sartorias: (Default)
The end of summer is always hell in SoCal, especially when the Santa Ana season is protracted. We did have two cool days, and even a bit of rainfall, but it wasn't measurable, and we went right back to blazing temps and now the sky is orange and the air full of drifting ash and smoke from the fires local to here. (We're safe because of urban sprawl)

My daughter showed up at 3:45 a.m. having been kicked out of her rental room in Sylmar. We're trying to figure out from the heli shots on the news if her block is among those that burned during the night.

I wish this would promise actual real winter, in a couple of months...but it could go on like this until December, and then be parched and hot intermittently until the spring coolness and cloudiness, which ends the possible rain season. I remember it did in 1980.
sartorias: (Default)
The end of summer is always hell in SoCal, especially when the Santa Ana season is protracted. We did have two cool days, and even a bit of rainfall, but it wasn't measurable, and we went right back to blazing temps and now the sky is orange and the air full of drifting ash and smoke from the fires local to here. (We're safe because of urban sprawl)

My daughter showed up at 3:45 a.m. having been kicked out of her rental room in Sylmar. We're trying to figure out from the heli shots on the news if her block is among those that burned during the night.

I wish this would promise actual real winter, in a couple of months...but it could go on like this until December, and then be parched and hot intermittently until the spring coolness and cloudiness, which ends the possible rain season. I remember it did in 1980.
sartorias: (Default)
Well, my flist is full of everybody exhorting everybody else to vote, and I say everybody because even the non-USAns are reminding USAns they should get out and vote.

So I'm going to assume that everybody USA is going to vote. Therefore, here's my question: while you're standing in line, what are you reading? Have you spotted any interesting books in the hands of others standing in line?

(Also wanted to note that during the night I woke to a sound I couldn't identify. Rustling paper? Were the rats back? Was the dog into something under the bed? No, it was outside the window behind my bed...this morning I got up and realized it was rain! Actual water right out of the sky! The first since March, and guess who will NOT have to water the plants today? Woo hoo!)
sartorias: (Default)
Well, my flist is full of everybody exhorting everybody else to vote, and I say everybody because even the non-USAns are reminding USAns they should get out and vote.

So I'm going to assume that everybody USA is going to vote. Therefore, here's my question: while you're standing in line, what are you reading? Have you spotted any interesting books in the hands of others standing in line?

(Also wanted to note that during the night I woke to a sound I couldn't identify. Rustling paper? Were the rats back? Was the dog into something under the bed? No, it was outside the window behind my bed...this morning I got up and realized it was rain! Actual water right out of the sky! The first since March, and guess who will NOT have to water the plants today? Woo hoo!)
sartorias: (Default)
Many on my flist have such fascinating jobs. (In fact, that would make a very cool thing, I think--people posting about what they do.) But anyway, I wanted to link to this post by [livejournal.com profile] branna about the dayjob.
sartorias: (Default)
Many on my flist have such fascinating jobs. (In fact, that would make a very cool thing, I think--people posting about what they do.) But anyway, I wanted to link to this post by [livejournal.com profile] branna about the dayjob.
sartorias: (Default)
[livejournal.com profile] blackhandpants offers a look at homeschooling from the perspective of a stay-at-home homeschooling mom.
sartorias: (Default)
[livejournal.com profile] blackhandpants offers a look at homeschooling from the perspective of a stay-at-home homeschooling mom.
sartorias: (Default)
Do people--young people--still say 'beastly' as an adjective, and if so, who uses it?

And if they don't, what would, say, a well educated Oxonian say instead?
sartorias: (Default)
Do people--young people--still say 'beastly' as an adjective, and if so, who uses it?

And if they don't, what would, say, a well educated Oxonian say instead?
sartorias: (Dance the Dance)
It's wearyingly hot, too hot to think but I can read. [livejournal.com profile] blackhandpants has a wonderful anecdote about her daughters and a ballet recital. I've been following the adventures of these girls since the first one was a toddler, and the second went through her difficult birth. We've met once, and they are darlings.

If you've a few moments, go here
sartorias: (Dance the Dance)
It's wearyingly hot, too hot to think but I can read. [livejournal.com profile] blackhandpants has a wonderful anecdote about her daughters and a ballet recital. I've been following the adventures of these girls since the first one was a toddler, and the second went through her difficult birth. We've met once, and they are darlings.

If you've a few moments, go here

Words

Apr. 18th, 2008 10:59 am
sartorias: (Default)
I love contemplating the evolution of terms, and what's implied behind. (If I can.)

anyway, here at least in L.A. cell phones are "phone" or "cell" but I seldom hear them together.

In England (UK?) the word is "mobile"

German it's "Handy" (nouns are always capped)

Handy is not a German word--you scarcely ever see 'y' in German words, and always in foreign words. Yet there it is, an English term adopted for German use to mean cell phone. I love that.

What's the French word?

What other languages does anyone know the word in--and what does the word mean? Like, let's say we had a language Klaatu, and the word used is "splatnik" which means "pocket". But everyone knows "pocket" to stand for "pocket phone."

Words

Apr. 18th, 2008 10:59 am
sartorias: (Default)
I love contemplating the evolution of terms, and what's implied behind. (If I can.)

anyway, here at least in L.A. cell phones are "phone" or "cell" but I seldom hear them together.

In England (UK?) the word is "mobile"

German it's "Handy" (nouns are always capped)

Handy is not a German word--you scarcely ever see 'y' in German words, and always in foreign words. Yet there it is, an English term adopted for German use to mean cell phone. I love that.

What's the French word?

What other languages does anyone know the word in--and what does the word mean? Like, let's say we had a language Klaatu, and the word used is "splatnik" which means "pocket". But everyone knows "pocket" to stand for "pocket phone."
sartorias: (Fan)
[livejournal.com profile] madrobins says it so very well here:
http://madrobins.livejournal.com/191374.html

I am an extremely fast reader, but wow, I am more behind every day.  I resort to cheating on my timer, then am furious with myself for not getting to my list of tasks, but people are so fascinating, and it's all right there.

If we could ever get out of debt, I'd like to get a palm reader.  I could catch up on so much of this stuff while sitting in the high school parking lot, or at red lights, or in traffic jams going to LA, in waiting lines everywhere.  Of course that's where I get a lot of my reading done these days, though my hands have gotten bad enough that it pretty much has to be paperbacks.

With respect to this particular pond, the LiveJournal one, I adore having the biggest pie cut of my daily Netread on one list, which I scan at lightning speed, but the thing that makes it work is interactivity--commenting.  When one stops to comment, that's a step toward communication, but it also cuts some of the reading off the list because of the great enemy--time.   Then there's the awareness that white noise comments are phatic discourse instead of real...mumble mumble the kids need to go to school.

One more thought, while they are fumbling around finding shoes and school binders  About supermarkets.  I thought I was the only one who got overwhelmed looking at the sheer volume of available stuff, and I am so grateful, but at the same time, so often I get throat-tight thinking about those who are hungry, and the waste of the food not bought, and then I get anxious because I am hyper-aware of the fragility of the infrastructure--the aging infrastructure--and how in the blink of an eye it could all be gone, and we'd be scrabbling for food, for our lives.  Who would come to L.A.'s rescue?  Could it even be done, with all these millions close-packed into so small a space?  Whine, moan, one can see why I am endlessly fascinated with the seductive idea of competence, after a lifetime sense of overwhelming incompetence and powerlessness in the face of big questions.
sartorias: (Default)
[livejournal.com profile] madrobins says it so very well here:
http://madrobins.livejournal.com/191374.html

I am an extremely fast reader, but wow, I am more behind every day.  I resort to cheating on my timer, then am furious with myself for not getting to my list of tasks, but people are so fascinating, and it's all right there.

If we could ever get out of debt, I'd like to get a palm reader.  I could catch up on so much of this stuff while sitting in the high school parking lot, or at red lights, or in traffic jams going to LA, in waiting lines everywhere.  Of course that's where I get a lot of my reading done these days, though my hands have gotten bad enough that it pretty much has to be paperbacks.

With respect to this particular pond, the LiveJournal one, I adore having the biggest pie cut of my daily Netread on one list, which I scan at lightning speed, but the thing that makes it work is interactivity--commenting.  When one stops to comment, that's a step toward communication, but it also cuts some of the reading off the list because of the great enemy--time.   Then there's the awareness that white noise comments are phatic discourse instead of real...mumble mumble the kids need to go to school.

One more thought, while they are fumbling around finding shoes and school binders  About supermarkets.  I thought I was the only one who got overwhelmed looking at the sheer volume of available stuff, and I am so grateful, but at the same time, so often I get throat-tight thinking about those who are hungry, and the waste of the food not bought, and then I get anxious because I am hyper-aware of the fragility of the infrastructure--the aging infrastructure--and how in the blink of an eye it could all be gone, and we'd be scrabbling for food, for our lives.  Who would come to L.A.'s rescue?  Could it even be done, with all these millions close-packed into so small a space?  Whine, moan, one can see why I am endlessly fascinated with the seductive idea of competence, after a lifetime sense of overwhelming incompetence and powerlessness in the face of big questions.
sartorias: (Default)
Most of you have probably already seen [livejournal.com profile] makinglight's link to this street art (to which [livejournal.com profile] kateelliott also linked today, reminding me. But that and this recent post about Sacred Harp Singing made me think of all the opportunities we ordinary folk have of participating in living art. I've been listening to Sacred Harp singing for a couple of days, courtesy of [livejournal.com profile] asakiyume*. I suspect the intense job really only comes when you can go in, sit down with perfect strangers, be handed your song book, hear a quick explanation of simple marks, and there you go, you get to sing! Doesn't matter if you haven't been trained, if your voice (like mine) is like a picked chicken when heard alone. Singing, hearing the volume of sound around you, can be so exhilarating. And so is performance art.

My fellow humans can make the day an anxious, sorry one, but sometimes there are random acts of art, and most of all, random acts of kindness that take seconds, or at most a minute or two, to experience. Then the effect lingers like a northern twilight through my whole day.

*(whose life is more about living all forms of art than anyone I've encountered. Do try her journal)
sartorias: (Default)
Most of you have probably already seen [livejournal.com profile] makinglight's link to this street art (to which [livejournal.com profile] kateelliott also linked today, reminding me. But that and this recent post about Sacred Harp Singing made me think of all the opportunities we ordinary folk have of participating in living art. I've been listening to Sacred Harp singing for a couple of days, courtesy of [livejournal.com profile] asakiyume*. I suspect the intense job really only comes when you can go in, sit down with perfect strangers, be handed your song book, hear a quick explanation of simple marks, and there you go, you get to sing! Doesn't matter if you haven't been trained, if your voice (like mine) is like a picked chicken when heard alone. Singing, hearing the volume of sound around you, can be so exhilarating. And so is performance art.

My fellow humans can make the day an anxious, sorry one, but sometimes there are random acts of art, and most of all, random acts of kindness that take seconds, or at most a minute or two, to experience. Then the effect lingers like a northern twilight through my whole day.

*(whose life is more about living all forms of art than anyone I've encountered. Do try her journal)

On-line

Dec. 2nd, 2007 08:03 am
sartorias: (duel to the pie!)
I wondered if everyone who journals so much kept diaries when young. I don't think anyone knows how rare or not rare diary keeping is. Back in the seventies I read one supposed scholarly take on diaries, in which the author decreed that historically, few kept diaries. First, his references were all to men, and second, how could he possibly know? I remember once my brother and I were walking in the alley behind the houses, it having been trash day. Fallen into the gutter from one of the trash cans was one of those locking diaries that people my age might recall. Might still be in existence. I picked it up and leafed through it. It was a teenage girl's diary. She'd kept it steadily for quite some time, but the entries were short, and confined completely to her social life. Sort of "Today Bill smiled at me in class, but Debbi kept trying to get his attention." The high point was when Bill asked her to go in his car. To "go in a car" at that high school, I'd recently learned, meant to drive with a boy up to Playa Del Rey's point. The "point" was the top of a steep street overlooking the ocean, directly under the flight path of LAX. After that there were a bunch of entries about going in his car, and who was going with whom, and yadda, then some brief, unhappy ones mostly slanging Bill, and then onward again, with occasional reference to group activities, like going to the beach. We didn't know which house the diary belonged to--our street was really, really long, probably forty houses along it on our side. We didn't know if the diarist herself tossed it, or her parents did if, say, she went away to college, and the parents cleaned out her room, as happens.

How many people burned diaries later in life? How many families burned diaries of deceased relatives? We don't know, but all the online journalizing makes me wonder if diaries were a whole lot more common than anybody thinks. Except that there's a distinction: some are written to be public, and some to be kept private. At some point, perhaps, the writer realizes that, hey, I don't get to last forever....so what do I do with these private thoughts? Some hide them in chests, perhaps, thinking, "I'll deal with it when I'm really old" and get caught by surprise, some burn them. The ones written for an imagined future audience are self edited and left to be found.

Like L.M. Montgomery's journals. Reading passages of that, one can tell she carefully edited for that future audience, using lady-like expressions like "Dear knows" and calling poetry she wrote for social occasions "pomes". Like they weren't "serious" poetry--but she recorded every compliment. There was a comment she made around the turn of the century that I found really startling, when some young ladies complimented her new gown. "They all said my dress was 'out of sight', whatever that means."* For a while she acted really prissy about slang, implying that she was much too ladylike and old-fashioned to use it, but she certainly knew what it was. But other entries, mostly starting with the second journal, are intensely powerful and full of anguish. She wrote about the relief of being able to express herself on subjects she did not dare talk about. The later diaries are utterly harrowing.

Anyway, I have no conclusion on that, except to marvel at what boundaries people set between public and private: user A is okay with putting intimate details out there for the world to see, and user B hides the self so thoroughly that their journal reads like a disembodied voice neutrally listing the day's accomplishments or making general observations on the issues of the day. I guess the new flag system is going to get a workout.

What is more vexing is something two people have brought up. Today[livejournal.com profile] cakmpls today here. And earlier in the week, [livejournal.com profile] fashionista_35 said in this post:

mean, I know this is nothing new, but what is it about the relative anonymity of the Internet that gives people such a ridiculous sense of entitlement? And I'm seeing it everywhere. You know what I think it is? It's that people have lost the fine art of debate. They have no clue how to disagree or give a dissenting opinion without it being a direct insult or attack. And a poorly worded one at that. They don't know how to separate the valid, debatable points from personal opinion. Yes, personal opinion is important too, but you have to know how to phrase it in order to get people to give it due consideration. Or maybe I'm just an old battle-axe, expecting people to actually, you know, think about what they're saying.


I don't know that there is less an ability to argue in the old sense (an exchange of ideas from different points of view, rather than a verbal fight, which seems to be the accepted definition now)--there's plenty of evidence when one reads the daily papers or letters or commentary in olden times on duels, grudges, curses, and the like resulting from fast-escalating arguments. These just weren't as public as the ones now. There's even a term for the on-line argument that swiftly escalates into a fight: trainwreck. Yet I've seen some fairly fraught subjects engaged on with courtesy and an effort made to acknowledge what the other is saying before responding. I've even seen the rare but appreciated "What I think you're saying is this."

Yap yap, I'm not coming to any conclusions. Maybe trainwrecks (and the resultant dogpile) will inspire evolution of acceptable ways of engaging in argument. I do think the old debating method doesn't quite fit on-line exchange. But there's nothing like 300 people piling on to tell you what a fathead you are to make one 1) hide 2) sputter and fume about "See, They are out to get me!" --various subsets fitting into the They category--or 3) amend one's approach to disagreement.






* That blasts to bits my theory that "outta sight" was a phrase stemming from the rocket-fascination of the fifties and early sixties.

(ETA)

On-line

Dec. 2nd, 2007 08:03 am
sartorias: (duel to the pie!)
I wondered if everyone who journals so much kept diaries when young. I don't think anyone knows how rare or not rare diary keeping is. Back in the seventies I read one supposed scholarly take on diaries, in which the author decreed that historically, few kept diaries. First, his references were all to men, and second, how could he possibly know? I remember once my brother and I were walking in the alley behind the houses, it having been trash day. Fallen into the gutter from one of the trash cans was one of those locking diaries that people my age might recall. Might still be in existence. I picked it up and leafed through it. It was a teenage girl's diary. She'd kept it steadily for quite some time, but the entries were short, and confined completely to her social life. Sort of "Today Bill smiled at me in class, but Debbi kept trying to get his attention." The high point was when Bill asked her to go in his car. To "go in a car" at that high school, I'd recently learned, meant to drive with a boy up to Playa Del Rey's point. The "point" was the top of a steep street overlooking the ocean, directly under the flight path of LAX. After that there were a bunch of entries about going in his car, and who was going with whom, and yadda, then some brief, unhappy ones mostly slanging Bill, and then onward again, with occasional reference to group activities, like going to the beach. We didn't know which house the diary belonged to--our street was really, really long, probably forty houses along it on our side. We didn't know if the diarist herself tossed it, or her parents did if, say, she went away to college, and the parents cleaned out her room, as happens.

How many people burned diaries later in life? How many families burned diaries of deceased relatives? We don't know, but all the online journalizing makes me wonder if diaries were a whole lot more common than anybody thinks. Except that there's a distinction: some are written to be public, and some to be kept private. At some point, perhaps, the writer realizes that, hey, I don't get to last forever....so what do I do with these private thoughts? Some hide them in chests, perhaps, thinking, "I'll deal with it when I'm really old" and get caught by surprise, some burn them. The ones written for an imagined future audience are self edited and left to be found.

Like L.M. Montgomery's journals. Reading passages of that, one can tell she carefully edited for that future audience, using lady-like expressions like "Dear knows" and calling poetry she wrote for social occasions "pomes". Like they weren't "serious" poetry--but she recorded every compliment. There was a comment she made around the turn of the century that I found really startling, when some young ladies complimented her new gown. "They all said my dress was 'out of sight', whatever that means."* For a while she acted really prissy about slang, implying that she was much too ladylike and old-fashioned to use it, but she certainly knew what it was. But other entries, mostly starting with the second journal, are intensely powerful and full of anguish. She wrote about the relief of being able to express herself on subjects she did not dare talk about. The later diaries are utterly harrowing.

Anyway, I have no conclusion on that, except to marvel at what boundaries people set between public and private: user A is okay with putting intimate details out there for the world to see, and user B hides the self so thoroughly that their journal reads like a disembodied voice neutrally listing the day's accomplishments or making general observations on the issues of the day. I guess the new flag system is going to get a workout.

What is more vexing is something two people have brought up. Today[livejournal.com profile] cakmpls today here. And earlier in the week, [livejournal.com profile] fashionista_35 said in this post:

mean, I know this is nothing new, but what is it about the relative anonymity of the Internet that gives people such a ridiculous sense of entitlement? And I'm seeing it everywhere. You know what I think it is? It's that people have lost the fine art of debate. They have no clue how to disagree or give a dissenting opinion without it being a direct insult or attack. And a poorly worded one at that. They don't know how to separate the valid, debatable points from personal opinion. Yes, personal opinion is important too, but you have to know how to phrase it in order to get people to give it due consideration. Or maybe I'm just an old battle-axe, expecting people to actually, you know, think about what they're saying.


I don't know that there is less an ability to argue in the old sense (an exchange of ideas from different points of view, rather than a verbal fight, which seems to be the accepted definition now)--there's plenty of evidence when one reads the daily papers or letters or commentary in olden times on duels, grudges, curses, and the like resulting from fast-escalating arguments. These just weren't as public as the ones now. There's even a term for the on-line argument that swiftly escalates into a fight: trainwreck. Yet I've seen some fairly fraught subjects engaged on with courtesy and an effort made to acknowledge what the other is saying before responding. I've even seen the rare but appreciated "What I think you're saying is this."

Yap yap, I'm not coming to any conclusions. Maybe trainwrecks (and the resultant dogpile) will inspire evolution of acceptable ways of engaging in argument. I do think the old debating method doesn't quite fit on-line exchange. But there's nothing like 300 people piling on to tell you what a fathead you are to make one 1) hide 2) sputter and fume about "See, They are out to get me!" --various subsets fitting into the They category--or 3) amend one's approach to disagreement.






* That blasts to bits my theory that "outta sight" was a phrase stemming from the rocket-fascination of the fifties and early sixties.

(ETA)

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