Fake Estate

Today's Report comes as a result of a story run yesterday by The Daily Beast:  F. Scott Fitzgerald's Baltimore home is for sale.  The 113 year old home sounds quite nice, but as the newsblurb says, it's not exactly the West Egg mansion of Jay Gatsby.  Even still, the Beast links to a list of Nine Illustrious Houses in Fiction, which includes Gatsby's mansion.  Interestingly, Gatsby's Mansion, incorrectly referred to as "West Egg" on the list, is the only one of the nine houses that doesn't have a formal name.  Pemberely, Brideshead, Tara... All these illustrious residences come with similarly illustrious names.  So what's going on there?  When did we stop naming our houses?
 
The Internet suggests that doing so is a distinctly British custom, as a quick search for the practice of doing so provides information on official methods of naming and this entertaining history of/guide for naming.  Where are the names of American homes?  Where are our Skyfalls and Manderlays?  Let's bring this practice back!  The question becomes, how do we pick the name?  Some sort of factor of the environment?  Mine could be Creaking Tree.  A combination of the names of its residents?  I'll check and see what my housemates think of Marshmolie. (Rhymes with Molly, not guacamole.)  Can we just name it Winterfell?
 
But: Let's circle back to literature for a moment.  Is it a function of the Britishness of naming houses that so many of literature's famous houses are British?  Consider the list above:  Six of the nine listings are from British literature.  Is it just because named houses are easier to reference?  Or is there a dearth of houses in American literature?  When I think about what houses were missing from the list, my mind goes straight from house to Holmes, and wonders about 221B Baker Street.  Then to Bag End.  Then, even though I haven't read it, on to Bleak House.
 
When I try to think of houses in American literature, I have much less success.  The first image my mind produces is the completely uninhabitable floating house the Huck and Jim find upon in the river.  When I finally arrive at an actual house, I think of Mark Z Danielewski's House of Leaves, but here the home is shifting and changing and impossible, bigger on the inside than it is on the outside.  The residences that I think of in American literature are of a more temporary nature:  The Overlook Hotel, the mental institution of Nurse Ratched, the Ennet House Drug and Alcohol Recovery House (sic)... Is it something about the nature of mobility and change that characterize American literature?  Is it because we name institutions and not houses?  Or is it because I'm just failing to think of any good examples, when really there are a whole bunch out there?
 
Readers, never before have I been so curious about what you have to say.  What would you name your house?  What should I name my house?  And where are the houses of American literature?

I promise something less academic and rambling tomorrow, but til then I'm thinking about my house (in the middle of my street).

First Downs and First Dogs

I hope you all had pleasant weekends and were able to gather with friends and food for the Puppy Bowl and the Beyonce Concert with special guest, Football.  I'll admit to only really knowing the team preference of one of our readers in this game, but his dedication to his team had me rooting for them from home... So I was sad to see the 49ers fall under the Unkindness of Ravens.  (Seriously, that is what a group of ravens is called.  Look it up.)  The game certainly wasn't without its twists and turns.  Viewers at my home argued that the blackout came as a result of Jim Harbaugh resorting to the strategy he has when he's losing against his brother in Madden: Pull the plug.  But for the sake of that one reader, I won't dwell on the football game here.

Instead, let's turn to the Puppy Bowl.  Remember how I had my money on Eli?  Well, scoring one touch down, Eli was one of the final contenders considered for the title of MVP(uppy).  He ultimately lost out to the love mi hermano, Marta.  While Marta's bold play in the face of puppies twice her size (has anyone tested for steroids) certainly helped seal her victory, it couldn't have helped Eli's case that in the entire two hour broadcast he was the only puppy to poop on the field... I sure know how to pick 'em.

In other dog news, we turn today to the sad passing of Barney Bush, First Dog during the presidency of George W. Bush.  Barney, a Scottish Terrier, passed away last Friday at age 12.  While sad, this news also opens the question of why a Scottish dog held such a prominent American office.  And this trend has only continued into the Obama administration, with the title passing to Bo, a Portuguese Water Dog.  Perhaps it was part of an effort to assure Americans of his loyalties that Bo Obama received visiting Dognitaries from Furuguay at the end of January.  Glad to see the First Dog keeping a close eye on the Tailiban presence in Arfghanistan.  Fighting terrierism is important to all nations, and certainly earns Bo the honor of Good Boy!

Live your life "as a model for others."  It's the 100th anniversary of Rosa Parks' birth.