The Best Tattoo Ever

Perfectly redunkulous!
First seen at cuteoverload. From faerygrrrl's photostream.

Finally, A Decent Cup of Tea

John Thomas Blackwell holding a tea party. From the Schlesinger Library History of Women in America.

I am a habitual coffee drinker, but in the evenings I switch to tea. Tonight I finally, but by happenstance, made a decent cup of English-tasting tea. Or how I remember the English tea to taste from those funky breakfast shops that I ate in with my friends when I visited London 15 years ago. Here's what I think I did right: PG Tips loose leaf tea brewed for about 10-15 minutes, about 2 teaspoons of sugar, local non-antibiotic (i.e., has a taste to it) 2% milk (whole probably would have been even better).

Just Can't Get Enough of the PC Today

What do you think could top the story of a University Heights policeman shooting and killing two coyotes? A photo of President Clinton with Marc Moen and Bobby Jett. Of course.

(Sorry - this is totally an inside Iowa City thing.)

The University Heights Police Continue to Shine Their Sterling Reputation

After shooting and killing two coyotes who had the misfortune of deciding to steal some tasty brats during a football game.

Here is the newspaper story.

Do you think maybe I could get one of the officers to shoot some of those tailgaters for me? I find them to be horribly annoying and constantly trying to steal my good mood with their public pissing and puking on the streets.

Begun

It's hard to believe, but the job search has officially begun. I've submitted two applications to schools that are certainly not in the south. I have two criteria: not in the south and not a community college. Yes, I am a snob.

A couple of days ago I finally got the hang of knitting in the continental manner. It's more efficient and faster. Compared to everything else, it's probably the most satisfying accomplishment I've done lately.

Here's some history of knitting during the war.

A View To Hugh

If you're interested in just how a physical collection is made into a digital archive, check out A View To Hugh, a blog that is documenting the North Carolina Collection's endeavor to digitize the large collection of Hugh Morton photographs that was recently donated. For all those who believe that everything will be available via the internet you may be disappointed - it is an incredibly difficult, time consuming and expensive process.

"Free the Wisconsin Mango!"

The errant mango hummingbird that had spent the summer in Wisconsin has been caught and is eventually slated to be transfered for exhibit at the Brookfield Zoo. It's causing quite a stir. I think he needs to be sent back to Texas. I mean, I've gotten lost quite a few times in my life - should I also be sent to a zoo for the rest of my life for my obvious lack of understanding the correct route to take?

Sleeping Is The Most Decadent Thing Of All

I have come to fully (and finally) understand the selfish-ness of being a graduate student. I have friends whose selfish-ness while being in graduate school astounded and irked me; while I have learned the skill of giving someone the benefit of the doubt, at the best it was something I practiced on an intellectual level, not felt on a sympathetic or empathetic one. But after a few weeks of back-to-back papers, coupled with avoidance verging on writer's block, I can finally understand on the most empathetic level the need to not have to deal with anything or anyone unless I absolutely want to. But it has also taught me the importance of being able to compartmentalize in order to make room for things and people that need attention paid to them. (And I'm just going to say it one more time - thank god for modern chemistry; I do not know what kind of state I would be in if I weren't on medication to control the onset of migraines. While they mainly do their job in this regard, they also do a damn fine job of controlling anxiety and obsessive behaviors like worrying.)

So I apologize for the lack of pretty pictures - I just haven't had time to even flip through the incoming journals at work. But I had to include an image by Doug DuBois, of whom I was kindly reminded of when reading Alec Soth's conversation with him that was posted on Conscientious. I am sad to see that Alec Soth may have stopped writing his blog...

It's Not Much But It's Something

The green breasted mango hummingbird that has been visiting Beloit, WI has been the big news on the Iowa Birders list serve this past summer so it was funny to hear about it on NPR this afternoon. I've been feeling kind of homesick lately and it was quite nice to hear Joan Salzberg's midwest voice and I loved the matter of fact way she said that nature was going to take its course with the bird, who has yet to leave the feeder.

Definitely Too Long for Ms. T to Read

Today a student came in and wanted to find materials on the image of Constantine. He had that lost look on his face when he came in the door, which many students do because they're used to dealing with the main library or with the undergraduate library, both of which have a very different feel than the small departmental library in which I work. He did a pretty good job of describing the assignment he needed the book for, but it became pretty obvious very quickly that he had not done very much research before. But little did I know, I was dealing with the ultimate librarian example - the bugaboo we all trot out when justifying the need for professionally-trained librarians - I had come across the student who apparently had never used a library before. Unfortunately, I didn't discover this until after he came back from the stacks with the book I had recommended. The first inkling of this precious find was when he came up to the desk and I asked him if he had found the book without too much trouble and he said he had, after "figuring out our system." By which he meant the call number. And then he asked me if he could take the book out of the library (many students have a perception that the books can't be checked out - and I still haven't figured out why this is.) I told him that he could, of course - that he could check it out using his student ID for one month. And then he asked me if he could buy the book. I am hoping the expression on my face did not betray what I was thinking, which was "what assbackward home schooling system did your parents use on you?" because, you know, the sign of a professional librarian is the ability to withhold any judgment whatsoever - which unfortunately I have not mastered quite yet as I did call a particular student an idiot well within hearing range one time...but I'm digressing...In this situation it is difficult to gauge how much instruction you should provide. Too much and most students will become overwhelmed because they lack any basic concepts of how a book should be used as a research tool. You say words like "bibliography" and "footnote" and they get all fuddled. Especially if you tell them to read the footnotes in order to find further research materials. They look at you like you're crazy when you tell them that. And this kid was particularly suspect of my recommendation - despite the fact that the title of the book was "The Iconography of Constantine the Great, Emperor and Saint: With Associated Studies." And it had numerous illustrations, in color, with copious footnotes and a good sized bibliography. All of this I explained to him - but I could tell he still wasn't buying it.

Please, someone stop me....

So the process of putting the master's paper together is in full progress (UNC is one of the few library programs that requires a master's paper...I kind of forgot about that when I chose this program.) I like the way that my research methods professor is approaching this, by structuring the process into three steps that can be easily grasped in a relatively short amount of time: problem statement, literature review and the final paper proposal. Each step provides an opportunity for finer revisions or a complete change of topic as one becomes more immersed in the subject. As part of this process we are required to work shop our writing, which is good practice, not only for refining of writing style and ability, but also as a way by which to learn to critique in an open and mutually supportive environment. I know many of my classmates do not like this process and I was dismayed to find out that I do not fall into that group. As I was reading the two papers assigned to me, I found myself actually enjoying the process of reading and critiquing. And then I thought about how fun it would be to be reading and critiquing papers on the subject of American history...and then I started thinking about how much I'd like to study American studies stuff again....and....that's when I brought my thinking to a screeching halt. Because such thinking leads to things like applying to doctoral programs....and I don't want to be in school for another seven years!

A PBR Might Have Been Nicer

I went to see Magnolia Electric Co. last night. It was a good way to cap off a stupidly rough past few days. I think Jason Molina has an incredibly sweet voice - sweet in the old fashioned sense. A nice kid who had just returned to North Carolina bought me a Busch Lite. He was young and kind of stinky, but sweet; he said he was running away from a "situation" in Portland. I told him I could understand. Sometimes you just have to do the French exit.

Farewell Transmission has been in my head a lot lately. Magnolia Electric is on tour right now - go see them if you can.

Fall is a Continual Sunday

I have to say that this semester is pretty much kicking my ass as far as mental health and emotional stability go. Everything I do makes me question why I do anything. How's that for an existential quandry? What little acclimating I did over the summer has been quickly dispelled with the onslaught of inept teaching and non-codified subject matter that passes for an education in the "new digital paradigm." Of course it's not enough that my human interaction has decreased to nearly zero and what that when I do interact with people I generally feel like telling them off (in my head mostly...but there are some notable exceptions that I sorely wish I could act on). And it was all topped off today when I somehow corrupted my USB flash drive and deleted the paper I had written on Saturday night, along with many other word documents, as well as making a few files completely unreadable. It's not that big of a deal - it was only five pages and I'll be able to knock it out again - but it's just that you know, I study information technology - I should know better. I should have had more than one copy. And it's just a sad state of affairs when I still feel like kicking myself in the ass when I think about why I came here.

Maraid's Photostream

Maraid has an incredibly good photo stream at Flicker. You might remember her name from the post on her matchbox collection. The picture above was taken by her dad, who is an architect. She recently added this set - they are quite interesting. Check them out.

Goodbye Alex

I have a soft spot for birds, wild and domesticated. I had a male cockatiel for a few years who drove me nuts with his constant screeching. When I decided to go to graduate school he went to live with my mother and her husband and when I went for a visit one time I cried when I realized that they'd clipped his wings. He was an incredible flier. I told my mother in no uncertain terms where they ever to clip his wings again.

Today, Alex, an african grey parrot died. I do not believe that the large social birds should be kept as pets, but at least, I think Alex was loved and probably was happy. More here.

Little White Bellies! Squee!

Oh, today. Yes today was one of those days when I felt like my head was going to explode. Literally. I've experienced it in the figurative sense, of being so mad at someone I could just kick 'em. But today I felt it literally. I could actually feel my blood pressure get so high that at any second it could have begun to ooze out of my eyes if I didn't get it under control. Ironically, it began when attempting to reach my doctor in the Neurology Clinic here at UNC. Something had gone wonky with the phone system so that every time I called I would only hear a busy signal. Considering the fact that I was attempting to return a call about scheduling an appointment so that I could squelch the resurgence of chronic headache of the type that I had experienced last winter, I did not find it funny. It doesn't make it funnier when I tell you that one of my headache triggers is becoming annoyed. Or angry. With me that's just about the same thing. So after I had dealt with attempting to get someone to at least put me into the clinic's voice mail system, and being told very rudely "well, you know it is the day after a holiday weekend!" by the hospital operator, I called the patient representative office and put in a complaint. Which made me feel better. I don't mean to sound rude, but I was relieved to finally hear an intelligent voice on the other end of the line. Someone who said, finally, "there must be something wrong with their phone system." Someone who didn't say "well, you know this is a very busy hospital!" Thankfully, the headache doctor told me to triple the dose on one of my medications, so maybe tomorrow I will be so medicated that I will see the world as if it were full of daisies and baby squirrels.

Photo: Jessica Weinberg

Charles Cushman

The old Fulton Market Manhattan's Lower East Side Sat. afternoon New York, New York, United States Sep. 27, 1941

I came across Cushman's work the other day while catching up on well alright well OK exactly. I've always loved the saturated colors of Kodachrome so I find the colors in these images to be stunning. However, Cushman's work is also interesting as it provides interesting historical documents on the architecture and the street scene of cities such as New York and Chicago in the mid-20th century.

You can see more of Cushman's work at Indiana University Archives.

So Typical

Yeah, this is one of those posts where I question the need for this blog, blah, blah, whether I'm going to continue writing it, blah, blah. Lucky for those 15 people or so who continue to read Ataxia, it's not going to end, it's just going to continue to be completely sporadic and out of date. Life is pretty much boring for me right now and generally busy with very non-interesting things. However, since Ataxia has become my own personal archive of links I'm not going to delete it. Just be aware that I am generally not inspired to write about anything at the present moment. So for those dedicated (and I really do appreciate all of you) readers, continue to check back occasionally. You just might be surprised.

A Week Goes By Fast

I think I experienced the most quintessential New York moment - rather a few quintessential moments - that is the wonderful sensation of sweat running down my back while waiting for the subway during the last few days of 90-plus degree heat. It was a lovely experience. I really enjoyed the Stephen Shore show at the International Center of Photography. The small show they had on Amelia Earhart and the role of images in her media manipulation was interesting, as well. But nothing can beat the Great Dane that was literally the size of a pony that I saw in Washington Square Park today, while I was trying to tactfully eat an incredibly messy chocolate cupcake that I got at Joe's just down the street from the park. I don't know if Amy Sedaris still makes them, but it was still good. It was a good trip, I accomplished a few things, like figuring out directions when New York is the one place where I am completely directionally challenged. I think it has something to do with not being able to see the horizon. I also conquered my fear of Chinatown bakeries and actually went in and came out with an incredibly delicious icy coffee drink thingy that was made with something incredibly high-fat, as it coated the inside of my mouth like butter. Which reminds me of the little kid on the subway today who kept on saying "smooth like butta." I'm starting to have things that I absolutely have to do while I'm here - like eating at the Shake Shack a couple of times, as well as the Dumpling House and going to H&M. It's been a good week, but my feet are definitely tired of it.

James Baldwin

Berenice Abbot, Milligan Place, 1936

Today is the birthday of James Baldwin. It is fortuitous then that I found myself lost, ending up in Greenwich Village without realizing it. Greenwich Village was Baldwin's first stop out of Harlem, a trek that eventually lead him to Paris and then to Morocco. One of the books dearest to me is his Another Country. It's a New York novel - the neighborhoods providing clues and indications of the character's traits. Some people don't like this novel, but I do and when I'm in New York I always think of it.

Ellis Rowan

Twenty–two butterflies all belonging to the family Nymphalidae

This reproduction doesn't do this justice. I came across the work of Australian artist Ellis Rowan the other day in an Italian journal called FMR. I actually don't know if the journal is still published - it's an incredibly expensive one and we no longer receive it for the art library. FMR has really very nice full-page, full-color reproductions. Ellis Rowan's compendiums of butterflies were reproduced on full leaves. The affect was stunning. I would highly recommend taking a look if you ever come across it. The publishers seemed to understand that as far as art goes, it's the images that everyone wants to see.

You can see more of Ellis Rowan's work at the National Library of Australia

This should be the cup I drink out of today.

Pottery by Tom Spleth, Little Switzerland, NC. You can see more here.

What To Do In A Week

Arthur Rothstein, Buildings, Lower Broadway, 1941 (collection of the Library of Congress)

Almost done with the summer class, I am looking forward to leaving town for a couple of weeks. One of those weeks will be spent in New York, where I am to look after a lovely cat and make sure the apartment doesn't burn down from all of my friend's husband's mid-century modern clocks and lamps with all of their original wiring (I suspect this is the real reason I'm cat sitting) and attempt to write a paper for an incomplete that I should have written a couple of months ago, but just couldn't bear to do it. But I have my days planned out - during the day I will go to museums and see shows and at night it will be me writing an incredibly boring paper. The cat will keep me company. But, the other day, I was going through a box of ephemera that the university's art museum brought over for us and was excited to come across these announcements: Morton Bartlett at the Julie Saul Gallery; Jerome Leibling at Howard Greenberg and a landscape show of sorts at Pace/MacGill, which may be very good, or it may be very bad. And, of course, there's Mr. Colberg's foray into the "real" art world to check out, if it's still up, that is. Throw in a couple of visits to the Shake Shack and I think it will be a wonderful way to spend a week.

p.s. I know I could have hyperlinked the hell out of this post, but I'm too lazy this morning. You all know how to use google.

George Haas

I came across a review of Forcing Nature: Trees in Los Angeles in Art Papers, I think it was, a couple of weeks ago. We do not have it in our collection so I requested it through inter-library loan. I think I might have mentioned before, that I don't usually read the accompaning essays in photobooks, nor do I really try to understand the techniques used for the most part. I just like images. I guess, to a certain extant, my disinterest in the backstory can lead me to an incomplete understanding of the work. However, I am not an art historian, nor an art histry student anymore (thank god), so now I can look at an image and only have to understand it to the extent that my eye, and whatever accumulated knowledge that I do have, can help me to understand. So, in that vein, I will say I have no idea how George Haas did it, nor why he really wanted to, but I love the incredibly garish colors and the off-kilter perspective of his tree photos. If you look to the book for the images, you are forced to compare color and black and white, as the book is split in half by these two different formats. It is an interesting juxtaposition.

You can see more at his website. Info about the book is here.

At the beginning of spring this year I noticed a strange wasp-like insect, black with white spots and white and black spotted wings nosing around all the wooden furniture on the porch. Shortly after I noticed a neat pile of sawdust underneath the chair. Above it I found a perfectly round hole bored into the bottom of the seat. There are now two holes and lots more sawdust and the dried out husks of new insects laying about. I noticed the husks the other day when I watched a wren hunting on the porch - one of the newly hatched insects didn't quite make it.

"no fucking way..."

Earlier tonight as I was finishing up some shopping at the Target I thought how similar my life has been for the past month or so to the summer between my sophomore and junior years of high school. It was a quiet summer - I worked part-time at a department store in the mall on the other side of town; my mother was going through the quiet phase of a nervous breakdown that had started a few months before upon the death of her ex-husband with whom she was still very much in love - and me, I was pretty much depressed too. I was glad the guy was gone; I thought he was a jerk - controlling and manipulative. He'd left my mother a mess for many, many years. Finally, I knew we were free and I couldn't understand why my mother just couldn't snap out of it. So, I was spending most of the summer riding the bus to work and on my days off I'd go to the library and stock up on books. All I did that summer was read and watch movies, very much as I am doing now. About the only social activity I had was going to Target on Friday nights with my friend Sarah. I would usually end up eating dinner over at her house with the family. Real dinners, with dinner conversation and wine and everything (there must have been something deathly serious about me at the time to make her father think it was alright to serve a 15 year old wine at dinner, considering the fact that said father was the city attorney at the time). They were my only link to normalcy. When you're stuck in such a rut, it is almost inconceivable that anything will change, that life will be different eventually. I didn't know at the time that it was during that next year that I would learn what it is like to have your heart shattered by someone else; but, it would take me until recently to understand why my mother had fallen apart the way she did then. It's easier for me to realize that I might still spend some Friday nights shopping at Target by myself, but that I probably won't spend every Friday night being alone. And while I might not have lovers and a large social circle to look forward to in the next year the fact that I just saw Okkervil River and Pinback are playing back-to-back shows in October here might just be better than finding someone who finds my snarkyness to be lovely.

So, I stumbled across two tapes while looking for those mix tapes from earlier in the week. I made these back when I worked doing data entry at a term-life insurance company quite a long time ago. I made a lot of tapes to take to work - I had a CD player, but still couldn't afford to buy a portable CD player, you know, so I'd have to make these dubs to listen to stuff while I worked on the walkman. I know, that kind of dates me. But what struck me about them is that I used images by Seydou Keita without even thinking about it. The one on the left was for two Patti Smith albums, Gone Again and Dream of Life. The one on the left had Nirvana on it, Nevermind and Incesticide.

Don't Lets Go to the Dogs Tonight

It's been slow around here, mainly because I've actually had to do work at work, rather than browse through the stacks of photography. And I'm sure you really don't want to hear about how the other half of my day is occupied - a class on the history of libraries in the Western world. Interesting to me, but probably not so much for others. So, I'll talk about how I've been closing down the day, and filling any moments in-between. I've been reading Alexandra Fuller's Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight. A rather well written account of her growing up in what is now called Zimbabwe and Zambia and a short time in Malawi. I really liked how she captured the odd vernacular of colonial Africa - sentences begin with ja and end with man, interspersed with a questioning hey. It also made me question what I feel a successful family to be - stable, secure, boring. I know I'm slow on the uptake - it's been out since 2001 and was rather popular, but if you're looking for something to read, I would suggest it.

Boys and Mixes

Last week a friend said something about how he kind of misses the process of making a mix tape. Although something like itunes does make it all easier, I think I agree to a certain extent. Just the shear amount of craft that went into making a mixtape - the cuing, the selecting, the erasing - and of course, the cover art - made receiving a mix tape a rather special thing. It all had to be done just right, particularly if you wanted a certain message to come across. I kept most of the mix tapes, except for a few from high school, people have made for me over the years and his comment made me pull them out of the box the other night.

This one, entitled box/room, was made for me by a friend that I had while in college; he was an odd fellow and our friendship bit the dust about eight years ago. (I swear I've seen his handwriting on postsecret cards.) I still have his letters too, as the envelopes were always beautifully illustrated.





Here is another one - made for me by an old boyfriend. The tape is titled sometimes fast / sometimes slow. The cover, made from a postcard from New York is appropriate, as I met him at a party in Brooklyn, in Williamsburg, way before it was the safe haven for hipsters. Side A: Bird on a Wire / I Had a Good Mother and Father / Rowboat / Wing / Try Again / Watch the Sunrise / The Ballad of Easy Rider / The Flying Burrito Brothers / Kangaroo / I Thought I Held You / Lost Highway. Side B: Speeding Motorcycle / Hung Over / The New Teller / She Said, She Said / Stratford-on-guy / Happy and Bleeding / I'm Gonna Booglarize You Baby / She Wolf / I Believe / I Can't Stand It / Hey Mom / Fall in Love With Me.

I wonder if there is a mix tape archive somewhere - if there isn't, there should be. I have to say, even though itunes may have taken some of the craft out of a mix (I've noticed not too many people make a cover for the cd by hand), there's nothing like getting some music from a boy.

Hodge Podge

Today I did some shelving at work, which happens sometimes during intercession when none of the undergrads are working. I don't mind it - put on the ipod, zone out for a bit. I decided to listen to a the playlist of a mix I made for a friend - since she should have gotten it in the mail today, I don't think she'll mind if I share (and I think it turned out pretty good):




Me & Mr. Jones / Amy Winehouse
Los Angeles, I'm Yours / The Decemberists
Priests and Paramedics / Pedro the Lion
Heavan's Gate / Keene Brothers
Hotel / Broken Social Scene
Small Stakes / Spoon
Jeanne, If Ever You're In Portland / Casiotone for the Painfully Alone
Several Arrows Later / Matt Pond PA
Roberta C. / Casiotone for the Painfully Alone
Put Us Back Together Right / Headlights
Keep the Car Running / Arcade Fire
Arizona / Pedro the Lion
New York, I Love You... / LCD Soundsystem
Rapture / Pedro the Lion
I Found a Reason / Cat Power
Goodnight Lover / Songs: Ohia
Keep On Runnin / Cat Power
Lakes of Canada / Sufjan Stevens

The other reason I like to shelve - I come across things I'd kind of forgotten about...like the Egon Schiele book that I constantly checked out when I was a junior in college. Egon Schiele was the first painter I had a crush on, or rather, the first painter's work on which I had a crush. Since the library was entirely empty by 3:30 this afternoon - I took a few moments to flip through it, realizing that loved images seen again after a long time can have the same affect upon you that seeing a treasured person again can.