Trivial tidbits, New Year's Eve edition

Get out your pointy, rubber chin-strapped, party hat.  Warm up your paper blow horn.  Dust off your dancing shoes.

It's New Year's Eve!

Regardless of how you celebrate:  watching the ball drop in Times Square (or from your couch), partaking in all you can eat and drink offers at a local bar, or staying safe at home, surrounded by friends and loved ones (or completely alone), odds are you will end the evening with a toast and a kiss and a song.  More precisely, this song:

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne!

Chorus.-For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We'll take a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

In honor of acquaintances, old and new, I bring you today's trivia:

Who wrote the 10-stanza poem from which the above verses are drawn?

And today's bonus trivia:  Which Young Guns movie includes a scene where the boys return home from a New Year's Eve celebration to find one of their own murdered?

I will drink two tequila rose shots in honor of the winner of today's trivia questions.  Good luck! 

Trivial tidbits, week eleven

My parents named me after Darcy Farrow, the tragic heroine of a John Denver song by the same name.  My brother after William B. Travis, commander of the regulars who defended the Alamo against Santa Anna.  My sister's name was a favorite from the dictionary.

I don't know about other parents, but I felt a lot of pressure when it came to naming my son.  Everyone, even strangers, rang in with their favorite suggestions.  His middle name, Samuel, was known with certainty.  Finding a first name that was unique, yet not bizarre, fitting of a future Senator or musician, equally masculine and poetic, that flowed with Samuel Cearley, proved more difficult.  Momentarily driven by a family pattern connected to the alphabet, Braden was almost Eldridge or Eli.  Eldridge lost out when my mom suggested we call him Ridge for short.  (I've always believed that you name your child what you wish him to be called, not something you later morph into a nickname.  I believe I subconsciously learned this from my step-mom, whose kids are Mandy and John, not Amanda and Jonathon.)  Eli haunted me because of a former student with the same name.  Being a teacher further plagued the naming process because every name associated itself with another experience.  However, I decided to twist the teacher-name association situation into a positive one for naming my son.  After much creative thinking, I constructed Braden, who is named after Ben, Rashad, Aaron, Dusty, and Stephen respectively.  These students embody the very qualities I want in my son as he reaches his teenage years (and further into adulthood).  While we have encountered several boys named Braden since his birth, only one other shares his spelling, and I am certain none came by their name as uniquely as Braden Samuel Cearley.

In honor of naming rituals (and as a belated holiday blog), I bring you today's trivia:

What other names were considered for the red-nosed reindeer before his parents settled on Rudolph?

The winner of today's trivia challenge gets to listen to Braden play "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" on the piano.

And if you're willing, share your naming story with me.

Trivial tidbits, week ten

My new guilty pleasure:  The Sing Off

I know this confession makes my friend Mr. Brame cringe, but I cannot help it.  The Sing Off compliments my Glee obsession, filling my heart with song.

In a world of reality shows where human nature displays its ugliness in shiny glory, and backstabbing, betrayal, and brutality defeat simplicity, sincerity, and sensibility, The Sing Off is refreshing.  The competition entails a cappella groups, mostly comprised of relative unknowns (not has-been performers like Dancing With the Stars), competing for the title of "The Best Music Group in the World" (or something equally hyperbolic) and a recording contract with Sony records.  The competition is brief, lasting only four weeks, but Braden and I watch the performances with racing hearts, rooting for our favorites, invigorated by the talent.  Braden aspires to sing a cappella in college like the Whiffenpoofs and On the Rocks; I wonder why I let my voice go.  (Not that I was ever truly a talented singer, but a girl can dream.)

My favorite group:  the Whiffenpoofs.  Why?  Because of their adorably geeky, unique style.  Sadly, this a cappella group, which hails from Yale, was eliminated last night. On the first episode, one member of the Whiffenpoofs claimed that the original Whiffenpoofs, established in 1909, "created a cappella".  (I believe he intended to say they started collegiate a cappella, but this is pure assumption on my part.)  Piqued about the origin of collegiate a cappella, I decided to research the plausibility of this claim.

During my investigation, I discovered that the Whiffenpoofs were not the first collegiate a cappella group; however, they are the longest running.  I also unearthed lots of juicy details about collegiate a cappella from Harvard to Berkley.  In celebration of musical geekiness, I bring you today's trivia:


Which college is home to the first all-female collegiate a cappella group?
 

 The winner of today's trivia gets to hear me sing!  Good luck!

Trivial tidbits, week nine

Apple pie.  Baseball.  The Stars and Stripes.  Oh yes, these things are pseudonymous with America.  But do you know what's more American than these?

Grilled cheese.

Seriously, who doesn't love grilled cheese?  If McCarthy were still investigating Communist behavior, disliking grilled cheese might be seen as suspicious.  Plus, the numbers don't lie.  According to a NY-based research firm, 2 billion grilled cheese sandwiches are consumed annually in America alone.  Imagine the total world-wide?

Braden and I had grilled cheese for dinner tonight, hence the inspiration for this trivial tidbit.  His, white bread and American cheese, a standard for purists like him; mine, American and provel on 7-grain, my version of gourmet; both, meltiness that reminded me of my youth.  Last Sunday afternoon,  my mom made my sister and I grilled cheese for lunch.  It was the first grilled cheese she had made for me since I don't remember when; yet eating it, burnt edges and all, I felt 8 years-old again.

Add a bowl of tomato soup (and when possible a chilled American brew) and leave the worries of the day behind.

In New Haven, Connecticut, The Caseus Cheese Truck serves gourmet grilled cheese sandwiches to students at Yale.  On the one occasion my Chaucerian Elizabeth and I found its location, a line of people gathered and waited in the rain for their unique twists on mom's old stand-by.  It was well worth the wait, soggy shoes and all.  (In my next life, the one where I have disposable income, I will own a cheese truck.  Don't live near New Haven, but want to eat cheese grilled in a truck?  No need to despair, you can also find grilled cheese trucks in Boston, Portland, and Chicago.)

And if you're truly crazy for the gooey deliciousness, consider attending the Grilled Cheese Invitational held every April in L.A.

But what I really want to know, however, is who do we have to thank for this slice of Americana?  Who invented the grilled cheese sandwich as we know--and love--it today?

The winner of today's Trivial Tidbit gets to make me a grilled cheese sandwich.  Good luck!

Trivial tidbits, week eight

Mr. Jones.  Rain King.  Round Here.  A Murder of One.

These hits propelled The Counting Crows from relative obscurity to top twenty ranking on multiple Billboard charts in 1993 and 1994.  August and Everything After, one of the few albums I can listen to from start to finish without tapping the fast-forward button on my iPhone, spoke to my poetic, optimistically melancholy spirit.  Song after song, lyric after lyric, I devoured every allusion, every minor chord, every whimsical statement and in the process blossomed my love affair with The Counting Crows.  And Adam Duritz.

Adam Duritz.  This is no accidental love.  Adam Duritz fashions language in a manner that makes this wannabe writer envious.  The populace knows the lyrics to the hits above and A Long December, but Duritz's true magic unfolds in lesser known songs.  Sullivan Street.  St. Robinson in His Cadillac Dream.  Holiday in Spain.  We're Only Love.  Color Blind.  Within these ballads (primarily), Duritz illuminates love and lust and longing and loss with hues of blue and gray and yellow as reflected in lighted mirrors and billowing clouds in a style reminiscent of F. Scott Fitzgerald.  But the most beautiful song in the entire Counting Crows' library:  Anna Begins.

I cannot divulge much about why I adore Anna Begins without ruining today's trivial tidbit, but in my opinion, Anna Begins embodies unconditional love better than any song.  The speaker struggles to accept the love before him, for fear of giving up too much, for uncertainty of reciprocation, for all the reasons we all hesitate to love.  But then his love does something simple, a slight gesture, a common behavior, and he knows that this is love.  So what is it?  What does she do to solidify his love?




Braden, maybe 6 months old, with my other great love



The winner of today's trivia gets 99 cents to download Anna Begins from iTunes.  Good luck!

Trivial tidbits, week seven

Addiction.  Groups all over the globe devote themselves to aiding people through addiction.  Those who abuse alcohol, narcotics, crystal meth, and even sex can join 12-step programs dedicated to recovery.  And did you know that there is a special group dedicated to Pagans in recovery?  Yep, there's program for nearly every addiction you can name...except for penguins.

When I was a young girl, I went through a phase during which I was obsessed with penguins.  But given that it lasted for over a year (more like ten years to be exact), phase doesn't accurately describe my penguin love.  Thus:  addiction.  My room was adorned from floor to ceiling with the waddling wonders.  Penguin ornaments.  Penguin towels.  Penguin posters.  Penguin figurines.  Stuffed penguins.  Mechanical penguins.  Helium balloon penguins (deflated and preserved in a frame).  Sticker penguins.  Eraser penguins.  I wore penguins on my shirts, socks, and hair ribbons (and even a pair of penguin footy pajamas).  I visited penguins at both the St. Louis Zoo and a zoo in Germany.  One year for my birthday, I even had a penguin cake.

I don't exactly recall when the penguin love dwindled.  Mostly likely it had something to do with the painful realization that high school was horrible enough without the added pressure of being a penguin freak.  Whatever the catalyst, the penguins eventually lost their thrones of adoration in my room.  But my love for penguins still remains in my heart.  I can't help it.  I find them cute and cuddly, just like the catch phrase spouted by Skipper during the title sequence of The Penguins of Madagascar.

One of my least favorite things about being a mom:  kid television.  I take an active role in what Braden can and can't watch on television which means I am way too familiar with the line-ups of Nickelodeon and Disney.  Most of what he is allowed to watch is just sheer annoying, but not questionably inappropriate for kids his age, thus he can watch.  It shames me to admit, however, that I anticipate new episodes of a few of the shows--some of which have been topics of trivial tidbits in previous weeks--just as much as he.

In The Penguins of Madagascar, my second-favorite kid show, I can laugh along as four adorable penguins muddle their way through the episode's conflict (which usually involves stupid lemur King Jullian) under the guise of being skilled spies.  It's just enough penguin to satisfy my craving without sending me off the wagon.  In effort to share a little penguin love with you, I bring you today's trivial tidbit:

What are the names of the four penguins who star in The Penguins of Madagascar?

The winner of today's question will get to see a picture of me taken during the awkward penguin phase, penguin sweatshirt and all!

Good luck! 




p.s.  I do not actually believe I had an addiction to penguins.  I understand that addictions are serious.  This blog is intended for entertainment purposes only.

Trivial tidbits, week six

I proceed with today's trivial tidbits with trepidation, especially since one of my followers is more loyal to Missouri than almost everything else in the world, but after attending Braden's first Boy Scout meeting, during which the Den leader inaccurately taught the Cub Scouts about Missouri history, I feel it's my duty to forge ahead.

A universally alarming experience of my encounters with residents of Georgia, and other Southern states, during my decade away from this Missouri life was their lack knowledge about their state--its history, its geography, its resources--everything.  Unless the fact related to football or the Confederacy, most Georgians seemed to know very little about their state's role in America's foundation.  And if something happened north of the Mason-Dixon line, it never actually happened.  This is not to imply that people in the South are unintelligent; in actuality, many of the smartest people I have the pleasure of knowing are Southerners.  However, on the whole, they lack depth in their knowledge of state and American history.  In light of this, I bring to you (Missourians, Georgians, and Americans alike), a bit of Missouri history trivia.

Was Missouri a member of the Confederacy or the Union during the Civil War?

The winner of today's trivia challenge wins a postcard of the St. Louis Arch.  Good luck!

Trivial tidbits, week five

My friend Hans started a crusade I would like to share with you.  His cause addresses the face of the nation as we know it.  Literally.

You see, Hans' work raises social awareness of the moustache.  Allow his public service announcement to explain:  

The Mo, slang for moustache, and November come together each year for Movember. Movember challenges men to change their appearance and the face of men’s health by growing a moustache. The rules are simple, start Movember 1st clean-shaven and then grow a moustache for the entire month.

Do you want to: Grow luxurious facial hair? Be more sexually appealing? Not shave (as much)? Help raise money for an important issue? Sign up for McGeorge's Glorious Mostaccios and grow a Glorious mustache this November! Just go to http://us.movember.com/mospace/512215/ to become a champion of this growing cause.

While we were in Connecticut this summer, the Mark Twain House in Hartford held its annual Mark Twain Moustache Party and Contest.  A few of us briefly considered attending, but felt ill-prepared for the soiree.  Donning a fake moustache for one short day in honor of Missouri's shining star was a feasible commitment to make; I am not as comfortable devoting thirty days to the accessory.  However, Hans' passion for this cause is infectious, making it impossible to sit idly by.  So in honor of mostaccios everywhere, I bring you this week's trivial tidbit:

To which Mexican artist does artist Trek Thunder Kelly allude in the above portrait?  Check out Trek Thunder Kelly here:  http://www.trekkelly.com/

Today's winner gets a round of Huckleberry Vodka Lemonade, a Twain favorite.

Trivial tidbits, week four

Welcome back, trivia fans.  I know you missed me and my riveting game last week, but I was preoccupied with a Dexter marathon in preparation for Sunday's season premier.  In honor of Dexter, and an uproariously funny incident involving Braden and a scrapped knee and a maxi-pad band-aid, I bring you this week's trivia question:


When, and by what company, were the first disposable maxi-pads available in America?

This week's prize:  a year supply of feminine hygiene products.  Good luck!

Trivial tidbits, week one

During my time in New Haven, CT this summer, I spent every Tuesday night dominating pub trivia with my favorite Chaucerians.  While there are some facets of Yale that I do not miss--91 Howe, EXPLO, modern art installations, the ill-timed ringing of a cell phone--I have noticed a void in my life during these past few trivia-less Tuesdays.  And so, in honor of brain stimulation, I bring you Tuesday trivia.  Trivia on my terms--meaning no obscure questions about which Beatles' song has the fewest words (the answer to which cannot be accurately researched through Wikipedia, just another reason it shouldn't be used as a valid source of information.)  Instead, you'll get questions about whatever seemingly unimportant topic I find important at the time.  I'm excited about sharing my useless information with you.  Without further ado......



Why does Ferb, of Disney's Phineas and Ferb, have a British accent when his brother, Phineas, does not?

Phineas and Ferb is by far the best kids' show on television.  Witt.  Science.  Inventions.  Secret agents.  Twirpy brothers.  Catchy musical interludes.  If you have a child, especially a boy, it's a must.

Actually, it's a must even if you don't have a child.....

My favorite things (at Yale)

They may not be raindrops or whiskers, but these are my favorite things from Yale.  (My favorite things from my travels elsewhere will follow later.)

In no particular order:

The Iron Maidenheads, who went by many different team names (Iron Maidenheads was my favorite; Semantic Anarchy led us to victory) over the course of 6 weeks, played trivia every Tuesday night while in New Haven.  Most weeks, I was joined by James, Aaron, Elizabeth, Susannah, and Hans (but Renee and Ann each joined us once) in search of intellectual stimulation unrelated to Chaucer and the Middle Ages.  (Though we were always hopeful for a question about the Peasant Uprising of 1381.)  On our final Tuesday, WE WON FIRST PLACE, dominating the forum and beating the second place team by 50 points.  We can leave New Haven satisfied.  After all:  "There is no substitute for victory."  Douglas MacArthur

At Yale, all of the intersections on campus are set for double-crossing.  Nope, not fancy trickery, but instead the ability to cross the street on the diagonal.  (The picture above is a visual representation of that, not a tribute to The Beatles.)  This convenience makes up for the fact that you cannot make a right turn on red anywhere in New Haven.

This is my classroom.  I spend 9 hours here each week, circled around the table with my classmates, talking about history and literature.  It's just like a scene from Gilmore Girls (except it's real life).  The classroom is in a building called Linsly-Chittenden which is on Old Campus.  The auditorium has beautiful Tiffany windows and a fireplace.  It's surreal.

I shared a picture of the exterior of Sterling Memorial Library in one of my early blogs.  While the architecture is gorgeous (and inspired by a cathedral), it is what lies in the stacks--in the belly of the beast if you will--that draws me in.  The stacks, a labyrinth of knowledge, are intoxicating.  Within these catacombs one finds century-old (or  older) secrets waiting to be discovered.  4 million texts are housed within this maze and I only had 6 weeks to enjoy them.

One day during our second to last week we took a class trip to the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library on the Yale campus.  These manuscripts are beautiful beyond explanation.  We viewed a facsimile of the Ellesmere Chaucer (the manuscript that holds the most completely accurate arrangement of The Canterbury Tales), The Siege of Thebes, a text of Arthurian romances, and an indulgence scroll.  (Indulgence scrolls were posted in the Church and provided sinners with specifics on how many "Hail Marys" to recite to reduce their time in Hell after death.)  It was an amazing experience.  And watching Dr. Patterson in this arena was incredible.  He manipulates the fragile texts with ease.  It was equally intimidating and inspiring.

The tintinnabulation of the bells of Harkness Tower in Branford college mesmerized me my first night on campus.  That night I arrived to Yale at the start of the 7:00 pm carillon.  The peeling chimes can be heard for miles, including the block of 91 Howe, and created, for me, personal zen.

The first two photos were taken on High Street, the campus view of Harkness Tower.

Check out information about the Yale Guild of Carillonneurs.  This is where you will find me next summer!  http://www.yale.edu/carillon/yamasaki.htm

The last two photos were taken inside the courtyards of Branford college.  You get this view on the campus tour or if you live in this residential college as a student.  The residential colleges provide everything the students needs:  dorm sleeping, cafeteria, buttery (snack bar), library, common room, gym, dance studio, music labs, and much more.  There are 12 residential colleges at Yale and students are assigned to them as Freshmen.  It's like Hogwarts without the sorting hat; I would want Branford as vehemently as Harry doesn't want Slytherin.  Get more information about the residential colleges here:  http://yalecollege.yale.edu/content/residential-colleges.

Slow as molasses

I must take a moment to segue from my motherhood in the Middle Ages theme and share an interesting piece of American history with you.

Since this past weekend was my final one in New England (for this summer, anyway), I packed it with several days of traveling.  On Friday I went to NYC again and on Saturday I spent the day relaxing by the pool and beach at the Waterford, CT home of one of my Chaucerians.  This relaxing day was followed by a marathon trip to Boston where I saw the entirety of The Freedom Trail and a game at Fenway.  While I could spend another week de-stressing on the beach, The Freedom Trail was so cool that I'm already planning a trip there next summer.  Given his fascination with American History, my son will love Boston.

Along The Freedom Trail one encounters all the elements of American history that are synonymous with being an American:  the route of Paul Revere's ride, the Old North Church, the USS Constitution, the site of the Boston Tea Party, and the Purity Distilling Company.  That's right, the Purity Distilling Company, home of the Boston Molasses Disaster.

Evidently, when molasses overheats, it is not slow at all.  In fact, it flows quickly enough to create a flood and kill people.  Don't believe me?  Check out this link:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boston_molasses_disaster.  (I don't normally encourage the use of Wikipedia for research purposes, but it will suffice as a starting point.  If you wish, you can investigate further from there.)  Although this disaster occurred almost 150 years after Revere's heroic ride, it is an interesting snippet of Boston's history.  On a warm day, that portion of The Freedom Trail still smells like molasses (and sacrifice).

I can't begin to catalog everything I've learned this summer.  From class to weekly trivia night to local travel, these six weeks have provided me with a wealth of knowledge.

Now if only I can retain it long enough to share it with others...

Planes, trains, and automobiles and buses, but not planes*

*This blog has been recently edited to more clearly state the point of my rant.

Owning a car has made me soft.  Oh, don't worry Ford, I won't be trading in the Fusion for my walking shoes.  After all, I'm moving to Ashland, Missouri, a small town stationed 15 miles from the middle of everything save a Breaktime (gas station) and a Mosher's (small grocery store), so the Fusion is a necessity.  But during my brief stay here in New Haven I have quickly discovered that my dependence on personal transportation is slightly crippling.

Need blades for your razor?  Run to the store.  Craving popcorn?  Run to the store.  Bored and wanna browse somewhere other than the campus apparel shop?  Run to the store.  Oh wait; I don't have a car so I can't run to the store.  Of course, I am able to find razor blades and popcorn at various markets within walking distance to campus and my apartment, but the prices at those locations leave me cringing and so I use them sparingly.  And honestly, it's been good for my budget that I'm not able to hop over to Target or Gap to satiate boredom.  For the most part, I think I have surpassed the learning-curve as far as food and toiletries are concerned; plus, the walking (or lack of car) is not the over-whelming problem.  After a day in Hartford on Friday, I discovered that I have a lot to learn about public transportation, an mode much more important than the automobile in this neck of the woods.

First of all, I find the timetables for the various modes of transportation very overwhelming.  I consider myself decent at understanding charts and graphs and maps, but these timetables are nearly as foreign to me as Chaucer's Middle English.  In addition to the timetables, you need to know what mode of transportation you want to take.  It's not enough to need the bus.  Do you want the commuter (express) bus or the CT bus or the shuttle bus?  And buses are easy in comparison to the train.  There are students in my class who commute from Rhode Island and New York by train each day.  I know those states are close--you can get to NYC in a little over an hour, Boston and Philly in three, and DC in five--but it still seems weird that they don't drive here.  However commuting by train is common and second nature for the locals.  (Please note that the term "locals" is loosely used to describe anyone I've met with a natural inclination for understanding public transportation better than I.  Based on that definition, everyone is a local!)  The train to the CT coast is different from the train to NYC which is different from the train to Boston (and so on) and then there's the distinction between the commuter train and Amtrak.  Add to that special trains for Mets, Yankees, and Red Sox game days, and it's a spinning mess.  (I should have paid better attention during my son's Thomas the Train obsession.  I might have been more culturally prepared for this if I had.)

This transportation situation is something for which neither public education or two colleges prepared me.  Of course, geography plays a role in exposure to these monstrosities.  In Owensville, Missouri, the only buses I rode led to and from school.  It stopped at the top of the gravel drive on Bohemian Highway and I didn't ask questions or change buses at the red line.  I just sat near the back, annoyed that to be the first one on and elated to be the first one off each day.  At Mizzou, campus was small enough for foot or bike travel or I had a car (or friends with cars) to get me around.  And KSU is a commuter college, especially (obviously) for grad students, so again--car.  As for the year I spent living in Atlanta proper....you guessed it:  car.

Friday's excursion to Hartford would have been a disaster if not for my classmate who seamlessly maneuvered us from express bus to CT bus to our tourist traps and back again.  We had a great day, but I was frustrated with myself for being so ignorant to the transportation situation.  The Wife of Bath went on three Pilgrimages to Jerusalem, without her husband at the time (she was married five times) to accompany her and carry the map; she made her way through the terrain without someone else controlling the journey for her.  Of course, there was a guide (or host as in The Canterbury Tales), but the Pilgrims would have journeyed quite independently despite being in a group.  Now, I don't embody all of the Wife's feminist ideals; in fact, after reading her prologue and tale again this weekend, I assimilate to fewer of her exemplars than I thought.  I am a creature of control and independence out of necessity, not as a venue of abuse and spite of others as was the case of the Wife and four of her five husbands--I wouldn't complain to someone else being my guide once in a while (or more than once in a while) whereas the Wife withholds the marriage debt (or temptation of the flesh--to use another Biblical phrase--or queynte--to use a Middle English term) from any husband that tries to control her.  What unsettles me most about Friday's trip to Hartford is that I didn't know enough about the area and the bus and like to feel adequately prepared for the journey.  I wouldn't have freaked out if separated from my classmates, mind you, but I had not prepared for the trip and I would have been unnerved.  And I don't like to be unnerved.

(Honestly, this whole "no car, can't read the timetables, not an assimilated local" thing has me very unnerved.  And I think I finally discovered the lesson for today's stage of this Pilgrimage.)

In the near future, my favorite Chaucerians and I are planning several other jaunts similar to the one to Hartford.  And so I have timetables and maps strewn about the floor of the apartment so I can be better prepared for the next adventure.  In control enough to get from the shuttle bus to the train to the subway without being unnerved, but relaxed enough to appreciate the expertise of our guide (if we have one.)

Oh, I forgot about planes.  Seeing as how I've been traveling on planes alone (expect for my brother and an airline appointed babysitter that we often managed to outsmart) since I was 8 and accompanied by parents or the like since infancy, I have no qualms about air travel.  Arrival and departure signs are cake in comparison to subway timetables.

Weather the weather

Evidently New Haven is experiencing one of the hottest summers on record.  With temperatures pushing 95 for the past three days, and more of similar severity to follow to close out the week, the sun is reveling in the dampened spirits, and brows, of these usually placid folks.  While I do sympathize with the locals, I chuckle a little when they complain about the heat.  Don't get me wrong--it's sweltering and my "new" air conditioner (a $10.00 rummage sale steal that I could probably set outside and sell for $100.00) is working overtime--but I am pretty sure my family and friends in Georgia and Missouri would appreciate a string of days with a heat index of only 100 in comparison to tipping that scale closer to 105.  One considerable difference between Connecticut and those states, however, is that most people in Georgia and Missouri are prepared for such heat.  Here it has been unexpected.  College students clamor into bookstores and bars because they have no air-conditioning at home.  While reading a little Chaucer at a coffee shop yesterday afternoon, I listened as patron after patron lamented how the sultry conditions have impacted their sleep, their exercise, and even their libido.  Last night the air conditioner at Anna Liffley's, a local pub where my favorite Chaucerians and I dominated bar trivia, broke, bringing tension to the festive crowd of Jeopardy contestant wanna-bes.  (Did I mention that I dominated the 6th round of trivia, the one in which the trivia guru played a song and we had to identify the artist? My siblings can attest to the fact that I SUCK at this game.  Yet last night, I knew the Charlie Daniels Band, pulling in major points for my team.  I will attribute my success to the heat and many Saturdays as a young girl cleaning house while jamming to Dad's records.)

To add injury to insult, the rising temperatures has led to a contamination of the local water supply.  http://newhavenindependent.org/index.php/archives/entry/dirty_water_alert/
Okay, so maybe that's a bit of a Canterbury tale*, but despite the reassurance of the Regional Water Authority (RWA), I am not comfortable drinking the water with "stuff floating around in it."  Thankfully, I filled my water bottles yesterday morning, before the impurities stirred through the pipes, but if the soot doesn't clear out soon, I'll have to break down and buy more bottles.  I hate buying bottled water.

*The phrase "a Canterbury tale" refers to the stories (usually lies) real pilgrims (as opposed to Chaucer's fictionalized versions and not to be confused with those of Plymouth Rock) would have told after returning from a real pilgrimage to Canterbury.  (Yes, Canterbury is a real place.  Archbishop Thomas Becket was wrongfully murdered there in 1170.  For more information see http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/57948/Saint-Thomas-Becket.)   Chaucer used the common phrase as the title for his work.

The temperature in London today is 71--a far cry cooler than in New Haven.  If the Pilgrims were gathering in Southwerk today, they would be pleasantly comfortable starting the journey.  As it was, however, they started their travels in April circa 1380ish.  The dampness of the season, coupled with the horse travel over mud-covered land, would have made the journey tedious.  Most likely it would have rained on the Pilgrims who would have had no escape from the elements, save holding up under a tree.  Each day of this heat-wave I have had the luxury of coming home and changing into non-perspiration drenched attire.  However, the Pilgrims would have had no change of clothes to put on when the torrent passed; they would have sat in their musty wetness, surrounded by other reeking masses. And even with all of this, the journey would have been a great escape for the Pilgrims because it gets them out of the house where they have been cooped up all winter with nothing but their libidos to keep them warm.  It also would have been a sacred experience, not counting the raunchy story telling, for them.  They believed in the journey and the penitence and the tribute and thus they would have done it despite the weather.

And so I weather the weather in search of higher learning just as the Pilgrims did in honor of Thomas Becket. 

***I dedicate this blog to Susie Gauzy, my mom and fan of weather everywhere.***