Mi Contra Fa

No Hate Here

This is a blog for research into historically informed performance and Anglo-Saxon studies.  I research Anglo-Saxon England because I'm a sucker for mead-halls, garnet and gold jewelry, poetry that doesn't rhyme, and simple garb.

White supremacy is evil.  If that's what's brought you here today, I can't actually kick you off my website, but know that your aims are not supported here.

An Uncomfortable Realization

Or, The Moral Algebra of Performing 'The Scotsman'

Last Friday night, at the bardic circle at Battle on the Bay, there were several newcomers.  I thought, "What songs did I like hearing when I was new to the SCA?"  In the East at that time, "The Scotsman" ("A Scotsman clad in kilt left a bar one evening fair...") was so popular that within a year or two, it ended up on the "For the love of Mike, sing something ELSE" list.  I haven't heard it sung in a while, so I trotted it out.

As a joke, it's wonderfully constructed.  The blue silk ribbon sneaks in with nary a hint that it'll be a first-place award in the punchline.  It almost always gets a laugh.

So it was a little disconcerting when it came to me, all in a rush, that this is a joke-song about sexual assault.

Seriously. Swap the genders.  A drunk woman passes out, and two men look up her skirt and leave evidence that they'd done so.  That's not a joke, that's the six o'clock news.  And if it's not okay to do to a woman, it's not okay to do to a man.

But it's just a jooooo-oke.  Can't we make fun of anything anymore?

Did you know that over half of all sexual assaults in the US military are man-on-man?  Tea-bagging counts.  "Mushroom tapping" counts.  And, as rare as it is for a woman to report a sexual assault, it's even rarer for a man to. 

It's just guys being guys.

What, are you a wuss or something?

It was just horseplay.

Jokes like this are another way of signaling that sexual assault doesn't need to be taken seriously.  No big.  Betcha wish you hadn't been passed out, eh?  Rather be awake for that, yeah?

At least then you could have consented.

That's not the point of the song.

No, it's not. I don't think it's meant to do anything but make people laugh.

But 40 years on, it's getting clearer that really, it's not actually funny.  If the culture took sexual assault more seriously, maybe this could exist as a clear case of fantasy.  I know a joke whose punchline is "The American doctor thought for a moment, then took the American lawyer and threw him out the [airplane] window."  It's a Readers Digest joke, not all that great, and OMG it advocates murder!  Except not really.  In real life, there is no question that defenestrating people out of airplanes is not okay.

In real life, there are questions about whether or not some kinds of sexual assault are real or not.

OMG who made you the Song Police.

Nobody. I'm not the Song Police. I won't stop anyone from singing this. I won't even get up in their grill about "what you're really singing about."

But I think I've performed it for the last time.

Atlantia's Royal Encampment (first draft)

It's Christmas vacation!  So I finally sat down and scribbled out a rough draft of the song I said I'd write after Pennsic. Really rough - there are lines where there's a crappy rhyme and a question mark, because I know that isn't adequate, and lots of other issues too.  But that's why it's a draft.  I may, for once, also try to write a totally different draft of a different song, because I generally cling to the first thing I make when maybe I should explore some other options.

Contrary to usual habit, I am not posting my draft.  I am still trying to figure out what to do with the song in general.

It's like this - the song is about the wondrous, perfect Atlantian Royal Encampment at Pennsic 44.  Now, in actuality, Atlantian Royal was a large yellow and white-striped rental pavilion, a gate, and a few panels of sheet wall.  It was empty; their Majesties elected to camp with Their household.  Considering that Their household is probably also Their main support staff, and that probably the household didn't want to lose its traditional land if everyone camped at Royal, and that Pennsic breeds a fondness for tradition, I can see the reasoning there.  And at a very deep and personal level, I don't care a single bit what the Atlantian Royal Encampment does or does not look like.  I don't camp there.  The opinion of the Known World on the subject is entirely irrelevant to my life.

But - there are people who do.  People who felt this lack of Royal Encampment was an embarrassment of the Kingdom before the Known World.  And it was from some of these folks from whom I heard that 'there oughtta be a song about this.'  And the idea of an 'Emperor's New Clothes' sort of thing came to me, and it seemed too good not to do.

BUT is it really worth poking at Drama on a topic I don't actually care about?  I do believe that bards in the SCA should feel at liberty to use their position to offer critique on the Society, when it deserves it.  If I felt strongly about this, I'd be posting the draft.  But I don't, and I don't know if I really want to pile on to their former Majesties - I'm sure they've heard quite enough on this topic already.

 

 

Focus

Also -

I've been hitting the self-help books recently, and have been struck by a theme of doing less but doing it well.  I have a notion to focus more on my music, poetry, and performance, and do a bit less with the textile arts and such. 

Twenty Years

I missed my anniversary...

On or about Labor Day, in 1994, I had moved into my dormitory, ready to start college.  In my hand, I had a Student Handbook listing all the clubs on campus.  I'd scanned down the column until I found it: The Rutgers University Society for Creative Anachronism.

I'd first encountered the SCA in Christopher Stasheff's "Warlock" series of books, where they blasted off to the stars to found a medieval mish-mosh world with techno-monks and psionic warlocks and witches.  I think I saw them at a table at the New Jersey Renaissance Kingdom, but as a high schooler, I didn't have a way to participate.

I think the Activities Fair was outside of the Cooper dining hall, on its great grassy lawn.  Spotting a pair of young women in medievalish garb, I went right to their table.  "Are you the SCA?"

"Yes, we are!"

"I want to join."

And I did. 

There were weekly Wednesday night meetings on the Rutgers College campus.  Mostly we planned events.  We had a lot of them - two masked balls at Halloween and Valentine's, a Renaissance fair, a Roses and Sonnets fundraiser, a schola, and demos at Cafe 52, a local coffeehouse, and outside the Rutgers Student Center.  Members of the local and surrounding baronies were generous with their knowledge and talents - I remember Baroness Ursula teaching dances, Lorelei the Harper playing music, Prudence the Curious teaching at Schola.  (Oh, that first schola... the Student Center opened at 9am. I told people it started at 9am.  Which resulted in several teachers standing outside the Student Center at 8:30, in the cold... I was very repentant, and they forgave me.)  We shared a cubicle in the Student Activities Center with the Hari Krishnas. 

I remember Rosemary and Josh and Rhiannon, who's passed; Korinne, who ended up seneschal when I stepped down; Jeremy? I can see his face; he was one of Tim's squires, and he kept coming to meetings even after he graduated, as long as he lived in the area (which was a year or two).  Ramirez and Heidi and Isabea and Celine, and that one guy who played with us and with Markland.

And of course, Morgan.  The library sciences grad student who joined halfway through my freshman year.  He'd been in the SCA for several years already, and he was a bard.  He was very vivacious and funny, although after a long weekend at an event, sometimes the humor wore a little thin.  He and his household, Grog, were big into drinking, and I wasn't.  He didn't drive and always needed a ride.  Sometimes, I gave him one; sometimes, it'd be Rosemary or his girlfriend.  He dated Isabeau, and then Celine.

Then, after I asked him out in '97, he dated me.  That's it's own story.

I moved out of the East and into Atlantia for grad school myself, in '99.  I didn't do much in the local group for a few years, focusing mostly on my RPG hobby instead.  I went to a few events, but didn't really know many people.  He moved down so we didn't have to be long-distance in '01, the same year I started going to heavy fighter practice and getting to know my barony, Storvik, better.

I eventually decided heavy fighting was not for me.  In '02, I think, we moved to College Park. That was the summer my mother was dying, and I wasn't doing much of anything except going home to spend time with her.  Sometime after that, I began holding bardic nights in our backyard, around a fire bowl.  The baron and baroness, Sean and Elizabeth, lived nearby and often came.

We moved again in '05, because Morgan and I were getting married and wanted our own place.  It was a trailer up the road, I think technically in Lochmere, but we kept playing with Storvik.  I started the Storvik Music Ensemble.  Ten people came out for the first meeting; we eventually whittled down to four, most of the time.  Patty and Flora and Fred and me.  For a year or two, we provided musical interludes at Storvik courts, always on-hand to fill the dead air when someone had to be fetched for the kitchen, or to entertain before court started.  We rarely did command performances - it was music as service, mostly.

I think it was in '06 - I was pregnant and nauseous, drinking seltzer at the event, I remember - that Chalice of the Sun God upended my thinking about bardic and research.  I had a little Geocities page for some work for a while, then started this blog in March of '08.   

For a couple of years, even after my son was born, I enthusiastically haunted the UMD library. That was when I did the Bertran de  Born setting, and we tried performing it in the Ensemble.  The 'Wulf and Eadwacer' translation, with all its academic papers cited, was from '08 or so.  You see, I had two hours on Thursday nights off - Morgan watched the baby - and I could go to the library to get stuff done.  '08, or thereabouts, I also stepped up as Storvik's exchequer.  In early '09, I had the honor of being named Poeta Atlantiae, and I tried to travel around more to promote poetry.  It ended up being the last time I went to many events.

My second son was born in late '09.  Two was so much harder.  So, so much harder.  I gained forty pounds from stress eating.  They both were diagnosed with developmental issues: a delay in the older, autism in the younger.  We tried taking them to events, but it didn't work well.  There was no pleasure in it, just stress.

I cut my participation way back.  I stayed on as exchequer, but I only made it to about four events per year.  The local baronial birthday; the Performer's Revel; and if a University or Kingdom Arts and Sciences was nearby, I tried to make those.  My research kept on going, but I found myself relying on sources available on the Internet.  Those were happily exploding, in quantity and quality, but I still feel the lack of good scholarly references.

I replaced a lot of A&S work with writing fiction. Fanfiction, to be precise, and I don't regret a bit of it! 

One and a half or two years ago, I stepped down as exchequer to try and manage some of the growing stress in my life. For a year, I volunteered for nothing of substance.  April of this year, I stepped back in as chronicler. 

The fandom fires dimmed, and the children grew older and easier to manage.  The older tried youth combat and loved it.  He authorized last year, but Slacker Mom hasn't been able to make him a decent shield.  In a year.  I finally have the blank cut and holes for the edging drilled. It needs sanded, painted, and strapped.  I took both of them to an Eastern event, where the Minister of Minors watched them for an hour while I taught a class.  Another time, my father drove down from NJ to meet us at a Bright Hills event at Steppingstone Farm.  We didn't do much medievalish, but the boys enjoyed running around in the country in fine weather, and we enjoyed being there with them.  I won't be bringing them to  Battle on the Bay this weekend - I have too much to do - but I can see family outings from here.

I did Persona Pentathalon in '09, then again last year in '13.  It's helped direct and focus my research interests even more specifically, and it's given me an entry point back into handicrafts.  Even the things I'm only a dilettante in - I've been a dilettante for twenty years.  I'm not bad at stuff.  I can make a thing, and it's attractive and functional, and that gives me great satisfaction.

What's coming next?  I have vague, amorphous plans to improve the newsletter, as Chronicler.  I have more specific plans to get into textile arts, which have long been a side interest of mine.  (I wove my first tablet-woven bands 15 years ago, or longer.  I just only make them when I need one for something, which means I haven't made too many.)  I've had a burst of energy to write Songs for Storvik - five penned so far - 'in the Atlantian style.'  In bardic, I want to turn to the Germanic legends - Volsungs, Niflungs, and the rest - and finally start practicing instrument and voice together.  I want to learn ap Huw harp techniques, but that may be down the road a bit.

The SCA has been a hugely enriching part of my life for twenty years, no doubt.  And here's to twenty more.

KASF Smackdown 2

In years past, as much as I am aware, the 'smackdowns' have generally been good-humored take-downs, either of good friends present (who knew it was in jest) or else of historical figures that no one really cared if they got smacked down or not.

I actually have a topic I wouldn't mind writing a genuine satire on.  I should probably check and see if that'll fly.  Don't want to harsh the mellow.

But here's my linkarama:

Cairpre Mac Edaine's Satire upon Bres Mac Eladain, "the first satire in Ireland."

(book chapter) 'Irish Satire' in A Companion to Satire: Ancient and Modern.

The Land of Cockaygne, a 14th century Middle English satire written down in Ireland.

Satirical Narrative in Early Irish Literation, link goes to a PDF of a PhD thesis.

Definitely an interesting exercise.  Early Irish satire isn't much like Jonathan Swift.  It's more like curses.  The PhD thesis is purporting to show that there is an unexamined narrative tradition, one that sets out a tale of general outrage rather than just saying how stingy some dude is, so I'll be interested to see what I can glean from it.

If the Irish don't pan out, there's the Romans.  But I've been meaning to get a grip on Irish satire for a while.

 

No, Really: Keep a Logbook

True Story: I've been assigned a data analysis task at work. Based on an ancient (4 years old!) email chain that happened to get re-forwarded to me, I saw that I had apparently written software for this very task in 2008.  I do not even remember doing that.

A search of my hard drive has turned up some supporting software, but nothing like a "main" file.  And the files were in unexpected locations - tiny subfolders with obscure names, nothing to indicate they contained analysis code.

Hoping against hope my 4-years younger self had a clue, I hauled out my lab notebook from 2008 and flipped to the spring.

"Data by hand: "

"Data by automated analysis: "

SELF! What program? Located where on your computer? HOW DID YOU DO THE ANALYSIS?

Notes. Good ones. Take them.  *facepalm*

Inertia

Hey, y'all.  Been a while.

I'm working on it, I'm working on it.  Two small kids, one with some special needs, take a bit out of a lady.  I've been cranking out - get this - fan fiction*, because it's fun and relatively easy and doesn't require documentation or dealing with Finale (musical typesetting) or any of that.  Also, the audience is a wee bit larger than for historically-informed Anglo-Saxon performance, and I'll admit the complimentary feedback has been nice.

Actually, it's been interesting, watching the authorial community and its relationship with said feedback.  I could probably write a couple of essays on motivation for writing, peer approval and so on.  Another time, perhaps.

Buuut I managed to crawl out of my hole and attend Noisemaker's Schola in the East, taught a couple of classes and got a pep talk from my friend Mistress Linette - she thinks I should do a few more translations and put out a book.  

I've also acquired a nifty new, high-quality digital microphone, and my husband has more or less said I can have the FlipCam.  The video tutorials I want to do for lyre playing, and the .mp3 files I want to record for the site, are closer to reality.

I also wrote some poetry for the Duke Gyrth Oldcastle Memorial Smackdown, and I should post that directly.

So, the gears are starting to turn again.  The projects currently lined up are more the 'do at home' sort (rather than the 'do on lunchbreak' sort), and there's always a challenge to find time for that, but we'll see.  Precisely because I don't do this for the wild popular acclaim, but because it's deeply interesting to me, I know I'll come back to it - even if I have to take a sabbatical to recharge once in a while.

*Dragon Age: Origins.  It's a video game.  I know, shut up.  I'm having fun with it.

Memes as oral formula

There's this idea among the folks studying oral traditions that some of the "formulas" used - little stock lines or half-lines of poetry the poet could summon up and insert entirely into a piece - carried with them resonances, deep and metaphorical, that made them linguistically rich, rather than empty repetition.

I'm hazarding a guess that in-jokes work in a similar way.  They reinforce an idea of community (those who get the joke) and imply a history when invoked (all the other times the in-joke has come up).  To those outside of the community, the insiders' enthusiasm for the in-joke seems incomprehensible; the outsider hears only some witless words, repeated ad nauseum.

MY HYPOTHESIS: LET ME SHOW YOU IT

You either just entirely understood what I'm talking about, or have no idea why I feel the need to scream stilted English in all caps.

Let me explain the all caps thing, there.  It started, as far as I know, with this lolcat (captioned cat picture).  But that's really the mid-point.  To understand why the picture is (allegedly) funny, you have to know something about Pokemon and the people who play it.  Pokemon is a collectible card game (and handheld video game) (plus cartoon/toy franchise); like baseball cards, you buy packs of cards in the hopes of getting the ones you want.  It's aimed at kids in roughly the 8-12 year old zone.  Have you ever met an 8-12 year old kid with a collection and a lot of knowledge about it?  They want to share.  They want you to know about their hobby, because it's awesome and they love it, and you will love it, too.  YOU WILL LOVE IT TOO.  They just have to tell you about it enough, and you will be so happy to know the joy of [their favorite thing].

I have been that kid, for the record.  It's not uncommon; it's part of child development.  So a good number of people have met a kid who wants to tell them all about [their favorite thing], here exemplified as Pokemon.

Which further draws on stereotypes about geeks and nerds and their inability to read social cues.  Because not only are we talking about an enthusiastic kid here, the enthusiasm is for a bit of geek culture.  And not a few adult geeks retain the desire to tell you all about [their favorite thing], whether or not you care.  You may be this person; you may know this person.  You recognize this person.

So the cat picture moves us to smile.  And then it moves us to imitation.  The "My [thing], let me show you it" phrase becomes popular - the kids today call that "going viral," yes? - and it becomes a point of reference.  At worst, it is witless parroting.  At best, the phrase encapsulates the consuming enthusiasm and delighted, past-all-reason desire to share that enthusiasm, while at the same time acknowledging that perhaps yes, this is on the crazy side.  When I say "My hypothesis: Let me show you it," I am saying, "I have this idea and I'm really excited about it.  I'm going to write a few hundred words on it, which might be way more than it deserves.  I really hope you'll read it and like it, because I think it's a neat idea!  But really, I'm talking about lolcats and oral tradition and I understand that's a little specific for 10:30am on a Monday morning.  Or, really, anytime."

Take home lesson: This is why filks and pop culture references will never die in the SCA.

Why compete?

Yesterday, the lovely and talented Lady Patricia of Trakai dropped by the blog to leave a comment.  And it got me to thinking.

First, for the record, although I am writing an eddic-style poem on early Storvik history, I'm not competing in the competition I'm sponsoring.  It's for display only, and if their Excellencies have the time and inclination, for the amusement of the populace at court.

But past that... why compete?  In general, it's a good bet that there's someone better than you entering the competition, just because we have so many awesomely dedicated and talented artisans in the SCA.  Unless you know yourself to be the go-to person for a particular art or science, there's the distinct possibility that you could be up against the go-to person.

1. Winning really isn't everything.  I give our fighters, heavy and rapier, and our archers a lot of credit here.  Newbies or old pros, they compete in tournaments where, by luck of the draw, they could be up against someone with decades more experience.  But they do it because it's fun.  Hopefully, doing and exhibiting your art is fun, too.

It's absolutely intimidating to take your first sally into an art or craft and show it off to everyone.  But honestly, most people in the SCA don't bite.  We have a few meanies, but you are much more likely to find someone who will congratulate you on what you did right, offer you resources to continue your work, possibly want to start a local interest group with you (!), and will gently point out areas for improvement.  The artisan community is usually full of bright and curious people who are a lot of fun, and competitions are a good introduction to meeting them and having more fun.

2. Competitions can be goals.  Goal-setting, and follow-through, is one of those magical life skills that's supposed to help you solve all your problems.  Well, that's asking a lot of it, but it sure does help sometimes.  And for many people, an externally-set goal, with an external, hard deadline, is more real and compelling than one they set for themselves.  Preparing for a competition can be the kick in the pants that gets you to finally finish a project and finally write up your documentation.

3. Feedback helps growth.  The Flying Butt Monkey Institute of Statistics calculates that 90% of all A&S competitions provide those little feedback sheets to competitors.  The quality of the feedback can vary, but I've never received another point of view that I just tossed aside as worthless.  Even if you don't agree with the assessment, it's good to know how your work is being viewed by others.

4.  If a stitch is embroidered in your house, does anybody else see it?  If you are hoping for recognition in your field - not necessarily awards, but just a general awareness in your local area that you do Craft ABC and might be interested in working groups, or could talk to a newcomer about it, and so on - it helps to actually put examples of Craft ABC with your name on them out on a table so people can see it.  (And it does help with awards.  They can't give you one if they don't know about your skills.)

5.  Win your own personal contest.  Sometimes, you might know if you took second or third place in a competition.  Sometimes, you won't.  Always, you can compare your scoring sheet to your previous one.  Did you address the judges' concerns from last time? Make improvements?  Maybe just entering the contest is a personal win, or you set a goal to provide more than basic documentation and did it.  You can use competitions as motivators to your own goals, not necessarily the obvious goal of winning the blue ribbon.

Why Not to Compete

1.  Less than perfect feedback depresses you.  If you know you don't want to hear about your own shortcomings, if that will send you into a week(s)-long funk... it's not worth it.  Arguably, being able to accept constructive criticism is a good trait but... that's for you to work out on your own.  If right now, today, it would deeply upset you, don't go looking for that.

2.  You're already strongly goal-oriented, and the competition does not further your goals.  You can spend a lot of time chasing competition themes and not make any progress on the work that interests you.  Plan accordingly.

3.  You're not strongly goal-oriented, and the competition does not further your goals. This is harder to diagnose.  If you feel like you've been doing Craft ABC for a few years now, but you're not much better at it and you don't know where you're going with it, sit back and see if chasing competitions has made other, unstated goals take a backseat.  See if you can state those goals that you really feel that you want to pursue, and ignore the competitions that would deny you the chance to work on them.

4.  Your entry is nowhere near complete.  It's one thing to show a work in progress; that can be kind of neat.  It's another to enter some design sketches and a Wikipedia entry and call it "research in progress."  If your project just needs hemmed or sanded or otherwise have a few finishing touches done, I'd say go ahead and enter it.  If it's barely started, it's really not ready yet.