A little snack

St. Nicholas brought us little packages of chocolate coins and peanuts in the shell. One of the roommates (P) stored hers at dachshund level, but in her room (she keeps the door shut). Yesterday B came downstairs with a handful of peanut shells and gold wrappers which she had found in a tidy little pile just inside our room (dachshund territory). Sam had taken the peanuts and coins, transported them to our room, unwrapped and shelled the goodies (the remains looked like the work of human hands), and enjoyed the spoils. But the big question is: did he carry them one by one until he had enough for a feast, or did he consume each item immediately after bringing it to his lair, and then return for more?

The Chronicles of Narnia

Mrs. Bear asked what the proper order of The Chronicles of Narnia was, so here we go:
1. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe
2. Prince Caspian
3. The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
4. The Silver Chair
5. The Horse and His Boy
6. The Magician's Nephew
7. The Last Battle
Narnia needs to be entered through the wardrobe, just like Wonderland and the looking-glass. Then, after you've read the first four books, it's so fun to be dropped back into "The Golden Age" (golden ages are always visited from a sadder time--otherwise you wouldn't feel the goldenness as much). And almost at the very end, you're suddenly back where it all started, and mysteries from the first few books make more sense. If you read it in chronological order (which Sapientiae Amator--following his general trend to the perverse--insists is best), you lose a lot of the mystery and delight.

O food, where are ye?

I've been wandering around like a lost soul all today (apart from the time that I've been passed out, sleeping off my cold). The reason is that although I went to the store a few days ago and spent way too much money, I don't seem to have anything to eat. I bought Clementines, which I don't want to eat because the last three have tasted funny (that might be due to the cold, or else my rich inner life). I also bought cider to make mulled cider when friends come over, and a hot cup of the remains is now keeping me company. And I must have bought pickles, because my salt intake has recently skyrocketed. This is actually good, because my drinking problem had been getting out of control (again, due to the cold making my throat feel funny). My roommates have tried to get me to seek help ever since the time that I made them smuggle in 2-gallon containers of Ozarka when I was in the hospital, but I still think that I only drink because I enjoy it (I admit that I do over-imbibe at parties, but who doesn't?). Anyhow, I haven't been quite so thirsty of late, which means that my electrolytes are recovering.

I was just angrily asking myself why I had so frivolously spent my money when my self, in an injured way, reminded me of the pound of ground beef in the fridge. "There it is, lean, defrosted, totally ripe for being turned into taco meat (ideal for taco salads)." I was somewhat taken aback, but after further pondering, I've decided that I don't have the moral energy required to turn a pound of raw ground beef into seasoned taco meat. And I'm comfortable with that. The oracle at Delphi suggested knowing thyself, and since I've clearly accomplished that, it's time for a little rest, a little folding of the hands in sleep.

High level dissent

Perhaps the most amazing thing about Jung Chang’s and Jon Halliday’s new biography of Chairman Mao is that they were given access to what must have been extremely high level party archives. They quote Mao’s diary, personal letters, disillusioned poems from his second wife, high level telegraphs, etc. The telegraphs, especially the early ones, are usually to or from the USSR, so they could have just had access to the Soviet archives. (By the by, saying that the CCP was the USSR’s marionette before 1949 gives the CCP far too much autonomy). But many of the other things could only be in Chinese archives, and as they tend to be the most explosive evidence against the myth of Mao, it is clear that they have been well guarded. There is a note saying that the authors are unable to give a list of the Chinese archives which they consulted. They have clearly been allowed to see things which the official regime would not have allowed.

There are three options. The first is that the authors have lied. This seems unlikely, but perhaps someone who wishes to go through their massive bibliography could prove otherwise. The second is that there are high level officials who want to prompt liberalization, and allowed the authors access to force the regime to change. Something similar happened five or six years ago, when politburo memos from the Tiananmen Square protests were leaked to the west and published. The other possibility is that this is all incredibly involved strategic maneuvering planned by the heads of the party to manipulate the country and the world in order to increase China’s global significance. If Mao were still in charge, this would be the most likely option. And I think the present government would still be able to shame Machiavelli. A UN inspector was recently allowed to investigate charges of torture in China, and was also allowed to find evidence of torture. In the end the report was still favorable to the central government, though. It stated that the torture was continuing despite the central government’s efforts to stop it, and that the government had had some success, as torture was less common now than ten years ago. (The report is still a very good sign—the regime must know that the people will find out about it through the internet, so it seems like a true commitment to end torture.) Or perhaps a mixture of the last two options is best: that the authors were allowed some access, but were not supposed to have found as much as they did or to have been so merciless towards the cult of Mao. All of these options--except the first--would be really good signs for China.

Having said all of this, I can’t imagine that the CCP is happy with the book. It destroys their founding myth, and since Mao has never been censured (as Stalin was), this is a grievous blow. If people actually read this book (and it is extraordinarily readable), it will be a harbinger of a new sun over China.

Dramatic irony

I wrote a letter to the editor of our school newspaper recently, and the idiots published it with a paragraph break at the exactly wrong point, thus ruining all the irony which the letter had been building up to. They honestly could not have more inept, and it’s extremely frustrating to know that the maimed letter is sitting in the newspaper with my name under it. (But I do wish I had put the very last sentence in a new paragraph—it is a new topic).

However, my youthful joi de vivre did succeed in making them assume what no bartender or liquor salesman has ever since I turned 15 or so—that is, that I am younger than 21. When the letter appeared, it was signed by me, “junior.”

Exhibit A (straight from the author’s pen):

Dear Editor,

I gather that the article “Love and _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _” (November 23, 2005) is intended to refer to the recent mainstage production of “Love and Intrigue.” It is indeed admirable to have said so little, even when given such a small space. In fact, there are only two keys to the content: the eight blanks in the title (i-n-t-r-i-g-u-e) and the burbling about Schiller in the nether portions of the column. I can understand such coyness when reporting on a production on the hill that must not be named, but surely our author does not dread being put on a hit list if he gives facts sufficient to ascertain the subject of his musings.

He could have mentioned the magnificent costumes. Or the overtly slimy secretary and his boss, the subtley creepy prime minister. Or the pathetically eager father, who has lived without romantic love so long that he can’t understand his daughter’s need for it. Or the dramatic irony in the last scene, when center stage is occupied by the torn pieces of a letter which could avert the entire tragedy. In fact, the only thing we learn from our erstwhile critic is that he seems troubled by dialogue of more brawn than that of a reality TV show. Of course the play would have been better if all words of more than one syllable were elaborately pantomimed for the vocabulary-challenged. Good acting will always make up for the audience’s deficiencies. This is the kind of criticism which will challenge the Drama Department to rise on the stepping stone of its lesser self to become a better and higher thing.

Exhibit B (Poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio.):

[Everything’s the same up to the last three sentences:]

… In fact, the only thing we learn from our erstwhile critic is that he seems troubled by dialogue of more brawn than that of a reality TV show. Of course the play would have been better if all words of more than one syllable were elaborately pantomimed for the vocabulary-challenged.

Good acting will always make up for the audience’s deficiencies. This is the kind of criticism which will challenge the Drama Department to rise on the stepping stone of its lesser self to become a better and higher thing.

Pemberley

After JFK was shot he was rushed to Pemberley, where I have spent many happy hours sitting in uncomfortable chairs in overcrowded waiting rooms. Pemberley is usually populated by semi-catatonic residents and very poor people, so it is odd to think of Jackie Kennedy waiting in one of those chairs.

6th Floor Museum

I went to the 6th Floor Museum today. The 6th floor in question is where the sniper was when he shot JFK. Oddly enough, I found it very interesting, and I think one could easily find a Soviet Communist plot behind it all. Here are a few of the fishy things:

1. The three shots were fired within 5.6 seconds, but they were fired from a regular rifle, not a machine gun, so there would need to be time to reload.

2. Lee Harvey Oswald had been trained in the Marines, and held a rank of something like “sharpshooter” in rifle usage. Unfortunately, they don’t tell you if that rank was expert, middle, or immediately above footshooter. Apparently the range made accurate shots extremely difficult, particularly with a moving target (this is from one of my students who was in the army in his home country, and was trained in this kind of thing—part of the tour is where you look out the window to where the car was driving by).

3. Oswald defected to the Soviet Union in 1959, and became a Soviet citizen. Yet he was allowed to return to the United States in 1962, accompanied by his Russian wife. Nikita Khrushev had liberalized the USSR to a certain extent, but Russian citizens were still not allowed out on a whim.

4. Oswald was killed by a man who was supposedly enraged by the assassination, and who also wanted to save Mrs. Kennedy the agony of testifying in a trial. This is more believable because his work had made him particularly sensitive towards women’s emotional needs (he owned a strip club). His ties to mafia members just show that mobsters can be patriotic, too.

Now, I do think the museum was set up be people who like conspiracy theories. And unfortunately, they did not give the proofs that one would need to be fairly certain. And it’s true that I really like Communist plots, but I did go into the museum thinking that Oswald killed Kennedy without assistance, so it was a pretty dramatic turn-around.

Something fishy

Two days ago, someone pulled a dirty trick. The sidewalk looked about the same, but as soon as my paw touched it, I knew something was wrong. It was slippery, and I wasn’t sure if it was cold or hot—all I know is that I felt safer on the welcome mat. My person said it was just fine, but that it would be better to walk on the grass. She rushed away without thinking it through and before I could answer! But I had to follow her to make sure she didn’t get in trouble. Everything was very strange, and I don’t think she really understood. She never understands—that’s why I have to be so vigilant. It’s good that I was there, too, because the grass wasn’t there any more. Instead, there were sharp, crunchy little things—maybe they were strips of paper. It smelled a little bit like grass, but it also smelled like those white cubes my person puts in my water in the summer. Anyhow, my person insisted on walking all over the yard, so I decided to make the best of it. I took care of some pressing business, and then checked up on the local animal gossip (I have to make sure that the squirrels and birds aren’t getting into trouble.) But my mother always said that if I do my duty, I’ll never go unrewarded. (I’m lucky I had such a good mother! Otherwise, I’d never have known my duty towards my person and small animals.) And it’s true! Each of my good deeds was rewarded with A Possibly Tasty Something lying in the ice/grass. I’m not sure what they were, but I snaffled them up as quick as I could.

My person and I disagree about Possibly Tasty Somethings. She says that I should look at them carefully before eating them. But I just don’t feel comfortable seeing the world that way. I have to throw myself all the way into life. I can’t stop and sniff around it first. And if the Possibly Tasty Something turns out to be not-good for me, I can always throw it up in my bed. In fact, I like this part best. At night my person stays in the same place for so long that I get worried and sad. If An Actually Not Tasty Something escapes in the bed, she jumps up and gets really excited, and then I get happy, too. I love it when we can be happy together.

Sam (as dictated to Flannery)

Back and Forth

Background: there are eight inches of snow back home.

Two days ago it was nippy even with a heavy coat on. Today the high was in the low 80s. There is a rumor of light snow tomorrow morning. At some point I will be excited by the mere presence of change. As it is, I will just brighten up the brown Texas landscape with a bit of envious greenery.

Okay

I haven't been able to find anything from Pope Benedict XVI re: Harry Potter other than an old letter from when he was cardinal, so I think it is a red herring. Everything that I said in the last post is worth pausing over, yet the worst case scenario is just that you might have to talk to your children about their reading (awful prospect) or else not base your own conduct on Harry's (if only I'd been told sooner). The most likely scenario is that his self-righteous posturings will become somewhat wearying after a while.

And in the putting-things-in-perspective department, the fact that J.K. Rowlings doesn't understand the difference between good and evil puts her in the company of the rest of our post-modern secular society. In fact, she's ahead of many since she seems to think there is a difference, even if she can't put her finger on it. So she is certainly no worse than your average newspaper, newsmagazine, etc., and as she is not peddling goodthink, she is significantly better. And although a child would easily become scarred by reading Ann Landers regularly, I really don't think anyone will be scarred from Harry Potter.

The Oracle Speaks

Warning: This post refers to the ending of the sixth Harry Potter book. Procede at your own risk.

Rumor has it that Pope Benedict XVI has issued a formal statement that the Harry Potter books are bad and should not be read. If I find this statement (and learn how to add links to my posts), I will make a new post including it. But before I look at it, I want to issue my own opinion. I know you’ve all been waiting for it.

The problem with the Harry Potter books is not the presence of magic. Nor is it the use of “witch” with positive connotations. Even the super-abundant grammatical errors are not the biggest problem. And, in the books’ defense, they are extremely enjoyable to read (I read all six one week last summer, and only became tired of them on the fifth).

Harry breaks rules, which is not necessarily a problem. Sometimes he breaks rules because there is a peculiar circumstance where Harry is able to avert a calamity, and the intention of the rule (protecting students) can only be achieved by breaking it. But at other times he capriciously breaks rules which are acknowledged to be just and were created for his own good, but in the end no distinction is made between the two—it’s always good that Harry breaks rules, though small minded people might think otherwise at first. The last word is, “Awww, it’s Harry! You’re the best, Harry!”

But the greatest problem is that although both evil and good are nominally present, there is no substantial difference between the two. They are simply a matter of definition. Draco Malfoy (Harry’s youthful nemesis) and Harry act in exactly the same way. They both follow in their fathers’ footsteps. They are both protégés of the master magicians whom their fathers served (Voldemort and Dumbledore). They both have a favorite teacher (Snape and McGonagall). The favorite teachers are heads of their respective houses, and are almost equally unfair, favoring the boys in their houses. The primary distinction between the teachers is that the bad one has bad hygiene. Malfoy mocks Harry to a cruel degree, and uses magic to humiliate him. Harry mocks Malfoy cruelly (taunting him when his father is sent to the horrific prison, Azkaban), and also uses magic to humiliate him. Harry’s father before him mocked Snape in really evil ways, and when Harry stumbles across the memory (lying in a bowl), he is momentarily sobered, but he never changes his behavior towards Snape, and in the end the moral is that unequivocal hatred of Snape is the correct choice. One of the best things about the earlier books was the fact that Snape was on the good side, despite his greasy hair and crankiness, but an important person causes his own demise and the greatest disaster in the series by believing in the possibility of goodness within an unappetizing exterior.

There are three “unforgivable” curses: the Cruciatus Curse (horrific pain), the Imperius Curse (which allows one to take over another’s body), and the Killing Curse (which kills on impact). These curses are said to be so bad that no use of them can be forgiven, and one is automatically sent to the Prison of Azkaban for using them. I loved this idea, especially the primacy given to respect of free will. It is also the essence of the struggle between good and evil that there are some tools which are so evil that anyone who uses them will—by that very fact—have become very evil. This is what makes the fight so exciting—the evil side has the advantage over the good in the tools that they use. Yet the instant the good side uses those tools, the evil side wins—because the good will have become evil. But in the end the destruction worked by the evil side within their own souls by using those tools is so great that their advantage becomes a disadvantage. But all of this about souls damaging themselves by their choices is a bit beyond Ms. Rowling (who honestly seems to be trying to make a real difference between the two for dramatic purposes). By the end of the book which introduces these curses, Harry himself is trying to use them. It turns out that he isn’t successful, because righteous anger (his motivation) is not as strong as simple hatred (the evil side’s motivation). He is weak because he is good, but he keeps right on trying, attempting to use all of the curses several times in the rest of the series. Well, we can admire his persistence. But any sense of the essential evil of these curses is now gone—the evil only belongs to the person who is able to use them successfully, so the curses are in a way morally neutral, being simple vehicles. And the evil of the person is not determined by their own actions, but only by their parents and the kind of mentor they are attracted to. The latter is generally a key factor in a person’s progress in good or evil, but is not a sufficient cause. The former has nothing to do with a person’s character when that person is—like Harry—an orphan.

The first half of the first book is so badly written that it is hard to slog through, but the second half and the second and third books are really enjoyable. J.K. Rowling’s complete naivety in matters of good and evil steps forward in the fourth book (not coincidentally the same book where she tries to be a little deeper), and the books decline rapidly after that. But even so, if I happen to be visiting a house that has the seventh book, I will probably read it, because I am curious to see how it ends. She has no clue about human nature, good, and evil, but she does write a fun adventure.

Laundry

Somebody had left the laundry to its own devices for a little too long, so I had to take care of it before the pile started making lunges at my feet as I walked past. I've been having trouble with my socks disappearing, and have dealt with it by combining the pebbly-textured sock with the pebbly-stripe-textured sock (No One Will Know). However, I felt that the situation could easily worsen to the point of having to combine different colored socks, which means that I would have to wear rainboots with long trousers (Somebody Might Guess). I'm living in Texas, so I started a "No Sock Left Behind" program. Unfortunately, I had forgotten that my socks (being Texans) are big fans of Tim Lahaye and Jerry Jenkins. The ensuing panic was even worse than the time two years ago when the cardigans spread a rumor that ethnic clothing was being rounded up and put in "washing machines" that were really gas furnaces (although a big part of that broohaha was the debate over what constitutes "ethnic clothing"). Anyhow, if it had simply been the socks, which are a docile clothing group, the trouble would have ended easily. The business casual clothes keep themselves apart from the common lot (on the previous occasion their motto had been "Better to burn than to be unclean," which actually caused more harm than good). However, the flare jeans tend to be incendiary, and they seized the opportunity to start a campaign for stocking dignity, with mottos like "Downtrodden no more." They also recommended integrating socks into the closet, rather than keeping them segregated (and not equal) in the dresser. The worst part is that socks are very earnest, and they have a hard time telling when they are being made fun of ("I'm sure an appropriate hanger could be devised if it were really wanted"). In the end riot police had to spray them down with Shout and throw them in the washer.

Howlin' Wolf

The weather has suddenly turned cold, and as I walked my dog, Sam, this evening, I was enjoying that crisp alive-ness which only comes in cold weather when one has a cozy coat on. Sound seems to carry better in the cold, and I could hear a song well enough to know it was one I liked but had not heard in some time. Then the song changed and I could hear it clearly (having also walked closer)--some undergrads across the street were playing the Doors, and Jim Morrison was singing "The men don't KNOW, but the little girls UNDERSTAND!" But I think what I really heard was my dad singing from across a decade or so, and seeing the wide-open-mouth-and-scrunched-up-eyes expression necessary for rendering the italicized words with the proper emotion (KNOW to rhyme with YOW!)

I dithered over the appropriateness of this post for a family oriented weblog, but Sam maintains that though the song may seem to be charged with a certain something, it is actually quite innocent. "I am myself a back door man," he explained earnestly, "particularly at the times immediately after breakfast and supper."

Great Thought #2 or Purpose

This morning when my dog Sam burst out of the front door, eager to start another day of Things To Be Done, he disturbed a delegation of wildlife. As the two cats, one kitten, three squirrels and four sparrows scattered, faint cries of "Deny your public no longer!" and "Sweet, be not so unkind" drifted back to me. After serious pondering I have decided to dither no longer. The purpose of this blog is to afford the general public greater access to Flannery Thought (not to be confused with Mao Tse-Tung Thought). Helen Gurley Brown was motivated by a similar principle when she took over the struggling Cosmopolitan magazine, intending to use it in lieu of personal responses to fan mail from readers of her book Sex and the Single Girl. It should go without saying that I'll begin where she left off (that is, with a permanent face-lift smile).

Great Thought #1

The problem with the first post is that it must be a great post--it must give the defense for all other posts to come. But you say that you do not see the problem? It is true that all thoughts proceeding from me are a fortiori great thoughts, but my massive humility (which wins in all out wrestling matches against my bulky intellect) prevents me from sharing your insouciance, dear reader. And so I feel myself under a certain obligation for my wit to sparkle as few wits have sparkled before. However, there is another way out. As a wise tutor of mine once said regarding the students' studious avoidance of the front row at school lectures, "the problem is easily solved by removing the first row." And this is what I shall do. Proceed to post number two.
(If you are curious as to which wise tutor, I need only say that if you accidentally added an "s" to his name he would courteously inform you that he was not plural).