“A spy, like a writer, lives outside the mainstream population. He steals his experience through bribes and reconstructs it.”
I’m on a bit of an early Cold War era spy kick right now. Two reason for this: I am writing a paper for my African-American history class that explores the Cold War’s influence on the civil rights movement; and I recently picked up a couple of John le Carre novels at my local second-hand bookseller.
I don’t have the luxury of a lot of free time this semester. I spend most of my days immersed in a bubbling vat filled with school, work, and family obligations. However, I have been able to sneak in a few minutes here and there – mostly in the carpool line – to delve into the 1963 classic The Spy who Came in from the Cold and the dark world of aging British spy, Alex Leamus. It’s not a book packed with action. Indeed, most of the story plays out within Leamus’ head as he struggles to find moral justification for his life’s work. I find his introspection fascinating. John le Carre is a master of his craft, and I am more than a little jealous of the intricate and thrilling story he weaves – without blowing anything up. Amazing.
Alright, so now that I’ve bored you to tears with my spontaneous book review, let’s get down to business. I’ve learned a lot this week. Some good; some not so much; all of it meaningful to my journey of self-discovery.
I learned this week:
…that I missed having the BFF around. This week she and I were able to meet in the middle of the day, on a whim, for a little coffee and girl talk. It’s been years since we’ve lived close enough to do that. It was a fabulous way to spend a Thursday afternoon.
(rant of the week)
…that sometimes I expect too much from of my higher education experience – and my professors expect too little from their students. As I’ve said before, I am in the midst of the group project hell. In general, I struggle with these sort of things because a) I am a control freak; b) anything less than perfection is failure; and c) I am an introvert who finds prolonged interaction with people I don’t know (or necessarily like) exhausting. It is no different with this project, though I do generally like the members of the group.
This assignment is two part: written paper and oral presentation. Everyone has an individual part to play, but success is contingent upon cohesion. Bearing this in mind, I took my portion of the paper to my professor for help with an unusual citation. I would hate to get it wrong and the group grade suffer for my incompetence.
He took it from me, read the first line, looked up at me over his reading glasses and said: “Are these your own words?”
I said: “What? Of course, they are my own words. Why on earth would you ask me that?”
I glanced down at my paper because, by this time I couldn’t remember what I had written to illicit such a reaction. It was a simple opening statement, short and to the point. No fuss, no muss. No ten dollar words. Nothing complicated or provocative. As you might imagine, I went through a medley of emotions: shock, indignation, anger. He backtracked then, but the damage was done. I walked away from the conversation feeling irritated, more than a little offended, and wondering why I was voluntarily subjecting myself to such nonsense.
Over the next few days, the group began to email me their portions of the paper for editing. My professor’s cynical attitude solidified before my eyes. It turns out that decent writing in these sort of survey courses is not necessarily the norm. Needless to say, I was flabbergasted by the lack of quality, and dare I say, effort, I found in their work. While I understand everyone has different writing skills and styles, I had expected by this stage in the game, they would have gained the ability to produce a passably intelligent product – with complete coherent sentences. You know, with a noun, a verb, and the occasional adverb or two thrown in for good measure.
I was wrong. Lesson learned.
…that my dog’s most prized possession is his raw hide chewy thing, and it is imperative that it be kept stashed in a secret spot until it is time to finish it off. As a novice dog mom, I am perplexed by canine behavior. Cats are easy and predictable. They expect to be fed, acknowledged upon demand, and left alone to nap wherever they choose. Dogs are different. Mine reminds me of a mischievous toddler – left to his own devices, mayhem ensues.
While in the backyard this week, I watched Rocco dig feverishly in a remote corner. I went to investigate. He was burying his chewy thing. I’m not sure why he thinks such a drastic thing is necessary, but there was an air of desperation in his actions. I suppose he could be worried about a cat uprising. He is, after all, the only dog in a houseful of felines. He would be stupid not to feel a little paranoia. I’m sure even as I type this they are plotting something diabolical. Hmmm…it seems I understand Rocco a little better than I thought.
…that Skyfall is the best damn Bond movie I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen them all. Multiple times. In the beginning, I wasn’t thrilled with the choice of Daniel Craig for the part. When they announced it, I was peeved. He didn’t fit. He wasn’t right. I swore I wouldn’t see Casino Royale. I was convinced it would be complete shit. Then I saw it. I was speechless. Bond had evolved. He was grittier, rougher around the edges. There was a vulnerability emulating from him, giving him a new level of humanity and mortality. Despite all of my efforts to the contrary, I liked the film- I liked Daniel Craig as Bond. I went into Skyfall with high expectations. I wasn’t disappointed. Don’t worry, I’m not going to bore you with another review. If you like this sort of thing, go see it for yourself. Tell me what you think.
…that my daughter has suddenly decided that jeans with rhinestones on the back pockets is not so repulsive after all. I’m not real sure what to make of this sudden shift, but rest assured there is a boy involved.
…that last, but not least, this week’s awww moment is brought to you by a ladybug I stumbled across in the garden. He was an uncooperative subject who dodged my best efforts to shoot him from his more photogenic side. It was almost as if he was mooning me. Surely not.