San Francisco Plantation November 16, 2009

The “Pretty” Plantation

The San Francisco Plantation near White Castle, Louisiana (the andouille sausage capital of the world)  was considered the “prettiest” of all the plantations in the area. It is certainly the most colourful. It has been called “Steamboat Gothic” in style thanks to a novel by Frances Parkinson Keyes which was inspired by the house. The house does resemble an ornate riverboat from some angles. 

Oil Company PR

It was built in 1856 and is the most distinctive and the most historically accurate restoration of a River Road plantation. It was restored by Marathon Oil Company to whom the last private owner sold the property. The blight of the oil pipelines mar the once beautiful acreage. But to be fair, regardless whether the oil company restored the house as a concession to ease public outrage at having usurped an historical landmark, they did restore the home and restore it beautifully.

The Secret Behind the Restoration’s Authenticity 

Marathon even went so far as to track long-lost relatives of the original family’s last mistress, Louise Marmillion and, by doing so, gather from the family the original furnishings, art, statuary and personal letters from her describing in great detail her decorations to the house making it possible to restore  the home to the standard it is. Her letters were somewhat scandalous, this German bride disliked her Creole mother-in-law and penned all her feelings in these letters to her mother. There is a book due out soon about the lost letters of San Francisco Plantation, which ought to raise some eyebrows among the local Creole community, people who can carry a grudge through generations.

The Ladies’ Parlor

The prettiest room in the house is the Ladies’ Parlor. In this time, elegant homes were subdued and understated, painted in whites, creams and ivories. But the German mistress of the home liked colour. It was such a departure from convention, Creole wives came up on the riverboat with husbands in tow to tour the house and see the new use of color. It was a sensation. Bear in mind that all this work was done by hand. Hand carved trim, hand painted ceilings. Another feature of San Francisco was the lavish use of faux wood grain painting also done by hand.

The Ladies' Parlor

The painted ceiling was also a new feature to antebellum homes. This is one of five painted ceilings in the house. Louise was the Debbie Travis of the 1850’s with an eye for design.

The painted ceiling

Detail of the mantle in the Ladies' Parlor

 

The Boudoir, or Pouting Room

 I was most fascinated by the boudoir, which translates to “pouting room”. What family doesn’t need one of those? It was a room off the bedroom and was considered to be a woman’s space. Men were allowed in only by invitation and then only family or very close friends. A lady retreated to her boudoir if she was miffed at her husband, of if they went their separate ways but maintained a public face of a happily married couple. She also stayed in the boudoir during her confinement while pregnant and for a year afterwards. It was believed that exposing a pregnant or nursing mother to other people increased the spread of diseases which ravaged the area. While in her confinement, a lady would literally live her life in her boudoir. In times when  illness was abroad, only one slave would bring her meals and see to her comfort, this limiting the woman’s exposure. When you see how frequently women were pregnant in those days, it is feasible that she spent the better part of a decade trapped in one room. It is from her confinement in the boudoir that Louise had time to write all those letters to her mother.

Mantle decor in one of the boudoir

One of the four fates, lamps in each corner of the dining room

If you ever wondered how people kept food cold in the days before electricity, it was with one of these.

These sunken olive jars were recessed into an underground stream which kept food at 50 degrees even in the heat of summer.

They cooled the house with simple cross ventilation, placing door and windows in a line across the house which encouraged cooling breezes to blow through the home. This together with the very high ceilings which allowed the heat to rise up keeping the rooms relatively cool in the tropical heat.

Doors opened up the entire house from window to window.

Door "lights" allowed light to penetrate even into interior rooms. Many of these transom lights opened to move the hot air out from up near the ceiling.

Beautiful artwork in San Francisco house.

 

 

a lamp base

The History of San Francisco Plantation

 

Edmond Bozonier Marmillion built this mansion along the Mississippi river on River Road. It was called originally “The Marmillion Plantation”. Shortly after he completed the home Edmond died suddenly. His son Charles had been away on his Grand Tour of Europe. When he got home the house was full of mourners at his father’s funeral. He was shocked to discover that his brother had also died while he had been away, leaving him and his brother Valsin as  the only heirs to the plantation.

Charles was only 16 when he went into service during the war between the states and made the rank of Captain in the Confederate army and fought at Gettysburg. He was captured by the Yankees but he escaped. He was captured again and spent two years in captivity. He returned home to his plantation with his brother Valsin. It is his brother’s German wife, Louise, who spent so lavishly in decorating the house. People in the area jokingly called the house “Sans Fruschin”, a Creole expression which means “without a penny” or the “without the shirt on his back” referring to the cost of the decorating. San Fruschin morphed into San Francisco and the name stuck.

Tragedy at San Francisco Plantation

Tragedy haunted this family in equal measure with their good fortune. The brothers Charles and Valsin managed to survive the post-war economy and grew a successful sugar cane business. But Valsin died suddenly in 1871 at the age of 44. Charles also died young, only four years later at the age of 35.

 Louise sold the plantation in 1879 and returned to Europe. She left behind her the graves of two of her daughters who died as toddlers and were buried in unmarked graves on the property. One died falling down the grand staircase in a tragic accident.

The Ghosts of San Francisco 

 It is said that the house is haunted by the ghost of Charles Marillion, sometimes seen smoking a cigar as he roams the property. He has been seen wearing a long coat in the main-floor office, one of the bedrooms and in the dining room. The two little daughters of Louise and Valsin are also haunting the property. Several people have seen two little girls dressed in white playing with each other on the grounds.

The House Today

The front doors on a wide veranda facing the mighty Mississippi and a levee to protect River Road homes from flooding.

Sadly, a storm has caused some leaks in the roof and some of the ceilings and walls are damaged and Marathon hasn’t repaired these. Financially, things are bad in Louisiana, the poorest state in the US and donations aren’t sufficient to make the repairs needed. It is sad to see this gem subjected to disintegration again due to neglect.

Our guide through the home, a retired school teacher and veritable font of knowledge and interesting trivia.

Halloween on Bourbon Street November 15, 2009

We went to New Orleans for Halloween this year. We opted to party near the Gay Bars which are on the East end of Bourbon Street near pirate Jean LaFitte’s Blacksmith shop which was a front for his smuggling operation, which still stands albeit somewhat askew.

There were a lot of pirates in the Quarter. It was near LaFitte's Blacksmith shop.

The boys came out in droves and in revealing costumes, some were eye-candy, some not-so-much but the atmosphere was jubilant and screamingly funny.  People were cheek to cheek in both senses and everyone had a great time.

 So-o-o-0 much fun!

 

 

Extra Large Sausage Pizza anyone? They wore thongs so from the rear they were a Pizza Ass.

These boys were my favourties, they arrived spread across a cop car as the cop good naturedly yelled at them to get off his car.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

yabba dabba doo!

trench coat flasher

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dark angel

Yeti. The Abominable Gayman.

Double your pleasure. Double your fun.

These vampires drove by stone-faced as if bored by it all. Or maybe they were real vampires out for the only night they can walk among us. Whaa-haa-haa.

This is how I want my old age to look. Look for me on Bourbon Street!

 

 

 

 

 

 

And some people say there are no available men!

Where it’s @ August 26, 2009

 

 

In my next life August 15, 2009

 

 

Next time around I’ll wear dresses that shimmer

I’ll dance in a summer’s rain

I’ll wear glitter so my shoulders glimmer

in the moonlight once again

 

Next time around I’ll say more yes’s

and nodding, smile and laugh

And buy myself more red dresses

that flash more thigh than calf

 

Next time around I’ll wear red lipstick

and learn to dance the tango

I’ll keep my paddle in the crick

and suck the sweet sweet mango

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Talk like an Egyptian August 4, 2009

 

 

 

I am a wannabe archaeologist. I majored in geology for my bachelor’s degree and had applied, and was accepted into a master’s program which would have me digging in Africa for Richard Leakey in the summers while I studied Egyptology, when tragically, I ran out of money and had to go to work. Like most people who stop school to make some money before going back for an advanced degree, I got trapped in life’s little tar pits. You get some  furniture and an apartment, a cat, some bills, a car, a boyfriend and you’re stuck. Pretty soon you are 30 and then 40 and then 50-something and sifting through the desert sands of Egypt is no longer on your to-do list. For one thing, they keep all the sand on the ground over there, so you’d have to bend over, sit down or squat, watch out for scorpions! From my 50-something perspective that just isn’t ever going to happen unless they come up with waist-high tombs and air conditioned deserts and scorpion/cobra screens. Oh, and a recliner.

So, instead, I enjoy reading novels about Egypt in my recliner in the air conditioning. Here are the titles from Pauline Gedge, my favourite ancient Egyptian novel author. She was born in New Zealand and now lives in Canada. I love the fact that she snubbed the Canadian Literary Luminaries preferring to relate to the reader, to hobnobbing and politicing her way to Canadian literary awards. She is a best-selling author and winner of many awards for excellent writing. She is particularly popular in France and German where they demand historic fiction be accurate.

Clicking on the book will take you to where you can order it.

 

The Lords of the Two Lands Trilogy 

The Hippopotamus Marsh

Vol 1

In this first book, the hereditary rulers of Egypt are under the rule of the desert tribe the Hyksos, the invaders who make Egyptians subject to humiliation until they begin to fight back. This trilogy is the story of that rebellion.  This book chronicles the rise of Sequenra, a member of the Egyptian royal family.

The genius of this author is to show you the whole of life in ancient Egypt. She knows the customs, geography, and the history and relates it in a slowly-paced but atmospherically rich read. You want to drink sweet tea and nibble on dates as you read.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Oasis

Vol. 2

The Oasis takes Kamose from the death of his father, Sequenra. Kamos takes command of the Egyptian forces attempting to overthrow the rule of the Hykos.

The epic story is told with rich landscapes peopled with characters so real you miss them when you stop reading.

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Horus Road

 Vol. 3

Ahmose,the last surviving Tao male takes up his family’s quest to overthrow the Kykos empire from Egyptian rule. His goal, the walled fortress housing the Hykos mighty army and the crucial Horus Road beyond. Meanwhile back home is Westet, Ahmose’s grandmother, mother and sister/wife Nefertari maintain society and prepare for peace to follow. It is a rich book of a remarkable family and historical dynasty. 

 

 

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

King’s Man Trilogy

 

The Twice Born

Vol 1 

The promising life of Huy, a farmer’s son who is sent to school to become a scribe. He makes friends with the children of the rich and powerful but his life is altered forever when something astonishing happens to him. He longs for his old life back and is haunted by visions others cannot see.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Seer of Egypt

 Vol 2

Huy, the once farmer’s son then humble student scribe has become the Seer to the Pharaoh. Amunhotep’s patronage brings wealth and status but he longs for  freedom from the visions which are a gift of Thoth. His life is coming to an end but his fate holds more in store for the Seer.

  

 

 

 

 

 

The King's Man

Vol. 3

The saga of Huy continues. Huy  occupies the seat of favour with the Pharaoh and controls the treasury, the military, building, taxes and the task of choosing the young Pharaoh’s Queen. However power equals powerful enemies and Huy strives to foil them.

NOTE: Due out November 2009

 

 

 

 

 

 

Child of the Morning

 

This is the story of perhaps one of the earliest feminists. This is the story of Queen Hatshepsut who ruled Egypt in the early 15th Century B.C. She  ruled for over 20 years and brought a golden era of prosperity, peace and building. 

This is Pauline Gedge’s first novel.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Tales of Thu

House of Dreams

Vol 1

‘Beautiful blue-eyed daughter of a retired mercenary from the remote village of Aswat, Thu is learning to be a midwife at her mother’s knee. But secretly she longs for greatness, fame, riches which she is sure await her. When the Pharaoh’s holy seer Hui stops in to Aswat, Thu slips into the Nile and appears naked in Hui’s private quarters offering herself to him if only he would teach her to heal. What she doesn’t know is that the Seer had been expecting her. He had seen her in the Pharaoh’s future! This is her account of her rise to  becomes a doctor and then a concubine in the Royal harem of Ramses III and the mother of his child.

This book is known in some countries as The Lady of the Reeds.

 

 

 

 

House of Illusion

Vol 2

This is the second part of the story of the life of Thu. It is told at first by Kamen, a young subaltern. He happened onto Aswat where he meets a madwoman with a remarkable tale. She gives him a box and asks him to deliver it to the Pharaoh. He takes her box but has no intention of getting into trouble by even mentioning it to the Pharaoh. But soon a story of deceit, corruption and injustice comes out and young Kamen is trapped between factions and linked to the mysterious madwoman of Aswat in ways he never dreamed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Twelfth Transforming

 This is the story of the XVIII Dynasty (2,500 years ago) Pharaoh Akhenaten whose rebellious dismissal of the pantheon of Egyptian gods and the powerful priests who control the wealth of the temples, lead to a catastrophic reign in Egyptian history.

I was friendly with Shirley MacLaine’s secretary once upon a time in the 80’s. She took me to the most astonishing place. It was a Victorian house in Capital Hill in Denver. A beautiful mansion swarming with people. Inside it was like stepping into an Egyptian tomb. Every surface was painted in real gold with hierglyphs of the Egyptian god Aten and images of Akhenaten the Pharaoh. There was a shadowy auditorium where we sat until a big bald man in a loin cloth rang a big gong and then out came a man who claimed to be the reincarnation of Akhenaten. He said he was one of the rulers of the world, the few who decided which things happened and controlled Presidents and Kings. I don’t know about any of that. But he did have a very cool house. So technically, I may have met Akhenaten. 

 

 

  

 

 

 

Scroll of Saqqara

 

The brother of the Pharaoh and son of the great Ramses II is called Prince Khaemwaset. He has a happy life. He is a respected physician, historian, expert in ancient Egypt. He  has a loving wife and child. His burning ambition is to find the tomb that holds the Scroll of Thoth which he believes will give him power over death. You know what they say about be careful what you wish for? Yeah. He finds it.

This book is sometimes called Mirage.

 

 

 

 

Other (Non-Egypt) novels by Pauline Gedge

Pauline Gedge has also wrote The Eagle and The Raven, about the Boudicca, a famous female warrior in ancient Britain. I remember hearing that Fergie the Dutchess of York, wife of Prince Andrew, saying how inspired she was by Boudicca. Stargate is another title of a Gedge novel but I can’t find out much about it.  The Covenant is an erotic novel of an aristocratic Vampire who awakens after a century asleep.

 

Like Katharine Hepburn July 20, 2009

Alfred-Eisenstaedt's portrait of Katharine Hepburn

 

I saw a great blog today “What Would Katharine Hepburn do?”  http://wwkhd.blogspot.com/ Check it out.

It made me think of the ways that Katharine Hepburn influenced me. She possessed so many qualities I admire. Her unselfconscious beauty, her disciplined routines, her talent, the way she bucked trends to be herself.  I read her book and she inspired me to quit smoking. I did it just the way she did. Cold turkey. When I smoked, I smoked full out, loving every minute of it. When the moment came to quit, which appeared unbidden in the middle of a smoke, I smoked that last cigarette down, stamped it out, took all the brand-new unopened cartons of cigs and all my ashtrays and marched them down to the dumpster. And I never looked back. Nor did she. I’m very proud of that accomplishment. Proud to have done something that Katharine had also accomplished.

I’ve always found it odd that such an independent, strong-willed, disciplined and intelligent woman could have spent so many years in a relationship with a married, Catholic alcoholic.  I’ve lived with an alcoholic and it’s not a pretty life. That seems to be the only thing she did that appeared to go against her grain, and yet it is what she is most remembered for. For being part of Tracy & Hepburn. That she loved him is apparent. But as anyone who has danced with the dark side of booze knows, love doesn’t figure into it. As the song says, “What’s love got to do with it?” We diverged, Katharine and I on this point. I left my alcoholic behind me and spent my life with a non-drinker instead.

She grew old as I would like to, strong, independent, healthy, engaged. I haven’t got her resolve, her inner strength, her steely discipline which allowed her to swim in the frigid Atlantic ocean every day until an accident sidelined her. This is the biggest difference between us. I’m not comfortable with being sweaty. I lack discipline in many ways. I don’t honour my body the way she did, keeping it limber and strong. She was raised to do so by her physician father and emancipated mother. Their big brood of a family were happy, competitive, athletic and healthy. I was raised by two lethargic smoking fat people one of which died young and the other wasted away into her disintegrating shell of a body until she took her own life with an overdose of morphine. Not the way I want to do it. Katharine kept active and ate healthily. It toward this end I aspire. I  try to do this every day, without much success, I’ll grant you. But it is my goal. To do what Katharine Hepburn would do.

Lyrics of the 60’s by TRANSLATOR GIRL!! July 16, 2009

Ah, the 60’s, when rebellion, drug-taking, free love, flower power, tie-die, bad hair, messy beards and dumb clothes were the norm. Music was everything to young people then. It played at the centre of the movements, the social scene and remained as the soul of the summer of love. The music was great. It was new, different, wild, crazy, far-out and groovy.  Apparently writing music and painting album cover art was helped along by taking drugs, but writing lyrics…not so much. Here are a few incomprehensible gems from the early days of rock and roll.

Creedence and a really big bong. For the younger generations, these guys were hard-core rockers. Their wild appearance frightened parents and excited lust in young girls. Seriously.

 

Green River

by

Creedence Clearwater Revival*

 

*the band was first called The Blue Velvets and then the Golliwogs. They clearly had nomenclature issues.

 

Click on the links to hear the song while you read along. 

 

Green River – Creedence Clearwater Revival 

“Well…

Take me back down where pooh won’t go y’all

Let me remember things…I don’t know.

Stomping it along to a catfish fight

walking along the river road at night

barefoot girls dancing in the moonlight

I can hear the bullfrog calling me “yomp!”

Wandering in my robe still hanging through the trees

I’d love to kick my feelings down into shallow waters

shoo fly begging get home through to mother

pick up a prayer rug stick it across the green river

Well…

Lava accordians don’t spend my days though

Back up the riders on a cross town goat walk

Old coat Julia you took me over

Said you want to find a rare fish this morning

and if you get a loan, come on over green river

Well…

 

  

 

 

 

 

Jumping Jack Flash

by

The Rolling Stones

(Pay particular attention to the subtle Dickensian-inspired lyrics ”I was born” and the areas which resonate with the highest form of  semioticism such as “Yep Yep Yep Yep Yep Yep Yep Yep”. I can’t hear that without getting a little misty at the beauty and awesome power of the written word.)

 

Rolling stones – jumping jack flash

   

Yep yep yep

Yep yep

Yep yep yep

Watch it!

You were born in a cloth by a hurricane

And I’d bowled at the mall in the driving rain

Well it’s all right yea,  in fact its aghast

Well it’s all right  I’m jumping jack flashed

It a ghastly gas gassed

Yeah-yeah!  ma-ma!

I was raised by a tubeless billy hag

I was schooled where a sometimes blue rug across my back

But its all right now

In fast it’s aghast

But its all right I’m jumping jack flashed

It’s a ghastly gas gassed

Yea yea.

Yea. yea.

Yea . Alright. Whoo-hoo. Watch  it!

Iwas drowned I was washed up every old day

I fell  down with my feet and saw they splayed

Yea yea yea I fell down and my tune for the frog  a real gay

Yea and I clown with a bike spike through my head

But its all right now

In fast it’s aghast

But its all right I’m  jumping jack flashed

It’s a ghastly gas gassed

Hey there. Ma-ma!

Jumping jack flashed!

Jumping jack flashed!

Jumping jack flashed!

Jumping jack flashed!

Jumping jack flashed!

God the 60’s were embarrassing!

 

  

 

 

Wooly Bully

by

Sam the Sham and the Pharoahs

(Sam Samudio, centre, went on to write two songs in the soundtrack of the 1982 Jack Nicholson film, The Border. I didn’t see the film, was it wooly?)

Blip.fm | Wooly Bully

“Uno dos one two tres quatro

Hey!

Wooly Bully.

Watch it now.

Watch it!

Hey, girl.

Watch it!

Mighty gold Hattie

About a thing she saw

A dude with a big horn

And a wooly dog

Wooly Bully.

Wooly Bully.

Wooly Bully.

Wooly Bully.

Wolly Bully.

Mighty gold Hattie

Lets us take no chance

Let’s not be all severed

Come and learn to dance.

Wooly Bully.

Wooly Bully.

Wooly Bully.

Wooly Bully.

Wolly Bully.

Watch it now!

Watch it!

Watch it!

Watch it!

(Screaming)

Right right nose!

Mighty gold Hattie 

has a thing to do

give it to someone and rip it

Wooly wool with you.

Wooly Bully.

Wooly Bully.

Wooly Bully.

Wooly Bully.

Wolly Bully.

Watch it now!

Watch it!

Watch it!

You got it!

You got it!

You got it!

Why I follow Twitter (35 smiles) July 6, 2009

Say what you will about Twitter, your experience is only as good as the people you follow. For some reason, it takes a good try to get Twitter. I disliked it at first. Then I tried again and fell deeply into an obsession with it. I stumbled onto some wonderfully inteligent, funny, profound people. I follow a stand-up-comedian in Atlanta, a beautiful poet and author from L.A., a Producer on the show House, a television comedy writer whose hobby is being a Roller Derby girl, a lesbian with her own theme song, a high-priced brand marketing guru, a gardener, and many writers. Here are 35 samples of Twitter conversations, some of which are mine. Hey, I amuse me! Click on the links, they`re often gems!

 

 

1. On July 4th Matociquala (a scifi author) said “Muppet Independence Day http://bit.ly/oJ6XL ”
2. BrilliantOrange quipped “Looking forward to Palin’s book, “My Journey, as Told To A Guy Who’s Like A Writer And Such.”
3. dwineman summed up by saying ”All kidding aside, you’ve got to admire Palin’s ohscrewitiveness.”
4. chrisberez said “Hitler finds out about Michael Jackson. Honestly, I don’t think this meme will ever get old. http://bit.ly/HDJla “
5. pagecrusher wrote “Today is already one of those days. I feel like e.e. cummings with a stuck CAPS LOCK.”
6. kariedwards said “What’ve I been up to? Not much, really. But I got an email from a Nigerian price the other day, so I have that going for me.”
7. I said “It’s ok, I think I just went on the floor.” in response to CasperMcFadden who said “Check this video out-hilarious-Total Eclipse of the Heart http://bit.ly.26GUs
8. I said “I don’t ask much from a relationship. Just one thing, really. Everything! http://blip.fm/~94vts
9. badbanana suggested “Do boxers have to wear shorts? Because a nice pair of slacks could class things up a bit.”
10. I said “Deskcatloves to play with his catnip toys. Bedcat loves to hide his capnip toys under the sofa. The yin and yank-his-tail of cats.”
11. I said “Ok, you mourners, listen up. Farrah was not an angle. She was on Charlie’s Angels. An angle is a bit of geometry. She was mostly curves.”
12. badbanana said “The problem with throwing a Hulk tantrum at work is the inevitable walk to the parking garage without a shirt.”
13. badbanana reasoned “Hey, let he who hasn’t blown off his governor’s duties to get a little Argentinian tail on Father’s Day cast the first stone.”
14. SaraHess commented “I love this little essay: http://is.gd/1aU3R Reminds me of Updike’s “Packed Dirt, Churchgoing, A Dying Cat, A Traded Car.”
15. badbanana said “These Father’s Day cards are cute, but I specifically asked for the hands of my leafblowing neighbor.”
16. cgreathouse(the poet) writes “The guy working out with the punching bags is wearing a t-shirt that says “Who is John Galt?” That’s kinda hot.
17. I wrote (blearily) “3:30 a.m. to bed, perchance to dream. Also perchance to wake of screaming “Whore!” at the neighbourhood. That’s the chance you take.”
18. badbanana said “Sometimes I just want to give it all up and become a handsome billionaire.”
19. I wrote “Stand Back!” she cried. “Don’t make me write a well-worded stern letter!” #crapsuperpowers.”
20. badbanana surmised “I’m starting to think my lack of wealth and power is holding me back.”
21. He also said “The jobless rate is now high enough to crave Taco Bell.”
22. midnightstories said “The only downside to retinal and cochlear implants wasnt’ being too connected – that was great – it was the hackers and their trojan porn.”
23. Fritinancy scolded “It’s ‘bated’ breath (short for ‘abated’), not ‘baited’ — unless you’re a cheese-eating cat.”
24. midnightstories wrote “The moon – pocked, dull and lifeless – follow vibrant Earth, stealing light for chances to be, just for the night, the stuff of dreams.”
25. OrangeXW said “Pride and Prejudice retold Twitter-style aka Pride and Twitterverse is brilliant! http://snurl.com/in3kg
26. I said “Hubby saw me frowning at the contents of the fridge. “What can I make you?” he asked. I thought about it. “How about a skinny millionaire?”
27. SaraHess wrote “Speaking of  GQ, this new Rumsfeld article gives me that switched-on-the-lights-and-found-roaches-in-my-kitchen-sink feeling.”
28. god said (yes, god Twitters) ”It kind of sucks (for me) that the words omnipotent and impotent sound so similar. I really have to enunciate.”
29. I concluded “Perhaps Bush’s recession was a plot to get rid of his rival the “liberal press”. They’re dropping from newspapers like puppy urine.”
30. SaraHess wrote “Having the glass of wine I’ve been waiting for like Marmee waited for Father to get home from the War.”
31. badbanana (about Swine Flu outbreaks) quipped ”The pigs hate our freedom.”
32. I theorized “If women had beards, there would be streaks, braids, ribbons, clips, perms, trims, conditioners, highlights, face mousse, stylists, scents, sparkle, colours and face fashion. If men had cleavage, they’d use it to hold their beer.”
33. Fritinancy reported “Sighted in Peet’s on Peidmont Ave. 70ish guy in NRA Life Member cap reading  Kali: The Feminine Life-Force.”
34. crisgray joked  “Four women and two lesbians discussing male orgasm at a party. Like listening to the blind talk about Picasso.”
35. I concluded “My parents final resting place is in South Park. Seriously. Let the irony ring forth.”

English anyone? June 15, 2009

To begin with, I’ll say that my mom was a teacher. She taught 5th & 6th grade English and later to her horror, what they called “new math” to 6th graders.  She taught English in the old school style heavy on spelling tests, grammar lessons, diagramming sentences (something that still bemuses me today) and as a result kids learned how to use English in a sophisticated, educated way, even if they did revert immediately back to the way their friends & family spoke. They had it in their minds somewhere and could recognize a misspelled word or a questionable “is it Tim and I or Tim and me” situation. She had a trick for that, by the way, that I’ll pass on to you in the hopes the people everywhere will learn how to do it properly. ha!

You take the sentence in question, for instance…

Beth wants to go to the store with Tim and (I/me).

To figure out if you use “I” or “me” in that sentence, cover up the other person (Tim and) and see what that sounds like with both “I” and “me”.

1. Beth wants to go to the store with_____ I.

2. Beth wants to go to the store with _____ me.

The second one is correct. You wouldn’t say “Beth wants to go to the store with I.” It works the same if you add the other person back in.

Beth wants to go to the store with Tim and me.

There you have it, an easy-peasy way to figure out the use of  I or me.

But I digress. The reason I am blogging about this is that I just heard a newscaster say it improperly. Newscasters used to be  absolute perfection in grammar and pronunciation. If Walter Cronkite said it, you knew that was the right way to say it.  Nowadays, ignorance reigns supreme. (Yes, I realized I just said “Nowadays” and am complaining about kids today. I am clearly OLD.) But I can’t just let it go without a whimper. The English language is too wonderful. Too full of glorious words. It is the language of writers because it is the most expressive of all the languages, has the most words and the most beautiful raw materials with which to create written beauty. That’s why my newsletter is a Weekly Word where I take a word not commonly in use and explain its meaning, the way it came to be, evolving like a life-form from Greek to Latin to Old French and finally emerging into English often centuries ago only to wither away to the tiny, brittle, misspelled language used in our culture today. I take these old words out, dust them off and romp around a little with them. www.LeNewsletter.com click on archives to see past issues or sign up to get a Saturday morning Word of the Week sent to you.

There is a whole generation of people who weren’t taught this way. They were taught with Phonics which made it easy to teach and theoretically to read. However, it made it near impossible to learn to spell.  Common mistakes that used to happen only to the uneducated or stupid people now occur in otherwise well-educated, professional people. (your/you’re/yore- to/too/two-there/they’re/their etc.) A whole generation of people arose who don’t write well, spell well, use language well thanks to misguided teaching techniques. Those who were lucky enough to have been taught English by teachers like my mother find it hard to accept the rampant mistakes the generations of badly-taught people make. Those people often resent other generations’  insistence and obsession with grammar rules. I don’t know where the debate ended. I’m not sure what kids are being taught today. I have heard that people can get though high school without being able to read, so it may not have improved a whole lot. But the teachers keep going on strike on a regular basis. Granted, teaching isn’t easy. I went on one field trip with my mother’s class and came out of it twitching and drooling and thinking teachers ought to get paid more than anyone. As long as they teach.

Someone, somewhere should be instilling the fascinating use of language to young people. There should be Words classes. There should be spelling tests, grammar tests, more literature classes, classes teaching people to write, to punctuate, to express themselves in the written word. Writers who do it well should be studied and celebrated. Language should be treated as an art form, because it is. There should be superheros who are writers whose pens are mightier than swords, whose wit is faster than a speeding bullet, whose prose lulls villains into submission. They could wear capes with punctuation on them. Tom Hanks should make movies featuring them. Kids should dress like them at Halloween.

It is dwindling, our language. Its words are fading into the past, our vocabulary is shrinking at an alarming rate and that fact wounds me. I once attended a writers workshop at an international writers’ conference where they recommended never using words that people might have to look up in a dictionary! This pandering to the lowest common denominator is reprehensible and responsible for the decline of our vocabulary. I prefer writers who frequently use words I don’t know, it expands my horizon, it improves my vocabulary, it makes me a better person who knows more. When people go on self-improvement kicks why don’t they add language skills to the list in front of do more ab-crunches and clean out the closets?

I am encouraged by book clubs. I am excited to see people aspiring to write. I think socnet sites like Twitter and Facebook give everyone a forum with which to take their thoughts and put them into words and put it out there for the world to read. It’s like instant publishing. Everyone can be an author. Seeing so many people using words correctly might persuade those who do it incorrectly to adjust their thinking beyond their own experience with language. I know I’ve learned a thing or two to better hone my writing and language use.  I still have a lot to learn. But I do learn. I do try. I strive to be a better user of the language. Perhaps Twitter and those written language movements that follow it will become the saviour of the English language. As Jean-Luc Piccard used to say, “Make it so.”

  

 

A woman in a bad mood? Oh-no!!! June 9, 2009

 

I recently Twittered about being in a bad mood. That’s because I was in a bad mood. With me, what you see is what you get. Once someone very astute told me my best trait and my worst trait were the same. That I was always honest. Sometimes I’m in a happy mood, more often than or at least on par with my “bad” moods. What happened after my bad mood confession on Twitter was an unexpected deluge of mail in all forms. All of which said the same thing, “Stop it!”. Apparently a woman is not allowed to have a bad mood. Or so says the many women of my acquaintance. Interestingly, I got no mail from a man telling me to cheer up. Men get it. But then I’ve always been more attuned to men than women. I find men so easy, so free from subterfuge, so what you see is what you get. I like that about them. With women it’s a rocky road of rules that apparently they all learned in the 7th grade when I was off sick. Let’s look at the kinds of messages I got in response to my bad mood tweet.

 

I got quite a few orders.

• “Smile!”, 
• “Cheer up!”
• “Decide to be happy!”

Since when was happy our only emotion and our only choice? Is it all so black and white, good and evil, happy or not-happy? Women aren’t cardboard cut-outs of human beings with only the pretty smiley face showing and nothing else, or are we? It seems there is a great deal of resistance out there to my being a woman of diverse moods. So what does that say about the perhaps unspoken rules we women have regarding our own behaviour? I’ll bet you anything that each one of the people who wrote to me would deny having such latent Victorian notions as “Women must present a pleasing countenance to cheer up her hard-working man and be a cheerful and up-lifting presence to others.” and would say they simply wanted me to feel better. I’ve done it myself. It’s automatic. But why? Why should we appear to feel better if it isn’t what we feel?

What is so terrible about a woman in a bad mood?

People’s discontent is what drives society forward. Anger fuels change. “Negative” emotions engage us, purge us, inspire us and I think this is the kicker, make it uncomfortable for some to be around. Seeing another woman being cranky or complaining might shed light on how often some women swallow their own emotions, their harsh words, their complaints. It might make some women uneasy because they believe the Leave it to Beaver ideals of the happy woman (in pearls and high heels) or the beer commercials that showcase happy, happy people most of whom are ordinary men surrounded by happy, pretty, busty blondes. This is how people should be, these images tell us. This is how you know you are on the right track, if you are happy all the time. Here’s a dose of reality. NO ONE IS HAPPY ALL THE TIME. And that’s perfectly fine.  Let’s see what else people felt compelled to send me. 

I got music, one woman sent me a wonderful version of Michael Buble crooning “Feeling Good” which, while not an order to feel good, musically pointed out the advantages of  it. This was the most welcome of messages, by the way. I love that song!

I got scolded.   “Everyone has bad moods but they don’t take them out in public. We control ourselves.” We being women, I’m assuming. Bad Victorian housewife! Shame on you!

 

 

I got “coached” “Pick yourself up, dust yourself off and start all over again!” Uh, this wasn’t a prize fight. Just a bad mood. “Start all over?” Did I just get the “Go back to “Go” collect the $200″ card? “Don’t give up!” Apparently surrender is not an option.

I got quoted at. A great number of women relied on the words of others (of men mostly) which all conveyed the advantages to be had of shutting up and smiling when life “gets us down”. The don’t-rock-the-boat was a common theme. Be a cheerful woman, own your inner “glow”,  let a smile be your umbrella, don’t worry, be happy.

Not one person wrote to say “I hear you, honey!” or “Howl at the moon, darlin’ sometimes you gotta.”

 My tweet seems to have touched off a buried land-mine from a long ago war waged at women. In our past, and woefully sometimes in our present, women and children were expected to be no more than accessories in a man’s life. Pretty, delicate, fragile, stylish, happy, quiet dolls with coordinating outfits. Remnants of these attitudes still lurk in our society in etiquette,  mores and behaviour. When men express a “negative” mood people don’t rain down orders for them to “Feel better now or stay in your room.” When funny-man @badbanana on Twitter said “I’m beginning to think that my lack of wealth and power is holding me back”, people laughed, at least I know I did. I doubt anyone sent him instructions on how to “perk up” his mood like it was a pair of  breasts in a Playtex 18 hour bra. What I wrote that launched this avalanche of advice was “I’ve been in a barking lap-dog mood all day. When I connect with anyone I bare my teeth and yap at them. Must be the dog days of summer.” I don’t know if anyone laughed, but it sure seemed to hit a nerve.

My husband doesn’t have a problem with my having a variety of moods. When I’m in a barking lap-dog mood, he laughs and barks back, literally. We bark at each other. It’s cathartic. Confuses the neighbors since we don’t have dogs, but it airs out the mood.  He gives me a chance to vent all the things that are making me cranky and I do the same for him. We share all our moods. I think that makes ours healthier than a lot of marriages. I mean we’ve been married eighteen years and have yet to have a big fight or call each other names so that should tell you something. I know, it should make me happy, right?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   Because sometimes you gotta.