Areas of Unrest

1 October 2000 - Charm and Lots of Goats

QOTD: "Catch a man a fish, and you can sell it to him. Teach a man to fish, and you ruin a wonderful business opportunity." - Karl Marx (from Evan via John and I won't say a word about my doubts of its authenticity)

Reading: Robert Barnard, The Corpse at the Haworth Tandoori

Listening to: Christine Lavin, Getting In Touch With My Inner Bitch

This entry really has nothing to do with either charm or goats, but I read a guidebook description of a town that was "not without charm and lots of goats" and I'm still trying to figure out if that's a good thing. It's rather a moot point, since I can't for the life of me remember what town it was or even what country it was. Anyway, it struck me as a nicely random phrase and this is a rather random entry, full of odds and ends I've jotted down throughout the week.

If this gets too rambling for you, you can check out a web page of overheard conversations and you might decide that I make some sort of sense. Or perhaps not. I made the mistake of actually reading some of the free magazines my boss subscribes to. Which inform me that the French are obsessed with garden gnomes and there is a real conflict between people who like plastic gnomes and people who like terra cotta gnomes. There is also a garden gnome liberation society which steals gnomes from gardens and sets them free in the woods. This seems appropriate in a nation that worships Jerry Lewis.

The same magazine informs me that there is a company that refurbishes 727s into houses. Since said houses cost about $300 grand and that doesn't include the land, this strikes me as a "more money than sense" proposition. And then there're the people trying to develop a perfume that smells like meteorites. I suppose that's quite the thing if you're trying to seduce an alien.

That I could read any of this was a minor miracle given the difficulty I've been having with the lights in my office. I need to explain that we have motion sensors in our offices that control our lights. If you sit still, your lights turn off and you have to jump up and wave your arms around furiously in order to get them to turn back on. On my more cynical days I consider this a sort of built in aerobics program. Anyway, I've decided that the sensor in my office is misaligned because it takes a very complicated sequence of dance moves to get the lights to work. If they work at all. It will inevitably turn out to be something other than the motion sensor and people are probably laughing at me as they see me jump and hop around my desk, waving at that little red light over the door.

Speaking of dancing, I saw the movie version of "The Fantasticks" Monday night. I generally liked it, despite it having been one of the musicals I thought least likely to work on film. They did tear it up some, though understandably for the most part. For example, they cut "Plant a Radish" but they hadn't really played up the gardening bit, so it wouldn't have made any sense. And they used the "Abductions" song that Jones and Schmidt wrote for an anniversary tour, instead of the horribly politically incorrect (but much better and funnier) "It Depends On What You Pay." The weirdest changes were to "Round and Round". They might also have found somebody to play Matt who could actually act. Still, it's always nice to see both Joel Grey and theatrical fencing and one rarely sees both in the same movie.

"The Fantasticks" is all about love and heartbreak and life's lessons, of course. Which brings me to baseball. I fully expected the Red Sox to have maximized the agony, so I am almost relieved that they lost on Friday and I don't have to endure watching a one-game playoff (shades of 1978!) or, even worse, their usual post-season turns at twisting the knife through my heart.

Which brings me to politics and the one good political joke I've heard this year. Dubya has been on and on about how he's improved education in Texas. It turns out that's true. When Ann Richards was governor of Texas, only 10 per cent of high school students in the state could read as well as the governor. Now that figure is up to 90 per cent. (For the benefit of non-Americans who read this, George W. Bush, a.k.a. "Dubya" is a presidential candidate. He is generally believed to be dyslexic at best.)

I've almost finished making my plans for my trip to Churchill. I'm taking the train back from Churchill to Winnipeg, largely because I thought it would be interesting to. But, going there, I am flying with a company called Calm Air. (It's Air Canada to and from Winnipeg, via Toronto which is not exactly direct but the schedule worked.) I mention this because Calm Air seems to be a nearly perfect name for a company.

Finally, Sarah Caudwell was a very mean person. How dare she have written only four books before she died?

Special Offer:

Ever wonder about the music I say I'm listening to? Can't hear Snakefarm or Old Blind Dogs or Pierre Bensusan on your local radio station? Well, here's your chance. In the spirit of musical evangelism I've made a mix tape of music I referred to in my margin notes over the past year. I also happen to have another mix tape handy, mostly of World Beat stuff, that I'd made for another purpose. All you have to do is send me email with your address, telling me if you want the AOU41 tape or the Worlds of Unrest tape (or both) before the end of October 2000. (The links are to playlists.) Nothing is required in return, beyond your willingness to listen. If I decide this was a successful experiment, I'll make it an annual event.