Steven Harper's Blog, page 38
April 11, 2021
The Problem with Jaws
I recently re-read JAWS, by Peter Benchley. I haven't read it in probably thirty-five years. I remember that when I was a teenager, the book fascinated me.
As an adult, I found it . . . less fascinating.
(Even though the book came out 47 years ago, I'll post a SPOILER WARNING.)
The book hasn't aged well, though I also found quite a lot of stuff in the book that really should have disqualified it from best-seller status even in 1974, when it first came out. I came to the conclusion that the book succeeded purely on the merits of its idea, and the actual writing had little or nothing to do with it.
Why? Well...
The book is supposed to be a thriller, but the pacing is way, way off. It starts with a bang--the famous scene when the shark devours Christy Watkins. After that, though, the suspense dies off miserably. Nothing happens for chapter after chapter. The main story is the bickering between our hero Brody and the town council about whether or not Brody should close the beaches. It's slow and dull, and could have been cut to a single chapter. Later, the shark attacks young Alex Kintner, and the book picks up again--and then we slide back into petty town bickering.
When Brody, Quint (the shark catcher), and Matt Hooper (the biologist) finally--FINALLY--get out on the ocean to hunt the shark, Benchley repeatedly builds suspense, then kills it. The trio encounters the shark, fight it for a while, then goes back home. This happens THREE TIMES. The final confrontation between Quint, Brody, and the shark ends up being rushed--and anti-climactic. Quint has stabbed and shot the shark several times, and it's dying by the time it sinks the boat, you see. Brody is in the water, The shark is coming toward Brody, jaw open, and it . . . dies. It sinks on its own and disappears. Anti-climactic. Not only that, THE PROTAGONIST DOESN'T SOLVE THE PROBLEM. Brody does nothing on the shark hunt but ladle chum and watch Quint and Hooper fight the shark. He's a bystander in his own story.
And then we have the characters. Boy, oh boy, oh boy.
Brody is, frankly, boring. He's a sheriff with a wife and . . . that's really it. He has no hobbies, doesn't read, doesn't spend time with his kids, does nothing around the house, and treats his wife Ellen almost like property. He's flat and bland, and I really didn't care if he lived or died.
Matt Hooper is similarly dull. He's the stereotypical good-looking, rich guy. He has a one-time assignation with Ellen, and when they start talking about their sexual fantasies (as a way of flirting), his dialogue becomes cringe-worthy and painful. So does Ellen's, for that matter. Benchley doesn't go at all into Hooper's reactions over the affair. Hooper does only two things in the book--he tries to study the shark, and he has an affair with Ellen Brody. That's basically it. I couldn't even get a good visual image of him, and I realized it's because Benchley doesn't describe him, except to say he's handsome and has blue eyes. Meanwhile, Ellen is described several times in lush detail, and Benchley uses the embarrassingly-bad trope of having her stand naked in front of a mirror so he can have an excuse to have her think about everything from her hips to her hair to her nipples. None of the male characters get similar treatment, I must add.
Side note: the subplot with Ellen's affair falls utterly flat. Ellen is bored. Brody is uncaring. We see no real stakes about their marriage because neither one of them seems to care much about it. Brody only becomes concerned about Ellen when he suspects she's cheating. He never thinks about how much he loves her, and he only actually says it to her once, while she's sleeping. Although Brody does a lot of self-reflection about his motives for hunting the shark, he never once reflects about his own marriage, how the problem might be that he has failed to maintain his relationship with his wife, how he treats her like a housekeeper and nanny rather than a wife and partner. No, he gets pissed off at Hooper and launches a half-assed investigation to figure out if Hooper and Ellen were together on a particular afternoon. To top it off, this subplot is never resolved.
Quint, the shark hunter, gets short shrift as well. We know NOTHING about him, not even whether Quint is his first or his last name. We don't know why he wants to hunt sharks, why he's so callous about fish and fishing, or why he's so focused on money. (Money is, in fact, the only thing that motivates him in the book.) The movie makes him the survivor of a terrible navy accident in which his crew mates are devoured by sharks, sending him down the path of shark hunter, but that's nowhere to be seen in the book.
Speaking of Ellen--here we have another flat character. She only exists in the book as Brody's Wife. She has almost no life outside this. She seems to volunteer at the hospital, but we only see it once, and then only when she ditches work so she can have her fling with Hooper. She fixes drinks and cooks supper and argues with Brody and picks the kids up from activities. She's bored a lot (someone needs to tell Pete that bored characters are themselves boring), and she's unhappy with her marriage. In other words, she's the stereotype of a 70s housewife.
Actually, ALL the women are especially flat. Pete clearly hasn't MET any women--or he never paid attention to them. All, and I do mean ALL, the female characters exist solely in the context of their relationships with men. The entire conflict surrounding Ellen is about her unhappy marriage and her affair with Hooper. The shark eats Christy Watkins because she goes down to the beach to have sex with her boyfriend. Two of the town councilors have wives who make brief appearances, and one is described as a wholesome woman who sits at home doing needlepoint in front of the television. The other is described as so shy that she can't barely bring herself to make a phone call, and when her husband tells her he intends to uproot them and move away, she murmurs, "Whatever you think is best, dear." The mayor's secretary talks to Brody, and when he fails to ask her about her dating life, she prompts him to do so. Daisy Wicker, an acquaintance whom Ellen invites to a dinner party, has no personality. Benchley has multiple characters jokingly point this fact out. Ellen tries half-heartedly to fix her up with Hooper, but she turns out to be a lesbian, so he can't date her. Every female character in this book is there to have a relationship with a man.
I don't know why Benchley bothers to make Brody and Ellen parents, either. Unlike the movie, the book barely mentions the Brody sons, and the kids mysteriously vanish during important scenes. Before the dinner party scene, for example, Benchley literally has the boys sitting on their beds in their room waiting to be summoned for supper--and at the party, they're never referred to even once. They are never put into danger (unlike the movie). They have no character development, or even character. The lack is jarring, and it would have been better if Benchley had made the Brodys childless.
Every character in this book is also corrupt in some way. Ellen cheats on her husband. Brody gives up his principles and gives in to the council. The mayor is in the with mob. The newspaper editor is a glutton. The teenaged boys at the beach grind their pelvises into the sand while they watch girls who sometimes deliberately expose themselves to said boys. Christy Watkins has drunken sex on the beach with a guy she's only known for a day (and sexually active women always need to be punished, while their male partners do not). Alex Kintner manipulates his mother. Alex's mother lets him go into the water because she wants some quiet time (and how dare she). Quint is only interested in hunting the shark for money. Hooper wants to study the shark for personal benefit, not to help the town, and he sleeps with Ellen. A family of fat tourists complain to Brody that they drove two hours to Amity and they haven't seen the shark eat anyone. I know it's a trope that characters in a horror or suspense novel are supposed to be deserving of their fate, but since we don't care about these people, we also don't care when the shark eats one of them.
The book ends where the movie does--with Brody kicking his way toward shore. There's no reunion with his wife and sons, no final resolution with Ellen about their marriage, nothing. And why should there be? Those things are clearly unimportant.
The movie is superior to the novel in every way. Better character development, better plotting, better suspense. The books is yet another example of a crappy book somehow making its way onto the best-seller lists.
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As an adult, I found it . . . less fascinating.
(Even though the book came out 47 years ago, I'll post a SPOILER WARNING.)
The book hasn't aged well, though I also found quite a lot of stuff in the book that really should have disqualified it from best-seller status even in 1974, when it first came out. I came to the conclusion that the book succeeded purely on the merits of its idea, and the actual writing had little or nothing to do with it.
Why? Well...
The book is supposed to be a thriller, but the pacing is way, way off. It starts with a bang--the famous scene when the shark devours Christy Watkins. After that, though, the suspense dies off miserably. Nothing happens for chapter after chapter. The main story is the bickering between our hero Brody and the town council about whether or not Brody should close the beaches. It's slow and dull, and could have been cut to a single chapter. Later, the shark attacks young Alex Kintner, and the book picks up again--and then we slide back into petty town bickering.
When Brody, Quint (the shark catcher), and Matt Hooper (the biologist) finally--FINALLY--get out on the ocean to hunt the shark, Benchley repeatedly builds suspense, then kills it. The trio encounters the shark, fight it for a while, then goes back home. This happens THREE TIMES. The final confrontation between Quint, Brody, and the shark ends up being rushed--and anti-climactic. Quint has stabbed and shot the shark several times, and it's dying by the time it sinks the boat, you see. Brody is in the water, The shark is coming toward Brody, jaw open, and it . . . dies. It sinks on its own and disappears. Anti-climactic. Not only that, THE PROTAGONIST DOESN'T SOLVE THE PROBLEM. Brody does nothing on the shark hunt but ladle chum and watch Quint and Hooper fight the shark. He's a bystander in his own story.
And then we have the characters. Boy, oh boy, oh boy.
Brody is, frankly, boring. He's a sheriff with a wife and . . . that's really it. He has no hobbies, doesn't read, doesn't spend time with his kids, does nothing around the house, and treats his wife Ellen almost like property. He's flat and bland, and I really didn't care if he lived or died.
Matt Hooper is similarly dull. He's the stereotypical good-looking, rich guy. He has a one-time assignation with Ellen, and when they start talking about their sexual fantasies (as a way of flirting), his dialogue becomes cringe-worthy and painful. So does Ellen's, for that matter. Benchley doesn't go at all into Hooper's reactions over the affair. Hooper does only two things in the book--he tries to study the shark, and he has an affair with Ellen Brody. That's basically it. I couldn't even get a good visual image of him, and I realized it's because Benchley doesn't describe him, except to say he's handsome and has blue eyes. Meanwhile, Ellen is described several times in lush detail, and Benchley uses the embarrassingly-bad trope of having her stand naked in front of a mirror so he can have an excuse to have her think about everything from her hips to her hair to her nipples. None of the male characters get similar treatment, I must add.
Side note: the subplot with Ellen's affair falls utterly flat. Ellen is bored. Brody is uncaring. We see no real stakes about their marriage because neither one of them seems to care much about it. Brody only becomes concerned about Ellen when he suspects she's cheating. He never thinks about how much he loves her, and he only actually says it to her once, while she's sleeping. Although Brody does a lot of self-reflection about his motives for hunting the shark, he never once reflects about his own marriage, how the problem might be that he has failed to maintain his relationship with his wife, how he treats her like a housekeeper and nanny rather than a wife and partner. No, he gets pissed off at Hooper and launches a half-assed investigation to figure out if Hooper and Ellen were together on a particular afternoon. To top it off, this subplot is never resolved.
Quint, the shark hunter, gets short shrift as well. We know NOTHING about him, not even whether Quint is his first or his last name. We don't know why he wants to hunt sharks, why he's so callous about fish and fishing, or why he's so focused on money. (Money is, in fact, the only thing that motivates him in the book.) The movie makes him the survivor of a terrible navy accident in which his crew mates are devoured by sharks, sending him down the path of shark hunter, but that's nowhere to be seen in the book.
Speaking of Ellen--here we have another flat character. She only exists in the book as Brody's Wife. She has almost no life outside this. She seems to volunteer at the hospital, but we only see it once, and then only when she ditches work so she can have her fling with Hooper. She fixes drinks and cooks supper and argues with Brody and picks the kids up from activities. She's bored a lot (someone needs to tell Pete that bored characters are themselves boring), and she's unhappy with her marriage. In other words, she's the stereotype of a 70s housewife.
Actually, ALL the women are especially flat. Pete clearly hasn't MET any women--or he never paid attention to them. All, and I do mean ALL, the female characters exist solely in the context of their relationships with men. The entire conflict surrounding Ellen is about her unhappy marriage and her affair with Hooper. The shark eats Christy Watkins because she goes down to the beach to have sex with her boyfriend. Two of the town councilors have wives who make brief appearances, and one is described as a wholesome woman who sits at home doing needlepoint in front of the television. The other is described as so shy that she can't barely bring herself to make a phone call, and when her husband tells her he intends to uproot them and move away, she murmurs, "Whatever you think is best, dear." The mayor's secretary talks to Brody, and when he fails to ask her about her dating life, she prompts him to do so. Daisy Wicker, an acquaintance whom Ellen invites to a dinner party, has no personality. Benchley has multiple characters jokingly point this fact out. Ellen tries half-heartedly to fix her up with Hooper, but she turns out to be a lesbian, so he can't date her. Every female character in this book is there to have a relationship with a man.
I don't know why Benchley bothers to make Brody and Ellen parents, either. Unlike the movie, the book barely mentions the Brody sons, and the kids mysteriously vanish during important scenes. Before the dinner party scene, for example, Benchley literally has the boys sitting on their beds in their room waiting to be summoned for supper--and at the party, they're never referred to even once. They are never put into danger (unlike the movie). They have no character development, or even character. The lack is jarring, and it would have been better if Benchley had made the Brodys childless.
Every character in this book is also corrupt in some way. Ellen cheats on her husband. Brody gives up his principles and gives in to the council. The mayor is in the with mob. The newspaper editor is a glutton. The teenaged boys at the beach grind their pelvises into the sand while they watch girls who sometimes deliberately expose themselves to said boys. Christy Watkins has drunken sex on the beach with a guy she's only known for a day (and sexually active women always need to be punished, while their male partners do not). Alex Kintner manipulates his mother. Alex's mother lets him go into the water because she wants some quiet time (and how dare she). Quint is only interested in hunting the shark for money. Hooper wants to study the shark for personal benefit, not to help the town, and he sleeps with Ellen. A family of fat tourists complain to Brody that they drove two hours to Amity and they haven't seen the shark eat anyone. I know it's a trope that characters in a horror or suspense novel are supposed to be deserving of their fate, but since we don't care about these people, we also don't care when the shark eats one of them.
The book ends where the movie does--with Brody kicking his way toward shore. There's no reunion with his wife and sons, no final resolution with Ellen about their marriage, nothing. And why should there be? Those things are clearly unimportant.
The movie is superior to the novel in every way. Better character development, better plotting, better suspense. The books is yet another example of a crappy book somehow making its way onto the best-seller lists.
comments
The Great Pandemic Weight Loss Campaign Update 2
As of this morning, I've lost 17 pounds.
I celebrated with a breakfast of French toast made with Egg Beaters and low-calorie bread. Interesting, the toast puffed up in the frying pan, something I've never seen with regular eggs and bread.
The increased exercise continues. I run or work out in VR six days a week for an hour or even an hour and a half at a time. My resting heart rate is now 45. My clothes are noticeably looser.
I'm well on track for my first goal, which is lose 20 pounds May 1. I'm also on track for my second goal, which is to lose 30 pounds (total) by June 1.
Go me!
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I celebrated with a breakfast of French toast made with Egg Beaters and low-calorie bread. Interesting, the toast puffed up in the frying pan, something I've never seen with regular eggs and bread.
The increased exercise continues. I run or work out in VR six days a week for an hour or even an hour and a half at a time. My resting heart rate is now 45. My clothes are noticeably looser.
I'm well on track for my first goal, which is lose 20 pounds May 1. I'm also on track for my second goal, which is to lose 30 pounds (total) by June 1.
Go me!
comments
April 3, 2021
Lake Living: the Lady
I did it at last. I hired a cleaning lady.
It was halfway on impulse. I noticed a listing on our local social media board from a woman who was looking for cleaning work. Two of her clients had passed away, and she had two openings in her schedule. I decided to call her. We arranged for an interview.
K--- arrived, had a look around the condo, and gave me her rate to clean it. She charges by the job, not by the hour, which makes sense--she doesn't have to worry about being accused of slowing down to pad out her hours. She said she come by every other week for dusting, sweeping, mopping, cleaning surfaces, and so on. I found her rates reasonable, and she gave me references to call.
After the interview, I called her references. The first one gave her a glowing reference. The second lady was . . . well . . . a snob. She told me in a patrician tone that K--- does good work, especially because, the reference said, "I want my floors cleaned on hands and knees, and she does that" and then she said, "I can't give her a perfect reference because she talks, and I don't know if she's concentrating on the work or not when she does that." And I thought, "Hands and knees? What is this, 'Cinderella'?"
"Does she clean the house properly?" I asked.
"She does," the reference replied curtly. "And she doesn't steal and she's trustworthy. I've had a lot of cleaning women over the years--"
I can see why, I thought.
"--and it's hard to find good ones. She's a good one. Even if she talks."
I thanked her, hung up, and called K--- to ask her to start that week.
She arrived on the appointed day and whirled through the condo in a tornado of dust cloths and a thunderstorm of cleaning fluids. Max was home, and she bustled into his room to change the linens, dust, and vacuum. Later, Max said, "She cleaned my whole room in ten minutes! It takes me an hour to do all that!"
I refrained from responding, "Because you complain more than you clean."
The commotion freaked out the cats, who vanished for the duration. K--- whipped the condo into shape, announced she was done, accepted her electronic payment, and left, trailing little fairy sparkles in her wake.
Cleaning is a skill (anyone can learn it) enhanced by talent (some people are naturally better at than others), and K--- has both. She's better at it than I am, that's for sure. I'm no slouch at it, but K--- has it down to a science. Our place is cleaner than it ever was. Interestingly, it =stays= cleaner, because after K--- has gone, we're reluctant to mess anything up.
And, best of all, =I= don't have to clean anymore.
comments
It was halfway on impulse. I noticed a listing on our local social media board from a woman who was looking for cleaning work. Two of her clients had passed away, and she had two openings in her schedule. I decided to call her. We arranged for an interview.
K--- arrived, had a look around the condo, and gave me her rate to clean it. She charges by the job, not by the hour, which makes sense--she doesn't have to worry about being accused of slowing down to pad out her hours. She said she come by every other week for dusting, sweeping, mopping, cleaning surfaces, and so on. I found her rates reasonable, and she gave me references to call.
After the interview, I called her references. The first one gave her a glowing reference. The second lady was . . . well . . . a snob. She told me in a patrician tone that K--- does good work, especially because, the reference said, "I want my floors cleaned on hands and knees, and she does that" and then she said, "I can't give her a perfect reference because she talks, and I don't know if she's concentrating on the work or not when she does that." And I thought, "Hands and knees? What is this, 'Cinderella'?"
"Does she clean the house properly?" I asked.
"She does," the reference replied curtly. "And she doesn't steal and she's trustworthy. I've had a lot of cleaning women over the years--"
I can see why, I thought.
"--and it's hard to find good ones. She's a good one. Even if she talks."
I thanked her, hung up, and called K--- to ask her to start that week.
She arrived on the appointed day and whirled through the condo in a tornado of dust cloths and a thunderstorm of cleaning fluids. Max was home, and she bustled into his room to change the linens, dust, and vacuum. Later, Max said, "She cleaned my whole room in ten minutes! It takes me an hour to do all that!"
I refrained from responding, "Because you complain more than you clean."
The commotion freaked out the cats, who vanished for the duration. K--- whipped the condo into shape, announced she was done, accepted her electronic payment, and left, trailing little fairy sparkles in her wake.
Cleaning is a skill (anyone can learn it) enhanced by talent (some people are naturally better at than others), and K--- has both. She's better at it than I am, that's for sure. I'm no slouch at it, but K--- has it down to a science. Our place is cleaner than it ever was. Interestingly, it =stays= cleaner, because after K--- has gone, we're reluctant to mess anything up.
And, best of all, =I= don't have to clean anymore.
comments
Michigan Law and the Pandemic
It always amazes me how many people think that something isn't legal unless it's specifically mentioned in the state or federal Constitution. It's simply not true. The laws have to meet Constitutional standards, but they don't have to be mentioned there. Lately, it's all these people claiming that the Michigan Department of Health and Human Services has no legal power to create or enforce behavior restrictions (such as mask-wearing or closing restaurants) during the pandemic. Look, folks--the three branches of our government passed laws that give DHHS the power to create and enforce restrictions. Just like the legislature passed laws that give the police the power to arrest your ass if you violate them.
By the above logic, the police, who aren't mentioned in the Constitution, have no legal power to write you a speeding ticket or arrest you for drunk driving, and judge has no power to throw you in jail. I'd love to see someone argue that in court!
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By the above logic, the police, who aren't mentioned in the Constitution, have no legal power to write you a speeding ticket or arrest you for drunk driving, and judge has no power to throw you in jail. I'd love to see someone argue that in court!
comments
March 22, 2021
Short Story Announcement
It can be announced! I have a short story coming out soon in the WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE from Zombies Need Brains. My story is set in near-future Detroit, and features an unusual hard-boiled detective who reluctantly takes on a case that threatens to destroy the world.
WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE:
What could possibly happen when two cultures meet for the first time?
In WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE, anything.
WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE presents fourteen original stories where two different societies intersect and deal with the aftermath of that meeting. Will the conflicting cultures merge and adapt and find peace? Or will they clash, unable to either accept their differences or acknowledge their commonalities? Who will survive when the last of the Fae battle a world-killing AI? What happens when a being who is part of a vast collective-consciousness is forced to face their own individuality? Can a werewolf ever break free of the unholy pact its fae creator has made with humanity? Will Earth really manage to commit the biggest and most egregious faux pas in history when it’s on the cusp of joining the Galactic Union? And why is it that two very different kinds of elves are angrily facing off at a simple dinner party?
Whether your taste runs to humor, horror, science fiction, or fantasy, the stories collected in this latest anthology from Zombies Need Brains and written by some of today’s hottest SF&F authors will delight, thrill, and terrify you. Join Christopher Leapock, Howard Andrew Jones, Gary Kloster, Louis Evans, Peter S. Drang, Esther Friesner, S.C. Butler, Nancy Holzner, Auston Habershaw, Violette Malan, Stephen Leigh, Alan Smale, Steven Harper, and Jordan Chase-Young as they delve into what may happen…WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE.
“The Erratics” by Christopher Leapock
“Brother of Swords” by Howard Andrew Jones
“Walls of Teeth and Iron” by Gary Kloster
“Faux Pas” by Louis Evans
“Darithian Life Cycle” by Peter S. Drang
“Seelie With a Kiss” by Esther Friesner
“What and Why” by S.C. Butler
“Melusina” by Nancy Holzner
“Malevolent Liberation of Pret” by Auston Habershaw
“Mercenary Code” by Violette Malan
“Deep Heart Inside” by Stephen Leigh
“Dogs of Babylon” by Alan Smale
“Eight Mile City” by Steven Harper
“How the Fae of Savernake Forest Fought the AI that Ate the World” by Jordan Chase-Young
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WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE:
What could possibly happen when two cultures meet for the first time?
In WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE, anything.
WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE presents fourteen original stories where two different societies intersect and deal with the aftermath of that meeting. Will the conflicting cultures merge and adapt and find peace? Or will they clash, unable to either accept their differences or acknowledge their commonalities? Who will survive when the last of the Fae battle a world-killing AI? What happens when a being who is part of a vast collective-consciousness is forced to face their own individuality? Can a werewolf ever break free of the unholy pact its fae creator has made with humanity? Will Earth really manage to commit the biggest and most egregious faux pas in history when it’s on the cusp of joining the Galactic Union? And why is it that two very different kinds of elves are angrily facing off at a simple dinner party?
Whether your taste runs to humor, horror, science fiction, or fantasy, the stories collected in this latest anthology from Zombies Need Brains and written by some of today’s hottest SF&F authors will delight, thrill, and terrify you. Join Christopher Leapock, Howard Andrew Jones, Gary Kloster, Louis Evans, Peter S. Drang, Esther Friesner, S.C. Butler, Nancy Holzner, Auston Habershaw, Violette Malan, Stephen Leigh, Alan Smale, Steven Harper, and Jordan Chase-Young as they delve into what may happen…WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE.
“The Erratics” by Christopher Leapock
“Brother of Swords” by Howard Andrew Jones
“Walls of Teeth and Iron” by Gary Kloster
“Faux Pas” by Louis Evans
“Darithian Life Cycle” by Peter S. Drang
“Seelie With a Kiss” by Esther Friesner
“What and Why” by S.C. Butler
“Melusina” by Nancy Holzner
“Malevolent Liberation of Pret” by Auston Habershaw
“Mercenary Code” by Violette Malan
“Deep Heart Inside” by Stephen Leigh
“Dogs of Babylon” by Alan Smale
“Eight Mile City” by Steven Harper
“How the Fae of Savernake Forest Fought the AI that Ate the World” by Jordan Chase-Young
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March 17, 2021
Lake Living: the Birds
A little more than a week ago, the lake was frozen solid. Then we got a spate of warm weather (in the 60s!), and it started to melt. Even before the ice disappeared, the birds were returning. Ducks and geese both huddled on the ice. Some seagulls dipped and swooped above like white kites.
Then, overnight, the ice vanished, as it if had never been.
Now, all the birds are back. It's a cacophony of spring singing out there. Redwing blackbirds trill in the reeds. A flock of ducks are quacking madly at a honking horde of geese. A pair of swans showed up this morning, and they're sliding back and forth across the water, opening up the summer cottage and checking for damage. All the birds are rushing around like little kids, shouting and playing and demanding territory. It's a lovely sign of spring.
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Then, overnight, the ice vanished, as it if had never been.
Now, all the birds are back. It's a cacophony of spring singing out there. Redwing blackbirds trill in the reeds. A flock of ducks are quacking madly at a honking horde of geese. A pair of swans showed up this morning, and they're sliding back and forth across the water, opening up the summer cottage and checking for damage. All the birds are rushing around like little kids, shouting and playing and demanding territory. It's a lovely sign of spring.
comments
March 14, 2021
COVID Anniversary: a Retrospective
A year ago, the coronavirus (as we called it back then) appeared in Michigan with two recorded cases.
No one was wearing masks in public much. We were avoiding handshakes and doing elbow bumps instead. But no one seemed overly worried.
I was terrified. I remember watching it show up in China and spread quickly. Cruise ships filled up with plague victims and were refused docking. Still, everyone, including Donald Trump, was saying it wasn't a big deal, and I was saying, "This is horrifying." Diseases like this spread like crazy, especially in a world of quick, cheap international travel. It only takes a single case in an airport to send a virus all around the world.
The latest (and ultimately false) information we had back then was that the virus spread on surfaces, like the flu does, so I set my students to work. Twice a day, every day, I sprayed my classroom tables down with bleach cleaner and had my students wipe them dry with paper towels. They grumbled and complained that it was stupid, that there was nothing to worry about. I ignored them.
On Wednesday, I brought in a giant bottle of hand sanitizer and told my students that everyone who entered the room needed to use it, even if they said they'd just washed their hands. This excited some commentary, especially from "Moe," a nasty-minded student from a right-wing family. Moe was a big kid with a loud mouth who had clearly been raised to believe that if a big person just shouts at people, they'll be cowed into submission. He was a bully and weasel both, who tried to get me into trouble by peddling false stories about me to the principal. These stories ended in showdowns in the office, and Mick upped his attempts to get me into trouble.
So after a bathroom break, Moe strode into the class and bypassed the sanitizer. I stopped him and told him to use it. He made a huge, vocal deal about it. "This thing is a fake! It's nothing! This is stupid." I ordered him out of the classroom and told him not to come back until I'd heard from the principal. He stormed out, vowing never to return. As it turned out, he never did.
The following day--Thursday--Moe wasn't in class. I marked him absent and taught as usual.
Meanwhile, I remember a palpable feeling in the air, similar to when a blizzard is on the way. The numbers were shooting up in Michigan, and we'd had a case in our school district. Fewer of my students were scoffing at the virus now, and the big discussion was whether or not it qualified as a pandemic. The CDC was hesitant to call it one because they were afraid of panic. This struck me as an idiotic policy, and was the first among hundreds of bad calls, missteps, and utter incompetence on behalf of the CDC in handling COVID-19. This was The Big One, the event they'd been preparing for over decades. And when it finally arrived, they screwed it up from beginning to end and side to side.
"Do you think they'll close the schools?" students and teachers often asked.
"I think they will," I always said. "We won't finish the school year."
"Nah!" scoffed my colleagues. "It's a flu. We might miss a day or three, but that's it."
Also on Thursday, Darwin got the news that his brother had died down in Arizona. I made sub arrangements for Friday so I could be home for him.
That evening, Governor Gretchen Whitmer called an emergency news conference. She announced that she was closing places of congregation, including bars, restaurants, and all schools for the next two weeks.
This set off a flurry of work. Darwin was dealing with long-distance arrangements surrounding his brother's death (no one else in the family seemed willing to get involved, strangely) and I was dealing with work. Wherever Schools announced that on Monday, we teachers could come in and get stuff from our classrooms that would allow us to set up virtual teaching at home. After that, we were forbidden to return.
I didn't get a final class with my students because I was out on Friday. I noticed the sub had marked Moe absent. I wondered grimly what he was thinking of hand sanitizer now.
On Monday, I rushed into my room, snatched up my school laptop and other portable technology, along with copies of textbooks, and drove home. The district gave us one day--ONE DAY--to figure out how to use Google Classroom and put lessons up for our students. Everyone was floundering, even panicking. The big concern was how to use Zoom. I didn't want to touch it, and never did that year. Other teachers tried it, and got Zoom bombed. One teacher got porn bombed--a Zoom bomber shared a video of hardcore porn with the class. We were told to put up assignments and home-recorded videos for the students, but assignments couldn't actually count or be graded.
I worked for hours and hours and hours, recording and editing videos of myself, converting materials to Google Classroom. Darwin was still working in Albion at the time, and I ended up spending half the week down there. It was the strangest thing, teaching in Wherever from 50 miles away.
The end of the two-week closure coincided with the beginning of spring break. Everyone was saying that three weeks of closing down would give the epidemic (as the dumb-ass CDC was still calling it then) time to ebb, and we could go back to normal.
"No," I said. "We won't go back. This thing is just getting started."
I hated being right.
In the middle of spring break, the governor announced that schools would continue to be closed, first for the month of April, then into May, then until the end of the year. Graduation for everyone, including Max, was canceled. This was the single most upsetting part of the pandemic for me up to that point. After all the hard work, the arguments, the fighting, the coaching, the shepherding, the watching, the twice-yearly IEP meetings, I wasn't going to see Max walk down the aisle to get his diploma. It still upsets me.
We teachers were hailed as heroes due to our attempts to create workable lessons for at-home students, but we were too busy putting in twelve-hour days to notice. (Later, when schools were still closed for the fall, we were suddenly denigrated as lazy and incompetent because the teachers refused to risk their lives for their jobs.)
I never did see Moe again. I was too busy to care.
In June, my uncle Indul died from COVID-19.
Mask mandates were finally introduced, and became a political flashpoint because Trump stated he wouldn't be wearing one. The Republican party stood behind Trump and resolutely blocked methods that would slow or halt the spread of the disease.
A few months later, my uncle David and his step-daughter died from COVID.
Here we are, now. I've gotten both doses of the vaccine, and Darwin's had his first. Numbers are finally going down. We may be back to some version of normal by July. And it's never been more clear than ever that the Republican party wants nothing but power. They don't care about lives, they don't care about their constituents. They don't care. They must never, ever be allowed control of the government again.
And now we need to move forward.
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No one was wearing masks in public much. We were avoiding handshakes and doing elbow bumps instead. But no one seemed overly worried.
I was terrified. I remember watching it show up in China and spread quickly. Cruise ships filled up with plague victims and were refused docking. Still, everyone, including Donald Trump, was saying it wasn't a big deal, and I was saying, "This is horrifying." Diseases like this spread like crazy, especially in a world of quick, cheap international travel. It only takes a single case in an airport to send a virus all around the world.
The latest (and ultimately false) information we had back then was that the virus spread on surfaces, like the flu does, so I set my students to work. Twice a day, every day, I sprayed my classroom tables down with bleach cleaner and had my students wipe them dry with paper towels. They grumbled and complained that it was stupid, that there was nothing to worry about. I ignored them.
On Wednesday, I brought in a giant bottle of hand sanitizer and told my students that everyone who entered the room needed to use it, even if they said they'd just washed their hands. This excited some commentary, especially from "Moe," a nasty-minded student from a right-wing family. Moe was a big kid with a loud mouth who had clearly been raised to believe that if a big person just shouts at people, they'll be cowed into submission. He was a bully and weasel both, who tried to get me into trouble by peddling false stories about me to the principal. These stories ended in showdowns in the office, and Mick upped his attempts to get me into trouble.
So after a bathroom break, Moe strode into the class and bypassed the sanitizer. I stopped him and told him to use it. He made a huge, vocal deal about it. "This thing is a fake! It's nothing! This is stupid." I ordered him out of the classroom and told him not to come back until I'd heard from the principal. He stormed out, vowing never to return. As it turned out, he never did.
The following day--Thursday--Moe wasn't in class. I marked him absent and taught as usual.
Meanwhile, I remember a palpable feeling in the air, similar to when a blizzard is on the way. The numbers were shooting up in Michigan, and we'd had a case in our school district. Fewer of my students were scoffing at the virus now, and the big discussion was whether or not it qualified as a pandemic. The CDC was hesitant to call it one because they were afraid of panic. This struck me as an idiotic policy, and was the first among hundreds of bad calls, missteps, and utter incompetence on behalf of the CDC in handling COVID-19. This was The Big One, the event they'd been preparing for over decades. And when it finally arrived, they screwed it up from beginning to end and side to side.
"Do you think they'll close the schools?" students and teachers often asked.
"I think they will," I always said. "We won't finish the school year."
"Nah!" scoffed my colleagues. "It's a flu. We might miss a day or three, but that's it."
Also on Thursday, Darwin got the news that his brother had died down in Arizona. I made sub arrangements for Friday so I could be home for him.
That evening, Governor Gretchen Whitmer called an emergency news conference. She announced that she was closing places of congregation, including bars, restaurants, and all schools for the next two weeks.
This set off a flurry of work. Darwin was dealing with long-distance arrangements surrounding his brother's death (no one else in the family seemed willing to get involved, strangely) and I was dealing with work. Wherever Schools announced that on Monday, we teachers could come in and get stuff from our classrooms that would allow us to set up virtual teaching at home. After that, we were forbidden to return.
I didn't get a final class with my students because I was out on Friday. I noticed the sub had marked Moe absent. I wondered grimly what he was thinking of hand sanitizer now.
On Monday, I rushed into my room, snatched up my school laptop and other portable technology, along with copies of textbooks, and drove home. The district gave us one day--ONE DAY--to figure out how to use Google Classroom and put lessons up for our students. Everyone was floundering, even panicking. The big concern was how to use Zoom. I didn't want to touch it, and never did that year. Other teachers tried it, and got Zoom bombed. One teacher got porn bombed--a Zoom bomber shared a video of hardcore porn with the class. We were told to put up assignments and home-recorded videos for the students, but assignments couldn't actually count or be graded.
I worked for hours and hours and hours, recording and editing videos of myself, converting materials to Google Classroom. Darwin was still working in Albion at the time, and I ended up spending half the week down there. It was the strangest thing, teaching in Wherever from 50 miles away.
The end of the two-week closure coincided with the beginning of spring break. Everyone was saying that three weeks of closing down would give the epidemic (as the dumb-ass CDC was still calling it then) time to ebb, and we could go back to normal.
"No," I said. "We won't go back. This thing is just getting started."
I hated being right.
In the middle of spring break, the governor announced that schools would continue to be closed, first for the month of April, then into May, then until the end of the year. Graduation for everyone, including Max, was canceled. This was the single most upsetting part of the pandemic for me up to that point. After all the hard work, the arguments, the fighting, the coaching, the shepherding, the watching, the twice-yearly IEP meetings, I wasn't going to see Max walk down the aisle to get his diploma. It still upsets me.
We teachers were hailed as heroes due to our attempts to create workable lessons for at-home students, but we were too busy putting in twelve-hour days to notice. (Later, when schools were still closed for the fall, we were suddenly denigrated as lazy and incompetent because the teachers refused to risk their lives for their jobs.)
I never did see Moe again. I was too busy to care.
In June, my uncle Indul died from COVID-19.
Mask mandates were finally introduced, and became a political flashpoint because Trump stated he wouldn't be wearing one. The Republican party stood behind Trump and resolutely blocked methods that would slow or halt the spread of the disease.
A few months later, my uncle David and his step-daughter died from COVID.
Here we are, now. I've gotten both doses of the vaccine, and Darwin's had his first. Numbers are finally going down. We may be back to some version of normal by July. And it's never been more clear than ever that the Republican party wants nothing but power. They don't care about lives, they don't care about their constituents. They don't care. They must never, ever be allowed control of the government again.
And now we need to move forward.
comments
March 13, 2021
Lake Living: A Second Kayak and a Fall
Darwin went with me to the sporting goods store to look at wrist weights. We walked inside, and straight into a huge display of kayaks.
A bit of history: when we moved up to the lake last year, I wanted a kayak. A sporting goods store is only a couple blocks away from us, so we went kayak hunting. It turned out to be devilishly difficult--they had few in stock, and most were ungodly expensive. Turned out that the pandemic, which was in full swing, was pushing people to look for safe activities, and kayaking is one of them. The store couldn't keep kayaks in stock! A clerk told us they didn't even bother unwrapping them. They just put them on the sales floor, still encased in plastic wrap, and they were gone within a day. After several trips to the store, I finally found one that was more-or-less affordable and used it happily, but we couldn't get a second one for Darwin without paying $800, so we decided to wait.
Winter came, and it passed quickly. A few days ago, the lakes melted. And apparently, the sporting goods store decided to get a jump start on kayak season. Today, they had dozens and dozens and dozens of them, in all sizes and price ranges, all neatly stacked right up by the front door.
Well, dang!
It's still too cold for kayaking, but decided to get a kayak for Darwin anyway, on the grounds that they might sell out again. We got one for way less than I paid for mine. We got the cheapest one, really, because our lake is shallow and basically waveless, and we don't need ultra-stability, titanium steel, or stealth capabilities.
We were carrying it back through the store parking lot toward our place when Darwin tripped on a parking block.
He went straight down to hands and knees on the pavement, and I saw him hit his head. My heart about stopped. I shouted his name and tried to get him back up. I couldn't at first, and I wondered if I should call an ambulance. But finally he got upright. He'd hit his head on the kayak, not the pavement, at least.
Somehow, we got him and the kayak back home. Upstairs, I examined the damage. The area above his right eye was tender and swelling up, and both knees were a bloody mess. I gave him an ice pack with orders to keep it on his eye, then put cold cloths on his knees (this made him hiss) while I hunted up the peroxide. At first, he didn't want me to use it, but I told him it was that or a bath to clean the wounds. He relented. I put towels under his legs and started pouring. It set the scrapes bubble merrily, which made Darwin hiss again, but when it stopped, he said he was surprised that everything had stopped hurting. (He'd never put peroxide on a sore before.)
I fed him ibuprofen, then went to the drug store for bandages and antiseptic spray. Back home, I did the spraying (NO STING! the label proudly proclaimed), and Darwin howled. "The label lies!" he yelped. When everything died down, we got the bandages on him.
Darwin had meanwhile abandoned the ice pack. I checked his forehead, and found a knot under construction. I refreshed the ice pack and told him to leave it there, or he was going to have a bruise. He did.
He's feeling better now, even more so after I burned a batch of cookies for him, and I think he'll avoid a bruise.
But we have another kayak.
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A bit of history: when we moved up to the lake last year, I wanted a kayak. A sporting goods store is only a couple blocks away from us, so we went kayak hunting. It turned out to be devilishly difficult--they had few in stock, and most were ungodly expensive. Turned out that the pandemic, which was in full swing, was pushing people to look for safe activities, and kayaking is one of them. The store couldn't keep kayaks in stock! A clerk told us they didn't even bother unwrapping them. They just put them on the sales floor, still encased in plastic wrap, and they were gone within a day. After several trips to the store, I finally found one that was more-or-less affordable and used it happily, but we couldn't get a second one for Darwin without paying $800, so we decided to wait.
Winter came, and it passed quickly. A few days ago, the lakes melted. And apparently, the sporting goods store decided to get a jump start on kayak season. Today, they had dozens and dozens and dozens of them, in all sizes and price ranges, all neatly stacked right up by the front door.
Well, dang!
It's still too cold for kayaking, but decided to get a kayak for Darwin anyway, on the grounds that they might sell out again. We got one for way less than I paid for mine. We got the cheapest one, really, because our lake is shallow and basically waveless, and we don't need ultra-stability, titanium steel, or stealth capabilities.
We were carrying it back through the store parking lot toward our place when Darwin tripped on a parking block.
He went straight down to hands and knees on the pavement, and I saw him hit his head. My heart about stopped. I shouted his name and tried to get him back up. I couldn't at first, and I wondered if I should call an ambulance. But finally he got upright. He'd hit his head on the kayak, not the pavement, at least.
Somehow, we got him and the kayak back home. Upstairs, I examined the damage. The area above his right eye was tender and swelling up, and both knees were a bloody mess. I gave him an ice pack with orders to keep it on his eye, then put cold cloths on his knees (this made him hiss) while I hunted up the peroxide. At first, he didn't want me to use it, but I told him it was that or a bath to clean the wounds. He relented. I put towels under his legs and started pouring. It set the scrapes bubble merrily, which made Darwin hiss again, but when it stopped, he said he was surprised that everything had stopped hurting. (He'd never put peroxide on a sore before.)
I fed him ibuprofen, then went to the drug store for bandages and antiseptic spray. Back home, I did the spraying (NO STING! the label proudly proclaimed), and Darwin howled. "The label lies!" he yelped. When everything died down, we got the bandages on him.
Darwin had meanwhile abandoned the ice pack. I checked his forehead, and found a knot under construction. I refreshed the ice pack and told him to leave it there, or he was going to have a bruise. He did.
He's feeling better now, even more so after I burned a batch of cookies for him, and I think he'll avoid a bruise.
But we have another kayak.
comments
Wrist Weights to the Rescue!
So I've been pounding through the workout/game Supernatural on the Oculus. The workouts come in three levels: low, medium, and high intensity. I started out with medium and quickly progressed to high. I check my progress by tracking my heart rate with my Fitbit. The Fitbit also tells me how many calories I've burned, which is handy--I can put the information into Noom, and it adjusts my calories for the day accordingly. I get to eat one "extra" calorie for every two I burn.
Anyway, I noticed lately my heart rate wasn't going as high during even the most difficult high intensity workout. I also wasn't sweating so much and wasn't becoming breathless. Stupid aerobic exercise! How dare it improve my muscle efficiency?
Trouble is, I was burning fewer calories as well. I needed to figure out what to do.
So I went to the sporting goods store near our place and bought a set of wrist weights. Three pounds for each wrist. Then I climbed into the Oculus.
Boy, could I feel the difference! It was tough, but I powered through it. My usual Oculus workout runs 60 minutes, but this time I had to stop at 40. I finished things off with a 20-minute treadmill run.
Check the stats when I was done. The Fitbit sorts heart rate into Fat Burn, Cardio, and Peak. I was spending most of an hour-long workout at Cardio, with maybe five or seven minutes at Peak, though this time was shortening lately. I was burning about 600 calories.
With the wrist weights, I spent 36 minutes at peak and burned 850 calories.
Okay, then. We'll continue with them.
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Anyway, I noticed lately my heart rate wasn't going as high during even the most difficult high intensity workout. I also wasn't sweating so much and wasn't becoming breathless. Stupid aerobic exercise! How dare it improve my muscle efficiency?
Trouble is, I was burning fewer calories as well. I needed to figure out what to do.
So I went to the sporting goods store near our place and bought a set of wrist weights. Three pounds for each wrist. Then I climbed into the Oculus.
Boy, could I feel the difference! It was tough, but I powered through it. My usual Oculus workout runs 60 minutes, but this time I had to stop at 40. I finished things off with a 20-minute treadmill run.
Check the stats when I was done. The Fitbit sorts heart rate into Fat Burn, Cardio, and Peak. I was spending most of an hour-long workout at Cardio, with maybe five or seven minutes at Peak, though this time was shortening lately. I was burning about 600 calories.
With the wrist weights, I spent 36 minutes at peak and burned 850 calories.
Okay, then. We'll continue with them.
comments
Group Families
There are lots and lots of ways to structure a family. This has ALWAYS been so. The dad/mom/kids/dog thing was the only socially acceptable one, even though there were lots of single parents, divorced parents, blended families, same-sex parents, and households that included people who were considered family even though they had no blood or marriage ties to anyone. These families existed, even though no one talked openly about them, or even acknowledged their existence. Then, in the 80s, single and divorced parent families became normalized and accepted. Thirty years later, same-sex parent families became (or are becoming) normalized and accepted. Now we're seeing yet other types of families become normalized and accepted.
https://www.yahoo.com/lifestyle/why-throuple-families-coming-out-polyamorous-parenting-201401574.html
This is, frankly, the result of social media. Social media allowed people to tell stories that would otherwise go untold. Social media allows people in so-called non-traditional families ("so-called" because these families have existed just as long as dad/mom/kids/dogs) to communicate and understand that they aren't the only ones. And social media allowed these families to BE SEEN, and being seen is the first step toward acceptance. It's hard for people to understand and accept what they've never seen before.
I've encountered some poly families over the years, and every one of them said that a group makes a bunch of stuff easier. Child care, household chores, emotional support for kids and adults are all easier when spread out among more adults. It also saves money--more people living in one household is always cheaper than having multiple, smaller households. Its how humans were evolved to live, really--in groups or tribes.
People love to ask, "But what if someone divorces the group? What about the kids then?" Except that's the exact same situation for two-adult families, and no one asks such families, "What will you do if you decide to get divorced one day?"
It's interesting and wonderful to see families where there are more people to love and care for the children. And it's wonderful to see these families gaining mainstream acceptance.
comments
https://www.yahoo.com/lifestyle/why-throuple-families-coming-out-polyamorous-parenting-201401574.html
This is, frankly, the result of social media. Social media allowed people to tell stories that would otherwise go untold. Social media allows people in so-called non-traditional families ("so-called" because these families have existed just as long as dad/mom/kids/dogs) to communicate and understand that they aren't the only ones. And social media allowed these families to BE SEEN, and being seen is the first step toward acceptance. It's hard for people to understand and accept what they've never seen before.
I've encountered some poly families over the years, and every one of them said that a group makes a bunch of stuff easier. Child care, household chores, emotional support for kids and adults are all easier when spread out among more adults. It also saves money--more people living in one household is always cheaper than having multiple, smaller households. Its how humans were evolved to live, really--in groups or tribes.
People love to ask, "But what if someone divorces the group? What about the kids then?" Except that's the exact same situation for two-adult families, and no one asks such families, "What will you do if you decide to get divorced one day?"
It's interesting and wonderful to see families where there are more people to love and care for the children. And it's wonderful to see these families gaining mainstream acceptance.
comments
