Still Life
Hello World,
Happy Presidents Day weekend, and I hope that you will be able to make an executive decision to enjoy a long holiday weekend full of all the pomp and circumstance that anyone could possibly want, with plenty of Hail to the Chief for good measure. Things are already better in the local area, as we had an entire week with no precipitation of any kind (in our house, we don't use the "S" word anymore, after all the fluffy white stuff we've been through) and the weather finally inched its way above freezing, so that it felt almost balmy by comparison. At work on Friday, I had to cross over the campus to another building, and it was positively delightful out, and seemed just like spring, in stark contrast to just a few days ago. In fact, it was two weeks ago, when we were still gripped in the icy fist of implacable winter with piles of snow and ice everywhere, that I heard the first spring birds and their jaunty songs of hope and rebirth in the neighborhood, and a more welcome sound would be hard to come by, believe me. Bill even spotted a robin, and as harbingers of spring, they set the standard, so it's another encouraging sign for winter-weary people yearning to break free of the arctic doldrums, or at least see the light at the end of the tunnel that's not another oncoming blizzard, thanks not.
Of course, Monday was Valentine's Day for romantics everywhere, full of hearts and flowers and plenty of chocolate, which as a gift has that "one-size-fits-all" kind of quality that makes it so appealing. We had an appointment after work and then went out to dinner, which we usually don't, so that was a special treat, followed by presents that I don't mind saying, were up to Cupid's usual standards, and not to mention, extremely delicious as well. The holiday also represented another milestone, in that it was the end of the Christmas caravan for another year, as the day before we finally exchanged gifts with the last errant family member who had not been previously available for any of the other gift-giving opportunities along the caravan route up to this point. So we can finally pack away our sugar plums and mistletoe at long last, and take down the stockings, although if anyone thinks that I'm going to trust them to the evil clutches of the furry varmints in the attic, well, you can just believe that it will all be very far beyond their grasp.
And speaking of things that are beyond my grasp, this is one that I would not have figured to be in that category in any way, shape or form, up until now. It was years ago that I inherited a chair at work when I changed offices, because my old office was too hot, and I left my desk and chair behind to make a clean break of it. This was not a bad chair, as chairs go, but as chairs go, this one wouldn't - it simply didn't want to roll for beans. After using it for a while, I noticed that two of the casters would roll, but refused to swivel, so that you could go in one direction, but not another, unless you got completely up and turned the base of the chair in the direction that the casters would go. One day I remembered that when I moved into the office, and was re-organizing the furniture, I discovered a box of casters, which I put in the credenza to keep them out of the way. I decided to dig them out, and hoped that they would solve the problem, but I soon found out that there was a reason they were still in the box and not on the chair, because they didn't fit. All at once it dawned on me that I could just as easily buy a box of replacement casters that would fit, and after all, how expensive could it be for five lousy casters, and make my life so much easier - why, it would be a bargain at twice the price. Not so fast! Apparently casters have become "fashionable," and you now need a masters degree in Chairology in order to figure out what casters will fit what bases, and on what surfaces, and with what safety features, and on and on and on. I read all the descriptions, and picked out a set that I thought would do the trick, but when they came, the stems were too long to fit the base of the chair, unless I wanted to disassemble the decorative sleeves that covered the base so it didn't look unfinished. In a fortuitous coincidence, two of the sleeves were missing anyway, so I banged out the two bum casters that wouldn't swivel, and replaced them with two of the new casters, on the theory that it would at least have to be an improvement. It's true that the stems stuck up above the base and looked unsightly, but the casters worked a lot better, so I considered it a fair trade-off. After a while, I decided that I now knew enough about casters to pick out the right ones from a catalog, so I could replace all of them, and enter a whole new world of carefree mobility in the office of the future. So once again, I found myself with a box of replacement casters, and this time, that came along with two sets of stems to suit whatever the hypothetical chair base might throw at the unwary office worker. Amazingly enough, it turned out that the stems that would fit the chair base wouldn't fit the casters, and vice versa, so I ended up with yet a third box full of replacement casters that wouldn't work on the same stupid chair. I finally had to throw in the proverbial towel, and recognize that replacing the chair casters was obviously way beyond my meager capabilities, and required a mystical and arcane super power that I did not possess, and probably never would possess, and I should just give it up as a lost cause. Honestly, for the amount of time and effort and money that I have spent in trying to replace the casters on this chair, I could have long since built my own chair from scratch and be done with it already, and get on with my life. Still-life, that is.
Last week, I wanted to use the phrase "winter of our discontent," which is certainly well-known enough to anybody, but I couldn't for the life of me remember what comes after that, so I looked it up online. Of course, Shakespeare can be a more than a little abstruse, and the Internet is awash in pedantic sites about The Bard, and stuffed to the gills with pedagogues. Luckily, I stumbled upon our friends at http://www.enotes.com/, who were happy to oblige, and no dry and fusty pontifications for them, by golly, this was the James Bond of Avon - shaken, not stirred:
================================
Now is the winter of our discontentMade glorious summer by this son of York;And all the clouds that low'r'd upon our houseIn the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Richard, the future king, opens his play not by protesting his discontent, but by celebrating an upturn in his family's fortunes. His brother Edward IV—they're sons of the Duke of York—has wrested the English crown from Henry VI and the Lancastrian house. So those who simply quote "Now is the winter of our discontent" are doing these lines a disservice, since the "now" actually modifies "made glorious" (i.e. "The winter is now made glorious summer"). To translate more loosely: "The oppression of our family, which made life like a long winter, has been turned to a summery contentedness now that my brother is king." Edward's emblem is the sun, and the radiance of his glory has dispelled the clouds that "lowered" (frowned) on the House of York. Richard's string of metaphors runs adrift, though, when he begins talking about burying clouds in the ocean.
=================================
I just love their sly editorial comment (on Shakespeare, no less!) about the metaphors running adrift - as opposed to "aground" - with the clouds in the ocean. Stuff like that just tickles me.
And speaking of running adrift, as it were, I'm sure that everyone will be glad to hear that we've turned yet another corner in the ongoing Verizon saga at our house, which has so far had a lot more corners than I would have originally supposed. In fact, this one might lead a more optimistic person to imagine that the winter of our disconnect really was now to be made glorious summer and dispel the frowning clouds over the House of "No-Bell" in the bosom of the airwaves at long last. I came home from work on Wednesday and picked up the phone in the bedroom, and what to my wondering ears should appear but a dial tone, of all things, which has been sorely lacking, lo these many weeks on end over end, and then some. We were agog with amazement at this revolutionary concept, only about a mere hundred years after the invention of the apparatus in the first place, and here it was, on our very own phone. Our euphoria was soon cut short when we realized that with the dial tone, we could indeed make calls out, but we still couldn't get any calls in, which I suppose made it good for us, but bad for the telemarketers, which is what I would describe as a mixed blessing. After all, we can't expect much in the way of economic recovery if people can't call us on the phone to sell us insurance, aluminum siding, chimney cleaning, or carpet shampooing, so I'd say that Verizon still has their work cut out for them on this problem. As for me, I refuse to get all excited about having a dial tone at this point, after all, we've been known to have dial tone for two days at a time on several occasions already, only to have the rug pulled out from under us later. And let's not forget that I know a thing or two about rugs, believe me, and still have three boxes full of replacement chair casters to prove it.
Elle
Happy Presidents Day weekend, and I hope that you will be able to make an executive decision to enjoy a long holiday weekend full of all the pomp and circumstance that anyone could possibly want, with plenty of Hail to the Chief for good measure. Things are already better in the local area, as we had an entire week with no precipitation of any kind (in our house, we don't use the "S" word anymore, after all the fluffy white stuff we've been through) and the weather finally inched its way above freezing, so that it felt almost balmy by comparison. At work on Friday, I had to cross over the campus to another building, and it was positively delightful out, and seemed just like spring, in stark contrast to just a few days ago. In fact, it was two weeks ago, when we were still gripped in the icy fist of implacable winter with piles of snow and ice everywhere, that I heard the first spring birds and their jaunty songs of hope and rebirth in the neighborhood, and a more welcome sound would be hard to come by, believe me. Bill even spotted a robin, and as harbingers of spring, they set the standard, so it's another encouraging sign for winter-weary people yearning to break free of the arctic doldrums, or at least see the light at the end of the tunnel that's not another oncoming blizzard, thanks not.
Of course, Monday was Valentine's Day for romantics everywhere, full of hearts and flowers and plenty of chocolate, which as a gift has that "one-size-fits-all" kind of quality that makes it so appealing. We had an appointment after work and then went out to dinner, which we usually don't, so that was a special treat, followed by presents that I don't mind saying, were up to Cupid's usual standards, and not to mention, extremely delicious as well. The holiday also represented another milestone, in that it was the end of the Christmas caravan for another year, as the day before we finally exchanged gifts with the last errant family member who had not been previously available for any of the other gift-giving opportunities along the caravan route up to this point. So we can finally pack away our sugar plums and mistletoe at long last, and take down the stockings, although if anyone thinks that I'm going to trust them to the evil clutches of the furry varmints in the attic, well, you can just believe that it will all be very far beyond their grasp.
And speaking of things that are beyond my grasp, this is one that I would not have figured to be in that category in any way, shape or form, up until now. It was years ago that I inherited a chair at work when I changed offices, because my old office was too hot, and I left my desk and chair behind to make a clean break of it. This was not a bad chair, as chairs go, but as chairs go, this one wouldn't - it simply didn't want to roll for beans. After using it for a while, I noticed that two of the casters would roll, but refused to swivel, so that you could go in one direction, but not another, unless you got completely up and turned the base of the chair in the direction that the casters would go. One day I remembered that when I moved into the office, and was re-organizing the furniture, I discovered a box of casters, which I put in the credenza to keep them out of the way. I decided to dig them out, and hoped that they would solve the problem, but I soon found out that there was a reason they were still in the box and not on the chair, because they didn't fit. All at once it dawned on me that I could just as easily buy a box of replacement casters that would fit, and after all, how expensive could it be for five lousy casters, and make my life so much easier - why, it would be a bargain at twice the price. Not so fast! Apparently casters have become "fashionable," and you now need a masters degree in Chairology in order to figure out what casters will fit what bases, and on what surfaces, and with what safety features, and on and on and on. I read all the descriptions, and picked out a set that I thought would do the trick, but when they came, the stems were too long to fit the base of the chair, unless I wanted to disassemble the decorative sleeves that covered the base so it didn't look unfinished. In a fortuitous coincidence, two of the sleeves were missing anyway, so I banged out the two bum casters that wouldn't swivel, and replaced them with two of the new casters, on the theory that it would at least have to be an improvement. It's true that the stems stuck up above the base and looked unsightly, but the casters worked a lot better, so I considered it a fair trade-off. After a while, I decided that I now knew enough about casters to pick out the right ones from a catalog, so I could replace all of them, and enter a whole new world of carefree mobility in the office of the future. So once again, I found myself with a box of replacement casters, and this time, that came along with two sets of stems to suit whatever the hypothetical chair base might throw at the unwary office worker. Amazingly enough, it turned out that the stems that would fit the chair base wouldn't fit the casters, and vice versa, so I ended up with yet a third box full of replacement casters that wouldn't work on the same stupid chair. I finally had to throw in the proverbial towel, and recognize that replacing the chair casters was obviously way beyond my meager capabilities, and required a mystical and arcane super power that I did not possess, and probably never would possess, and I should just give it up as a lost cause. Honestly, for the amount of time and effort and money that I have spent in trying to replace the casters on this chair, I could have long since built my own chair from scratch and be done with it already, and get on with my life. Still-life, that is.
Last week, I wanted to use the phrase "winter of our discontent," which is certainly well-known enough to anybody, but I couldn't for the life of me remember what comes after that, so I looked it up online. Of course, Shakespeare can be a more than a little abstruse, and the Internet is awash in pedantic sites about The Bard, and stuffed to the gills with pedagogues. Luckily, I stumbled upon our friends at http://www.enotes.com/, who were happy to oblige, and no dry and fusty pontifications for them, by golly, this was the James Bond of Avon - shaken, not stirred:
================================
Now is the winter of our discontentMade glorious summer by this son of York;And all the clouds that low'r'd upon our houseIn the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Richard, the future king, opens his play not by protesting his discontent, but by celebrating an upturn in his family's fortunes. His brother Edward IV—they're sons of the Duke of York—has wrested the English crown from Henry VI and the Lancastrian house. So those who simply quote "Now is the winter of our discontent" are doing these lines a disservice, since the "now" actually modifies "made glorious" (i.e. "The winter is now made glorious summer"). To translate more loosely: "The oppression of our family, which made life like a long winter, has been turned to a summery contentedness now that my brother is king." Edward's emblem is the sun, and the radiance of his glory has dispelled the clouds that "lowered" (frowned) on the House of York. Richard's string of metaphors runs adrift, though, when he begins talking about burying clouds in the ocean.
=================================
I just love their sly editorial comment (on Shakespeare, no less!) about the metaphors running adrift - as opposed to "aground" - with the clouds in the ocean. Stuff like that just tickles me.
And speaking of running adrift, as it were, I'm sure that everyone will be glad to hear that we've turned yet another corner in the ongoing Verizon saga at our house, which has so far had a lot more corners than I would have originally supposed. In fact, this one might lead a more optimistic person to imagine that the winter of our disconnect really was now to be made glorious summer and dispel the frowning clouds over the House of "No-Bell" in the bosom of the airwaves at long last. I came home from work on Wednesday and picked up the phone in the bedroom, and what to my wondering ears should appear but a dial tone, of all things, which has been sorely lacking, lo these many weeks on end over end, and then some. We were agog with amazement at this revolutionary concept, only about a mere hundred years after the invention of the apparatus in the first place, and here it was, on our very own phone. Our euphoria was soon cut short when we realized that with the dial tone, we could indeed make calls out, but we still couldn't get any calls in, which I suppose made it good for us, but bad for the telemarketers, which is what I would describe as a mixed blessing. After all, we can't expect much in the way of economic recovery if people can't call us on the phone to sell us insurance, aluminum siding, chimney cleaning, or carpet shampooing, so I'd say that Verizon still has their work cut out for them on this problem. As for me, I refuse to get all excited about having a dial tone at this point, after all, we've been known to have dial tone for two days at a time on several occasions already, only to have the rug pulled out from under us later. And let's not forget that I know a thing or two about rugs, believe me, and still have three boxes full of replacement chair casters to prove it.
Elle
posted by El Tango Fandango @ 8:22 PM
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