Alexander and I left our house for the San Francisco airport at 9:30 Tuesday morning. We touched down in Helsinki at 5:30 Wednesday afternoon. Yup; long trip. (The Amsterdam airport has a children’s forest, a museum, a library, and an unhelpful clerk at the electronics store.)

Getting around the city is easy. Finnish has two official languages–Finnish and Swedish (cause the Swedes used to own us). In practice, though, everything is labeled at least thrice, with English underneath the other two languages. Some shops have completely English names, and we have yet to meet anyone who doesn’t speak it. Still, it feels the same level of foreign as Madrid did.

Once we put the stuff down in our rooms, we headed out to a traditional Russian restaurant in search of bear, which the boy wanted to try. They were sold out, so we had reindeer instead. I think we both would have enjoyed it more if we weren’t so exhausted. We got home at nine, and it was time for bed.

Today began with a breakfast buffet filled with interesting choices. Then I headed off to my conference while Alexander went to the zoo. The other participants, at least the ones I saw, were all reading their papers while seated. I stood and spoke with a few lines of notes and a colorful powerpoint. My topic? The Simpsons. People seemed to enjoy my presentation; they were awed at my being allowed to teach The Simpsons. Many said their nations (European ones) were too puritanical to allow the teaching of pop culture.

It was strange. I teach and write about pop culture so often; I’m even an editor of The Journal of Popular Culture. I’m just not used to having to explain or defend its use in the classroom, so it was invigorating to be challenged to do so. While some of my European colleagues were slightly incredulous about what I get to do, others were just clearly envious.

After my talk, I took myself and my growing headache down to the pier to meet the boy. On the way, I saw a diplomatic ceremony with a military band honoring visiting dignitaries. The boy caught up with me in the market, where we had a great lunch from a stall. I had what tied the previous best salmon of my life; it was so perfectly seasoned and fresh that I didn’t reach for the salt (and those who know me know I always reach for the salt). The boy had reindeer sausage. The American couple behind us in line had a loud conversation about how the wife would not be having reindeer, as she was convinced it would taste “weird.”

We then toured the Russian Orthodox cathedral and headed west to a converted church that’s now a disco. It’s supposed to be named after the boy’s namesake (Dante), but the sign wasn’t out front, so we couldn’t get a picture. We stopped in at a British pub and continued our ridiculous quest for souvenirs. Mom wants a long-sleeved t-shirt, which doesn’t seem to exist here. And I’m not buying a sweatshirt (50$!; everything is extremely expensive here). Wish I didn’t have to spend any time shopping.

At last, we ended up at a guidebook-recommended traditional Finnish restaurant. It was beautiful, with traditional dress & carved wood everywhere (even the menu was mounted in thick wood). I had a champagne cocktail with Finnish berry liquor. Then I had a Karelian stew (mashed potatoes, excessively tender meat, and pickled pumpkin/berries). The boy had bear meatballs with root vegetables in an amazing sauce that we couldn’t quite identify. Dessert was a Finnish brandy and “sisu” ice cream over summer berry compote.

Sisu is a word with no translation–it is supposed to be the aspect of Finnish character–it’s our stubbornness, our steadfastness, our loyalty, our perseverance.

In terms of ice cream, it’s a slight anise flavor (apparently).

So. Good.

But the brandy made my eyes water when I smelled it. I got the same shiver from just inhaling that I thought would come from drinking it. Alex said it smelled like apples. It did, if you marinated apples in gasoline–it was very strong.

The boy was so jet lagged and so tired from walking all day that he literally nodded off at the table. So here we are back at the hotel, with him asleep and with me writing this.

Where conditioner should be in the bathroom, there’s lingonberry bubble bath. Am tempted to try it.

(Still can’t upload pics; will make a facebook album at some point, though.)

I’ve been a very naughty blogger. The summer has gotten away from me, and what with all the work and the play, I’ve fallen behind.

Here’s a short catch up:

I haven’t managed to stop teaching at all. I’ve had three classes this summer (including a new one: 20th Century British Literature: Sex and Science), which means hours and hours of lecture, lots of grading, and a total of 26 book length works that I’ve had to read along with the students. This week will give me a bit of a break, but on the condition of trying to be brilliant at a conference.

I’ve managed to catch up with some old friends and to make some new ones. Most of the best stuff this summer was simply being with other people.

I cooked a lot. Had cocktails with Vanessa and Kevin a lot (while watching the HBO summer shows). Went wine tasting with Pat a couple of times. Hit Bodega Bay finally and filled my senses with the glories there. Spent quite a few weekends in San Francisco.

I’ve edited my first edition of Prized Writing–it will be at the bookstore at UC Davis soon.

I got to see Weird Al Yankovic perform twice in the same weekend (and got a picture with him!) His performance was stunning as always!

Got to see Steve Martin perform with the Steep Canyon Rangers at Mondavi–the banter was funny and the music was amazing.

Few movies and few plays, but I did get to see War Horse for my birthday (as part of my outstanding birthday weekend) — it’s difficult to describe the beauty of the horse puppets that make this show come alive. It was three puppeteers for each lead horse, with movements so real that I flinched whenever they were hurt. You could even tell when the horses were upset by the way they were breathing.

Noel Coward’s famous Blythe Spirit was on at Cal Shakes. Coward’s writing is still crisp, clever, and relevant.

The biggest news, however, is that the boy is now driving himself to school. His aunt Melissa basically gave him her old car. I put some money in to fix it up, taught him how to drive without either of us getting hurt, and put him on my insurance. His classes have started, so he’s out on the causeway twice a day. Wish him luck and patience.

He’s off to the conference with me; I’ll let you know how we do in the land of our ancestors.

(Would have included pictures, but the picture uploader is broken again . . .)

So this week, I packed my Zuul costume and too much eyeliner and headed down to Comic-Con. So did 149,999 other people (well, not the zuul part). I managed to make it out in time to get into preview night, where I saw my friends Scott Shaw and Lonnie Millsap. I was also able to talk to the artist for Kill Shakespeare (one of the writers, Anthony, is skyping in with my class this next Wednesday).

Karma & Scott

Then, on the way home, I was lured in to a downtown restaurant by a live rockabilly band.

So it was a good start. I won’t give you a day by day play by play, as it’s all a bit of a blur now, but here are the highlights.

1. Margaret Atwood was here for a Bradbury retrospective panel. Naturally, when she walked past me in the hall, I caught up to her to get a picture. I lovingly reminded her that I edit her journal and that I used to be her Society’s president. I hoped she didn’t think I was weird for being dressed as Death. I also completely ignored the two relatively famous authors with her, except for when I requested that they take our picture:

2. One of the times I wandered over to the Bongo booth (which I do once a day whenever they’re near), Matt Groening was there! Now, I’ve met several Simpsons/Futurama people (and I love my Bongo guys), but I’d never met the big man. So I got Nathan Kane’s (the new exec whom I’d just met the day before) attention and got him to take a picture of us. Nathan was very patient and Matt remembered something I’d left at the studio for him a year ago. I thanked him profusely for my entire academic career and successfully didn’t wet myself.

3. The Simpsons panel: Did I get to see the new Maggie short? Did I miss the Futurama panel due to the absurd line? Was Carrie Fisher briefly on stage? Yes. Yes. Yes.

4. Zach was there! When I flipped through the program the first time, I didn’t see Zach Weinersmith (of SMBC fame)’s name, but he was there! Zach has spoken to my class and to UCD at large. His work is hilarious, and it’s always nice to see him. Alexander is going to be totally jealous (the sign says “hi, Alex”)!

5. I got to see Joss Whedon! Okay–I’m not one for standing in lines, but I did get in line for The Simpsons and for Joss Whedon. I mean, I’ve given three different presentations this year on Joss’s work, so I had to go. Joss is hilarious. He riffed on how he’s his own favorite production company (he really gets what he’s trying to do), threatened to murder some guy’s family (after the guy said killing our favorites appeared to be Joss’s thing), talked about being a girl who can’t say no when it comes to projects (don’t think anyone else in the room got the Oklahoma reference), complained about the lack of strong women in the media and female action figures all looking like porn stars, and asserted that our country was no longer about blue and red–it’s about people who believe in the dignity of themselves and others and wackos who believe Jesus personally founded America.

6. I got to dress up. As Death: And as Zuul: That guy totally tried to drink my margarita:

7. I got to be in the same room as the following people at some point (besides those I already mentioned): Joe Magtegna, Yeardley Smith, Romo Lampkin, Joe Hill, Kristin Bauer van Straten, Sarah Wayne Callies, Anna Torv, Lucy Lawless.

8. There were protestors! Yes, apparently people who love Jesus don’t love Comic-Con. As someone dressed alternately as one of the Eternals and a Babylonian demi-god, I tried not to start a fight. I did, however, note to myself that there are people starving in San Diego right now who probably could have used some help if someone actually wanted to enact WWJD stuff.

9. Saw some awesome panels and things on the floor. The highlight, of course, was Scott Shaw’s presentation of wonderful sex, drugs, and rocknroll covers. One example:

Our panel on Superman (my particular talk was on Mark Millar’s Red Son) went well. One of the first people I met introduced himself as a Tea Party member and said we might not get along. I said that the text merely indicated that we needed to put aside ideology to find pragmatic solutions to our problems. He smiled and nodded, but left halfway through. The rest of the audience seemed to grok me, however.

10. People were in awesome costumes!

So I’m way behind on posting. The end of the quarter happened to me. How bad was it? Now I have to wear a brace when typing and writing. It literally broke me. Sigh.

However, the second I was done with grading and choosing the Prized Writing winners, I headed to Denver for their very first ComicCon and the adjacent literary conference. I got into Denver at 1 a.m. on the day I was to give my paper, took a shower, and went to sleep.

And then woke up with hives!

Something in the sheets did not agree with me. So I bought really expensive benadryl (’cause the 6, yes 6, allergy meds I’m on wasn’t enough). I was able to watch other people’s presentations while the hives went down and looked relatively normal by the time of my presentation. The guy before me was a reader (as opposed to a speaker), so I looked pretty good by comparison. A couple of people said I made the panel worth it. Then a woman came up to me who missed my presentation and said she heard it was good.

In between that and the keynote, I hit the bar and made friends with the bartenders.

Scott McCloud (the comic theorist) gave a great talk. But there was the odd moment when he showed a page from this book:

And then he asked, “Who gave the paper on Asterios Polyp today?”

And while I had done so, I thought he must be talking about someone else. But then about five other people in the room said my name. And then he said:

“That was brilliant.”

And then I didn’t hear anything for a while.

And then I was back at the bar with my bartenders, who congratulated me and gave me a free long island iced tea when I threatened to leave.

The next day, I looked out the window at the line going into the convention center:

(That’s a bear staring into the center–there were lots of people in costumes for it to see.)

I got rid of Karma, got possessed by Zuul, and headed down. I saw, but did not pay to interact with, Pam from True Blood, Galen from BSG, Billy West, and Spike from Buffy. Met the woman who draws the little vampires. Bought a necklace. Went to a couple of panels. Didn’t get into the Doctor Who one because it was full. Saw this guy selling board games:

As I was too lazy to exorcise Zuul, I went back to the hotel bar, read my book, let my boys feed me, and made friends with the couple sitting beside me.

The next day, I dressed as Sandman‘s Death (which anyone who knows me knows means I dressed like myself but with more eye makeup). Did another whirl on the floor, said hi to the bear, and to these guys. But then I’d sort of seen everything. And an awful Whedon panel assured me it was time to seek food downtown. Hit an amazing wine bar, where I had balsamic lamb and goat cheese beignets. Made friends with the server and the manager; I persuaded the latter to leave work, so we hit a beer bar before returning to close the place down.

Then it was time for home and sheets I’m not allergic to!

Since I’ve been back, I’ve been getting ready for summer session, which starts for me tomorrow, catching up on doctors’ appointments, saying goodbye to two dear Oakland friends, going on poetry dates with MD (we saw Robert Haas, Kazim Ali, and Sharon Olds read at the Crocker), trying to get over the tragedy of Prometheus (review: just a head shake), and briefly hitting the French Film Festival.

I’ve quit writing for Matchflick after four years, but if there are any really great movies, you’ll still hear about them here.

P.S. Here’s a great little comic recommended by Scott McCloud: http://imgur.com/gallery/uBYbJ (the artist was 17).

Today, I had a driveway moments–a driveway moment is when you’re listening to NPR and you end up hanging out in the driveway because you can’t get out of the car until the current story’s over.

I was listening to this: http://www.npr.org/2012/05/17/152922457/an-afghan-shoots-a-marine-dies-mistrust-grows

It’s about the number of our service-people who have been murdered by our Afghan friends–their Afghan police and military forces–this year.

Part of the reason I was struck is because it occurred to me that we just don’t know how to do this yet.

I mean, we’ve been at war for millions of years. Millions of years.

Yet we do not know how to cope with or conduct war. We do not know how to re-integrate our soldiers into society successfully. We do not know how to stem the tide of spousal abuse and suicide that follows their returns home. We do not know how to tell them to violate one of the commandments in one situation, but to follow the others at seemingly arbitrary times. We are only starting to understand what even happens with head injuries, even though we’ve been hitting each other over the head for millions of years.

We said for years that women couldn’t be in combat because our male soldiers would find it too difficult to not do everything–including jeopardizing missions–to protect them. But the reality is that our women find the most danger from their comrades–they are raped at an amazing rate, by the very men whom we think will sacrifice to protect them from the enemy.

Many years ago, I wrote a poem from Lady Macbeth’s point of view. I was interested in why we blame for her Macbeth’s actions, when he contemplates murder before he ever writes to her about the prophecy. Undergraduates around the world write about how Lady Macbeth pushes him to commit horrible crimes–crimes against his king, his kin, his guest.

I have never seen an essay arguing that perhaps war — perhaps his joy in ripping men from nave to neck — had anything to do with the psychopath he becomes.

The only half-way comforting thought in my ruminations today (half-way because it’s not actually a cheering thought) was that there are several things we don’t know how to do yet.

We don’t know how to love, successfully, do we? How to love without jealousy. How to trust. How to practice monogamy when we’re not built for it.

We’ve had even more practice with love than with war, and yet we fail. A lot.

Other things we don’t know–how to parent, how to educate, how to balance religion with not being a bigot . . .

Lady Macbeth:  Where is She Now?

I’m always met with questions.
Did I really fall?
What was in that letter?
Aside from being none of your business,
It doesn’t really matter.
I’m always already judged—
“She wears the pants in that family.”
Well, it would have been more comfortable,
But around here it’s more accurate to note
Who was wearing the skirts.
It is Scotland, after all.

I am likened to those hags.
I change in your titles
From a dearest partner
To instrument of darkness.
You’re always painting me
Black or white.
And here I am—red all over.

I get in trouble for my images,
Because I say milk and gall and dash.
It’s beside the point,
But you try having your nipples
Cracked and chapped
By some colicky brat
And you try not to think of it.
In any case, I didn’t do it.
I merely said, hypothetically,
That I would.

Is that really worse than what he did?
Unseaming people from navel to chops.
Please—war is no excuse
When all the world is war.
Don’t be so naïve.
Is it because I’m a woman
That you’re offended?
Well, there’s an implicit war there, too.
And don’t think my body
Hasn’t played the battlefield.

I didn’t always talk this way.
But the hero
Kept coming home
And wanting to retell his exploits
To relive his victories
In our sacred marital bed.
It got so he couldn’t get excited
Any other way.
And so I steeled myself for him
Trained myself to taunt

     To take it

     To cry out

     As he cut me

     “Deeper!”

Why do you think
I’m so unphased by

      Blood

     Knives

     Poison

     Horsemeat?

So when I asked those that
Tend on mortal thoughts
To tend on mine
It was no big deal.
I’ve been plundered before.

Hereafter, when you ponder me
Remember
Hell is murky
And so is vision
With or without that candle.

On my way to class

to teach people how to write

with style

to unlearn bad habits

where I try to make everything

a story

& then I see the blood

smudged all over one hand

from where I’ve unconsciously

picked at my thumb

I didn’t feel anything

but I can’t teach

visibly bloody

so I lick the wound like an animal

test to see if it wells again

walk into class

knowing

the blood under my fingernail

will darken all morning.

Jenny Lawson, the author of Let’s Pretend This Never Happened, is a saint.

Okay, not really. I mean, not literally. Mostly because she’s not Catholic and not dead and doesn’t have the required number of confirmed miracles (again, because she’s not dead).

But if someone had to be my intercessor with the almighty, I would want it to be her.

I can imagine her argument in my favor now.

Him: There’s no way she’s getting in here. She’s violated too many of my rules.

Jenny: Like what?

Him: Well, she had a child out of wedlock.

Jenny: Technically, so did you, unless the Bible is leaving out a whole wedding scene. And sure, Alexander may not be a zombie whose worshippers commit cannibalism, but he did give her a kiss on the forehead the other night — unprompted! — for making meatloaf. He’s a teenage boy–they’re not supposed to be nice to their mothers! And did I mention that he builds his own instruments? I mean, have you seen his all-metal viola? She can’t be all that bad.

Why am I so convinced that this is how the discussion would go? Well, I’ve been reading Lawson’s work for a while now, so I’m used to her having conversations like this actual one with her husband when she bought a taxidermied baby alligator:

Victor: “Didn’t you once tell me that more than one dead animal in the house borders on serial-killer territory?

“‘Yes, but this one is wearing a hat,’ I explained drily. He couldn’t argue with that kind of logic. No one could.”

My friend Vanessa first introduced me to Ms. Lawson’s blog (www.thebloggess.com) via an entry in which Lawson gets back at her husband for forbidding her to buy more towels. It’s a wonderful lesson: http://thebloggess.com/2011/06/and-thats-why-you-should-learn-to-pick-your-battles/

I became a fan of Beyonce  the chicken and Jenny Lawson all at once. Don’t understand that sentence? Go back and read the blog I linked to!

How awesome is Lawson? Well, have you ever gotten Wil Wheaton to take a picture of himself collating paper to send to people who send you stupid requests? Have you, when trying and failing to get Nathan Fillion’s attention, ever had Simon Pegg comfort you with a twit pic of himself holding string? I bet not. But Lawson has:

Lawson’s blog is wonderful. Her book is similarly amazing. I usually don’t laugh out loud when I read, but I laughed. Out. Loud. Several times.

How could I not when she recounts a discussion with her OBGYN about how she would tear and need to be stitched up? Lawson asked if the scar could be in the shape of a lightening-bolt (a la Harry Potter) so that “whenever I have menstrual cramps I could just pretend that Voldemort was close.”

Even though I just finished the book, I already want to read it again. It has been a source of joy, of recognition (she’s not the only one to attend Armadillo rodeos), and a reward for getting my grading quota done each day. It is also “intellectually challenging and chronologically surreal. Like if Memento was a book. About dead dogs and vaginas and puppets made of squirrel corpses.”

She gave me that quote to use in my review. It’s in the book, so I didn’t even have to bother her to get it.

I’m telling you–the woman is a fucking saint.

There are two main teaching buildings at UCD. The bathrooms in both are abysmal. Out of toilet paper on Monday at noon? Of course!
However, one stall makes up for it. In fact, the other day, when I discovered the stall was taken, I considered waiting for it even though all the other ones were open.
What makes it so special?
The Doctor Who graffiti.

It occurs to me that if anyone noticed I was taking pictures in the bathroom stall, they probably thought I was crazy. I’m not crazy (for doing that).

That’s right–Boston!

I’ve been living in this country for well over three decades now, but I’d never been to Boston before this month, when I went for the PCA/ACA convention (I’ll be there again in January for MLA).

I’ve always enjoyed PCA/ACA, and this year promised to wonderful as well because my friend Melissa was going with me and we’d be meeting up with our grad school buddy, Maura.

George frigging Takei was the keynote speaker for the conference this year, but I didn’t get to see him. As big a trekkie as I am (hell, as big a Takei fan as I am), it hurt to miss it.

However, I had to stay behind in Davis an extra couple of days because the fabulous Sherman Alexie was here. Alexie’s book, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, is our campus book project this year. As a member of the selection committee and planning committee and as an Alexie groupie (that’s really the only word for it), I couldn’t leave.

So, okay, I didn’t get to see Takei speak, but I got to moderate a panel on the Mondavi stage with Alexie, to go to a gala dinner in his honor, to see his big talk at Mondavi, to have him speak to the writing students (mostly mine) in a private q&a, to be the momentary object of his flirty nature, to get his autograph, and to wipe a little dried shaving cream off his face before one of the events. I doubt that I would have been able to get my spit/DNA on George Takei.

The trip to Boston was long, but Melissa and I made the most of our time there. We went on an awesome Trolley tour and learned a lot about revolutionary history–including the correct version of some mythical events.

We went into Faneuil Hall, an old meeting house/assembly room. My favorite picture is this one–surely the painter was not actually a fan of General Washington. 

We got to have some amazing fish chowder at the Union Oyster House, which is the oldest continuously functioning restaurant in all of the United States. When we asked the very friendly oyster-shuckers for a picture, they brought out a giant lobster.

We also got to take a walk around Harvard. The buildings were beautiful, but this is what I took pictures of. Lobster is a big thing in Boston, but I still find it hilarious that it’s not a taco truck that pulls up for the Harvard students–they’re getting lobster! 

Finally, we had a great dinner at Jacob Wirth, an ancient German restaurant with a great beer selection and wonderful sausages (if not wonderful German potato salad).

We also saw the bar front that served as the establishing shot for Cheers. 

The conference itself went well. I missed Melissa’s panel to play with Alexie, but I got to see Maura’s panel on Clue. My own panel was on Whedon (I was discussing the Reavers in Serenity/Firefly), so naturally the audience showed up. The two other panelists on my panel did not arrive, however.

For a moment, I was nervous, but then I decided to stand right in front of the audience and to take the room. Luckily, the audience was interested in my ideas, and we had a good conversation. (And Maura even noticed that I was wearing a quasi Zoe costume to deliver the paper.)

A few regrets. Didn’t got to a Doctor Who thing that I should have. Got cornered by a furry who fixed my ignorance (I thought it was only a sex thing) but who didn’t understand that I wasn’t in the mood for a two hour lecture on the subject. Didn’t book the hotel early enough to get the conference rate for the last night.

But that’s okay–I’ll know what to do in January!