Flumen Segne

It took me a whole year to get around to it, but today I had my first trip to the famous Texas Tech Leisure Pool. It was constructed last year in an effort to attract students to the university. What kind of students? Students who make choices about which university to attend based on the availability of party pools. This makes me sigh, but since I have no chance of beating them, I was persuaded by my friend Michele to join them. She invited me to join her in the Lazy River, a circuitous canal with a rather powerful current, on which one floats in an inner tube. This, along with the always-busy hot tub, are the principle attractions of the Leisure Pool. Michele came by to pick me up, and quickly informed me that her husband, who is teaching himself Latin for fun (that's the kind of student I want to have, less so the party pool kind, but I digress), had informed her that in Latin, lazy river is flumen segne. We agreed that we were glad to know this, and that this is what we will be calling it from now on.

I had a pleasant time floating around, and acquired my first sunburn in years.

More Lubbock Surprises

One of my plans for the future is to teach a course on film and dance. I even have an article coming out in the fall on dance in silent German cinema. Thing is, I know very well that my knowledge of dance studies lacks both depth and breadth, so I have long dreamed of collaborating with a dance professor who will steer me in the right direction. So, when I learned that the Dance program at Texas Tech was hosting the first annual Flatlands Dance Festival, I figured it would be a good chance to see what the dance faculty were up to. The performances were all by students in the dance program, so I have to admit that I braced myself, as contemporary dance is one of those things that if not done extremely well, can be truly agonizing to watch. Some arts are more forgiving - if a mediocre pianist is playing in the background, it doesn't make you want to run for the door, whereas bad dance can be excruciating. I steeled myself and set out to investigate.

Upon arrival, I was amused to see that since much of the audience consisted of the friends and family of the performers, almost everyone had brought a bouquet to give to their favorite dancer, allowing me the near-magical experience of sitting in an audience full of flowers. The girl who took my ticket asked if I was there to see anyone in particular, and was delighted when I said no, since this indicated a level of community interest in dance. I'm always happy to represent the world of dance fans.

The performances themselves were impressive, with a level of inventiveness and wit that I had not expected. Another pleasant surprise from the Lubbock avant-garde.

Shootin' and Dancin'

I've written before about how Lubbock is party central - never has my social calendar been so full. I just got home from my third party of the weekend, which was a Jane Austen themed garden party, officially called "Drinking with Mr. Darcy." The host was the same colleague who held the birthday bash with the "adult" piñata, so you get the idea. The invitation called for period/formal dress, and there were plenty of Empire waists to go around. Apart from a gin-centered bar and buffet of cold lamb, the attractions included archery and 18th century dancing. My friend Michele won the archery tournament, and I was a close second. We were pleased that we trounced the men, and there is talk of honing our skills this summer at future garden parties. Our dance instructor was an elementary school music teacher, so the level of discourse was just right.

Dedication to Silence

When I was nine years old, I presented my parents with an index card on which I had written my first work of critical theory: "Never talk to the artist." This was my way of expressing the idea of the critical fallacy, i.e. that if you want to know what a work of art means, you should just ask the artist to explain it to you. This is not an effective strategy, because a) artists are damn liars, b) they are most eloquent when engaged in art-making, not when talking about it, and c) this strategy ignores the role of the reader in the creation of meaning, and the transformations of meaning over historical time. I was reassured in my views when I first saw Fellini's masterpiece, 8 1/2, as a character declares that "All artists should swear an oath: Dedication to silence!" Nowhere was this more true than at the Lubbock Arts Festival. I attended the opening night gala with some friends, and it was the social event of the season. The main attraction was a display of Lego art - sculptures and portraits made of Lego pieces. The work was quite good, but the difficulty was that each piece was accompanied by interpretive signage written by the artist. For example, the sculpture you see above, entitled "Solar System" is really quite witty, until you read the label, where the artist clarifies that he knows that in reality, the planets in the solar system are not stacked on top of each other in this manner. This made me sigh. I'm sure this label is in response to people making dumb comments about his Lego art, but even in the face of the literal-minded, I wish he had remained dedicated to silence.

Lawn Care

I often write of my neighbours Ginger and Norman, who watch my house while I'm away (and, frankly, while I'm there), bake me pies, and serve as my airport taxi service. Yesterday they really outdid themselves. I stopped to chat with them after Mollie's morning walk, and Ginger asked if my landlord takes care of lawn mowing. This was her nice way of telling me that the dandelion garden I'm cultivating is cramping her style (Ginger is a precise and constant gardener). I said no, and that as she could see, I'd been very lazy about addressing the issue.

Then I went to work, leaving Mollie in the back yard.

When I returned, I let Mollie inside to have her dinner, and noticed that she was covered in grass clippings. It seems Ginger and Norman had come over and mowed both my front and back yards (the back was verging on jungle). I told them that they were gold-star neighbours, and Ginger said "Well, if we were in wheelchairs you'd do the same for us." That's true. I also suspect that being an academic is kind of like wearing a sign that says "I require assistance."

Birthday Bash

For my birthday, I had considered making a visit to "Ladies' Night" at the local gun range, but soon realized that I would need to take their gun safety workshop, which requires an investment of time and money that effectively ruins the joke. So, my friend suggested we attend the season-opening bout at the "West Texas Roller Dollz" Roller Derby. It was held at the Civic Center, an all-purpose facility that accommodates the Lubbock Symphony and professional wrestling alike. It was flat-track roller derby, which comes with the added excitement of dangerous seating options - one can elect to sit in places where a woman in body armor, roller skates and a purple tutu could end up in your lap. We didn't arrive early enough to grab the prime real estate, but we know better for next time.

The bouts were exciting, the music was loud, and the crowd was intriguing. Lots of families, college kids, and a considerable number of senior citizens. We speculated that the older ladies had roller derby (or perhaps barrel racing) careers in the past, and were reliving the old days. At one point the MC, who wore thigh-high leather boots and a top hat while being substantially pregnant, asked if it was anyone's birthday. I scurried down to the front, where the various birthday boys and girls had a dance contest. When it was my turn, I busted out some belly-dancing moves that I learned back in Chicago. (I have taken lessons in many styles of dance, but I have found the belly-dancing to be particularly useful.) Unfortunately for me, the other contestants included a woman with a wheelchair, who impressed the crowd with wheelies, and a lady celebrating her 83rd birthday, who garnered the most applause. She ended up winning a sparkly birthday hat. As I was walking back to my seat, it occurred to me that I might have students in the audience - students who now know about my belly-dancing career. I wonder how they are handling that.

A week later I ran into one of my friends, a history professor, who had been with me at roller derby. She said "Allison, thanks to you I've earned coolness points with my students. Before class, I heard one of them say that they saw me at roller derby, and had no idea I was that awesome." Stick with me and you'll go far.

Santa Monica

Here I am running, Baywatch-style, on the beach in Santa Monica. The photographer, my friend Brigitta, suggested the pose. While walking on the beach, I had the good fortune to overhear a young woman's cell phone conversation, presumably with a man. She complained "But you never think about me when you're in New York - just when you come to LA." Oh, the trials of the bi-coastals.