Arabella Marie Neal (199?-2007)

Over the weekend, Diane and I found ourselves making a very difficult decision. We had our pomeranian/chihuahua mix Arabella put to sleep due to a heart condition that suddenly turned worse.

When we adopted Arabella almost four years ago, someone from the pet adoption agency told us that she had a heart murmur, but nothing serious enough to merit euthenasia. However, Arabella had fainting spells every so often over the past year, and they became bad enough in April that a veterinarian put her on a diuretic. She seemed to return to normal for a few months, but things changed rapidly starting on Friday. When taken outside, she would pass out, and her energy and appetite declined throughout the weekend. Arabella hardly did anything on Sunday, so we took her to an emergency vet hospital that night. She seemed to perk up, but the diagnosis from the vet who saw us didn’t sound good. We left her there and received a call around 1 AM. The vet told us the details about her heart’s condition and our “treatment options.” None of them sounded good, because the vet said that Arabella could go on various medications, but she wouldn’t be able to do much of anything. After many tears that night and the following morning, we called the vet with our decision.

Prior to Arabella, I never had a pet other than fish, and Diane had limited experience with dogs. Nevertheless, after we got married, we decided to start looking for a dog. Diane and I saw Arabella at a PetSmart adoption “fair” in September 2003, where she quietly sat in the lap of someone at a table. We figured that someone had already adopted her, especially since she looked adorable. When we inquired about her, someone else said that no one had adopted her, but that we could walk around the store with her for a “test drive.” Arabella followed us around, and we decided to take her home. We heard about the heart murmur, but she seemed like the right dog for us otherwise. Her teeth were also in bad shape, and her mouth would somehow occasionally contort into a ferocious-looking shape that exposed her front teeth. We called this expression her Dick Cheney, though she had not a mean bone in her body. She would bark when unfamiliar people came to visit, but she calmed down and easily befriended anyone who gave her attention.

Arabella did give us a few problems. That explains the middle name Marie, which we would employ for the times she got into trouble. Going to the bathroom in the appropriate places seemed to pose the greatest challenge; the most amusing incident occurred just as we settled in for Thanksgiving dinner at my in-laws’ house that first year. She would also have unexplainable barking fits at 3 AM for a few days straight, but they would stop as quickly and strangely as they started. Nevertheless, I believe that her problems may have been due to age, and her general demeanor seemed appropriate for Diane and me. Compared to other dogs, Arabella seemed aloof and quiet. She showed little interest in toys, and we could almost swear that she viewed other dogs as crazy; she would remain relatively placid as fellow canines tried engaging her in play or (occasionally) other “activities.” Since she lived with cats previously, Diane and I suspect that Arabella picked up her relative air of detachment from them, as well as the tendency to engage in self-grooming behaviors usually associated with felines (most notably the licking of paws).

Although Arabella showed little interest in other dogs, she loved attention from people, who universally found her adorable. Some even mistook Arabella for a puppy due to her size. Of course, Arabella seemed especially keen on seeking attention from Diane and me, especially when we had other things to do. When Diane would settle on the sofa to grade papers or read, Arabella would jump up and place her head under Diane’s hand for petting. During The Daily Show or The Colbert Report, she would jump between us and take in the political hijinks. Other times, Arabella would just lay down on the other side of the sofa, or perch on the ottoman of our leather chair. When Diane would work at home, Arabella would curl up behind the chair and sleep, or she would act as guard in the event that someone rang the doorbell peddling junk.

Dogs occasionally drive their owners crazy, but they can also be the best companions. Besides acting as a guard or member of our “pack,” Arabella seemed to know when one of us was upset. She would look on with a mixture of confusion and concern. She also may have known that she didn’t have long to live, and that she wouldn’t be able to do the things that made her happy.

Whether one chooses euthenasia or allowing a terminally-ill pet to die naturally, there’s always an element of playing God and presuming to know what the pet’s own wishes might be. Euthenasia seems selfish because one doesn’t want to take care of a sick pet, but so does keeping a pet around to salve our consciences. One can only make a decision that seems right for everyone involved, including the pet. Everyone we told seems to think we did the right thing, and I’m certain that many others would agree. If only we could reach such a consensus about our fellow humans, who actually can communicate their final wishes to the appropriate people.

A few hours after we saw Arabella for what would be the last time, Diane mentioned that Arabella might have “told” her that she wanted to go. (A few other “coincidences” occurred, though I won’t detail those here.) I want to believe that Arabella somehow knew that we would have to make a difficult decision about her, and that she tried telling us that it would be okay. I also want to believe that she has entered another realm, and that we’ll meet again, some sunny day.

Shapin’ Up

Since last Monday, I’ve settled into marginally routine visits to the nearby 24 Hour Fitness. That excludes the five day lag that occurred on account of a rather busy weekend. Still, I have gotten to the point where I look forward to visiting the gym. The attendees at the main desk have started to recognize Diane and I, right down to the unexplainable difficulty of scanning my temporary pass.

Generally, we walk past the muscle machines on the first floor, ascend a metal staircase, and begin on a treadmill or elliptical. I prefer the elliptical machine since it allows you to exercise a number of muscles and get a good cardio workout. (Yes, I’ve started using the word “cardio” in everyday conversation. “Ripped” and “psyched” will soon follow.) My iPod weighs too much to hang comfortably from a belt clip, so I set it on a slim bar on the elliptical’s control panel. I suspect that I’m in the minority when it comes to music choice while working out. Many may choose something with a good beat, but I prefer opera or classical. At a deeper level than the usual workout fare, a bit of the old Beethoven can summon forth the will to keep moving. Sometimes, I have no iPod, but I can invoke phantasmic snippets of music to make my workout easier. The prospect of better health helps as well.

The treadmills, ellipticals, and exercise bikes overlook the bottom floor. They also face several flat panel televisions that provide a riot of visual stimulation. From my (usually nightly) visits, the viewing fare generally includes two news channels, reruns of second-tier television shows, so-called “reality” series, and programs on Spike TV. Last night, Spike broadcast a Total Nonstop Action (or, subtly enough, TNA) Wrestling tournament. Despite the profound levels of testoterone found in such programs, I didn’t feel the motivation to become as musclebound as the performers (er, contestants) on that show. In fact, I almost fell off the elliptical laughing when someone poured a whole can of foaming beer on the face of a downed wrestler who apparently went by the moniker Rhino. Like some deranged Lazarus, Rhino suddenly rose from slamdown-induced unconsciousness and went berserk, throwing chairs out of the ring and knocking over a table. I don’t know why I found it so funny, but the whole idea of a guy going nuts like that seemed rather absurd and cartoonish. But then, what else would one expect from pro-wrestling?

Feeling inspired by Rhino’s antics, I wandered over to a “horseshoe” configuration of weightlifting machines. I figured, if I ever encountered a situation like the one shown on TNA, maybe I had better start bulking up. However, I don’t think I could reach Rhino’s proportions. Besides, Diane doesn’t like such a look, so I’m aiming for something more moderate. Last night, I only used the machines designed for upper body muscles. My legs are already in excellent shape (probably from carrying a few extra pounds), and I hoped to use one of the “ab” machines. I tried one the night before, and it was much easier than mustering the sense of balance required for the various “ups” exercises (sit-, pull-, and the like). Unfortunately, one of the regular meatheads monopolized the machine I liked, so I tried unsuccessfully to use a different one. At that, Diane and I went home.

We probably won’t get to the gym until sometime this weekend, but I hope to try out some other abdominal exercise machines. I’m sure that some purists look down on them, as do those who swear by free weights or machines without footrests, but the machines work just fine for those like myself. Perhaps one day I’ll move away from the machines, but getting myself on the path to fitness seems more important.

Latest dispatches

Partially due to the impending move next month and related changes on my mind, I’m still “at sea” in writing a decent posting on a topic related to librarianship, academia, or technology. My last posting promised to continue examining Gorman’s latest critique of Web 2.0, but I think I said everything that needed said (at least from me) and others have written much better criticisms that sound about right in assessing it. So, below are a few supposedly “random” things that I would like to share, and about which I have some opinions.

Reverse Victimology

The Chron (a good abbreviation for The Chronicle of Higher Education that I found in ACRLog) has an interesting article by John D. Barbour, a professor of Religion at St Olaf. He discusses his dealings with a very conservative student who acted as a provocateur in his class, and who turned in mediocre work. Barbour is a liberal, and he still contemplates whether it impacted how he graded the student. However, don’t expect David Horowitz (himself a former Marxist) to use it to illustrate the apparently rampant liberal bias that runs roughshod over academia. In fact, Barbour worried that his views of the student’s performance reflected his own prejudices, even though he comments that he has encountered plenty of thoughtful conservative students in his classes. As a result of his concern, and in the interest of fair-mindedness, Barbour believes in retrospect that he gave the student a better grade than he deserved.

As those familiar with academia know, conservatives look askance at the rhetoric and stridency of “victimology,” an unflattering umbrella term employed to deride various [Name of Group] Studies programs, and to conflate what they represent with the spectre of political correctness. Ironically, Barbour’s story illustrates how some conservatives can appropriate the same victimiology they deride as a tool against liberal professors. In the case of Barbour’s student, he may have done so unwittingly. Nevertheless, some conservative groups (such as Students for Academic Freedom) have had their own chilling effect on academic discourse.

Considering broader issues related to this story, it seems approrpiate to discuss my own political journey, which was impacted by experiences during my undergraduate years. Coming from a small town in the Midwest, I began as what one might best describe as a Garrison Keillor Democrat. As an undergraduate, I got introduced to more radical ideas I wouldn’t have heard in my hometown. I worried that perhaps I wasn’t “liberal enough,” so I ended up taking on (or perhaps just trying on) ideas to prove my liberal mettle. Over the years, I have worked through and rejected many of the more absurd notions that made me wonder about “the real reasons” why I might enjoy certain things. For example, the notion that Beethoven’s Ninth represents an act of rape should be (and has been) called on for the subjective lunacy it represents, and for trivializing the very real acts of sexual assault that cause very real suffering. Still, spectral versions of these ideas from college make me contemplate how the world “really works,” even if I do not ascribe to more radical and deterministic views of the world.

So, there’s a sketch of my political views. I have kept them concealed for a number of reasons, but Barbour’s article prompted me to engage in full disclosure (at least from a quick “Red/Blue” perspective) to give my regular readers an idea of how my political views may affect my views on other topics.

Dogs

This is so sad. Michael Stephens‘ dog Jake passed away just a day before Stephens defended his doctoral defense. As one who has a dog, the news about Jake resonated with me. It made me think of Arabella; she’s getting on in years, but she remains quite spry when activated by the doorbell or the prospect of a Caesar meal in “meaty juices.” At least for a few days, her “accidents” probably won’t seem quite so awful. They’re a drag to clean, but they indicate that Arabella remains a part of our lives. I guess these feelings reflect what Karen Schneider says about the value of social software. They may allow us to become known to the greater world, but they can serve the deeper purpose of fostering interconnectivity to us all.

Referral

Part of what prompted me to write today was a posting in Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Blogosphere, which recommended my blog. I hadn’t written in about a week, and my postings have strayed a bit from professional stuff, so it seemed appropriate to come up with a decent posting. I would like to take the opportunity to thank Steve Sherlock for the referral, too, especially since my blog has remained relatively quiet lately.

Just for Fun

Well, for me and fans of the composers Gustav Mahler and Richard Strauss… another cartoon from Soho Dog where the composers “re-enact your favorite music moments.” The most recent one comes from the first Indiana Jones film, Unfortunately, I don’t recall which scene this refers to, but it’s still exciting to see that someone can play upon the traits of the two composers for comic effect. Recently, I figured out how to contrast their views on money, and to bring in Wagner’s views to boot:

Mahler didn’t care about makin’ bank
Strauss did care about makin’ bank
Wagner cared about takin’ others’ bank

Well, I thought it was funny.

For the health of it

(Yep. That’s original.)

My previous posting mentioned a couple of health-related matters, including my father-in-law’s hospitalization and my latest commitment to getting in shape.

Fortunately, my father-in-law is out of the hospital after his series of fainting spells. However, the diagnosis of Alzheimer’s remains. According to the doctor who took care of him, vertigo is another symptom that can indicate Alzheimer’s, even if other symptoms do not manifest themselves. Given the choice between home health care and putting him in a nursing home, the former seemed like the better solution for a number of reasons. Granted, he hasn’t reached the advanced stages yet, but my mother-in-law will need some help since she has quite a few health concerns herself. (Oddly enough, my father-in-law started yardwork as soon as he got home.) Since I have to work on Sunday, we hope to see them either Saturday or next Tuesday to celebrate Father’s Day.

In the meantime, Diane and I commenced our visits to 24 Hour Fitness on Tuesday night. Diane and I got on treadmills for the first 30 minutes, with iPods to get us going. On mine, I played a bootleg recording of Karita Mattila performing the title role of Richard Strauss’ Salome at the Opéra Bastille in 2003. Not the greatest sound quality, but the performance has the intensity necessary to get one moving, whether physically or emotionally. (Peter Conrad and Tim Ashley, both of whom saw Mattila as Salome in Paris, both attest to that.) I started getting into the workout as the “Dance of the Seven Veils” progressed, and I hit running speed at the beginning of the final scene. Just over 200 calories burnt in 30 minutes, before Diane and I progressed to the “horseshoe” layout of various weightlifting machines designed to build muscles throughout the body. I’m starting at close to the lowest levels, trying to build muscle gradually. No way do I want to conduct myself like the grunters, groaners, and gaspers who want to bulk up. I’d rather improve my health and cultivate something like a Classical physique over time. I’ll leave it to others to try looking like The Governator or Cartman on Weight Gain 4000, if they so desire. Up-to-date equipment makes the exercise experience at 24 Hour Fitness more pleasant than other gyms or exercise rooms I have visited, though I suppose some purists would find it too “busy.”

As regular readers may have noticed, my postings have pretty much engaged in personal navel gazing. With the impending move, I haven’t had time to really read and comment properly on various trends in academia and librarianship. However, I hope to write something professional soon, most likely in relation to the latest hullabaloo surrounding two blog postings from Michael Gorman entitled Web 2.0: The Sleep of Reason (Parts 1 and 2). As those in Libraryland may already know, Gorman excoriated blogging a few years ago, and I suspect that some bloggers don’t seem ready to forgive and forget.

From my own reading of Part 1, Gorman begins by expressing some legitimate concerns about people turning away from authority. He focuses mainly on the realm of science and medicine, though he also mentions the bugbear of bloggers as “citizen journalists.” However, when he later lays out a Manichean view of “scholarly and educational publishing” vs. “the often-anarchic world of the Internet,” Gorman loses ground and concludes with some final paragraphs that do not make sense to me. I haven’t decided if they’re self-contradictory, or if I believe that Web 2.0 actually can facilitate a more decentralized form of intellectual rigor (albeit without the same overall consistency of scholarly and educational publishing).

Although it hasn’t overthrown dominant power paradigms, Web 2.0 has altered the definition of authority by giving more people (such as myself) the chance to share facts and opinions through less “official” channels. As in the past, we still have folks like Gorman writing from a position of authority. However, unlike belated editorials with commentary from just a few people, practically everyone has a chance to write a response immediately. Some may be trolls seeking attention by writing something “shocking,” while others may have thoughtful responses that equal (or even exceed) the length of the original posting. Now seems the best time to mention the marketplace of ideas, an ideal realm in which the troll shrivels away, while the thoughtful but “officially” disenfranchised person grows in stature among others in various realms of the blogosphere. This notion may seem idealistic, but Web 2.0 at least offers broader opportunities for more people to participate in discourse on any topic, and to develop a deeper worldview that accomodates a broader definition of what constitutes authority.

Connected to Gorman’s apparent faith in medical authority, please see my wife’s posting on anti-depressants and weight gain. The story may seem “anecdotal” (whatever that means), but it shows how the most authoritative and educated people can make lazy assumptions that actually ignore the scientific method. After reading this story, that tinfoil-hatted UFO conspiracy nut who spends all day on the liberry innanet might start making sense.

(More detailed commentary on the Gorman postings when I have the chance… probably when the whole thing becomes passé.)

Commemorations

Monday (11 June) marked a couple of commemorations. I’ll begin by mentioning that it marked the 143rd birthday of composer Richard Strauss, whose name appears in roughly every other posting since I’m a major “fan” of his music. Although 143 doesn’t have the same symbolic significance as other numbers, Alex Ross commemorated Strauss’ birthday anyway by posting a photograph of the composer from 1945, just after the Allies liberated Germany from the Nazi regime.

Prior to the photo, Strauss had played cat-and-mouse with Hitler and his cronies during their 12 years of madness, ranging from an appointment by Goebbels to the presidency of the Reichsmusikkamer to a fall from disgrace in 1935 after collaborating with Jewish author Stefan Zweig on Die schweigsame Frau. In addition, his daughter-in-law Alice was Jewish, so he tried using his name to protect her and her family (including his grandchildren).

Since many of Germany’s greatest minds left before things went from bad to worse, some have assumed that Strauss supported the Nazis. Strauss probably could have left quite easily with his reputation, but the evidence of his being pro-Nazi seems based on leaps in logic (and, at least subconsciously, likely conflated with Hitler’s liking of Wagner’s music). Besides, Strauss was at least a generation older than many of the major figures of National Socialism, and his sense of historical persepctive likely added to his political naivete; after all, regimes had come and gone in Germany, and he initially viewed the Nazis as hardly any different. The Nazis and their horrors finally did pass, leaving a reminder of the perils of unchecked power. Strauss remained on earth a few more years to give the world a few more great works (including his Metamorphosen and Four Last Songs), leaving a legacy of numerous orchestral works, operas, and lieder that explore humanity with a vivaciousness achieved by few other composers.

Health was also a major topic yesterday, so it seems suitable to commemorate that as well. I had my last dental appointment in Texas, which means that I will need to find someone good in North Carolina. I recall a Seinfeld episode where Jerry commented that everyone thinks their dentist is the best. I can say the same about mine, without the emptiness implied by Jerry. With his team of hygenists, my (now former) dentist does quite excellent work. On an amusing note, something about him also reminds me of Dr. Phil. It may be his look, his manner, or even his voice, but one almost expects him to say, “It’s not what you’re biting. It’s what biting you.” Anyway, things have progressed quite well with my teeth since the “scaling” a few years ago, and I left yesterday with a flouride treatment for good measure. (Of course, if my essence starts to feel drained, I’ll get suspicious…)

From oral health to overall health… On an unfortunate note, my father-in-law had to go to the hospital due to fainting spells. He has had them before, and he has started to forget things more over the past few years. The doctors believe that he has Alzheimer’s, but Diane and I think it’s something different; he has some apparent early and later symptoms of Alzheimer’s, but some things seem too inconsistent with such a diagnosis. We do hope that he’s at least better for Father’s Day, especially with this being the last one before we move.

When I go to the dentist, I have my blood pressure taken before the cleaning. (They use a wrist monitor, which is preferable to the one that cuts off circulation to half your arm and brings you to the brink of passing out.) It’s usually quite low, something I attribute to not liking things too salty and to taking CoQ-10. However, it was a bit higher than normal (131/87). The hygienist asked if I was undergoing anything stressful, which prompted me to talk about the move. When I told Diane about this, she mentioned something that she has broached to me several times before: that we go to a gym and do some exercising, especially with the weather here getting too hot. After some discussion (colloquially speaking), I came to my senses and tried pushing bad memories of gym class and little league baseball from my brain. We decided to sign up for month-to-month membership at a nearby 24 Hour Fitness, built just a few months ago. Several months ago, Diane actually went to another one further down the road to sign up for a temporary program, and ran away screaming as the counselor tried pressuring her into some signing up for something she didn’t want.

Despite what happened to Diane at the other location, as well as the MAD magazine-inspired moniker I gave it in reaction (“24 Hour Fatness”), we thought we’d give it a try. A counselor named Darren (whose voice reminded me of a young Jack Nicholson) took care of signing us up, and he jumped through a few hoops so we could get the month-to-month membership for the remaining six weeks of our residency here. Diane thought he was a lot nicer than the one at the other 24 Hour Fitness. I felt comforted by the fact that he made fun of the “meatheads” who frequent the gym, and who lift weights with their backs. (Darren wryly commented that they’re probably trying to build muscles in their gluteus maximi, which makes sense if you think about it.) Darren also gave us a tour of the place, which has multiple optical illusions: it looks bigger on the outside than on the inside, which is quite substantial, but mirrors all around make it look larger yet again. Diane and I will probably go after a steak dinner tonight, which seems appropriate in anticipation of the venue. I also hope that, like my previous attempts at starting physical fitness regimens, I will feel more alert and better able to get a decent night’s sleep (and maybe shed several pounds, too). I will say that I’m looking forward to using an elliptical, treadmill, or stationary bike, which seem to do the job. Now that I have an iPod, a decent workout should seem less arduous with wonderful music for accompaniment. It may bring this posting a bit too close to a “full circle,” but I think that listening to Strauss should get everything pumping.

Revelations

A few postings ago, I obliquely wrote about a trip Diane and I made last month to North Carolina. Now that things have become “official,” I can tell more about its purpose. Back in April, Diane received a job offer from the School of Library and Information Sciences at North Carolina Central University in Durham. After much discussion, she and I decided that it was the best decision in the long run for a number of reasons. The decision didn’t come easily by any means, because it would require stretching our financial resources to accommodate moving, selling or leasing our current house, and obtaining a house in Durham. Furthermore, I would need to find employment there. (During the trip, I interviewed at an institute that provides an intellectually stimulating and contemplative atmosphere for scholars in the humanities.)

Regarding our housing situation, we decided to go with leasing in both instances. We were lucky enough to see and secure a very nice house for a reasonable monthly rent in the southern part of Durham. (Our lease officially begins in early July.) For our current house, we learned that closing costs and realtor fees would make selling prohibitively expensive, so we will go through a leasing agency. We will likely lose some money on property taxes, but it seems like the better option at present.

As I mentioned in the posting about our North Carolina visit, the area is quite lovely. After just a few days there, we felt at home already, and we didn’t feel like going back to Texas. Practical matters like our current jobs and getting the house ready for the move, as well as picking up our dog from my parents-in-law, made us come back.

Of course, there are a few things I’m not too keen about with regards to Texas. Traffic gets crazy in the metropolitan areas, summers get too bloody hot, and I feel like a bit of a political outsider (except when we visit Austin). Still, I have developed quite an affection for the best that Texas has to offer, and I will miss all that when I leave. The first thing I can think of is the relative ease of traveling to various places in Texas for which I have a special affection, including Austin (which Diane and I managed to visit at least two or three times a year), the coastline along Galveston Bay and the Gulf of Mexico, and the natural beauty of the Hill Country (west of Austin for those who know little of Texas geography).

Besides missing favorite getaway spots, I will also miss the culinary delights found in Texas. Kolaches and kolbasniks at the Czech Stop in West (opposite the Czech Inn on I-35). The various independent restaurants found throughout Austin (Romeo’s, The Clay Pit, Zen, Amy’s Ice Cream) and in the Metroplex (Texas Pit Bar B Q, Thai Tina’s), as well as chains found almost exclusively in Texas (or not available in North Carolina), such as La Madeleine and Blue Mesa. We also won’t be able to see operas and concerts at Texas’ best performing arts houses (and I’ll miss the Dallas Opera’s production of Salome next year), but moving to the east will place us within reasonable driving distance of a number of other opera companies, including the Metropolitan Opera itself.

Despite what we’ll miss in Texas, Diane and I will move to a relatively calm area with a number of great educational institutions whose names scholars and sports fans will recognize. Cultural opportunities will abound, and we will have a nice blend of independent and “big box” stores to fulfill our more mundane needs. (The area has four Whole Foods stores, too, so we can continue eating organic at home quite easily.) Melding the quotidian and the cultural, we encountered quite a few shops with a decent selection of classical and opera.

Although quite a number of issues need sorted out and plans need to be made, I look forward to making North Carolina my new home.

The path to Idiocracy

Fans of Mike Judge (creator of Beavis and Butt-head, King of the Hill, and cult critique of corporate craziness Office Space) have likely heard of Idiocracy. As writer and director of that film, Judge once again proves himself as one of the funniest people in America, cloaking caustic social satire behind crude humor and dimwitted characters. It actually came out last Fall, but don’t feel out of sorts if you heard nothing about the film. Fox actually dumped Idiocracy into just a few markets with little marketing and promotion, and it quietly disappeared from theaters shortly thereafter. Office Space met a similar fate when it came out in 1999, but it has developed a huge following among those who deal with various absurdities in the workplace: technology that gets the kerflooey, micromanagement by multiple bosses, working overtime to make up for the “rightsizing” of other employees, mastery of bureaucratic lingo over accomplishing real work, and so on.

Idiocracy has yet to receive the same cult affection as Office Space, but it shares a few similartities. As an example, it examines our frustrations when technology doesn’t work. However, unlike Office Space, Idiocracy takes place 500 years in the future. Selected by the military for a hibernation experiment on account of his “avergeness,” Everyman Joe Bauers (Luke Wilson) remains in stasis for much longer than anticipated after the experiment gets shut down. Luckily (marginally speaking), he awakens from his sleep due to the Great Garbage Avalanche of 2505. As Joe starts wandering around, he realizes that people have become… well, not-so-bright, as the title indicates. In addition, technology pretty well takes care of the most important tasks (when it bothers to work), and even the most venerated of professions have become parodies of their former selves. Joe learns this when he wanders into St. God’s Memorial Hospital, and ends up in a rowdy courtroom for not having a barcode tattoo that would have enabled him to pay for his diagnosis by a Dr. Lexus (provided that Joe had a bank account, of course). In fact, many characters in Idiocracy are named after products and companies, including Joe’s lawyer Frito (Dax Shepard), who obtained his law degree at Costco. Joe also learns that he is the smartest person around, along with a prostitute named Rita (Maya Rudolph) who was part of the same hibernation experiment. With Frito’s assistance, they eventually avert a national crisis whose solution would seem obvious to the rest of us, but not to a population that puts its faith in the power of the sports drink Brawndo (with electrolytes).

I would tell more, but too much would give away the satirical genius of Judge’s film. Admittedly, its projection of a future filled with dimwits seems a bit exaggerated, but the film works best if one views it as an x-treme caricature of the present. In fact, something that happened this weekend to Diane and I actually inspired this posting.

En route to getting a new laptop for Diane, we stopped at a Texaco near our house. As you may know, pumps at some stations have automated squawk boxes that try peddling some “points” program while you fill up your vehicle. Of course, you can press a mute button to stop the message, but it seems annoying to have something else pitched to you while you’re already purchasing gas. (Since Texaco sponsors the Metropolitan Opera, why not play some lovely music instead of a sales pitch? I can just envision a tie-in album entitled Pumpin’ to Puccini.) In Diane’s case, she had to push the mute button a few times before the squawk box actually shut up. After filling up the tank, we drove up to the station’s car wash. On the keypad at the car wash entrance, Diane entered the five-digit code to activate the car wash, which included a “4.” Unfortunately, that digit didn’t work, so she backed out and pulled up to the store to get a new code. We drove back to the car wash entrance, Diane entered the new code, and the keypad read the “1″ in that code as a “2.” With the vapid cheerfulness of a second-rate game show host, the keypad helpfully pointed out, “Sorry, but that number is incorrect.”

As Diane grew more infuriated at the machine, I thought of the scene in Idiocracy where a woman unsuccessfully tries ordering a colorfully-named size of fries at an automated Carl’s Jr. kiosk. (In the future depicted in Idiocracy, characters throw around “colorful” language so casually that one no longer has to worry about mispronouncing Fuddruckers anymore.) I pointed out the parallels between that scene and our predicament to Diane, who was amused but still infuriated about the machine failing twice.

When we went back to the store after the second keypad failure, Diane asked for a refund. One of the clerks said that we couldn’t get one because we paid at the pump. However, the other clerk there (probably a manager) pointed out that we could get a refund, but not in cash… or something like that; it was throughly confusing. Somehow, that didn’t work out either, and Diane said that she would just come back later to get her car washed. Remembering what happened to the woman at the Carl’s Jr. machine in Idiocracy, I’m not so sure; next time around, the keypad could have a self-defense upgrayedd (er, upgrade). Considering the present-day craziness that Idiocracy extrapolates and exaggerates 500 years hence, this would come as little surprise.

Eight things

For the biblioblogosphere’s latest meme, bloggers list eight “random” things about themselves. Before I start with my own list, I would like to mention that the best “randomness” more or less expects people to make connections between things that seem disconnected (as in the case of this AOL customer search history). The works of the Monty Python troupe immediately come to mind. Judging from their humour, they all seem like pretty sharp guys, and I don’t think they just threw things together in their skits and films just for the sake of doing so. However, I have come across a few fans who try aping Python’s “randomness,” but the results come across as depressingly superficial since their random acts are generally apropos of nothing.

Now that I have irritated a few stoners and slackers who think I have something sticking up my “bum,” here’s a list of eight random things about myself. Actually, my list consists of eight somewhat odd and unusual things that seem most likely to puzzle and amaze those who think they know what The Pragmatic Librarian is all about:

1. I have a horizontal scar across the bridge of my nose. However, it didn’t involve some misguided attempt at emulating Hemmingwayesque or Palahniukian machismo. Around the age of 18 months, I managed to pull a dining room chair on me, and it scraped some skin off my nose. My mother somehow managed to patch the skin back in place. Photographs from around that time show a rather unhappy near-toddler with a purplish line across his nose. After 33 years, it looks a lot less ghastly.

2. Others say that I sound just fine, but what I hear on audio recordings jars with the quasi-mellifluous tone I hear internally. I have tried finessing my voice to sound somewhat like James Mason, though I know well enough not to try a full-on British accent. No matter what I do, I seem stuck with the same Midwestern nasal honk that makes me shy away from hearing recordings of myself. (Lately, I’ve developed this theory that the accident mentioned above contributed to my voice, but my older brother has a similar sound.) Oddly enough, my French teacher in high school said that I had the best French accent she had heard from a student in years.

3. If I ever have an opportunity to visit a city in Europe, my first choices would consist of Berlin and Vienna. This should come as no surprise to anyone who knows my cultural proclivities, but probably unusual for those who would list the usual suspects as first choices (London, Paris, Rome, etc.).

4. I have multiple versions of many of my favorite works in classical music and opera. One or two versions sometimes suffice (Sinopoli’s spacious account of Mascagni’s Cavalleria Rusticana, Bernstein’s earthy rendering of Bizet’s Carmen), but not for all composers. Enter the Mahler, Strauss, and Wagner sections of my CD collection or iTunes account, and you may just have a rough time getting out.

5. For those of you who perceive me as a man of refined tastes, I will mention a few caveats. Around the age of 11 and 12, I developed an affinity for giant monster slugfests from Japan, as well as pro-wrestling; the latter included the WWF, as well as the no-budget WWA broadcasts out of Toledo (under the title Bruiser Bedlam). All this wore off after a few years as I got interested in things like classical music, and as I worked on changing my “image” to seem more appealing to the ladies. (That didn’t work until many years later.) Still, I have bemused memories of those days. As for Godzilla, Diane’s only experience with him was the 1998 US-made version, which she despised. I told her that the oversized iguana didn’t have the same grandeur and personality as the “real deal” from Japan, so we’ll probably screen one or two of the better Big-G movies sometime. Even today, I still meander into less-than-refined stuff, including old episodes of the animated quixotic misadventures of a certain dimwitted adolescent duo from Highland, Texas.

6. I have a weakness for chips (potato, tortilla, etc.). For that reason, we rarely have chips in the house. I get a small bag of organic potato chips every so often for the pantry for “emergencies,” but that’s pretty much it. As for fruit, I have yet to develop a liking. I find most of them rather bitter, and they can take about as long to eat as a regular meal. When I do eat fruits, I usually find myself scrunching my face because of the taste. However, I do like a few fruits, such as Fuji apples and grapes. I sometimes forget to eat them, but our dog loves grapes, so I have fed those to her so that they don’t end up fermenting in the fridge. Unfortunately, I recently found out that grapes aren’t all that good for dogs, so I refrain from doing that now (and we’re really careful with onions and chocolate, of course).

7. Although I currently have a strong sense of neatness and order in my surroundings, my room was a huge mess when I was a kid. Various film and television action figures (as well as their vehicles) populated my floor, closet, and even my dresser. I would set up elaborate confrontations between heroes and villains, especially in my reimaginings of Star Wars. Since one could never have enough Stormtroopers, I would recruit members of Cobra (from the G.I. Joe animated series) to enhance the Imperial military’s numbers. At various times, certain areas of the house would double as villainous lairs, including the dining room table and the main bathroom. For the latter, the sink doubled as a carnivorous sealife pool for bungling minions (enter my Indiana Jones figure as James Bond). Never did I use my parents’ room as an evil lair, however, which would have prompted a visit to the shrink.

8. I have two nieces who will turn 14 and 11 this month. Unfortunately, other than a few pictures and some video from several years ago, I have never seen them. The details of why remain unimportant (I’m not entirely sure myself), but I hope that Diane and I will have a chance to meet them someday. In the meantime, I at least have their picture on my desk, just as a reminder.

Looks like I’ve done my part for this meme. Now it’s your turn, if you have a blog and haven’t written eight things about yourself already.

Where’s Pragmatic?

As some of my subscribers may have noticed, I haven’t submitted a posting in three weeks. The last one appeared on the first day of the road trip Diane and I took to North Carolina. As you may have guessed, I have reasons for not posting, but I’m not at liberty yet to explain why. However, as a courtesy to both my readers and other parties, I will just say that the purpose of the trip relates somewhat to my lack of postings, though perhaps not necessarily in the way you might be thinking. Feel free to speculate, but just remember what Ossie Davis’ character said in Do the Right Thing: Those who know, don’t tell, and those who’ll tell, don’t know.

Anyway, enough of the Obi-Wan Kenobi stuff… Now that I have more or less explained my hiatus, I shall resume my semi-regular postings. I should begin by saying that I’m shocked about what happened to Walt Crawford as a result of the RLG/OCLC merger, though I suppose it should come as no surprise. Besides, who are we to question The Invisible Hand and its Infinite Wisdom? Echoing the sentiments of many others in the biblioblogosphere, I hope that Walt can find an employer who actually appreciates what he has to offer the profession.

About the trip, Diane and I enjoyed visiting North Carolina, where we spent time in the Raleigh-Durham-Chapel Hill area. It has a lot more trees and less traffic than the Dallas-Fort Worth, and it doesn’t have the temperature extremes one finds further north or south. The area offers quite a bit to do, especially with a number of excellent universities closeby. Only the most jaded of superficial jetsetters would find Raleigh-Durham-Chapel Hill boring… an apt projection strategy for one lacking personality or intellectual curiosity. As for myself, I look forward to seeing the area again.