I

“Das Veilchen”

Ein Veilchen auf der Wiese stand
Gebückt in sich und unbekannt;
Es war ein herziges Veilchen.
Da kam eine junge Schäferin,
Mit leichtem Schritt und munterm Sinn,
Daher, daher,
Die Wiese her, und sang.

Ach! denkt das Veilchen, wär ich nur
Die schönste Blume der Natur,
Ach, nur ein kleines Weilchen,
Bis mich das Liebchen abgepflückt
Und an dem Busen matt gedrückt!
Ach nur, ach nur
Ein Viertelstündchen lang!

Ach! aber ach! das Mädchen kam
Und nicht in acht das Veilchen nahm,
Ertrat das arme Veilchen.
Es sank und starb und freut' sich noch:
Und sterb ich denn, so sterb ich doch
Durch sie, durch sie,
Zu ihren Füßen doch.

—By Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

I dedicate this poem to dev trash.

II

A.
Tomorrow afternoon I'll be hopping (skipping and jumping) on a flight to NYistan for a short stay in the Big Apple with my modest iBook G4. I'll stay with my friend Jy, who stayed with me in Berlin a couple weeks last year and so was quite willing to give me a couple weeks of free lodging in return.

NYistan is much more expensive than Berlin, mind you, but this might be an excuse for me not just to walk a lot around town but also eat less and perhaps even weigh less by the time I return to the Socialist Republic of Madison in mid-June.

I thought to myself, “Self, Bostonia is only a few hours away by train or bus from NYistan, so why not head up there to see all those Boston HuSites?” My plan: arrive the morning of June 1, be around for lunch with whichever Boston HuSites who can makes it, and since I'm staying that night, I'm up for Friday evening or even some Saturday coffee, drinks, whatever.

... entertain me ...

It will be bo-nirvana. So just come as you are.

Recommendations for what else to do, wandering around Bostonia, are also welcome.

Signal your intense desire to entertain me with a comment here or over in ana's much more modest and appropriate diary that beat mine to the diary page by several hours.

B.
Since 1990 about half of our TAships have been cut; in the late 90s the department found a way to make up for that lack of funding support by financing a lot of PAships, primarily for research projects and editorial work at journals. The university (specifically the graduate school) made it more difficult a few years later by making it harder to get tuition remission for PAships; without tuition remission from the graduate school the department would have to pick up the tab, making the PAship considerably more expensive, even if and though the student never saw an increase in funding. And it has only gotten worse.

Evidently there is an “assistant dean” who was promoted to that title for salary reasons even though her job before was purely clerical. We're talking a B.A. at most and secretarial work, but now an assistant dean making $100,000 or more. From what I hear every time her name is spoken aloud it is prefixed with “the incompetent,” and yet everyone who actually does work, that is, work that is the core mission of the university, is seeing their funding, support, and salaries cut.

And in that regard academic is just like the private sector.

I would almost swear—except that I have a very clean mouth and would never use profanity—that the wavy-haired brunette outside is my ex with about 10–15 pounds added. The right (about 5'8") height, the right hair (if a tad longer), about the right figure, the right fashion sense, the right glasses, and the right hand gestures. Except that in the past that specific ex never frequented this coffee shop (she's more a fan of Barriques and the Starbucks™ outlets closer to her condo). And this woman is sitting outside at a table with two younger blondes who, by their dress (sweat-shirt-ish) and hair (pulled back in a lazy post-nap or post-workout bun) are more certainly undergrads; this is not behavior befitting the personality profile of Le.

I only mention this prolonged uncanniness because the German word for uncanny is unheimlich, unhomely or as a noun the unhomed, this idea of dispossession or being out of one's element. Something in the wrong place—see: HoL—and seeing someone across the way whose hair obscures their profile—the lips and nose and chin and cheeks that combined are almost as good at identifying someone as a good view of the eyes—or as they walk by but only from behind is too much like catching a glimpse out of the corner of your eye.

It's a type of recognition but at a less mature cognitive level, if it's cognitive at all (many philosophers would dispute and have disputed this [see: Kant]), and the feeling it engenders is one of discomfort.

I'll return to my iced coffee.

The redhead in the red t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up has jeans rolled up about four inches and soft leather boots half-way up her calves; she leans a bit provocatively with elbows on the counter, perhaps because she knows the guy behind the counter taking her order, who asked about her work, and whether the drink he is making is for her—no, for her mother—and whether she (the mother) would like a little extra espresso. But perhaps it's just the general flirtiness between male counter staff and female customers. The opposite is rarely encountered here.

If you knew the counter staff you'd understand.

Last night the call I received from Jy before going shopping with J&J was one of second-hand crisis, for usually I get calls of personal crisis (romantic, family health, stress, stalkerish psychotic behavior) from Jy, but this time it was, as stated, second-hand. Jy was trained as a crisis counselor, rape crisis in particular but not exclusively, and so her connection to the potential crisis under consideration was just about a person in trouble whom she knew but also guilt she felt at having not seen the “cries for help.”

But I'm ahead of myself here.

Getting, gotten ahead.

At Chicago and Columbia both but not in Madison Jy found herself relatively popular or at least the center of a type of social circle, for while she is or was antisocial by Madison terms, in the socially awkward and stunted environment of a UofC she was the proverbial one-eyed man in the land of the blind.

But forget not the maxim: be careful what you ask for.

When you become the center of attention you become the focal point for others, and when those others include to a great extent those who are shy, passive-aggressive, awkward, socially stunted, and misanthropic you also attract the annoying and the attention seeking. And as the center you become by default a type of leader or instigator or organizer, and thus, by default, a bit responsible for the others.

Jy tells of $FRIEND, a bit clingy, a bit annoying, and yet still a friend. $FRIEND didn't quite alienate the rest at Columbia but others weren't too sad to see her go once that M.A. or similar degree was completed. $FRIEND disappeared, only to call folks up not to long ago because she was living in D.C. now but planning on coming to N.Y. for a job interview or two.

When Jy and I talked last week our call was interrupted from time to time by Jy's need to give directions to someone else who was not her roommate, and she mentioned that she had a temporary house guest. $FRIEND was said guest. She'd go out in the morning to an interview and come back later, rest, go out to an interview. She had a bit of a social life. But her relationship with Jy, previously strained, grew strained again (absence makes the heart grow forgetful of what idiots some people are), and soon $FRIEND moved out to stay with someone else a few days, and she'd already stayed with someone else before Jy.

But $FRIEND was not an entirely inconsiderate guest, and when she arrived in town she brought her hosts and friends expensive gifts. But as they say, beware of geeks bearing gifts. Eventually the hosts began to talk once $FRIEND left town. The gifts were too generous. There were so many “interviews,” and yet never were the interviewing companies named. Doubts and concerns were raised; in the arithmetic of rationality things were not adding up. But attempts to contact $FRIEND back in D.C. have been in vain—next step, the parents?

Jy's fear? Did she miss “the signs”? Contact out of the blue. Out of character generosity and gifts beyond means. Instability and constant switching of locations. Imprecise nature of actual activities undertaken. Their hope is that $FRIEND is just bonkers, that she's just pulling a non-violent Tyler Durden or Patrick Bateman, that those “interviews” were just in her head that that $FRIEND was just off satisfying her crack or similar habit. But Jy's paranoid mind fears that $FRIEND could have been suicidal or similar; this is what happens when the near-psychotic enters into a feedback loop with another disturbed individual ... recursive paranoia.

This would have been better as a “story,” told with characters and plot, dialog, and a narrative arc that emphasized thrills and fears. But then I would have had to given into another of my conventions: indented paragraphs without additional blank lines. And that would have been too much work for a Friday afternoon.

The brunette outside switched seats after one blonde got up and left, and even from this distance it's clear, based on the fuller cheeks, friendlier eyes, and more smile-prone mouth one sees from this perspective that it's not Le, and the uncanny is resolved. My Friday becomes boring.

C.
Last night J called because her friend J was in town, had a car, and J&J were going to take a trip to Woodman's. I went along. After picking up some groceries we drove back to our neck of the woods but J told me that she and J planned on watching a movie; would I be interested in going along to 4-Star to get said movie? Since I had a 2-for-1 coupon at home we stopped first by my placed, grabbed said coupon, and so got two movies for the price of one ... all paid for by the second J as the first J took care of the car, which she had parked in the only available spot, a handicapped spot ... tsk tsk.

I went back with them and had the joy of watching the often hilarious Keeping Mum 2005, which as a “movie/film” suffers from lazy and at times laborious pacing in the second half and a bit of schizophrenia—is it a black comedy or a gentle romantic comedy?—but these matters, observed and critiqued by The Onion, matter little, I find, when it comes to watching and experiencing the movie. Even sober.

What does it offer? Kristin Scott Thomas as an unhappy housewife, Rowan Atkinson as her vicar husband, Maggie Smith as a psychopathic killer, and Patrick Swayze as a lecherous golf instructor, which is to say, as Patrick Swayze. This is a winning combination, whatever other faults the movie might have.

The interesting thing about Maggie Smith in this non-Harry Potter role is that in the face she so resembled Michael Cane that the two could be siblings, and I suggest that some director cast them in a movie together as such. The actress cast as the younger version of Maggie Smith's character is, if not a dead ringer, at least a very good choice—it's more the mannerisms she demonstrates in her few scenes than any actual physical resemblance.

And I would say that most of the “twists” that the movie might offer are, if not telegraphed, at least obvious by way of genre conventions, but again, this is unimportant. It's all about Smith's scene-stealing dominance.

Many will watch this and think of slap-stick comedy, of black comedy, of romantic comedies, comedies of manners, etc., but this is to miss the true thematic and stylistic connection involving a “stranger” entering the lives of dysfunctional family members: Visitor Q and Pier Paolo Pasolini's Teorema. I've not seen the latter. Many of you probably know Vistor Q. Not to be confused with the import Mister.

As for Keeping Mum, it's probably very good with a biting zinfandel.

D.
After last night's movie I was not in much of a mood to wake up early, but wake up relatively early I did, and this afternoon I had a lunch meeting with my brother. So I brought him half the batch of brownies I made last night because I really didn't need to consume the whole thing on my own.

• 2 sticks of butter
• 1 1/4 cups of sugar
• 3/4 cup and 2 Tbsp. unsweetened cocoa
• 1/4 tsp. salt
• 2 eggs, chilled
• 1/2 cup flour
• 2/3 cup chopped nuts

As for consuming the whole thing, this morning was 3-egg omelet time and oh did I get it done just right, though I wish I'd had more complex items to stick inside it ... some ham or sausage or tomatoes. Tomatoes would have been very nice.

This afternoon after lunch at the Mediterranean (mmm ... “arabic tea” [intense Earl Grey, sugar, and mint]) we walked by Pel Meni (Russian dumplings), where my colleague A and her husband S were consuming a batch of said dumplings, so we stopped to chat for a while, and then we ended up at Fair Trade for satisfying iced coffees. The wireless access is still down.

J&J just happened to walk by and then in, so the second J had to be shown both “Apache” and “Hard Rock Hallelujah” ... man, I still love that video.

III

“The Violet”

A violet in the meadow grew,
Bowed to earth, and hid from view:
It was a dear sweet violet.
Along came a young shepherdess
Free of heart, and light of step,
Came by, came by,
Singing, through the flowers.

Oh! Thought the violet, were I,
If only for a little while,
Nature's sweetest flower yet,
Till my Beloved picked me, pressed
Me fainting, dying to her breast!
So I might lie,
There, for but an hour!

Alas! Alas! The girl went past:
Unseen the violet in the grass,
Was crushed, poor violet.
It drooped and died, and yet it cried:
‘And though I die, yet still I die
By her, by her,
By her feet passing by.’

—Translated by A.S. Kline