that Nero may not be trustworthy)
Poppea: But I love him. Plus, he’s the emperor of Rome; I’m sure that Nero would never do anything to hurt anyone, or be irrational.
(Enter Octavia, Nero’s current wife)
Octavia: I think Nero’s messing around on me.
ARIA (“Alas, the psycho emperor doth suck”)
Nutrice (Octavia’s nurse): You know, if he’s being unfaithful, the best thing to do would be to sleep around on him in vengeance. That’s what the gods do, after all.
Octavia: No, that would be wrong. I mustn’t do such a thing.
(enter Seneca the poet)
Seneca: Attagirl, Octavia. Be steadfast and philosophical about all this.
Octavia: Yes, I must be ethical. I won’t be unfaithful. I will, however, force someone else to kill Poppea. That’ll do nicely.
Seneca: Err…
Nutrice: Shut up or I’ll burn all your books and that stupid costume.
(That is almost verbatim what he actually said)
(now Pallas Athena shows up)
Athena: Seneca, you’ll be dying soon. Mercury will warn you when it’s coming. Just thought you should know.
Seneca: Well, that’s just swell.
(enter Nero)
Nero: Seneca, I think life would be better if I divorced Octavia and married Poppea, What do you think?
Audience: DON’T ARGUE WITH NERO!
Seneca: I think that would be morally and politically wrong, Nero. You can’t just get rid of a woman when a new hot one comes along. Plus, the Romans won’t like it. Don’t be a child, for the gods’ sake! Be a man, Nero. Keep your wife. Otherwise, you’re just a big jerk.
Audience: (smacks collective self in forehead)
Nero: Wow, Seneca. I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.
(exit Seneca, enter Poppea)
Poppea: (rubbing up against Nero) Last night was awesome!
ARIA: “Didst thou enjoy my tits, O lord?”
(I’m not making that title up—that’s pretty much what the song is. Literally.)
Nero: (groping Poppea in a disturbingly explicit and graphic fashion): Hell yes.
Poppea: You know, Seneca thinks you’re a big jerk. I’m thinking we ought to kill him.
Nero: Way ahead of you on THAT one, beloved. Hey, page. Go tell Seneca to off himself as painfully as possible.
ACT II
The scenery in act II consists of about five strategically placed rocks, a large thing which might be a Horta or possibly a huge crumpled paper bag, about fifteen feet across, and (for some reason) a metal pipe angling up from the Horta and out over the audience. There’s also a wall.
(Seneca standing in his garden. Mercury descends from above. For some reason, he is dressed as the Tinman from the Wizard of Oz, except he has one (yes, one) wing.)
Mercury: You’re gonna die now, Seneca. But we gods like you, so you can come hang out in the divine hot tub.
Seneca: Groovy.
(enter page from Nero)
Page: Uh, Seneca, I hate to tell you this…
Seneca: (pulls out knife)
Page: Right, cool. Bye.
Bunch of people who are either Seneca’s students or possibly his thoughts incarnate, we’re not sure which: Seneca, don’t die.
Seneca: Hot tub’s a-waiting. (goes off to kill himself)
Seneca’s students or thoughts or something: Aw, fuck.
ARIA: “Aw, fuck.”
(they all leave. Enter Lucano, who is Nero’s “page boy”, apparently)
Lucano: Poppea is awesome!
Nero: Yes, she’s incredibly hot.
Lucano: Way, way hot. (walks toward Nero)
Nero: So unbelievably hot. (embraces Lucano)
(manly mutual rubbing and bouncing, while they talk about how sexy Poppea is. They get into quite the frenzy, then spring apart)
Lucano: My lord, you are awash in the ecstasy of love!
Audience: You mean spooge, don’t you? Eeeeeeeewwww.
(except one person somewhere in the audience, who was clapping loudly and cheering.)
(they kiss, then leave. Enter Octavia and Ottone)
Octavia: She’s way too hot. Ottone, I know you and Poppea used to be lovers, but I’d really like you to kill her for me.
Ottone: Errr….
Octavia: Or I’ll kill you.
Ottone: Aw, fuck.
ARIA: “Aw, fuck.” (reprise)
(enter Drusilla, Ottone’s young girlfriend, played by a rather cute singer)
Drusilla: I love you so much, especially now that you’re over Poppea.
Ottone: Well, you ought to love this. I have to kill her.
Drusilla: How can I help? Here, she trusts me. Take my clothes so you can sneak up on her.
Male audience: YES!
(disrobes, but only partway)
Male audience members: Aw, fuck!
(scene shifts to Poppea and her weirdly dressed nurse in the garden, accompanied by five or six weirdly dressed handmaidens, in the paper-towel-or-maybe-Erlenmeyer-flask outfits)
Arnalta: Take a nap.
Poppea: OK.
(goes to sleep)
Arnalta: I’ll keep watch.
(goes to sleep)
Ottone (in Drusilla’s clothes): tiptoe tiptoe tiptoe
(this part has been very soothing, and I will admit to being lulled into drowsiness. I woke up when the Horta exploded, and the cross-dresser was chased offstage by the Erlenmeyer flasks. Under most circumstances, being woken by an explosion and having the first thing you see be a man in woman’s clothes chased offstage by a bunch of Erlenmeyer flasks wearing bat wings and tuna cans on their heads would make one question one’s sanity. That’s only until you remember that you’re at the opera; then it all makes sense.
So there is a huge explosion at the Horta, which results in most of the audience wetting their seats, and the goddess Love appears above the wall)
Love: You bastard. Don’t kill Poppea. I’d kill you, but you’re not worth it.
Arnalta (waking up): It’s Drusilla! She’s trying to kill Poppea. Seize her! SEIZE HER!
(the handmaidens shuffle after Ottone dressed as Drusilla, moving somewhat like penguins due to their costumes. My wife is insistent that they move exactly like the droid nurse Dot in Spaceballs. In fact, she’s convinced that their costumes and staging were based on Dot.)
ACT III
The set for act III is a crumpled muslin backdrop (which looks either like a rock wall or flames, depending on the angle or the orange light, and is actually quite awesome), and two large black square columns, one of which is upright and the other of which is lying diagonally across the stage. And that’s it.
(Drusilla enters)
Drusilla: Life is good. You know your boyfriend is no longer in rebound when he agrees to wear your clothes to kill his old girlfriend. Yay me!
(enter Arnalta and some sort of police person, along with Nero)
Arnalta: Seize her! SEIZE HER!
Drusilla: What did I do?
Arnalta: You tried to kill Poppea! I saw you.
Drusilla: But I’m innocent!
Nero: Torture her. And I get to watch.
Drusilla: (to self) If they torture me, I’ll reveal that Ottone did it, and they’ll kill him.
Drusilla: (to Nero) Yep, I did it. Just me. Nobody else.
Arnalta: Kill her!
Nero: Yep.
(enter Ottone)
Ottone: No, it was me. Don’t kill her, kill me!
Drusilla: I did it. It was me.
Ottone: Me!
Drusilla: Me! Dammit, it was me!
Ottone: It was me! Look, I have the clothes.
Drusilla: Aw, fuck.
Nero: Fine. Kill him.
Ottone: Of course, it was Octavia who told me to do it.
Nero: AWESOME! All right, let’s see…you, Ottone, are banished. (tears off Ottone's clothes) Go away.
(Ottone starts trudging off)
Nero: And you, Drusilla, I admire your courage. I’m going to hold you up to the empire as a shining example of proper womanhood.
Drusilla: I want to go with Ottone.
Nero. Fine. Go. (unfortunately, leaves her clothes alone)
(Drusilla trudges off)
Nero: As for you, Octavia, you’re banished too.
Octavia: Aw, fuck. (leaves)
(Octavia sings something as she goes which is eerie and heartbreaking. Some of the best music in the whole thing; this and Seneca’s students pleading for him to not kill himself are definitely worth hearing.)
(Poppea enters) Well, I have to say that worked out well for me.
Nero: Me too.
(Enter Arnalta, in black and white crepe outfit, resembling 3-D paper doll of Cruella de Vil) I am so loving this.
(Some pomp and circumstance involving more really weird outfits as the empire pays tribute to Poppea, their new empress)
Empire: Yay!
(Exit everyone except Nero and Poppea, in their nightshirts, who sing a surprisingly (and stunningly) tender duet)
DUET: “After a hard day of treachery, it’s so nice to put my bloodstained feet up with my beloved”
(lights out)
Audience: What? A happy ending? For NERO AND POPPEA? WHAT THE FUCK? They get a beautiful and tender love duet? Aw, fuck. (applauds anyway)
It was pretty good. I liked Parsifal better, although there's nothing like exploding Hortas and flasks chasing men dressed as women to keep an opera interesting. Also, as my wife points out, it was significantly smuttier than Parsifal, which counts for something. But I liked Parsifal's music better.
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Let me make sure you know the situation. I am 5'11" tall, and weigh somewhere between 245 and 265 pounds at any given time. I don't look as heavy as I am (although I am still visibly fat), but I am way into obese by most BMI estimations. I have number of bad habits involving food, such as eating to feel better, eating when I'm not hungry, and eating crud which will kill me before I'm 50 (mmm...Ultimate Cheeseburger...).
I also have had no ability to stop myself from overreacting to even the slightest pang of hunger. Heck, I eat too much when I'm not hungry at all; if I feel a bit hungry, then bring on the bag of chips!
Thus, I decided to try something different a few days ago. When I woke up Tuesday morning, I decided to begin a fast. I would allow myself some (i.e. 2-3 cups) of fruit juice or V-8 each day, and a morning multivitamin, but only water aside from that. That ends up being less than 500 calories a day. My goals were to teach my body what hunger actually is, and to show it that it will not perish from not getting fries *and* stuffed jalapenos with that burger. I am also simply curious about the effects of fasting.
The only break I have made was this afternoon, when I ate half a tuna sandwich and had a small bowl of french onion soup. I did this because a relative was visiting, and it would have made him awkward for me to go out to lunch with him and the rest of the family, but eat nothing. I intend to continue fasting for at least two more days at this point.
So here's what I've learned so far:
1. I am amazed at how little hunger I have felt. I have noticed that my mind has dwelt more on food than usual, but the actual feelings of hunger have been minimal, and virtually no actual discomfort.
2. I feel full on *vastly* less food than I usually eat. My stomach has undoubtedly shrunk somewhat in the last two days, but the half sandwich and small soup today made me feel plenty full, and I haven't been the slightest bit hungry since (that was about four hours ago). I knew that I ate more than I needed before, but I don't think I realized how dramatically I was overeating.
3. My craving for horrendous fast food has already dropped dramatically. Even after 48 hours of no solid food at all, I felt no particular desire for cheeseburgers. Vegetables sounded better. from that, I conclude that my taste for cheeseburgers is mostly learned/comfort food, rather than any physiological need.
I am sincerely hoping that doing this will help me to alter my relationship with food and eating, a change which is LONG overdue. If I can learn what it is to actually be hungry, then perhaps I will be able to dismiss the slight inclinations to food (or satisfy them with a carrot or something like that, which is all they really deserve). If I can break some of these habits, I might be able to choose my food based on what I know I actually need and really want, and eat reasonable amounts of it.
I tend to be a believer in the idea that our bodies can handle most things in moderation. Thus, even in my idealized eating habits, there's no reason not to stop at Wendy's or Jack in the Box once or twice a month, or have a slice or two of pizza now and then. I don't know who said it, but the quote "It's not what we eat occasionally that makes us unhealthy" makes a lot of sense to me.
We'll see what happens.
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Well, I've been teaching here at Palomar College for three weeks, now. I am happier in this job than I think I have been in any other save perhaps pizza delivery driving, and my circumstances then were very different.
I really like having a job which is intellectually stimulating, has fairly flexible work hours, decent to good pay, excellent benefits, a supportive work environment, and good co-workers. My department has gone to some lengths to make me feel welcome and valued, I feel like I'm at least reasonably good at doing what I do, and I have an inkling of how to improve.
Another nice thing is the facilities and support around here. palomar's academic technology crew is fantastic. They are doing things here which I never saw at UCLA, or which were made so difficult to do as to be impractical. For example, they encourage us to record our lectures and podcast them, so our students can download them for review. (They do still seem to come to class, which pleases me as well).
Even better, they are not enamored of tech for tech's sake; they are interested in how technology can improve teaching. In my department, for example, there is a fairly strong anti-PowerPoint sentiment. Not that it should never be used, but that it should only be used when one could not do the same thing with speaking and whiteboard work. Presenting diagrams, illustrations, animations, or interactive feedback quizzes via PowerPoint is encouraged. Doing the entire lecture in a darkened room, reading off bullet points from a series of slides as a lecture is not. I've been guilty of that in the past, and I am finding it refreshing to break away from that and have to write/draw most stuff out myself. It's gotten a better response from the students, in any case.
So I like my new job. I hope that, by the end of the semester, my students are as happy that I came here as I am.
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My family is preparing to move down to Oceanside, about 40 miles north of San Diego. Oceanside is a pretty seaside town, with a few main reasons to exist. One, it is a bedroom community for San Diego. Two, it contains or is adjacent to cities which contain two sizeable community colleges (one of which is my new emplyer) and a Cal State campus. And three--probably the biggest factor--it is the nearest city to Camp Pendleton, the largest Marine base in the country (or so I am told). Thus, there is a substantial military presence in the city, and many businesses make it a point of prominently advertising military discounts, etc.
I haven't had a lot of contact with Marines--or, really, any branch of the Armed Forces. I have nothing against them; in fact, I regard them collectively with a similar kind of respect as that which I hold for police officers. They are people doing a dangerous job, who have put themselves (potentially) in harm's way on my behalf, and so as long as they behave in a decent manner, I honor their service. It's certainly something I would have trouble doing. I've had a few close friends who joined one branch or another of the service, but I have typically had almost no contact with them once they joined.
While we were visiting the area the other day, my wife wanted to go to a garage sale where we might be able to pick up a lamp or two. The sale was advertised on Craigslist, and was at someone's house on the base itself. I've never been to a military base, so I didn't really know what to expect. We drove up to the gate, and explained to the Marine there why we were there. He asked us to pull up to the guard station and speak to the men in there about getting a visitor's pass, so we did so.
In the station, I explained what we were doing to the young man behind the desk. He seemed confused, and explained that visitor's passes were not issued for this sort of thing--that they didn't plan to compromise base security so that people could buy furniture. He very politely asked us to turn around and leave the base, which we did without any problem. None of this was troublesome, and all of the Marines I spoke with were polite and helpful, if somewhat distant.
And yet--for some reason--I had the heebie-jeebies something awful from almost the first moment we drove onto the base.
Since then, I've been thinking about it, and my whole way of thinking about the military and those serving in it. Why was I afraid? I certainly never had the feeling that I was in any danger--I suspect that even had we gotten lost in the process of trying to get off the base, we would have been politely but firmly escorted out. I also have no problem with the Marines not granting access to bargain hunters; it's their base.
One thing that occurs to me is that it may be an effect of military training (which I know nothing about, so please educate me if I have it totally wrong). My impression is that part of military training is the ability to assess a situation rapidly, make a decision, and act on it. Not without thinking, but without extended reflection, which is very much opposite to how I have been trained to do things. Thus, there may be a fundamental difference between how I approach the world and how a Marine is likely to approach it.
I also noted in retrospect that whenever I was talking to one of the Marines, I felt as though I was constantly being "assessed"--as a threat, as a person, or whatever. I could understand that--these folks are guarding their base, so it's their job to make an assessment of people requesting entry. Still, it felt weird--especially given that, to a Marine, I must seem slow, weak, indecisive, and ineffectual.
Maybe also it is that--like with some police officers--the Marines may have not felt any ability or desire to connect with me as an individual person. Since I have never shared their experiences--I'm sure I have no idea what they have been through, and cannot be part of their circle--they have no reason to trust me.
I'm sure another part of it is my own attitude. I have no idea how to act around military personnel on active duty. I know the etiquette of academia, science, and just the common protocols of daily civic life and manners, but I don't have any experience with dealing with those in the military--at least not when they are actively being soldiers, as these men must have been. I think they have their own protocols, etiquette, and manners--and I don't understand it, which makes me uneasy.
So anyway, it got me thinking. And I wonder what it is like to be a soldier, and to deal with civilians. I wonder what someone like me must look like to a strong, well-trained young Marine, and how I should behave around such a person. I don't expect to be able to lounge around with a soldier on duty, but it makes me sad that in my very few interactions with soldiers as soldiers, I have come away disconcerted and uncomfortable. The failing is probably mine.
Is this a gap that can be bridged? Is it one that *should* be bridged, or is the best thing I can do for a Marine on active duty to stay out of his or her way? I want soldiers like these to know that I wish them nothing but success and happiness, both as people and as soldiers, and I fear that what they sense from me is discomfort and distrust. I'd like to see them as humans and individuals, even if they are somewhat set apart by their training and duty.
I would love to hear any comments, especially from those here who are or have been in the military.
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My new job would like to know more about my employment history. Specifically, they would like the usual verifications (begin and end dates, percent time worked, job title, etc.) for much of the past work I've done here at UCLA. That includes some old TAships done as a grad student (1997-1998), and my postdoctoral work (two different jobs, one July 2004-December 2004, the other January 2005 to the present). You'd think that this sort of thing would be easy--UCLA is a big place which sends thousands of people on to academic jobs every year, and must certainly have ways of verifying previous employment, right? This should be easy.
Nope.
The TAships are more than five years ago, so those records were purged from the appropriate department. They recommend I go to Payroll, which has all the official records of such things and provides verifications.
The department for which I did my first postdoc seemed uneasy about actually putting signatures on paper--I don't know why--and also recommended I check with the graduate division. They sent me to Payroll as well.
So, no problem. I'm on my way to payroll.
Oh, no. Payroll sees that one part of the verification form sent to me by Palomar includes a "Description of job duties", and everything comes to a screeching halt. I am informed that Payroll only verifies dates and percnt time, and can't say anything about job duties. Actually, that makes sense, I think, and I arrange that my postdoctoral supervisors will provide a separate description of my job duties. Back to Payroll we go.
Oh, no, they can't do that. They can't sign the form if it has that "description" box on it, even if they don't have to fill it out.
I ask them what I should do, and they say they can provide a separate printout with my start and end dates, percent time, etc. on it, which they can sign. I check with Palomar, and they (grudgingly) accept that. Back to Payroll for the magic forms.
Oh, no. They can only provide that form for my current postdoctoral appointment.
"But I just want the same thing for the postdoc appointment I had right before this one!"
"Our computer can't do that."
They do provide me an unofficial employment history--unsigned--which does not include percent time and codes job title in what seems to me to be Urdu or Pashto. I suspect that this will be unacceptable.
Apparently, nobody at UCLA can sign a form which says "Yes, Talarohk worked here from July 2004 to December 2004 as a postdoc at 100% time", or any sort of verification of the TAships I did a while back. I have no idea how other people who have been through this have solved the problem, because nobody will tell me that either.
I think I have a few new gray hairs. I will name them, collectively, "Payroll".
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I have been offered a tenure-track faculty position, teaching mostly anatomy and physiology at a good community college in northern San Diego county. The pay is good, the teaching load is not excessive, and the area is pretty. I think I'll take it.
I was originally intending/hoping to move to Portland, and that is still an appealing option for the future, perhaps, but these job offers are scarce, and I can't see turning it down to hope for something in the future. This is the entry into my chosen career.
I just wanted to share the good news. In case anyone is interested, it's Palomar College.
I continue to be the luckiest person on the planet.
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I may have mentioned it, but here it is again.
This summer, I will be presenting a poster at the Lumos 2006 symposium. The website for the symposium is here; their own summary of the nature of the conference is below.
quote:
Grab your broom, set your Portkey, or prepare to Apparate! From July 27-30, 2006, Las Vegas, Nevada is the place to be for Harry Potter fans near and far as we gather to attend Lumos 2006: A Harry Potter Symposium. Following our theme of "Back to School," we are planning a variety of daytime academic presentations and panels, including special workshops for educators and librarians. In the evenings, we'll be having fun with an assortment of activities, including Water Quidditch, Hogwarts Night Classes, and Live Chess.
Prepare to be completely immersed in the world of Harry Potter. Our host hotel will be decorated Hogwarts-style, with a "Great Hall," a "Common Room" for all houses, and a library for those wishing to emulate our favorite bushy-haired witch. We'll also enjoy British food and butterbeer throughout the symposium.
Believe it or not, this is a fairly serious academically-oriented conference. There will be a whole lot of papers presented, mostly in the areas of literary analysis and cultural studies. I, on the other hand, being a science-based Harry Potter geek, am presenting a paper on the genetic basis of wizarding and the consequences of wizard attitudes toward muggles on the genetic future of the wizarding population. My abstract:
quote:
It is clear from the work of J.K. Rowling that the ability to manipulate magic has a genetic component. The wizarding community is acutely aware of this; many wizards use a person’s bloodline as a proxy for their personal worth. Understanding the basis for inheritance of wizarding abilities is thus an issue of import, but the disdain of the wizarding community for muggle science has left it almost completely unprepared for any serious inquiry in the field. This presentation explores several ways in which the ability to use magic might be partially based in a person’s genes, how that ability is passed on (or not) from parent to offspring, and the reasons why wizarding is such a resilient trait. In addition, the presentation will explore issues of “purebreeding” in wizard and muggle families, the consequences of interbreeding, and the possible futures for the wizard and muggle worlds from a genetic perspective. No previous knowledge of genetic science will be required to appreciate the information presented.
While there has been little formal, controlled study of inheritance of wizarding ability, we do know several things about its nature. First, it is highly likely that magic talent is at least partially an inherited trait. Secondly, it has been noted that non-magic-using offspring from wizarding parents (sometimes known pejoratively as “squibs”) are rare, but do occur. Third, pairings between muggles can, in some instances, produce wizarding offspring (known as “muggle-borns”, or sometimes by other extremely impolite terms which will not be used here). While these phenomena can be explained by inheritance of a single gene, the observed occurrence of “squibs” and “muggle-borns” suggests that inheritance of wizarding ability is more complex than has been previously suggested. Systems in which two or more genes contribute to a person’s wizard/muggle status are more able to explain the observed inheritance patterns of magic ability. Several such possible systems will be presented and discussed.
It is worth noting that certain elements of the wizarding community hold the belief that one’s talent in the use of magic is related to one’s heritage, and thus that “muggle-born” wizards are likely to be inferior in abilities to those of “pureblood” heritage. Indeed, even some wizards and witches who profess to be free of anti-muggle prejudice display similar assumptions when asked to make judgments about (for example) a student’s potential. Whether these beliefs are likely to have any basis in fact is a question whose answer likely lies at least partially within the realm of genetics, and thus will be a topic for discussion. In addition, the presentation will include some discussion on the genetics of magical beasts, some provocative theories regarding cross-species interbreeding, and the genetic futures of the wizarding and muggle worlds.
The conference actually includes my wife and my tenth anniversary (July 28). She is at least as big a geek as I am, probably more so in terms of appreciation of Harry Potter. She's a literary and humanities scholar, but isn't presenting a paper. We intend to enjoy ourselves thoroughly.
Oh, and for those men among you who are snickering (and women so inclined)...the attendees of previous conferences have been overwhelmingly female, mostly between 18 and 30 years old. It's not an issue for me, of course, but the opportunities for those inclined to take advantage of them will undoubtedly be legion.
Here's to unabashed, unashamed, no-holds-barred GEEK OVERLOAD!
-Tal
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Warning: this post is nothing other than introspection. I'm writing it down for my own purposes, and in case anyone else would be curious. But if you are inclied to respond "What a pile of narcissistic garbage", then please be assured there is no need.
I had some sort of major existential crisis in the car on the way home from work last night.
Since I was a young teenager, I have been trying to figure out just who the heck I am. I look at myself, my behavior, and I try to understand why I do what I do. Many times, I seem to see just a hollow shell; I can't find anything at my core.
I am a chameleon. On most issues, I tend to agree with the person I am talking to. I have always told myself that it is because I try to maintain an open mind, and see everything from others' perspectives in order to understand tham. Last night, though, it seemed to me more likely that I have no core to understand from. That inside me, there is nothing immutable or stable, no solid place from which I could make judgments. I don't know if I had one and eroded it away to nothing, or if I never had one in the first place, but I was having trouble finding anything last night.
It has always been important to me to be "good", but last night I couldn't find what good meant. My religious faith, which would suggest that there is an objective good outside myself, has been a little shaky of late, and I felt compelled to question what guides me. Last night, it seemed to me that what I define as "good" is more likely "what makes other people like me".
I've always known that I have a great need for approval, and to be liked. Looking inside myself, though, I was alarmed to find that I couldn't find anything else at my center. If at my core I am nothing more that a desire to have other people like me, it would make sense that most of my behaviors and opinions fluctuate from moment to moment. What sort of person is that, though, who has no center, no core? It seems to me that such a person is almost valueless.
The image that came into my mind was of a tangle of ropes. From inside me, there are ropes stretching out to other people, and those ropes pull on me. It seemed to me that my center was nothing more than a knot in the ropes, with no substance aside from the tension of opposite forces. That knot may feel like a distinct entity, but really, it's nothing more than tangled ropes. There isn't anything there which is real, solid. The knot is nothing more than the ropes which pull on it.
What do I do which I would not do differently?
What values are at my core, and independent of others?
If I were free of any responsibility, and nobody even knew of my existence, would I be anything at all?
If I were alone in the world--no other people, but ample resources--what would I do with my time?
The thought that my wanting to do good is really nothing more than wanting to do what people approve of is profoundly disturbing to me.
I'm still not sure. It may be that that need to be liked is itself some core, invariant quality (but what a lousy thing to build a person on!). I have come up with a few other potential candidates. I love stories. I love creating things, such as computer programs.
I think maybe this is why I have always felt drawn to some sort of solitary adventure, like hiking the Appalachian Trail. Maybe what I need is a good vision quest--to go off alone, strip away all relationships and responsibilites, strip away all supports, and see what's left underneath. If anything.
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I also posted this in Sensory Overload, but what the heck.
The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe
I saw Chronicles of Narnia last night.
Overall, excellent, I'd say. They did a fine job of keeping the meat of the story, while making minor changes needed to make it work well as a movie. It is inevitable that one will compare this to Lord of the Rings, of course. It may be that this did a better job of adapting the story than LOTR, but of course LOTR is a much, much bigger story and bigger challenge to adapt. Regardless, this was a fine movie of a fun book.
I was especially pleased that they didn't feel obliged to eviscerate the Christian allegory. While the most obvious nods to the story of Christ have been slightly toned down, a surprising amount remains. It's a nice job of making it profoundly meaningful to those who appreciate the story of Christ from a religious perspective, while not forcing one to see it in those terms (you can also view it as the basic archetype of sacrifice and redemption, without religious doctrine).
Some high points: Tilda Swinton is absolutely PERFECT as the White Witch. Magnificently evil, otherworldly, smooth, charismatic, powerful. She was one of the best points in the film for me. Lucy and Edmund were also played very well, I thoroughly enjoyed their performances. The effects were excellent, as one would expect. I was very impressed with the quality of the CG animals (except maybe the Beavers), they were entirely believable. Mr. Tumnus also turned in a fine performance, with some subtlety.
Things I was slightly less pleased with: While I though Peter and Susan were well-played, I was not as impressed with them as with Lucy and Edmund. I had a harder time seeing the nobility in their characters that is, I think, as important as Edmund's challenges and Lucy's innocence and spirit. Aslan is one of the most important characters, and while again I was not exactly displeased, I was not awestruck (and Aslan should be awe-inspiring). Liam Neeson did the voice, and he has a beautiful and skillful voice, but it is too human fr Aslan. He's not a tame Lion; his voice should not be urbane. The way I have always envisioned Aslan, he's the sort of being that whether you love him or despise him, you have no choice but to kneel in his presence. Him being there should make it almost impossible to pay attention to anything else. In this movie, he was impressive, powerful, and compassionate (all of which are important), but I would have liked him to be even more so on all three. He's not just another character.
Nice battle footage, and an excellent job of keeping the story focused and faithful but not slavish. 3.5 out of 4 stars from me.
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So last night, Ellen and I went to see the opening night of Parsifal, Wagner's opera, at the LA Opera. I had only been to one Wagner opera (Tannhauser) before. Conductor was Kent Nagano, Parsifal played by Placido Domingo.
One important piece of information: the staging and costumes were by Robert Wilson, who is an avant-garde stage designer, quoted as saying something along the lines of "I don't like the theater".
His stage design was minimalist, to say the least (so to speak). The basic stage was bare except for what looked like a whole lot of stacked plexiglass plates, forming a ramp over the whole stage. Actually, those looked pretty cool; kind of like ice, or a lake. Other stage designs will be noted below.
The costumes were bizarre--mostly weird black angular constructions of what looked like felt, except for Gurnemanz, who was dressed as a giant lower-case letter "y", as far as I could tell.
Anyway, the stage direction apparently consisted mostly of "hold still for about fifteen minutes at a time, except for occasional extremely slow hand or leg movements". Now do that for about five hours, including two twenty-minute intermissions, add some truly exquisite music (Wagner may have been an anti-Semitic egomaniacal arsehole, but he was a musical genius), and you've got this staging of Parsifal. Actually, I had a pretty good time, but the staging was really bizarre.
Below, is my five-minute summary of the two and a half hour first act:
Act 1
(setting is the Grail castle, where a band of knights have been charged with guarding two holy artifacts: the Grail, and the Holy Spear (which wounded Christ on the cross). )
Gurnemanz: What a nice morning. It's time for Amfortas' bath. Poor guy.
Kundry (semi-demonic witch beautiful woman): Here. Have some balsam. It'll help him.
Gurnemanz: Cool. Thanks.
Kundry: Fuck off.
(by the way: that all took about 30 minutes)
Offstage voices: Hey! Someone killed a swan.
(enter Parsifal)
Gurnemanz: You're not supposed to kill swans. Who are you?
Parsifal: I don't know.
Gurnemanz: Where are you from?
Parsifal: I don't know.
Gurnemanz: Who are your parents?
Parsifal: I don't know.
Gurnemanz (to himself): Hmmm. We've been told to expect an "innocent fool, wise through compassion", who could heal Amfortas of his wound. Maybe this is him.
(to Parsifal): Well, you certainly fill the "idiot" part. Come on into the Grail Hall, and we'll see what part of it you understand.
(At this point, two pieces of scenery appear. The first is what seems to be an iceberg, drifting SLOWLY in from stage right. The other is what I will henceforth call the Neon Donut of Wisdom, which is a big glowing donut descending from the top. These come together , with the donut surrounding the iceberg, in a process which takes at least five minutes and during which NOTHING ELSE IS HAPPENING. I am not kidding.)
Amfortas: AAAAAGH! Someone please kill me and put me out of my misery. That damn evil sorcerer Klingsor (I'm not making up the name) stole the Holy Spear and stabbed me with it, and the wound won't heal. I suck. I SUCK!
Gurnemanz and knights: Show us the Grail.
Amfortas. AAAAARGH! No way. I suck too much.
Titurel or some such (Amfortas' father, who is dead): I'm only mostly dead. Now show us the grail before I have to go revenant on you.
Amfortas. Fine.
(shows them the Grail--or rather, has some person do something with the iceberg, and maybe hand something invisible to him, or maybe not, we can't tell. Amfortas then lifts his hands up and walks SLOWLY around the Donut of Wisdom, with his hands glowing. The walk takes about ten minutes.)
Audience: Wait. Is he holding the grail? Is the iceberg the grail? Is the guy the grail, or his glowing hand? Am I too impure to see the grail? What the hell is going on, and why is it going on so SLOWLY?
(Amfortas finishes his walk, then disappears from view behind the Donut of Wisom, leaving Gurnemanz standing on it looking at Parsifal, who is standing downstage left, looking at Gurnemanz. Gorgeous orchestral music.)
Amfortas: (looks at Parsifal)
Parsifal: (looks at Amfortas, slowly lifts foot up, then puts it back)
Amfortas: (looks at Parsifal)
Parsifal: (looks at Amfortas)
Amfortas: (looks at Parsifal)
Parsifal: (looks at Amfortas, makes odd twirly motion with his hand)
(this goes on for about ten minutes--I am not making that up--with nobody saying or doing ANYTHING. Then comes my favorite line of the whole opera.)
Gurnemanz (suddenly): Why are you standing there like that? Did you understand anything about what you just saw?
(At this point, I heard suppressed chuckles from my entire row, and felt people's shoulders shaking with laughter.)
Audience: NO! WE DIDN'T! AND WHY THE HELL ARE YOU STANDING THERE LIKE THAT?
Parsifal: (says nothing)
Gurnemanz: You're just an idiot. Go away.
Parsifal: (leaves).
End of Act 1.
Act 2 involves Parsifal getting the Spear back from Klingsor (dressed as Ming the Merciless in black felt) and avoiding fleshly temptation by a bunch of witches (who he thinks might be flowers) and Kundry. He does so by being profoundly stupid. Seriously, that's what makes him the good guy.
Act 3 involves Parsifal returning the spear to the Knights and using it to heal Amfortas. Also in this act is the Attack of the Giant Scenery Bird, Return of the Donut of Wisdom (sans iceberg, with a BBQ pit instead), and the World's Slowest Whac-A-Mole Game.
It was actually pretty fun.
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