Crisis averted

Better isn't always, um, better

I read a fascinating interview with Developmental Psychologist Gary Marcus, about his work on the mind as kluge. A kluge is a clumsy or inelegant solution to a problem - something cobbled together with the materials at hand (and frankly, that's how evolution works; it doesn't get to start from scratch. It can only select from available forms/mutations).

Anyway, one of Marcus's examples of the kluge-like nature of the mind is memory. Unlike a computer, which stores memory in logical and easily accessible places, our memories are stored all over the place. This makes memory recall wildly unreliable. "We pull things out of our memory using context, or clues, that hint at what we're looking for." When the interviewer suggested this form of memory may be key to creativity, Marcus replied that "a lot of what we think of as creative comes from the free association between our memories, and it's not clear that we would enjoy that if we didn't have the kind of memory that we have."

I find this concept absolutely fascinating. The associative, webbed, multivalent character of our memories could be said to underpin human creativity. So to extrapolate, it is thanks to the very inefficiency of our minds that we write - and enjoy - poetry.

There's a kind of poetry to that, isn't there? That we can be sublime in our imperfection.

"There is a crying for wine in the streets;

all joy is darkened, the mirth of the land is gone."

I had so much fun this weekend

I forgot to feel guilty about not writing. Sunday night, we took the boys to see Nosferatu, with live piano accompaniment. What a blast. I wondered if it would be too scary for Remy, who is only nine, but I needn't have worried. We laughed more than anything. Being a silent film, everything rested on facial expressions, so the joy with which the main character does everything (in the first half of the film, that is) is just hilarious, tactile, 3-D. Knock, the Renfield character, is deliciously grotesque (oh, those eyebrows!) and the scene where Nosferatu carries his own coffin through the town is, well, about as bizarre as it sounds.

Other fun things we did this weekend:
1. Filled our window boxes with flowers
2. Made maple walnut ice cream (Faizan did that)
3. Framed an old transit map of Chicago
4. Stocked up on library books

"Funny,

I sometimes feel like a motherless child (trad)
too, unknown
black voice"

Franz Wright, Planes

Getting better

I feel six-feet tall in my new brown shoes -- like one of Helmut Newton's broads.
Still angry about the Brazil Nut Effect, but mollified by the addition of dried cherries.
It's a three-day weekend.
We are not going to Detroit.
We are not going to the Dunes.
We have no barbecue plans.
We don't even own a set of tongs.

Shikayat

I coughed all night.
This morning I spent 10 minutes looking for socks without holes.
Lowered my expectations and looked for socks with minimally-annoying holes.
It's May and I'm still wearing corduroys.
I was helping Remy tame his crazy hair and in a fit of pique, I picked up the shears.
I saw a picture of my mother from 5 years ago; something changes in the eyes.
I saw chicken bones on the street and wondered about Santeria.
What is it about numb extremities?
I think I have a tapeworm 'cause I'm still hungry.