A Look Inside Plato's Academy

At the Panathenaea I saw a group of boys in the gymnasia of the Academy. And there I heard strange and indescribable things. They were defining and dividing up the world of nature, and were distinguishing the habits of animals and the natures of trees and the species of vegetables. And there in the middle of them they had a pumpkin and were inquiring of what species it was... At first they all stood silent and bent over it for some time considering. Then suddenly while they were still bending over it and examining it, one of the boys said it was a round vegetable, and another said it was grass, and another that it was a tree. On hearing this a Sicilian doctor who was there exploded with wrath... But Plato, who was there, told them very kindly, without being in the least disturbed, to try again from he beginning to define its species. And they went on with their definitions.

-- Epicrates (quoted in J. Miller’s “Examined Lives”)

Sammy is a bit miffed this morning

Sammy is a bit miffed this morning. I kept them in the house overnight and today. Jack is supposed to come and edge the lawn. Sammy should feel lucky as hell that he is still alive in the world.

"Rabbit Run"

Having finished Miller's "Examined Lives" last night, I have resumed Updike's "Rabbit Run" for the daytime reading, seeing how I started it, even if it was only a few pages. I paid over twenty dollars for the book; I may as well get some use from it. I have no expectation of going through the whole tetrology in one run, nor am I thinking about fitting a book or two between the Rabbit novels. I imagine that the remaining three novels in the series, all of which being nicely provided in this single volume, will have to sit pretty on the bookshelves. Besides, it is good to have a few decent novels put aside for that rainy day when I am desperate for some absorbing fiction and I have no money to buy other books.

Pics

mommy and baby squirrels

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Frank Sinatra

It’s hard to imagine the fedora without Frank Sinatra or Frank Sinatra without the fedora. There was a time, however, when Sinatra was noted for the fact that he didn’t wear hats. In the 1940s, Sinatra was seldom seen in a hat (other than the yachting caps he wore in the first half of the decade) at a time when few men ever left the house without one. A 1951 magazine actually referred to the man as “hat-hating Sinatra.” It was in the early period of his comeback, around 1953, that Sinatra began to wear a fedora, just as it was slowly going out of style, particularly in casual Los Angeles. He sported them constantly, whenever he left the house, in films and on television, and always at recording dates as pictured here. What had prompted this change? With Sinatra’s comeback came an upheaval in Sinatra’s personal style, but more importantly, his hair was quickly disappearing and hats were a way to cover it up. Sinatra found, too, that he looked particularly good in a hat (and indeed always had). It has even been said that Sinatra was consciously emulating one of his idols, Humphrey Bogart. Sinatra consistently wore his trademark cocked fedoras well into the 1960s, until they eventually became passé. His 1950s image is forever associated with the fedora, cementing the hat’s status as a symbol of cool.

-- Tumblr: Sinatra

Crafting Killer Sentences

"I guess you're going to tell me you were renewing some more library books, right?"

No, I ordered a new book. "Rabbit Run" just isn't working for me.

"Did you get another 'Catholic Schoolgirl Gets Abducted, Abused, and Annihilated' or some such epic?"

No, please, give me some credit! This is for my more sober daytime reading. I actually got a grammar book: "It Was the Best of Sentences, It Was the Worst of Sentences: A Writer's Guide to Crafting Killer Sentences".

"Aww, you still haven't given up on being a writer! And almost fifty years old, how sweet!"

No, I'm not getting senile and reliving youthful dreams that never came to be. Neverthemore, since I am still kicking around and writing, albeit only for my blog, it seems as good a use as any for my reading time to try to pick up my game a little. As long as I am living and writing, I don't mind improving. Such is my luxury and privilege.

an overtime game and then Jack and Jill

Great, the Cowboys are in an overtime game. Well, I suppose this is kind of great for Pop. I'm sure it's very exciting. It's just that I would like to have more than an hour in the big room this afternoon.

* * * *

1630

Pop is passed drunk on the couch in the big room, but I awaken him to ask if Jill is coming back to put up some new window blinds, and he affirms that she is, so that there is no point in my taking over the big room. So, my Sunday is busted up. I guess this would have been a good day for a walk, but it is much too late for that now.

* * * *

1745

Although I could go out for a walk, I realized that there was no reason why I couldn't walk around in the back yard with the cats. I needed to escape the claustrophic feeling of being cornered in my small bedroom. I needed the open air and the sky. I needed to be away from the computer screen, and I even needed to be away from the books. My eyes desperately needed a rest, and I needed the time just to think - what's going on, what am I doing, what can I do?

Then Pop slid open the kitchen sliding-door and called me. It was payday for Jill for putting up the new blinds in the big room. They needed the password for her to order a goodie. And a funny goodie it was. It is some sort of knitting gadget to help with making sweaters. Quite the gal! She works full-time and she will knit clothing. And still a very attractive woman, even in her forties. I cannot help feeling that, if there were any justice in the world, I should have gotten a woman like that. She would appreciate my literary sensibilities, and in my appreciation for her love, I would work a regular job. But that's not justice so much as it is a whacked out fantasy. Looks go to looks, and Jack is still a very pretty boy and slender in his forties. And that is the world's justice.

* * * *

2130

Jack and Jill have come back, just drinking and cranking up the country music. This Sunday just won't stop biting. It feels a lot like a Thanksgiving, and I loathe the prospect of having to do this again on Thursday and pray it isn't so.

I suspect Jack was motiviated by the idea of getting a little payday of his own for his work edging the lawn. My first thought was that, learning from Jill that Pop is stumbling drunk, he was going to order something big on Amazon too, but I suspect the booze is enough. My thoughts still spike into the paranoiac zone when it comes to Jack, even though I actually believe that he has some genuine sweet feelings toward the old man, and is indeed more of a friendly companion to him that I can be in my chilly aloofness. They like the same booze and the same music.

* * * *

2305

It's after eleven and I am tired and ready for bed. My trial is made a bit easier with Ketchum's "Girl" to absorb my attention, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to confront Pop soon --

No, they are leaving! The universe doesn't have it in for me.

Lo (1,2) Sybil

With the very early death of Humbert’s mother, an aunt comes in to fill some of that empty space.

_ _ _

My mother’s elder sister, Sybil, whom a cousin of my father’s had married and then neglected, served in the immediate family as a kind of unpaid governess and housekeeper. Somebody told me later that she had been in love with my father, and that he had lightheartedly taken advantage of it one rainy day and forgotten it by the time the weather cleared. I was extremely fond of her, despite the rigidity - the fatal rigidity - of some of her rules. Perhaps she wanted to make of me, in the fullness of time, a better widower than my father. Aunt Sybil had pink-rimmed azure eyes and a waxen complexion. She wrote poetry. She was poetically superstitious. She said she would die soon after my sixteenth birthday, and did.

-- “Lolita” by Vladimir Nabokov

_ _ _

Ah, another woman character quickly disposed of, and ruthlessly used. Mr. Appel also reminds us that Sybil is the name of a prophetess in ancient Greek lore, and is thus well-named here for predicting her death - an aside in the way of a droll literary chuckle.

goodbye to Sugar

Well, I think it is time to say goodbye to Sugar. Shall we take one more look?

"Oh, what is this, the 127th time?"

I know, but I really believe that it is for real this time. There was a time a few years ago when we came close to a successful separation, but then I found myself on Twitter following a news link and I thought, while I was there, why not check in on the old girl? And then it became a habit again. But this is it. I am ready to delete my links. I have finally grown tired of this one-sided affair. Anyway, one more look!

"Any last comments or pictures to grab?"

I'm afraid not. It seems that we end on an anti-climactic note, but that feels appropriate. Goodbye, Melissa! I wish you could've liked me.