As I Was Saying…

Chatter, memories and rants. Don’t stop me if you’ve heard this one before.





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Confessions from the New New Frontier

Writing what you know

Tuesday, November 11, 2008 - 3:32 pm - I come from a very close-knit family, and when I left Maine and moved to New York, it was a big deal. Pestering me about coming home became part of the routine on holidays, a campaign headed up by my grandmother. “Why do you want to be down there, so far from everything?” she would [...]

A rebuttal

Monday, October 6, 2008 - 11:05 pm - Since I was quite young, I have been told that I have an “artistic temperament.” By some, that was a compliment: I was sensitive, insightful, and curious. By others, it was not a particularly good review. When I made known my intention to be an English major to the professor of my freshman drama seminar, [...]

Recovery, day one: Check.

Tuesday, September 30, 2008 - 10:45 pm - My mom was diagnosed with ovarian cancer about a week and a half ago. It was a total surprise and my family have been reeling a bit as the reality has set in. An ultrasound confirmed our fears: that the cancer was aggressive and had spread throughout her abdominal cavity, but that the doctor wouldn’t [...]

Life, underground

Tuesday, September 9, 2008 - 9:04 pm - A recent move to Boston has given me, among other things, a new fickle friend: the T.  I think that “the T” refers only to the subway system. People don’t “get on the T” and head for the bus. But as I haven’t found a name that encompasses the whole Boston area transit system (besides MBTA, [...]

Milton vs. Malt

June 5, 2008

…What in me is dark
Illumine, what is low raise and support;
That to the highth of this great Argument
I may assert th’ Eternal Providence,
And justifie the wayes of God to men.
—John Milton, Paradise Lost

…And malt does more than Milton can
To justify God’s ways to man.
Ale, man, ale’s the stuff to drink
For fellows whom it hurts to think…
—A.E. Housman

john miltonImagine poor Milton. It’s the 17th century. He is alone, blind and sleepless in the dead of night, composing the perfect blank verse that in the morning he will dictate from memory to his amanuensis. He is at war within himself. On one side are his unforgiving Puritanism and his learning in literature, history, philosophy, theology and the Classics. On the other side are the actual facts of his life: the deaths of children and wives, his blindness, and the terrible price he has paid for his anti-royalist politics.

It’s an unfair match-up. No wonder Satan gets all the best lines in Paradise Lost (”Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heav’n.”). Lining up “I ought to be joyful” against “I’m miserable” is always tough, at least for me.

Nearer to our own time, Housman takes a different approach to essentially the same problem. Feeling blue? Hoist a few pints and cheer up, he says. Repeat as necessary.

Right. The opportunities for a personal train wreck there are pretty obvious. Better, I think, to find the people who love you and let them help you through “the embittered hour.” No bargaining with God required. No hangover either.

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