Ode to the Card Catalog.
‘ve recently become connected with Our.City.Lights. both on Twitter and on Etsy. So, of course, I took full advantage of procrastination-from-grading and had way too much fun poring through her blog (which is awesome, by the way — please go forth and visit HERE). And that’s when I found the freakin’ holy grail of literary/library/typewritten/handwritten/nerdy awesomeness that is known as: THE CATALOG CARD GENERATOR.
Oh yeah, that’s right.
I plan to use it rather excessively. Consider yourselves warned.
For example…
#1: Sylvia Plath’s “Mad Girl’s Love Song” (featured in my last pog), the abbreviated catalog card version:
#2: Excerpts from one of my own works in progress, called “Four Rings”:
#3: In honor of the upcoming Oprah-SarahPalin interview, which I cannot freakin’ wait to see, strictly because of the new quotes that will be immortalized:
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
Mad Girl’s Love Song (1953)
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell’s fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan’s men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you’d return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
~A villanelle by Sylvia Plath, first published in the June 1953 issue of Mademoiselle magazine
No more self-imposed creative limitations.
am highly skilled when it comes to adapting to lengthy guilt trips. So skilled, in fact, that sometimes I actually forget how to get back home to Guilt-Free Land. Since I entered grad school (roughly X years ago), I haven’t really allowed myself much of a creative outlet. My thinking, especially as procrastination on my doctoral work grew stronger, was something along the lines of, “If I have the time to illuminate this initial, then I should be devoting that time to my dissertation.” Instead, I devoted that time to effectuating a stealth downward-spiral into self-doubt and severe depression. Go figure.
This blog, coupled with my second, more design-oriented blog, has been INVALUABLE with respect to me gradually allowing myself more and more creative liberties. Over the past year, I’ve produced more crafty and artistic projects than I had completed in the previous five years combined. No exaggeration. And it’s been such a boost, not only for my mood, but for my motivation, my pride in myself for being productive and producing work I’m happy with… and that confidence and productivity seep into the academic side of my life as well. So, now the key is to find the balance between the creative and the intellectual. Which seems slightly ridiculous, because the two are hardly mutually exclusive. Yet, for some reason, in my mind, I had categorized them as such. I went into my undergraduate career planning on majoring in Fine Arts. I dropped it before my freshman year came to a close, and I moved onto French and English literature. Once I made that switch, it was almost as though I tucked away all my art supplies, donned a beret and became “French girl.” Funny, huh? Considering France’s relationship to artistic revolutions.
Anyway.
So I’m now reacquainting myself with my artistic side. I’ve been doing a lot of paper repurposing, but I’ve also been drawing a lot in my sketchbook and re-honing my lettering and calligraphy skills. Fortunately, it’s been a lot like riding a bike. (Big sigh of relief there.) My fire lit instantly, and it glows brightly. And I plan to keep stoking it as much as I can. Note: as much as I “can” does not equal as much as I “want.” Have to remember the dissertation… May graduation… I think I can.
In the meantime, I’ve finally decided to get my butt on Etsy and attempt to make some money off of my fun little creations. Shameless plug, yes. Sorry sorry. But, please remember, I’m a poor grad student with overdue medical bills. Self-preservation, baby.
I’ve already featured some pics of my new Etsy shop over at Words & Eggs, but I know that I have some followers here that don’t follow W&E. So, here are a few images of my favorite items in my shop: paper packs, mixed paper Paper Clips Journals, custom lettering, and customized handmade family trees. Please take a look, and feel free to contact me or convo me with any questions! Thanks to all of you for your continued support, and for creating a lovely little inspirational community here for me…
The thing with creativity and inspiration is that you never know when it’s going to flood the gates… or when it’s going to completely dry up. For now, I’m taking full advantage and bathing in the flood waters. I’d love the financial opportunity to continue to do so. Please let me know if you’d like to work with me and/or brainstorm any projects. There are LOTS of options for family trees: Christmas advent calendar trees, anniversary trees, newborn baby trees featuring baby stats, friendship trees… the list goes on. They make great, unique birthday and holiday gifts!
OK, I’ll stop plugging myself now.
Thanks again,
LY
The task of the translator…
or my dissertation, I’m undertaking an English translation of a nineteenth-century drame romantique by Alfred de Vigny, which has resulted in lots of sifting through translation theory and methods.
Walter Benjamin, the great German critic, philosopher, and translator, has written extensively on the motivations and moves of a translation and the (often mind-numbingly humbling) “Task of the Translator,” which serves as the title for Benjamin’s 1923 introduction to his translation of Charles Baudelaire. It becomes a bit difficult to reconcile my feelings of paralyzing inadequacy when I realize that, essentially, I am attempting to give (an English) voice to a man who existed at another time, in another land… and who did, indeed, speak English. In fact, he translated works from English into French — works of Shakespeare, no less! So… who the h*ll am I??? (I just had the urge to shout, “Who am I? I’m Jean ValJean!” but I refrained). Unfortunately, Benjamin doesn’t exactly provide an answer. But he does provide some illuminations on the purpose and power of translation, which nicely enlighten on one hand:
. . . a translation comes later than the original, and since the important works of world literature never find their chosen translators at the time of their origin, their translation marks their stage of continued life.
and further terrify me on the other:
A real translation is transparent; it does not cover the original, does not block its light, but allows the pure language, as though reinforced by its own medium, to shine upon the original all the more fully.
Ugh. Pure language. “Pure” language? I fear I do not have the holy grail to language purity. (Does anyone?) Way to kick me while I’m down, Benji.
(Benjamin image from HERE; Initial “F” from dailydropcap.com)
Carl Jung’s Red Book…
love NPR. I listen to it whenever I’m driving, while I’m working on projects, while I’m grading papers… wait, should I admit that? Anyway, NPR is fabulous. It rules. And today it especially ruled, because there was a segment on the much-awaited publication of Carl Jung’s Red Book, also known as his “Liber Novus.” Psychoanalysts, psychologists, psychiatrists, and pretty much all psych-related beings have been witnessing a Pavlovian-type response at the news that these once-hidden journals will finally see the light of day: W.W. Norton is publishing the Red Book next month.
Carl Jung (1875-1961) Image: http://www.crystalinks.com/jung.html
The Red Book represents 16 years (1914-1930) of Jung’s profound self-examination, his “confrontation with the unconscious” that resulted in some of his most prominent theories: the theories of the collective unconscious, archetypes, and individuation, to name a few. Jung worried that, were this collection of detailed visions and provocative insights published during his lifetime, he might lose credibility and support from the public, particularly his own followers. The few family members to whom he showed some of his pages later worried that the public might view Jung as psychotic himself. These fears led to the Red Book’s hundreds of pages being locked away in a Swiss vault.
Until now.
After listening to the NPR segment in my car and discovering that some of Jung’s book contained medieval-esque manuscripts and illuminated initials and diagrams, that clinched it. I absolutely COULD. NOT. WAIT. to get to a computer to check out the images that awaited me online.
And now, it is my pleasure to share them with you. I think you’ll agree that they are both unbelievably beautiful and completely curiosity-piquing…
{The first three images above from Booktopia; all others from NPR}
I was also really excited to find the following evocative photograph taken of Carl Jung on Lake Zurich in his later years, featured in Life Magazine:
And this, in the library of his home (also from Life Magazine):
And then this fabulous photo, of a somewhat younger Carl Jung (bottom right) with the psychoanalytic pioneer Sigmund Freud (bottom left), pictured at Clark University (Worcester, MA) in 1908:
Links to further info:
1. More color photos of Red Book pages from The New York Times
2. Sara Corbett’s New York Times article, “The Holy Grail of the Unconscious”
3. Jung Society of Utah’s presentation of the Red Book
Timeline of an Unfortunate Week
Sunday
I woke up with my eyelids crusted shut. Once crusties were painfully removed, they revealed a very pink eye and swollen eyelids. I pretty much resembled a cyclops.
Monday
I was diagnosed with pink eye by the same man who once criticized my verbiage when I declared that “I suffer from clinical depression.” He felt that I was giving too much power to the illness. I felt that he had an unfortunately crooked toupée and Urkel pants, but at least I had the common decency to keep it to myself.
I began dropping prescribed liquid into my eye socket, which I soon discovered to be somewhat counterintuitive. The eye drops surely helped clear up whatever havoc was being wreaked, but the liquid proved sticky. And my eyelashes were pretty well set on their sticky quota. Thus began the semi-permanent Cyclopsdom for the next several days.
Tuesday
I haven’t acknowledged this on my blog yet because it’s just been completely horrific and perpetually saddening. But my brother-in-law’s 11-year-old niece (whom I affectionately refer to as my “niece-in-law”) was in a near-drowning accident two weeks ago. She remains in critical condition in the Pediatric ICU of a local hospital. It’s been quite touch-and-go. There have definitely been some semi-miraculous improvements but, overall, she has quite a long path to tread before she can be considered “out of the woods.” She lost a lot of oxygen to the brain and there continues to be swelling. She is unconscious and remains on a ventilator. Some of her organs have begun functioning well (her kidneys, for example, are working well and she is able to relieve herself, which is a good sign that she can at least digest in some manner). Unfortunately, she seems to take two paces forward, but then about 10 leaps backward. It’s unbearably frustrating and heartbreaking.
On Tuesday she suffered a severe seizure (ventricular tachycardia – where the heart experiences severe arrhythmia) and the doctors had to bring in a crash cart to revive her, which they did. Very rough day for everyone, especially her parents who were there (and who remain with her constantly, 24/7) and witnessed the entire episode.
Due to my pink eye quarantine, I was (and remain) unable to visit the hospital.
Wednesday
Despite all that had been going on, I somehow managed to complete a draft of my new Dissertation Prospectus. Have I mentioned that I’ve decided to shift my original topic? Yeah. It’s a good move, I promise. In any case, the Prospectus completion marks the one shining star of the week, the one sparkly positive in a week from hell.
Throughout the day, however, my throat began closing up and, as a result, angering me.
I was still a quarantined cyclops, mind you.
Thursday
I woke up with the typical eyelid crustation, but newly accompanied by aches throughout my entire body, specifically focused on my upper body. And particularly honing in on that large chunk of matter between my ears.
At approximately 4pm, I donned a snow hat, gloves, and Smart Wool socks before slithering underneath a fleece blanket. It was 80°F in my apartment.
Friday
For the first time all week, I woke up without my eyelids crusted shut. So that was an improvement. The swelling and pinkness was about 85% gone. Another improvement. My aches from the previous day seemed to have mostly hightailed it as well. And I no longer needed my snow suit.
Unfortunately, I could barely swallow. Correction: I could swallow. But every time I did swallow, it felt curiously as though shards of glass were being lodged in my throat and forced downward in Psycho-like fashion. Which I suppose would be OK if I were some type of sideshow act in the circus. But I’m not. Though, I bet a glass-swallowing cyclops could make a killing.
I felt quite certain I had strep throat. Strep and I were pretty frequent playmates throughout junior high and high school, and you just don’t forget someone like Strep. So I swung by my university’s health center to get a throat culture. Unfortunately, it was game day, and baseball fans kindly selected the spots right in front of a STUDENT HEALTH CENTER for their parking needs. So I did a few drive-bys (in vain), and then I went back home, none the wiser.
Later that night, I was sitting on my bed reading through blogs on my laptop (common occurrence), and I had a full glass of orange soda sitting on the floor next to my bed. Poor location choice in retrospect, considering that three extremely important, extremely valuable piles of books/articles also sat on the floor next to my bed.
One kick of the foot later, and all books and articles were splashed with a vibrant shade of orange. Now, I can deal with the pink eye, the Cyclopsdom, and I can even deal with swallowing shards of glass. But when the life of my most precious literary children are threatened??? Hyperventilation, shock-and-awe, and general denial ensued.
The most tragic of all: my two Pléïade editions of Alfred de Vigny’s works were among the orange soda victims. PLÉÏADE EDITIONS!!!!! Granted, I got one of them (the less important one for my studies) used. But Vol 1 cost me roughly 55 €. That’s roughly $80, FYI. For one book. One book containing all the works I will reference in my dissertation. And works that I cherish. That are now tie-dyed orange.
Among the other Orange Soda Victims (OSV): the latest edition of the MLA Handbook, 3 library books on translation theory, my most recent copies of The Bell Jar, The Sorrows of Young Werther, and Jim Morrison’s The Lords and the New Creatures, my Oxford French-English Dictionary, and a handful of rare articles and texts found online or via Inter-Library Loan that I had printed out and collected in a binder. Which was laying open.
So that was fun.
Saturday
Another day, another glass shard in the throat. My university’s health center is closed on weekends because apparently university people don’t get sick on Saturdays and Sundays. I guess I never got that immunization. So I ended up at a local ER, waiting 500 times longer than necessary for a stupid throat culture. A bajillion years later, I received the diagnosis of “Pharyngitis: presumed strep,” accompanied by a prescription for penicillin and the following happy parting gift from the doctor: “If your aches and ear pressure continue, I’d suggest you return to your health center on Monday to make sure you don’t have mono.”
Later I found out that my dear niece-in-law had another severe seizure. And it is likely that they will need to amputate a foot and portions of her fingers due to blood clotting.
Because I now have strep and am a veritable contagion, I remain unable to visit the hospital. Or anyone/anywhere, really.
Only I would get pink eye and strep in the same week. While also ruining hundreds of dollars in research material. Ending up unable to visit my dear little niece-in-law in the hospital. 
New Week
This next week can only be better, right? After all, tonight marks the Season 3 premiere of Mad Men on AMC! So, in celebration of the return of the best show on television (according to me) and the glory it promises to bring to my life this week, I give you the following links:
1. MadMenYourself.com
Were I teleported back to 1960, I might look a little something like this:
MadMen yourself by clicking on the link above!
2. When Cocktails Were Office Supplies: Mad Men’s “Alcohol Department”
Great New York Times article, “Sixties Accuracy in Every Sip,” by Robert Simonson.
3. 15 Feminist Moments From Mad Men
I have to admit that a couple of these “feminist moments” are questionably “feminist,” but it’s still a collection of great clips from past seasons involving all of the Mad (wo)Men.
4. Is Mad Men a Feminist Show?
For an article purported to focus on feminist politics within the show, Matlack pays a suspicious amount of attention to Don Draper and his beguiling ways.
5. A Return to That Drop-Dead Year 1960
New York Times article by Ruth LaFerla, which focuses on Mad Men’s close attention to 1960’s fashion detail.
Image source: http://lulubliss.typepad.com/
6. Banana Republic launches Mad Men-inspired campaign
No, seriously. This Washington Times article confirms it, along with the expression, “That’s very MadMenish,” as a complimentary assessment of one’s stylish outfit.
Book cover posters
oday, the lovely Mme Perpetua (also known as my BBFF) graciously referred me to this post, which details an equisitely lovely, oversized book cover poster that adorns some seriously lucky person’s bedroom wall. That post then prompted a Google search, and that Google search then prompted a desire flaming up within my nerdy self to purchase every single one of the following:
(Initial “T” found HERE)
The axe for the frozen sea inside us…
think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound and stab us. If the book we’re reading doesn’t wake us up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for? So that it will make us happy, as you write? Good Lord, we would be happy precisely if we had no books, and the kind of books that make us happy are the kind we could write ourselves if we had to. But we need the books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we love more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us.”
—Franz Kafka, in a letter to Oskar Pollak (27 January 1904)
This quote wrecks me. Because it precisely articulates EXACTLY how I feel.
This quote is included as the epigraph of Jeffrey Berman’s Surviving Literary Suicide, which is a frequent resource for my course on the figure of the tortured poet.
(*Initial “I” found HERE)
I’ve got Shakespeare wrapped around my… hand.
he other day, I was very graciously introduced to the lovely recycled book handbags of Spoonful of Chocolate Hope. Haven’t you always wanted Jane Eyre or Anne of Green Gables hanging on your arm? Yeah, me too.
And as if the literary awesomeness of these bags weren’t enough, Ms. Spoonful’s mission proves even more admirable: all profits are going to her father, who is currently struggling to keep the house that he built with his own two hands when he immigrated to America.
On her Etsy site, Ms. Spoonful assures us that no books were harmed in the making of these lovely little handbags:
I take gently used books and only use the covers. I then take the sleeve and wrap it back on to the fully in-tact book and donate it to a Refugee Center here in Arizona called the IRC.
However, if you would like for me to make a new matching cover for the book, please let me know it would be an additional $15. You can view an example of the book cover here:
http://www.etsy.com/view_transaction.php?transaction_id=17233784
Some of my favorites, all of which are available in her Etsy store:
I am in love with the toile lining of this one...
Much ado about... something awesome
Your keys and dollar bills would love it here.
Jane Eyre is green with envy. I would be too.
Did I mention that Ms. Spoonful takes custom orders?? Yep. I’ve already been in touch with her about a Frenchified handbag… 
Go forth and visit, please: SPOONFUL OF CHOCOLATE HOPE!
Thanks to LittleBrownPen for introducing me. In fact, you should probably go visit her as well, please.
(*Initial “T” found HERE)
Happy Fathers’ Day / Bonne Fête des Pères
Père Ubu will eat an extra hot dog for you in celebration.
*Image from Wikimedia
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