'Tis the Season

So, Christmas is coming. A time when those of us aware of the Gimcrackery flooding our lives make subtle attempts to lessen current Gimcrackery, even if it is to make room for more. This can either be done by gifting others with your Gimcrackery (in good condition, preferably, and with all required components) or simply by getting rid of things.

Yesterday, I took a bagful of CDs and DVDs to the CD Cellar, in nearby Clarendon. They gave me about $27 in store credit, and I used the credit to get a gift for someone else. And yes, a gift for myself. Not exactly scot-free, but at least it was a fast and simple transaction and I ended up with less Gimcrackery overall.

Also, my friend recommended this to me: http://www.secondspin.com/

They will buy many of those CDs/DVDs/Games you find impossible to sell to stores or give to friends as Christmas gifts.

Good luck this holiday season in avoiding Gimcrackery.

Technology: Microsoft Wireless Comfort Keyboard

I've had this Microsoft Wireless Comfort Keyboard for some time now (seen here in a rare QuickCam picture). It is not my first wireless keyboard, though it is my first comfort keyboard, I think.

Gone are the days where most keyboards responded with a satisfying click and clack as the keys bounced back with solid confidence. The comfort associated with this particular keyboard is likely a combination of the facts that the keys have a somewhat frustrating, gradual give to them, and that (as you can see) there is a gentle curve to the layout, presumably to help with the inevitable onset of carpel tunnel syndrome.

My particular keyboard also, and perhaps this is a function of its being wireless, seems to have trouble with registering double keystrokes, no matter how much I meddle with the Keyboard Settings in Windows. Hence, when I attempt to type "good" it often comes across as "god." (Not that I mind the error all that much, but it would be better if the result were capitalized.)

Recently, almost on a whim, I bought a new keyboard: the Belkin ErgoBoard Pro Keyboard with USB Ports. I am certain it is my first ErgoBoard, though I did once own a Microsoft Natural Keyboard Pro, so it's not my first Pro Keyboard (or Keyboard Pro). It was not completely a whim that brought me to the the Belkin keyboard, as I rather liked the split keyboard design of my old, and the left-hand flip-out riser on the underside of my Comfort keyboard is broken (I have it in place with blue sticky-tack) and, as mentioned before, the keyboard doesn't seem to be as responsive as it could be.

So, now I have this new keyboard, still in its box, with receipt standing by, and continue to use the current, slightly shoddy older one. Shall I keep this keyboard currently under my hands, operating almost satisfactorily despite its defects, or shall I change to a keyboard that has at least one additional practical feature which would be nice (the USB ports) plus the added features of not being wireless and having a split keyboard?

Stay tuned...

Jon : My Education, by Various

Previous to graduate study, my education consisted of in large part relatively compartmentalized cabinets of data, the physical manifestations of which were text books, class rooms, professors of various characteristics, and layers of notebooks of no particular organization which pile up, unused, on the bottom shelves of my bookcases. When I drove with all my things to C.H. to begin graduate school, the physical of these manifestations blanketed the floor of my car in no particular order: I am not a naturally compartmentalizing person.

I almost immediately begin doing research, but for a few years the tenor of academic life remained similar , if not identical to that in my undergraduate years. After all, I had done research of a kind before, and its frequent tedium seemed to be a sort of rhythm section which accompanied the more exciting (and varied) acts of learning which took place in the classroom or at my desk over homework assignments. Most importantly, learning was still easily quantified: if I could easily navigate my way through a problem set or anticipate the direction of a lecture then I understood and if I couldn't, I knew that more energy needed to be marshaled. The feedback produced a lovely sense of satisfaction.

Slowly, though, the tune changed. Classes no longer dominated my attention; occasionally a semester would pass without any coursework at all and I was faced with the daunting task of doing only tenuously directed research, and though I had been a relatively good student I found myself an easily distracted and poorly focuses researcher. Research presents many challenges for which school is poor preperation but the one I'd like to describe here is that it does a poor job training you to know what you know.

In the last year or so I've come to realize that my knowledge is increasingly laid about in my mind in disorganized heaps. At a moment's glance, I can't summon up a summary of it by considering the text-books I've read or the courses I've taken. Most of what I am learning now I pick up as I go, frequently more interested in accomplishing a certain task than arriving at a particular understanding.

My education has come to resemble the houses which inspired us to create this blog in the first place: full of disconnected or unused things, things we picked up at a whim or for a convenience and then never used again. Hopefully writing this article is the first step towards producing a more coherent whole out of the mess that is my mind.

My Education : 3 out of 5 stars
Am I keeping it: Yes

Jon_, JonEducation_

M. Swaim: Bendy Rabbit Man Versus Mr. Squeakybuns

Let me put forth in this minimal space to discuss briefly two items in my possession, the relative importances of which it is the purpose of this faltering article to discuss.

They are similar in the object they intend to imitate (namely, a rabbit), but the intents, the usages, and even the fates of each item must be decided individually.

First, let us speak of the green, wire-boned, poseable cartoon effigy that I will simply refer to herein as "Bendy Rabbit Man." BRM came to me in a UPS box from my mother which also contained this year's installment of my wife's and my joint Easter basket. Its frozen smiling eyes stared back at me from the garden of chocolates as parsley might stare back at one from a plate, as if to say, "I'm not to be eaten, but I prove by my very presence that what you see here was prepared thoughtfully."

At this point, a nostalgic Gimcracker like myself might feel compelled to keep Bendy Rabbit Man around on sentiment alone, based on the information given. But a look deeper, I propose, will strip away some of that cloudiest of consumer urge.

I know that my mother added the BRM to the basket out of love and care; but I'm also certain that she did not intend for him to be a mantelpiece. For her part, she's probably forgotten his sticker price, or even the fact that he ever existed. Bendy Rabbit Man is a garnish, not an heirloom, and must be treated as such. I am protecting neither my nor my mother's feelings by keeping him around; I am merely using him to take up the space that might better be taken up with one of my defunct electric shavers.

Bendy Rabbit Man was a gift to me; but the second toy in question was a gift from me, specifically to my mangled cur of a dog, Libby. This particular rabbit (we'll call him Mr. Squeakybuns) was sold to us with the promise of indestructibility, a promise we should have gotten in writing. We learned of his reinforced stitching and removable squeaker, and enthusiastically took the bait.

Mr. Squeakybuns lasted less than a week. Early on, we had to trash his removable squeaker due to the possibility of it becoming a bulldog choking hazard. A few days later, Libby's powerful jaws made a mockery of the reinforced stitching, violently severing an ear. All that remained of the once pristine rabbit was a dilapidated mess of muppet fur and slobber.

My wife (who loves to discard the possessions of others) insisted right away that we make a velveteen bonfire for Mr. Squeakybuns. I, however, objected, quite vociferously.

A dog is intelligent enough to understand when it is being offered food, and sometimes even when it needs to go outside to relieve itself. A dog is not, however, intelligent enough to care deeply about the obsolescence of a plaything. Libby, therefore, according to form, has maintained an interest in Mr Squeakybuns in spite of his condition, an interest that heightens measurably whenever she sees our cat expressing an interest.

Therefore, dogs not being rational animals, I hereby resolve to dispense with the aesthetic in this case and throw my lot in with utility in the case of Mr. Squeakybuns.

Grades:
Bendy Rabbit Man: 2/10
Mr. Squeakybuns: 7/10

Goodbye, Bendy Rabbit Man.

M. Swaim_, M.SwaimMisc_

Jon's Book: Patricia Fara, "An Entertainment for Angels"

"If I appear to have stumbled in darkness, it is only because I have been standing in the shadows of giants." This is the quip I sometimes suggest I will have etched onto my headstone, but it might equally apply to any of the many scientists and charlatans described in Patricia Fara's An Entertainment for Angels, subtitled Electricity in the Enlightenment. Its a little volume, clocking in at only 170 or so small pages, but every one contains at least one fascinating tidbit about the way that scientists and showmen sold the equally fascinating phenomenon of electricity to the public, and simultaneously pushed forward the boundaries of human understanding. The book is divided into five chapters, each covering a different aspect of the discovery of electricity.

One of my favorite historical characters is Giordano Bruno. Not the least of his distinctions is that he was the last man executed for heresey by the R.C.C., but that distinction is a petty one compared to Bruno's florid cosmology, which was surprisingly modern, despite certain animistic and aetheric conceptions of the universe. Bruno is fascinating because, quite unscientifically, he follows his own madness and idiocy to a complete picture of the universe. Of course every scientist is out to do this, its just that sometimes someone manages to get a particular idea right, as Bruno did when he imagined the cosmos to be centerless and homogeneous. He also imagined that the universe was filled with life, and it is possible that he will be proven right one day. None of these successes are indicative of Bruno's genius, since they were motivated by only the most tenuous scientific knowledge.

An Entertainment for Angels is filled with such characters, and I think its high time these obscure harlequin scientists got some attention.

Grade: 8/10
Shall I Keep It: Yes. I can imagine one day giving it to a special woman with a little dedication inside that reads "An Entertainment for An Angel" the right woman and/or situation hasn't come along just yet.

Jon_, JonBook_

M. Swaim's Introduction

As from the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks, so do one's possessions also give insight into a person. I wish this were not so.

Though the revelation of my own heart is more accurately viewed by looking at my iTunes player (a subject I may explore in detail someday), I must confess that my accumulation of trinkets also gives insight into my own manifestation of the human condition.

They range in nature from mildly useful to utterly useless, things accumulated out of a desire for kitsch, either on my part or on the part of others exercised on my behalf. And while I do not ever intend to become fully and starkly utilitarian, I do believe that some of it can go.

The method of disposal is almost as important to me as the decision of whether or not to dispose. A first instinct is always to sell something you see as destructive of your own soul to keep. However, if something is inherently bad to own, selling it only enslaves a new owner, and the tax deduction garnered by a charitably intended donation is hardly worth the cost of training the lower class to use their meager means to purchase junk. Therefore, I will set out to determine not only whether or not something should be kept, but through what avenue the dismissal should take effect.

I hope to journey in this project a wiser, and progressively less materially laden, individual.

M. Swaim_, Introduction_

Colleen's English Bulldog

As per Stephen's suggestion, I shall undertake an evaluation of my dog (well, she's a fixed bitch, to be more precise), Libby Swaim.

Pros: responds to dozens of different names (created on a whim), high fives, endless amusement, amazing underbite, the perfect conglomerate of pig/hyena/mule, "free"

Cons: rotting Dorito smell, obstinate, constantly scratches self/sludges own vagina, medical expenses, incessantly attempts to hump Cat Stevens (our cat), underbite tends to get in the way of licking and gives the sensation of biting

If my mind serves me right, Libby entered Matt and my household in late September of 2005. We had been mulling over the idea of buying a canine, and specifically an English Bulldog, but found them to be pricey and out of our range at the time ($1500-2300). While at work one day, Matt mentioned to a co-worker his interest in the slobbery breed when, to his surprise, he was offered one.

You see, Libby, like so many of the young in the Western world, is a victim of that particular plague known as divorce. When her owner, who loved her, moved out from the house of her now-ex-husband she could not move Libby to her new apartment with her. In order to get back at his estranged wife, the now-ex-husband left Libby to rot in her cage for six straight months, feeding her the bare minimum to survive and forcing her to defecate all over herself. Over those long six months, Libby's nails grew out so long that they punctured the pads of her feet and started coming out the top. According to vet records which we were able to secure at the time of her release to us, before the separation she weighed 56 pounds. When we got her, she weighed a mere 38 pounds. If you think obese bulldogs are odd-looking, imagine a starved one. She also was suffering from a yeast infection, a urinary tract infection, and severe mange when she first came into our house.

The night we were able to rescue her, we took her straight to the emergency vet clinic, where we dropped a couple hundred that night, and a several more in the coming months, on Libby's physical, emergency treatments, and meds. We fed her straight-up peanut butter and generally worked hard at trying to fatten her up and get her healthy. In the first couple months we had her, we had to explain to every person we passed on the sidewalks in our little german village neighborhood of Mainstasse, Covington, Kentucky that we were not animal abusers. Probably unwisely, the first night she stayed with us I hoisted the scabby, mangy, infection-laden bitch into bed with me.

Now, about ten months later, Libby is a fixture of the household. She has been declared the favorite of the dog boutique down the street (no, we're not THOSE dog owners and no, they don't just tell that to everyone...) and has gained about twelve pounds, although I'd still like to see a couple more on her. We are still working on the skin issues, but she is an entirely different looking animal (I wish I could supply 'before' pictures). So, should I keep her? Well despite Jon's insistence that she is a bastardization of the noble wolf (could that be because of that nip to the ankle?), her penchant for occasionally fouling my rug, her constant - according to Matt - smell of rotting Doritos, and the personality of a mule, I will keep her.

Rating: 8.9/10

p.s. I'd like to get her stuffed when she dies. Anyone have the card for a good taxidermist?

p.p.s. If you would like to research attaining a rescue Ug of your own

Colleen_, ColleenPets_