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my uncle j died on monday night -- he was 80 and had been ill for several years; the end was quiet and expected, his children and grandchildren all with him; he was a very kind man, by turns exasperating and entertaining; he loved to plunge into slightly cranky self-chosen campaigns (we once all got a letter asking us to sign a petition about the length the grass is cut to on h4mpst34d h34th); my abiding image is of him folding his arms determinedly and sitting back in amused triumph; i didn't see him since my aunt s's funeral nearly two years ago, tho i kept meaning to go over
Jul. 3rd, 2008
also deflated and grumpy
Jul. 3rd, 2008 10:38 amftb a completely difft reason
i: a friend asked me to write a report on a contribution to his project
ii: i wrote a very through report and he was pleased
iii: it required that i take to pieces, in fine detail, a very very bad essay, whose root stance and politics i entirely agree with, which was lazy and posturing and incredibly stupid and rubbish
iv: in the course of the phone discussion that ensued -- my friend wanted advice on how to proceed with the contributor -- he characterised the contributor, according to their own self-description, in a way that floored me: "[xxx] considers themselves a [yyy]"
v: and i feel caught between two impulses -- outrage that someone so manifestly NOT a [yyy] should be going round saying so; and embarassment that i feel so let down when a [yyy] of all things fails to live up to basic standards of scholarship, competence, integrity <--- it's not as if history isn't CHOCK-FULL of this failing, for ALL POSSIBLE values of [yyy], mine, yours, whoever's...
vi: ... i am also fed up, i think, bcz the amount of work i did sets me up for a stage 2, which is actually for me to wade in and do the re-write and turn this into a GOOD piece saying the same thing, and chasing up the critical-analytical ideas it promises fleetingly to tackle then hurries right past
vii: so yeah CAPN SAVE-A-BONEHEAD, i am so lame
i: a friend asked me to write a report on a contribution to his project
ii: i wrote a very through report and he was pleased
iii: it required that i take to pieces, in fine detail, a very very bad essay, whose root stance and politics i entirely agree with, which was lazy and posturing and incredibly stupid and rubbish
iv: in the course of the phone discussion that ensued -- my friend wanted advice on how to proceed with the contributor -- he characterised the contributor, according to their own self-description, in a way that floored me: "[xxx] considers themselves a [yyy]"
v: and i feel caught between two impulses -- outrage that someone so manifestly NOT a [yyy] should be going round saying so; and embarassment that i feel so let down when a [yyy] of all things fails to live up to basic standards of scholarship, competence, integrity <--- it's not as if history isn't CHOCK-FULL of this failing, for ALL POSSIBLE values of [yyy], mine, yours, whoever's...
vi: ... i am also fed up, i think, bcz the amount of work i did sets me up for a stage 2, which is actually for me to wade in and do the re-write and turn this into a GOOD piece saying the same thing, and chasing up the critical-analytical ideas it promises fleetingly to tackle then hurries right past
vii: so yeah CAPN SAVE-A-BONEHEAD, i am so lame
how to be a genius part one: aim high
Jul. 3rd, 2008 12:20 pmthis is me aged 15, and how i felt my name should look in my piano music books
( it's not as if i could PLAY any of this properly )
( teenagers = d¡cks! )
anyway, it made me chuckle when i dug em out like 30 years later
IMPORTANT UPDATE:
( I am six years old )
prestan monford holl is here: it is where mum and dad lived and worked when i was a kid, in a teenytiny crampped little flat before you gasp and stretch yr eyes too much at my posh opulence (that came later)
( it's not as if i could PLAY any of this properly )
( teenagers = d¡cks! )
anyway, it made me chuckle when i dug em out like 30 years later
IMPORTANT UPDATE:
( I am six years old )
prestan monford holl is here: it is where mum and dad lived and worked when i was a kid, in a teenytiny crampped little flat before you gasp and stretch yr eyes too much at my posh opulence (that came later)