meirwen_1988

Even I'm not this obsessive, but I think it's brilliant. Link thanks lyonessnyc:
Jericho Billboard

CBS has released the following statement: ''The March 25th episode of Jericho will be the series finale. Without question, there are passionate viewers watching this program; we simply wish there were more. We thank an engaged and spirited fan base for keeping the show alive this long, and an outstanding team of producers, cast and crew that went through creative hoops to deliver a compelling, high quality second season. We have no regrets bringing the show back for a second try. We listened to our viewers, gave the series an opportunity to grow, and the producers put a great story on the screen. We're proud of everyone's efforts.'' (The Hollywood Reporter)

Dear Goddess of the Space Time Continuum--

Please give me an Emperor's Club Ticket to the Boston JumpCon (http://www.jumpcon.com/BostonConvention.html) in July 2008, and the safe and reliable means to get there and back, and an equivalent amount of money to spend on the house, my sweeties, and all my friends so I don't feel guilty, and may there be absolutely no negative consequences, ever, to anyone, as a direct result of, influenced by, or tangentially related to the positive material response to this request.

Thank you,

Your humble servant,

GeekGirl

Pennsic was Pennsic. The timing (a week earlier) was nice, despite those with selective memory who insist on blaming all the crappy weather on the week shift. Check the weather reports for the last 20 years kids--we've gotten sucky weather like we had this last week at least 6 times in the past that I remember during the SECOND week of the war, usually thanks to some hurricane or tropical depression. The only way a time change would truly affect the War weather would be to move it out of hurricane season. Not gonna happen.

Did my usual Pennsic service at Public Safety, but I was feeling guilty about not being Fleur-y enough (no classes). I did make the A&S display and my order meeting. Then my sweet Duke pointed out that spending 2 hours a day in a rehearsal tent working on period music was...ta da...ART! dummy, so I had nothing to apologize for. I love that guy.

Left Friday, with Boy failing the packing test for the first time ever! (And this despite us taking back less stuff than Ro drove down.) Thanks to those who found room for the stuff that didn't fit. Boy rented us a lovely hotel room (Holiday Inn Express Rocks!) with jacuzzi tub for Friday night. We had dinner at Texas Roadhouse (my favorite steak joint), then b'fast Saturday at Bob Evans. It is all good.

The car was only a bit of a putz on the way home, with many stops. But the 45 minute cool down at the Liverpool Thruway stop was not much fun (though Duke napped, which is good). For some reason, macho man wouldn't let me spell him in the driving. Doofus.

Home. Two packages awaited me--the new Babylon 5 movie and a big box from Penzey's Spice House. Much happiness. I unloaded the spices Saturday. MMMMMmmmmmm. There shall be yumminess. Watched the movie yesterday morning when I woke early--close captioned so I could actually follow it. Then the boos wanted to watch it last night. I win! Yesterday afternoon we went to see Stardust. I didn't enjoy it as much as the Comtesse did, but it was fun. "Arrrrrrggghhh" will never be the same again.

Today it's back to the academic treadmill, but there is still some time for pleasure reading left. At the War I finished the Heloise and Abelard bio by Burge (recommended), finished off the medieval mystery I started last War (The Tainted Relic, which is a bit like the movie Gun in its conceit, and then finished Jordan's Knife of Dreams). Since there were 2 days left, and I had no book, I picked up the first book in Candace Robb's second series (A Trust Betrayed), but was underwhelmed. The protagonist is a whiny, self-absorbed Scotswoman. I miss Owen Archer and his tough little apothacary wife. Started The Historian last night. That will probably be the last fun reading until the semester ends. Sigh.

And so it goes.

Well, classes are out, which means it’s reading frenzy time. I admit it—when it comes to fiction, I have almost no “standards”—I prefer genre fiction (sci-fi, fantasy, romance, mysteries) to “serious leeeteratoooorrrrre.” So far (10 days) I’ve read Gene Roddenberry's Andromeda: Destruction of Illusions, Visions (the first Babylon 5 book, which I had to get from a used book seller online [but hey, at least it’s signed!]), Deception Point by Dan Brown (pre-DaVinci Code), Hadrian's Wall : A Novel by William Dietrich, and  The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith (which comes perilously close to being real literature, but I figure it’s so short there’s some wiggle room). I’m in the middle of three non-fiction books: 1215: The Year of Magna Carta by Danny Danziger and John Gillingham,  Dress in Anglo-Saxon England (Rev.) by Gale Owen-Crocker, and Pretty Maids (the Secret History of the Grimm Fairy Tales) by Valerie Paradiz. There are piles of books on my bedroom floor, waiting for me to get to—the 9/11 Commission Report and rereading the first three books of the Camber of Culdi series are at the top of the list (pile?).

However, this isn’t about any of them. It’s about a book I read before Christmas, called Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation by Lynne Truss.

In the interests of full disclosure, let’s just admit right up front that I’m a card-carrying member of the Grammar Police. I believe a good kick in the posterior is an appropriate response when people mis-use the words less and few. Omitting the comma before the “and” in a series is a sure way to get cuffed up side the head, and I am likely to fly into a homicidal rage when people misuse “myself” [and for those who know me and are interested in longevity, probably the best response is to forget the word even exists, at least when you’re around me]. I don’t have a whistle (a la Rose Gumbo of Rose is Rose), but one sure goes off in my head on a pretty regular basis  because of things people say or write, and like Dicea, I was tempted to equip myself with a broad point permanent Magik Marker and a box full of comma, apostrophe, and semi-colon stickers to use on various appalling signage and bumper stickers.

ES&L is a great little book. It’s a little hardcover no bigger than a paperback, nice broad borders inside, and generously sized font, so when I say little, I mean it. It has a wonderful, breezy style but still manages to be just packed with content. If I’m an officer on patrol, Truss is a precinct captain, and she got there through smarts and a wicked sense of humor. When I finished reading the book I felt the way Arlen Spector must feel when he sees John McCain—not entirely alone in the universe. I just wish I could look at the subject with the same balance of passion and humor she does.

That said, the book led to some disquieting thoughts. Well, maybe not led to—perhaps it was more a reawakening than a discovery. One of the things she has to talk about in her book is the differences between British punctuation standards and American. They’re minor, but they are distinctive. For instance, Morguhn bristles when he sees phone numbers written out 123.456.7890 as opposed to (123) 456-7890. He describes it as “trendy internet crap.” Of course, the first way is how they have always done it in lots of other countries, including the UK. That whole comma thing that makes me grind my teeth is called “the Oxford Comma,” after the venerable (stuffy) institution of higher learning in Great Britain. Except, of course, in England that comma is not generally taught, but it’s the grammatical standard (if not the standard in use) in America. All of which highlights an important truth about grammar, spelling, and punctuation—it’s all a convention.

Let me quote myself, from my 2005 syllabus for English 1:
    “Writing conventions are things like spelling; word use; and forms, punctuation, and grammar.
You may have noticed that I’m using the word convention, not rule. The reason is that most of the “rules” for English are things that people have “agreed” will be the way things are. For example, in American English, the agreement is to use the marks “…” for quotations, but in Britain they use ‘…’ instead. Here, cars have a trunk and a hood—in England the cars have boots and bonnets. Here, we go to the theater, but in London they go to the theatre. In America, the colors of the national flag are red, white, and blue. In England, red, white and blue are the colours of the flag.
    But the conventions aren’t just different between countries. In Utica we go to the drinking fountain, but in Boston you go to the bubbler. In Utica you get a soda at the Nice ‘n Easy—in Buffalo you get pop. In an American newspaper you would talk about the movies Star Wars, The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi.  In an American academic paper you would talk about Star Wars, The Empire Strikes Back, and Return of the Jedi.
    Now, that doesn’t mean that just because I’m calling them conventions and not rules that they don’t matter. They do. Following the conventions tells readers that you are educated, professional, thoughtful, and respect the reader’s need to understand. Not following the conventions sends a message that the opposite qualities are true.”

Clearly I try to help my students understand that it's all a bit messy. Why is it messy, you may ask. Well, it's because language is alive. Vocabulary, punctuation, and syntax expand and adapt to include new experiences, new awareness, and the changing dynamics of who is using the language. (One of the things you learn in a history of language class is that changes in usage are usually driven by how adults choose to communicate with children.) That said, how do we know when the convention has changed to the point that the style books (which is what grammar handbooks are) need to change? At which point does zero tolerance for error become rigid adherence to an archaic convention? Language is a living, evolving thing (which is why letters from your mother are no longer closed “From your loving Mother, Mrs. George H. Bush”). For the academic French, it is easy: you find out what the Académie française says, and that’s the rule. It may bear no resemblance to what you hear on the docks in Marseilles, but at least there’s a “court of appeal.” We don’t have that for English, and I certainly don’t want one. It would probably end up being staffed by political hacks (so we’d all end up doing gov-speak and turning everything into acronyms, sounding like some cross between a West Wing episode and a Tom Clancy novel) or academic fossils (in which case no sentence would be shorter than 57 words). Or worse yet, the editorial staff of USAToday.

So, in the absence of some recognized body that would codify English, how do we know when the language has evolved to the point that the governing conventions have changed? It’s a question I struggle with every day, and struggle with especially during thirty weeks between August and June. What do you think, gentle readers?

Last night, according to Rowan, in the period between 6:30 and 10:15 PM I personally am completely responsible for enabling one koala in purgatory to ascend to heaven. This would be a koala who had, as yet, had 0 time knocked off its sentence.

 Personally, I'd rather have helped 4 or 5 short-timers (more is more), but I'll take what I can get. How did I do this? Don't take me there, but let's just say that it involved not killing any number of AARP eligible females dressed in white. Today there probably won't be any movement in the koala liberation efforts as I'm showing part of Forbidden Planet in class, which means my students will have almost no opportunity to make me want to mow them down with a really effective rapid firing, large magazined, fully automatic firearm.

I also saw today that someone has optioned The Dark is Rising series (which the wonderful Katie loaned me awhile back) to put on film. That could be seriously cool (says the Welshophile). We are hoping to have movie orgy this weekend: Kung Foo Hustle, Hitchhiker, and Sunday, after the teeny boppers have thinned out, Kingdom of Heaven. So that's my weekend: when I'm not buried in papers I hope to be in the theatre. Could be worse.