Fountain of Shame, Palermo, Sicily

 

Initially intended for a private villa, this collection of statues caused scandal when it was first acquired from the 15th century equivalent of Amazon.com. Apparently it could not be returned.

In the heart of Palermo's loveliest square, Piazza Pretoria, stands this magnificent fountain, the work of the Florentine sculptor Francesco Camilliani in 1554 and 1555. It overlooks the facades of the two churches on the square, S. Caterina and S. Giuseppe dei Teatini.... The fountain is floodlit at night, a 24-hour sight.

Shocking, Outrageous, Disgraceful! -- When the Fontana Pretoria was first unveiled in 1575 at Piazza Pretoria, the outcry was so loud it could practically be heard across the city. Originally intended for a private Florentine villa and not a public square, the fountain is adorned with nude figures galore. In time, Palermitans learned to live with this "outrage," although they forever afterward referred to it as Fontana della Vergogna, or "Fountain of Shame."

I walked all around this magnificent fountain, snapping pictures from every angle of the magnificent statues, all depicting magnificent bodies. Not an ounce of cellulite on any of them.

I couldn't help but wonder: are these representations of typical 16th century Florentines? Were they all beautifully shaped and proportioned? No lard butts, jiggly thighs, big stomachs, fallen arches, bad posture, droopy bosoms, scrawny limbs? If so, what has happened to the human race since those days?

Then I figured out that the average Florentine probably lived to be about 25, maybe 30 if he were lucky. Most Americans under 30 would look pretty good without their clothes nowadays, too.

There's no shortage of insanities

Carnival of the Insanities is up.

Britons sweltering under heat wave

Temperatures soar:

A spokesman said a temperature of 83F (28.3C) was recorded yesterday at Cranwell, Lincs, the highest so far this year.

They ought to try Washington, DC. Or Charleston, SC.

How did the ancestors of these people ever settle the American South?

Running to stay in place

We've been engaged in the homeowner's marathon: running hard to stay in place. We have had the computer guy, the Internet guy, the power-washing guy, the electrician, and the plumber. All this not to improve our lot in life but to restore our household to the status quo ante, that is, getting the computer to work, the Internet connection tow work, the light fixture in the basement to work, etc.

Meanwhile, I have been spending my days sitting at home waiting for the plumber, etc. They give you a window during which the person in question will come, say 7 a.m. to 6 p.m. This is a large window. Especially when you arrange over the phone that you will not be there from 1 p.m. to 2 p.m. and the person in question shows up at your door at 12:59 or calls on your cell phone just as you are pulling into the dentist's driveway at 1:10.

The funny thing is, when one of these fixers actually shows up, fixes whatever was not working, and doesn't charge too much, we are as happy as if Ed MacMahon had showed up at the door and handed us fistfuls of cash.

Meanwhile, all is harmony and gratitude chez Charm. Now if the guy who's painting the deck just shows up on time....

The gospel according to Garrison Keillor

Via James Lileks, here are some really bad, nasty despicable people, according to Keillor:

“hairy-backed swamp developers, corporate shills, Christians of convenience, freelance racists, hobby cops, misanthropic frat boys, lizardskin cigar monkeys, jerktown romeos, ninja dittoheads.” In 1994 he called them “dim figures emerged from the mist; lo and behold, the same old gang of frat boys, geezers in golf pants, cheese merchants, cat stranglers, corporate shills, Bible beaters, swamp developers."

I believe he's talking about, you know, Republicans. Lileks offers his own variation:

"Fat shapes emerged from the fog; hail and fare-thee-well, the same ancient mob of sorority sisters, Masons of the moment, backwater frog-heads, spumoni disciples, swamp-cheese franchise experts, Cartesians in LaCrosse socks, ferret-ticklers, and Rosicrutian tract-whappers.”

This can be kind of fun. Here's my contribution:

Pot-bellied salesmen, lawyers in tasseled loafers, dog groomers, librarians in sensible shoes, bus-driving bigots, pasta-eaters, Limbaugh listeners, ugly hairdressers, SUV drivers, flag-wavers, overweight Presbyterians....

Oh, goodness, I could go on forever, but it's unfair to hog the limelight. I'm sure my readers would like a try at creating this pretentious but meaningless crap. I invite you to do so.

Rachel responds to the challenge:

Prius drivers reeking of sanctimony, community college professors, slow food cultists, Unitarians, expatriates wearing Obama buttons, Earth Firsters, celebrity friends of Fidel, granola-chomping birkenstock wearers, feminazis for the burqa, PBS contributors, poetasters for peace ..

Well done!

Also, from Snoopy:

Shimmering in a beer-induced haze of intoxication: defrocked cable technicians, pimply-faced connoisseurs of fried Mars bars, emasculated yachtsmen, unwashed solipsists, tweed-clad and horny Eng. Lit. professors, earnest aluminum siding salesmen, card-carrying PETA ghosts, undernourished Lambada dancers, eager but shy Norwegian bachelor farmers and, of course, sensibly shod librarians.

In love with mass transit

Why do our betters favor raising the tax on gasoline, which goes to the highway trust fund? Simple. The highway trust fund is unable to accomplish the things it was set up to do, such as build and repair highways and bridges. The funds originally meant for highway construction and improvement are being spent on fripperies like bicycle paths and mass transit for people who don't want to take mass transit.

The love politicians bear for mass transit is touching. Particularly since none of them would be caught dead using it. Their favorite means of getting from place A to place B involves private jets, helicopters, and chauffered limosines. Mass transit for the "little people," the jerks who pay taxes through their employers and don't have the opportunity to use gifted accountants to "minimize" their taxes. These little people have been getting ideas above their station in life--driving around in SUVs and vans and turning their airconditioning way down. They need to be taught a lesson by the arugala eating classes.

Also on the Carnival of the Insanities.

Lileks tears the Archbishop a new one

James Lileks expresses it so well:



“The Archbishop said that faiths which reject the use of violence should learn to defend each other in their mutual interest.
'If we are in the habit of defending each other, we ought to be able to learn to defend other groups and communities as well,' he said.
'We can together speak for those who have no voice or leverage in society - for the poorest, the most despised, the least powerful, for women and children, for migrants and minorities; and even to speak together for the great encompassing reality that has no voice of its own, our injured and abused material environment.

That's right--it's all about the environment. Psalm 24 came to my mind as I was loading the dishwasher, thinking the Archbishop's words over, so I looked it up:

24:1 The earth is the LORD's, and the fulness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein.

24:2 For he hath founded it upon the seas, and established it upon the floods.


Compare the nobility and beauty of these words to the drivel that comes out of the Archbishop's mouth. The man obviously hasn't a clue.

Baby-killer exchanged for two corpses

What a terrific deal!

I am so mad I could spit. The Lebanese are dancing in the streets! They know what is going on: they won, Israel lost.

Back to Best Buy

As all three of my readers know, I have been having computer problems. I've brought two computers back to Best Buy, and the boys and girls who work there are starting to be familiar with my face; so much so, that when I walk into the door, those working in the Computer Department all tend to want to take their break at the same time.

Well, I bought this printer, which for some reason I did not get around to installing earlier. This time I followed the printed instructions, one through four--to wit: 1. Remove printer from carton; 2. Check to see that all the parts are there; 3. Connect the power supply (this was a tough one, it came in two pieces, but I managed to do it); 4. Remove all the packing material from the printer.

Then came number 5: Turn on printer, by pressing on button. That one didn't work.

So, I have to go back to Best Buy, where I am known to one and all as The Crazy Lady. I know this because if this were the library where I worked this is the name I would inevitably have earned.

So I have to dye my hair black, put on shoes with lifts, and paste a false mustache on my face, maybe even get cheek inserts like Marlon Brando wore in the Godfather before I dare go in there again.

Maybe I'll just donate it to the Synagogue Garage Sale, which is taking place shortly. I'm such a coward.

Carnival of the Insanities is up

Good stuff, everyone.

Customer support

I brought my new Dell home on Thursday and I already found out that there is no support for anything you are likely to do with the computer. What is actually covered I don't know. Perhaps shooting the computer out of a cannon over the Mojave Desert might get the attention of customer support.

I couldn't download Adobe reader or Adobe flash player, no matter how hard I tried. So I went to Firefox and downloaded a bunch of stuff, the names of which I cannot now remember. But I am getting videos now.

Except for the audio part. I checked control panel, and the speakers are installed, so that's not it. Back I went to web support, and I got this little handy-dandy suggestion:

Turn off the computer, unplug everything, and then plug everything in again and restart the computer.

I don't know whether I should do this at midnight while sprinkling salt over my left shoulder and then walk in a circle 7 times. All I know is that I have a backache from crawling around on the floor and a headache from trying to see all the little USB ports. Oh yes, and it didn't work.

I'm getting to the point where I am stopping being defensive about my lack of computer knowledge and starting to wish they did this another way. When I bought a car I did not get several large unwieldy boxes containing the chassis, wheels, tires, clutch, and automatic transmission. It was already assembled, in a place quaintly called a "factory" by persons known as "workers." And though I am ignorant about motor vehicles--all I know about them is that you have to put gas in them to make them run--it hasn't stopped me from driving, using the aforementioned wheels, etc, like a pro.

Foods of the past

Today we are going to discuss Green Jello, but not just yet.



Methods of cooking and serving foods sure have changed in my lifetime. I can remember when beef Wellington was considered an elegant dish; guests were actually served steak, roast beef, and brisket. Nowadays you could probably perform a citizen's arrest on any host who dared to serve beef to his guests. Even burgers are made of turkey these days.

Things were different when I was young, back in the twentieth century. You expected your host to provide grub and plenty of it. Nobody worried about their weight unless they were morbidly obese. Marilyn Monroe and Sophia Loren were considered fine figures of women and even Jane Russell had her admirers.

A young couple of our acquaintance were ahead of their time, foodwise, and we were victims of their hospitality. Our hostess proudly served a cheese souffle, which I swear had only 4 eggs in it. For 4 people. A finicky little salad--3 or 4 lettuce leaves and a slice of tomato--accompanied this. Dessert was half a pear in syrup that had a few cranberries floating in it.

As soon as we decently could, we left, and on the way to the subway stopped in Wolfie's for a double-decker pastrami sandwich with a chocolate shake on the side.

What was I talking about? Oh, yes, green Jello. Jello molds were considered haute cuisine in those days, and for some reason green was the color of the day. The truly elegant hostess provided Jello, part of which remained green and contained--let's say pineapple, coconut, and slivered almonds. You could actually put anything, reasonable or not, in it. The other part was mixed with cream or cream cheese, at any rate something white. So it became a light green, which set off the other, darker Jello. The two were layered in a fancy mold. When ready to serve, the mold was dipped into warm water and downloaded on a fancy plate. Whether anyone ate it is not recorded, but everyone took a little piece to be polite.

Nobody eats stuff like that any more. Green Jello has gone the way of ambrosia salad (which contained marshmallows, among other things), meat loaf with tomato soup poured on top of it, and iceberg lettuce.

I did the unthinkable

Yes, I am the one and only person in the United States and Overseas Possessions to actually return a Mac...

I know I was supposed to enroll myself in the small exclusive Apple fan club and start looking down my nose at the unenlightened who cling to their guns and PCs and fear of people who are different (better) than them.

I had the iMac from Hell. I couldn't download the installation software from my printer, digital camera, or scanner using the CDs, nor could I download it from the internet. I couldn't open my digital photos.

I called Apple, who were amused I was trying to pawn off an old Lexmark printer on my fine new equipment. Okay, I'll accept that, even though the said printer was working just fine. But my camera is new and I don't want to dump it. So I called Olympus tech support. Nothing they tried worked. They were stumped. HP the same. I bought a new Photosmart printer and attempted to install it, but the Apple would have none of it. Tech support for said printer became very annoyed because by God it's supposed to work.

Finally, I called Apple at 6 a.m. their time, and their tech support attempted to grapple with the program. They finally advised me to take it back. Yes, Apple couldn't get the bloody thing to work either!

Now I have Mr Charm scratching his head and trying to put together my new Dell.

Is a college degree worth anything?

It makes you feel good about yourself.

Sooner or later the truth about the value of a college degree will get out. It is irrational to pay $100,000 for a degree that will get you a $25,000 a year job. The earning premium for a college degree isn’t evenly distributed - engineers, doctors and other professionals get most of the additional lifetime earnings attributed to holding a college degree. Many of these students will graduate with big debts, and not much in the way of prospects for a good job.

Unfortunately, the idiocy taught in our colleges has real life consequences. Students start life deeply in debt, besides being totally ignorant and naive. Four or five or even six years of their lives which could have been productively spent are lost. And the stupidity seems to be working its way down to the lower grades. Just to make things worse, Catholic schools, which were a beacon of light in a dark landscape, are closing just when they are needed most.

Also at Carnival of the Insanities.

mainstream media mourns death

I was unable to link to the headline in the Charleston newspaper's coverage of Jesse Helms' death on July 4, but it went something like this:

Conservative Bigot dies

Very objective.

Sicily

Poppies and other wildflowers in the Sicilian countryside.

My dream library

I had dinner with an old friend who is still working in the trenches of a library. When I met her, I worked at the Cute Little Library. She left the state before I began to work at the Library from Heck (13 fun-filled years of heavy pain killer use). We started to speculate about what the dream library would be like.

1. It would have all the books you read when you were young, all the books you've been meaning to read for years, nice clean copies of classics, multiple copies of the book of the moment. When the moment ended, the extra copies would be discarded, not left sitting on the shelf like wallflowers at a dance. Whatever you wanted to read would be there when you wanted it. Books on tape. Books in braille. Books, books, books, and nothing else. See #3.

2. No ranting and raving by the homeless. The homeless could sit quietly in their chairs as long as they kept their clothes on, well, most of their clothes. They also would not smell of anything but soap. Originally I wanted to bar the homeless, but I realized that they were part of the library scene. Where else would they go? No one wants them around except the librarians, bless their hearts.

3. No DVDs, CDs, computer games or comic books. They can get that garbage elsewhere, and do. If literacy ever becomes a lost art, blame these media.

4. No Internet. The crazies who want to look at porn sites can jolly well buy their own computers. People shouldn't do what these folks are doing in public places. Need I draw a picture?

5. No cell phones, pagers, iPods, or other devices that deafen young people and cause their brains to rot. No one would be talking to an unseen Other or muttering to themselves except the librarians.

6. Only nice adults, nice teenagers, and nice children would be allowed within the doors of the Dream Library.

7. People would not have heart attacks or seizures or just plain fall down.

That's as far as we got.

Ramadan decorations?

Muskrat worries about being politically incorrect. Or insensitive. Or something.

Last night, I had an appointment to show my rental property to a 20-something medical student named Suleman. ... When he got out of the car,... he looked like the grown version of the male rapist from The Kite Runner (which I’d watched on DVD the night before). Dark skin; long and thick beard. He had an attractive Persian-looking wife with him whom I was afraid to look at, and his mother-in-law came. [snip]

When I showed him the washer/dryer combination, he mentioned to his mother-in-law that he saw similar machines in college in Pakistan. I’m thinking about how my condo is in the general area of town where several of the 9/11 hijackers took flying lessons and blew off steam at a strip club down the road right before the Big Flight, and I’m remembering the fact that I have a military license plate on the back of my car and an Air Force base sticker on my front windshield, and I’m thinking there’s no way this guy is going to become my tenant, because he hates me and thinks I’m an infidel and may well know that I’ve been to Iraq twice and deserve to live with Satan as penance.

Then I showed him the attic door and talked about its storage capacity, saying, “Yeah, I used to keep a bike up here, extra boxes, Christ-I mean-holiday decorations–or you know, seasonal stuff can fit up there, if you’re into that…like, you know, Ramadan…” ... I’m thinking I can’t believe I referenced Ramadan decorations and how they’d fit in the attic. I need to find a stationary object on which to bang my head like Dobby the house elf. I’m now positive that I’ve lost a potential customer and am picturing the protagonist in The Kite Runner getting the hell beat out of him and am wondering how I’d look with black eyes and no teeth.

I started to worry. When I ran the library of blessed memory, we tried really hard to be hip, sensitive, and with-it. This actually consisted of a fake Christmas tree, something or other giving homage to Kwanzaa, and what was described on the box as a Traditional Electric Chanukah Menorah? Were we slighting someone? What about Ramadan decorations? Are there any?

I googled "Ramadan decorations," and what do you know, there were lots of entries. One example:



That's a pretty big one, to be sure, as it seems to take up a whole city block. I'm sure there's simpler stuff out there.

I got to thinking about Jewish holiday decorations. Pretty modest, not to say unimaginative. I wonder why?

Perhaps it's because we Jews often had to get out of town on short notice, so we needed small portable decorations. Imagine lugging an 8-foot-tall artificial Christmas tree from Germany to England via Switzerland--those Alps! Even if it's collapsible it would be a real chore. We needed something we could stow easily into a backpack, along with a change of underwear and some precious stones. A menorah, a mezuzzah, a few candles, and you're good to go.

See, there's a reason for everything, if you really think about it.

Chuck and me

I now have my own Verizon guy--his name is Chuck and I have him on speed dial. Chuck is the guy who finally fixed our system so it worked. He had to replace the router, which wasn't working properly. It worked great until yesterday. Then it didn't.

So Chuck swung by and checked out the system. By that time it was back up. He showed me where everything was and how it worked--flashing lights, etc.

It's got to be easier than this--doesn't it? People who are functional illiterates operate websites with ease. They get their e-mail. They attach their cameras, scanners and printers.

Not me.

A shoe I won't be buying

It's official--you can't say anything bad about Islam

Let's hear it for freedom of speech!

A few days ago the UN decided to outlaw any criticism of Islamism – as defined by the Islamists themselves. Since they classify any criticism whatsoever of Islamist aggression as ‘Islamophobic’, this means that the UN will outlaw all such comment.

It would be nice not to be crazy...

or at least any crazier than I am.

I am thinking that the only way to preserve what shreds of sanity are still clinging to me would be to give up the computer. The combination of increasing computer dependence and complete electronic ignorance is potent. Is it just me, or have I been attacked by an especially malign group of manufacturers? Verizon, for instance. Apple Computers, for another.

I was just on the phone to Apple for about an hour. During that period, they were unable to figure out how to install: 1) my Olympus digital camera; 2) my HP scanner, and 3) my Lexmark printer. I asked the customer service rep to consult her peers and call me when they had figured something out. However, Apple does not call customers. So there you have it. I got a little snippy and inquired if anyone could figure out how to make the Mighty Mouse (!) work. She wanted to know what was wrong with it. I told her using the mouse is like typing with mittens on. I asked her if buying a wireless mouse and keyboard would improve things. She didn't know.

Then the Internet connection dropped dead. Verizon couldn't figure out what was wrong. It simply would not connect.

An hour ago, I disconnected the telephone and tried to connect to the Internet. Voila!

Why not just give up? I'm beaten. The forces of American industry have crushed me into a powder. These evil capitalists with their undoubtedly obscene salaries!*

* Salaries are obscene when they are more than 10 percent more than my income.

Carnival of the Insanities is up

and it includes input from your humble correspondent.

Why do people in poor neighborhoods like to walk in the middle of the street...

despite oncoming traffic? I use the word "like" because they must like it--certainly no-one is paying them to do it.

Or do they believe that their 200 lb bodies can repel two tons of steel moving at 25 miles per hour? If so, a course in high school physics is in order.

I do not come from Philadelphia!

What American accent do you have? Your Result: Philadelphia   Your accent is as Philadelphian as a cheesesteak! If you're not from Philadelphia, then you're from someplace near there like south Jersey, Baltimore, or Wilmington. if you've ever journeyed to some far off place where people don't know that Philly has an accent, someone may have thought you talked a little weird even though they didn't have a clue what accent it was they heard.
The Midland
The South
The Inland North
The Northeast
Boston
The West
North Central
What American accent do you have? Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

Still trying to post photos

Wow! It worked! What did I do?

I've been thinking...

Do you think Barack Obama's uncle who was at the liberation of Dachau was friends with the guy who gave John Kerry his hat in Cambodia?

They served in the same army--the army of military frauds, fakers and imaginary playmates.

Oh, I forgot--John Kerry has that magical hat, doesn't he?

Quick question

from Eternity Road:

Have we actually reached the point in this country where a major party’s candidate has “I like puppies” as his entire platform, and the other has “I like America” as his entire platform? I keep hoping, you see, that I am imagining this.

This is so unfair! I have it on good authority that Sen Obama also favors raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. And motherhood and apple pie.

Sen McCain, on the other hand, loves global warming and rich people.

Happy Fourth of July!

Downloading this picture was as easy as--oh, I don't know--brain surgery?

Disillusion

After reading blogs by ardent Mac lovers, I formed the opinion that the only thing holding me back from the wonderful world of Mac was the price. But what's money to a big spender like me? So i ponied up the extra dough. Only $400 more than the Compaq, but it's a classier machine, right?

Not exactly.

What are my problems? 1. I cannot get it to recognize my printer, scanner or camera. This is tough for someone like me, who lives only to scan pictures onto the computer. I also use print my photos and use the resulting prints for my artwork, because it's difficult to persuade eight people to stand still in one position for three weeks.

Have I mentioned that the Mighty Mouse that comes with the thing is clumsy and hard to use? I believe I have.

It also doesn't have as much memory as the aforementioned Compaq. It's slower than my late lamented Dell dinosaur was.

2. The manual, which is about 3 x 3 inches square, and thin enough to use to clean out the spaces between your teeth. In other words, not helpful.

3. Online help? Fugeddiboudit.

So I went to Barnes & Noble and bought two large books titled something like "A Guide to the iMac for Stupid, slow People who don't learn very fast," and "Macintosh for Not Very Smart Retards." After getting them home, I found them not at all helpful.

So I took them back, and the store manager, assuming that I have difficulties with the English language, exchanged them for even dumber books which don't tell me anything. But they have lots of pictures. In color.

So tell me, what's so great about the Mac?

Marriage temperature

When two people live together, regardless of their previous condition, one of them is always too warm and the other always too cold. It's an unbreakable rule.

In our house, I am always warm. I like fresh air. The other inhabitant, hereinafter known as Mr Charm, is always cold and hates fresh air. He likes windows and doors closed. If he goes to bed before I do, I always find the bedroom door and windows closed and stale, hot air in the room. I immediately open windows and door and turn on the ceiling fan.

In the middle of the night he turns off the fan, closes the windows and doors, and goes back to bed.

Last night, I came upstairs to go to bed before he did. I was lying there reading with the fresh air pouring over me when he came in and went to turn off the fan. I threatened to kill him, and he turned it down to the lowest possible setting and went to bed.

In the middle of the night I turned the fan off. I thought it was sufficiently cool and did not want him to burst out in icicles all over and die of hypothermia.

In the morning, the fan was on. He admitted he "thought we might need it." and turned it on.

Why do men and women have the delusion that they could possibly live together in peace and harmony?

Using my new iMac

Last night after I went to bed I couldn't stop thinking about my new iMac and how annoying and frustrating it is. It is refusing to let me install my printer and will not let me download photos from my camera.

The absolutely worst thing is the mouse. It's clumsy, and if you can right click on anything I haven't figured out how. But basically, it's just cumbersome. Using it is like trying to draw a picture with mittens on.

Neighbors

From miriam's ideas

Johnny Virgil has some funny neighbors he blogs about: the Squattersons and the Scummersons. He posts pictures of their antics on his blog. I don't know how he gets these pix: he must have a long distance thingy on his camera.

I have neighbors who are plenty weird but I haven't the nerve to photograph their property.: They live just around the bend and I am sure would ask me what I was doing if I bring out the camera and start snapping pictures of their happy home. I call them the Cattersons, for want of a better name. The Cattersons have chosen to adorn their yard with various representations of cats in different mediums: clay, terra cotta, stone, marble, and flags with pictures of cats. None of these cats are curled up in a ball taking a nap or playing with a piece of string. None would qualify for the name of Fluffy or Cuddles. They are menacing. Gangster cats, not afraid of violence. These cats are lurking, in the shrubbery, on the steps, and amidst the annuals, ready to pounce, and if they get you, it won't be pretty.

So you see why I don't want to be caught photographing them. They're probably in the witness protection program.

Have these items on hand

Are you ready?

[W]henever Obama takes office ... it’s time to start making preparations for his ascension.

First thing we need is a good supply of Dramamine since every time Obama opens his holy throat, the earth moves. I don’t know about you but I get seasick rather easily and having the ground heaving and rolling in response to Obama’s golden tongued rhetoric, it would be too much like being on a Windjammer’s Cruise during hurricane season.

Second, we have to lay in a good supply of pepto bismal if we’re going to be reading the MSM for the next 8 years. I’ve already barfed all over my monitor more than once as a result of reading some of the encomiums that have spewed forth from formerly reputable media outlets. Think how bad it’s going to be after he wins. Jesus at the second coming would have a hard time topping the slavering devotion already shown toward Obama.

Finally, we need to buy a whole lot of whiskey – perhaps I should buy a distillery. The only way a rational human being is going to survive 8 years of doe eyed, kowtowing Obamamaniacs, mindless hero worship, self congratulatory back slapping, and the constant, excruciating, feel-good, “post partisan” unity rhetoric from the once and future messiah is to get and stay rip-roarin’, falling down, three sheets to the wind drunk.

Cheer up! It might only be four years under the--how to say this delicately--chocolate--NO! suntanned--NO!--erm, differently hued Jimmy Carter.

Housekeeping

I bellieve this is the stuff that appears on meeting agendas as Other Old Business. I was right about the router--it didn't work properly. A new one solved the problem. Meanwhile, my backup didn't work, because they "don't support the Mac." Every one in the computer business loves to say the "don't support" this or that in a maddeningly superior tone of voice, when they should be saying "I don't know how to do that because I'm too stupid."

The saddest part is that I lost my e-mail address list, and I don't remember any of the addresses. So my friends don't know how to reach me. The second saddest part is that I lost my gallery of pictures which I painstakingly scanned into the computer. I made backup discs of some, but not all, the pictures. I quite enjoyed doing it, but that doesn't mean I want to do it again. Once a philosopher, twice a pervert.

Some of my pictures have been saved to flickr, but I'm not sure I remember how to access them.

Starting tomorrow: brilliant new insights into Life and Our Society, plus new tales about family, libraries, Delaware and New Jersey.

Up?

The connection is working, I think. But my blogroll has disappeared.

The iMac is totally different.

News flash--the iMac doesn't work either.

Okay, back to Best Buy, which should be called Only Buy because it is almost the only place to buy a computer around here. Fed up with Compaq/HP, I ponied up for a new iMac. Mr Charm and I got it up the stairs, barely. By the way, he loves the iMac. Who wouldn't?

Does it surprise anyone that it doesn't connect to the Internet? I didn't vote for Al Gore, but I'm surprised he held a grudge for so long.

I believe the problem is with the Verizon equipment, because neither the iMac nor the Compaq could connect. So I am going to call Verizon's business office bright and early on Monday morning and ask to get my DSL back. If anyone has another bright idea, please share it with me. DSL worked okay for me. I just upgraded because, well, it was there. I'm an American, that's the way I think. I believe in Progress.

There seems to be a curse on electronics in this house. Comcast never worked either, although it works for everyone else. The television reception is iffy also. Maybe I could access the Internet via my cell phone line?

Anyone with any suggestions, post them in the comments.

I really miss my e-mail. Needless to say, I can't remember my username or password.

Not up--again and still

The new computer, after failing again and again to connect to the Internet, has been returned to Best Buy. The Verizon man was here for three hours trying to get it to connect to our wireless system. Of course, they tested it and it worked. It worked for me too, sporadically, before shutting down. Before exchanging it for one that (hopefully) works, I had to listen to some condescending words from a couple of know-it-all 20 year olds. Eventually, they gave me a new one.

So now I have to purchase a handcart to get it up the stairs. I thought I had one, but it seems to have fallen down the memory hole. It will undoubtedly Turn Up.

I'm really frustrated beyond words by all this bullshit. However, the bottom line is, No Computer. The people I connect with by e-mail must think I've been wiped off the map.

Despair.

A slave to a machine

I'm back on my own computer. I haven't retrieved anything yet, and am not looking forward to dealing with HP, who supposedly have been backing up my work.

But this episode of Internet deprivation has shown me what a slave I am to a dumb piece of equipment which I do not fully understand. I can't even pay my bills. I don't knolw how much money is in my bank account. I'll find out soon enough, though.

I honestly wish I knew just what I was doing. It would probably be helpful.; but instead, I get on my horse and ride off in all directions.

In the meantime I have been using Mr Charm's computer, whicvh he would prefer to use himself. I think he's afraid I will hurt his baby.

The nice thing about the new computer is the new screen. Much more readable.

More later. Must read my blogs.

I'm not exactly back up, but I want to shoot off my mouth anyway.

I read somewhere that Steve Jobs, or was it Bill Gates, was testifying in Congress that we had to admit more technically trained foreigners because there were not enough Americans to fill these jobs. I am also reliably informed that lots of Americans are losing their jobs as the manufacturing sector tanks.


Can we put these two facts together? America, the good old US of A, has 300 million people, some of whom, in fact many of whom, need jobs. Meanwhile, we are importing foreigners from powerhouse countries like India to do the work that requires intelligence and training. On the third hand, we have a bunch of colleges deeply involved in turning out, after a decent interval--five years was the last figure I heard mentioned to get a four-year education--uneducated and illiterate persons.

What's wrong with this picture? Is the country which saved the world in World Wars I and II unable to educate enough citizens to fill highly technical positions? During WW II we turned out liberty ships in ten days because we needed to. Has the populace been inhaling toxic fumes which rob them of their wits?

Is witchcraft involved? The education system takes in bright six-year-olds, gives them six years of sensitivity training, two years of self-esteem promotion, four years of sex education, and four years of additional drivel like Carribean Lesbian Studies, and turns out dummies? Education actually dulls their wits! Yet someone in India who has never owned a pair of shoes becomes a doctor or biochemist?

Why does a Columbia graduate who also attended Harvard Law School believe that there are 57 states?

A spot of bother

My computer up and died on me. The installation of a new mouse and keyboard did nothing for the poor dear.

I lost all kinds of data. Fortunately, I have a back-up service from HP. Unfortunately, I can't figure out how to contact them. Wow, do they have a lot of products and services! Of course, I don't know my account number either.

I'm not looking forward to installing the new baby, especially since it weighs 42 lbs and has to be lugged upstairs.

So excuse me while I sit shiva for my old computer. I will be back soon.

Memorial Day

Freedom isn't free.

Check out this week's Carnival of the Insanities

No-one has run out of insanities yet. Plenty left where those came from.

More six word memoirs

I've been thinking about this one, and have come up with a few six-word memoirs for some prominent people:

Al Gore: My carbon footprint is very large.

Barack Obama: I bring people together, especially bigots.

Hillary Clinton: I'll never quit; I'd die first.

Rev Jeremiah Wright: Love Jesus, and hate white people.

John Edwards: There are two Americas, us and them.

Mitt Romney: I'm a Mormon; deal with it.

Bill O'Reilly: It's always my turn to talk.

Bill Ayers: What rotten people we Americans are.

Sean Penn: I'm stupid, but I'm always right.

Jane Fonda: Sitting on cannons is great exercise.

Visitors to this site are invited to come up with their own six-word descriptions.

Memoir in six words

Rachel has challenged me. Here's my memoir in six words:

I have eaten lots of food.

Gay marriage--pro or con or what?

Now that the California Supreme Court has declared gay marriage legal, the time has come to have an opinion about it.

Unfortunately, I not only don't know what to think, I don't even know what I think. Should gay marriage be legal? Beats me.

On the one hand, people should be allowed to do what they want. If a bunch of suckers think marriage is the answer to anything, that's their privilege. They'll soon find out to the contrary.

Considering the number of couples who live together and have children without marriage, the institution has almost entirely been emptied of significance. The son of a friend of mine who is trying to sever one of these relationships--they have two children together--is finding it as much trouble as getting a divorce.

The only concern I have about gay marriage is what the consequences might be. What other arrangements might the courts find inherent in that great Constitution in the Sky? Do we have the right to two mates? Could you marry your sister? Your pet (sorry, animal companion)? Your bridge club or bowling league?

Can you imagine how difficult and complicated it could be to divorce your entire Block Association? Or the Toastmasters Club of North Wilmington?

The trouble is, once Pandora's box is opened, it is difficult to get it shut again.

Welcome, Carnival of the Insanities readers!

Sicily

I'm back from Sicily.

I enjoyed it a lot. Sicily has a lot of history; being a fertile island, it was invaded by everyone you ever heard of: Phoenicians, Saracens, Normans, French, Spanish, Muslims. The only people who didn't invade it were the Jews, and they were probably getting up an expedition when Garibaldi unified Italy.

Remnants of all these cultures remain. The Normans were a little peevish about the Muslims, and tore down about 300 mosques. I believe it was the last time anyone tore down anything on the island. The place is full of abandoned farmhouses, apartment houses, Greek temples, Roman villas, viaducts and God knows what else. Unlike the Americans, when Sicilians abandoned a place they didn't tear it down and replace it with an Acme or a Walmart. These just left it to fall down by its ownself and form a picturesque ruin.

Stuff I noticed:

There appear to be no traffic rules, no traffic lights, no stop signs. I don't know how Sicilian drivers know when to stop, but they sometimes do. You can't count on it, though. Palermo is full of graffiti and dirty, but charming nevertheless. There's an amazing fountain at the city center and several beautiful churches there or nearby. There also appeared to be a lot of young people, even though Italy has a declining birth rate.

No matter how small the town, the inhabitants tend to live on top of each other in apartments. No lawn-mowing for the Sicilians. They do have gorgeous roses, though.

Taormina is one of the most beautiful towns on earth. It's on a hillside overlooking a bay, and picturesque as all getout.

No matter which ancient people inhabited a place, they tended to place buildings of interest on top of steep hills. Perhaps this was in order to see who was coming to attack them next.

Statistics

A comment at this site gives food for thought:

Whatever your politics, however you lean, however you feel about the current
administration, this report should open some eyes.

Military losses, 1980 through 2006
(http://www.fas.org/sgp/crs/natsec/RL32492.pdf)

As tragic as the loss of any member of the US Armed Forces is, consider the
following statistics:

The annual fatalities of military members while actively serving in the
armed forces from 1980 through 2006:

1980 .......... 2,392 (Carter Year)

1981 .. ........ 2,380 (Reagan Year)
1984 .......... 1,999 (Reagan Year)
1988 .......... 1,819 (Reagan Year)

1989 .......... 1,636 (George H W Year)
1990 .......... 1,508 (George H W Year)
1991 .......... 1,787 (George H W Year)
1992 ......... 1,293 (George H W Year)

1993 ......... 1,213 ( Clinton Year)
1994 ......... 1,075 ( Clinton Year)
1995 ..... .... 2,465 ( Clinton Year)
1996 ........ . 2,318 ( Clinton Year)
1997 ............ 817 ( Clinton Year)
1998 ......... 2,252 ( Clinton Year)
1999 ....... 1,984 ( Clinton Year)
2000 .........1,983 ( Clinton Year)

2001 ........... 890(George W Year)
2002 ......... 1,007 (George W Year)
2003 ......... 1,410 (George W Year)
2004 ......... 1,887 (George W Year)
2005 ............ 919 (George W Year)
2006............ 920 (George W Year)
2007............ 899 (George W Year)

Clinton years (1993-2000): 14,000 deaths
George W years (2001-2006): 7,932 deaths

If you are surprised when you look at these figures, so was I. These figures
mean that the loss from the two latest conflicts in the Middle East are LESS
than the loss of military personnel during Bill Clinton's presidency; when
America wasn't even involved in a war!

Makes you want to holler, doesn't it?

Hospital bill

My insurance company just informed me that they had paid St Peter's Hospital $992 for room and board. This princely sum bought me two nights' misery with a roommate who hosted a never-ending party with an ever-changing cast of loudmouth friends and relations.

I probably could have stayed in a nice hotel room in New York City for a day or two for that amount of money. And if someone made noise, I bet they would have given me another room. With profuse apologies. Unlike the nurses in St Peter's Hospital, who merely shrugged.

That's what you get in the non-profit sector of the economy, mainly because they employ 17 vice presidents who make over $300,000 a year, like Michelle Obama.

They just won't stop

The University of Delaware continues the indoctrination in their so called "residential life" program.

How long can I survive?

Created by OnePlusYou

Take the test. It's truly weird. And by the way, even if I had pets, I wouldn't eat them. For one thing, it would be tough catching a pet. Almost any pet can run faster than I can.

I'm not eating my leather jacket either.

Three musketeers

of the first "post-racial" candidate for president:

Athos, Porthos, and Aramis:












Or are they the three horsemen of the apocalypse?

About my mother

 

Since Mother's Day is coming, I thought I would reminisce about my mother.

I've written about mother's law practice elsewhere. Now I want to mention another idiosyncracy of hers.

Mother hated bad news--no, she didn't believe in bad news, and felt that if she didn't share it, it didn't count. So if anything bad happened, she never told me. This was particularly annoying, as I lived out of town, and depended on her to keep me up to date on family news.

Once I was visiting her, and noticed that my cousin Bernie's wife was not present on a family occasion. Mother had to admit that Noreen and Bernie were getting divorced. Instead if mentioning it, mother disappearated Noreen. She became a non-person. No grudge, she just was never mentioned. It was like those group pictures of Soviet leaders, where the unfortunate one who had fallen from grace was simply edited out of the picture.

She handled her own divorce differently. She couldn't disappearate dad, because we two children were evidence he had existed. She simply ignored the divorce. His name was listed in the phone book as long as she lived. When she moved, the new phone was listed in his name, even though he had not lived with her in years, and she was still mad at him.

One reason for her anger was that he had left her for a woman who was not good-looking at all. She found this insulting. She might have handled the whole thing better if my stepmother had been a beauty. After all, who could hold a grudge if her husband left her for Ingrid Bergman? Mother felt she might have kept her own options open if Clark Gable had come calling.

When bubbe, her own mother, was sick, mother insisted on being upbeat. Every time I called, she told me bubbe was "a little bit better." These improvements continued until bubbe improved into another state of existence.

If I called mother and she bitched about her aches and pains, I knew she was okay and enjoying life. It was when she started feeling better every time I called that I really got worried. Toward the end, she was hospitalized frequently, but she never informed me when this happened. She didn't want to worry me. So I would call and listen to the sound of the phone ringing in the empty house.

Then I would call my brother to find out what had happened this time.

Trying to use the Flip

curse it.

The dimensions of the Flip are 4.1 x 2.3 x 1.3 inches; but it comes encased in the mother and father of all blister packs, around the same size as the telephone book of a small city. Say Little Falls, NJ. It takes the blister pack to new heights of Blisterdom. The material is about 6 times thicker than your usual blister pack. It might as well have been kryptonite. In fact, the popemobile should be made of this material.

I attacked it with a box cutter, with no success. Then a scissors. Then a knife, the kind you slice meat with. Nothing made a dent in it. Mr Charm added his efforts to mine, with sound effects. He couldn't open it either.

So here we were, two supposedly competent adults, bested by a $^&#&**# piece of plastic. What could we do, call 911?

Feeling like an idiot, I took it to my neighborhood hardware store, one of those places which, though small, has everything you need plus a competent staff. I asked them whether they had a tool to open blister packs. There is no such tool.

But these guys considered the blister pack a challenge which involved every member of the staff, so they finally got it open, working together as a team.

After removing the outer casing, we found that the Flip itself was encased in a smaller piece of the same material. It was removed, not without effort and a few muttered curses.
,
I looked at the Amazon.com website to see if anyone else had complaints about the blister pack. None. Nul. Niente.

So--fellow Amazon customers: did you have trouble getting the thing out of the blister pack? What implement did you use? Or is there some obvious way of doing this which eluded me?


After all that hoopla, how does it work?

It doesn't. I'm sending it back.

Clergy report

I was thinking about the Rev Wright's "snippets" which were taken "out of context," the poor dear. No doubt the rest of his sermons were bursting with the love of his fellow man, along with faith, hope, and charity.

This got me thinking about the parade of rabbis I have met down through the years. The ones I heard when I was a kid didn't make much impression on me; their sermons just seemed death-defyingly long. But I've encountered at least half-a-dozen since then. Some were good speakers, some were boring, but I don't remember any of them saying anything mean about Gentiles along the way or telling us how rotten our country was. Mostly they just explicated the Torah or discussed the holiday we were celebrating or the prayers we were reciting, or spoke about the importance of Israel. The worst things they said were mild criticisms of Palestinian suicide bombers. A common theme was being kind to others and giving money to charity, but usually the actual arm-twisting was turned over to a member of the laity who was better at it. I seem to remember that the air-conditioning system and the leaky roof were often mentioned.

Not a snippet in the bunch. Their sermons could be safely broadcast to the whole world without any result except for perhaps putting the listeners to sleep, thus making it dangerous to listen to them while driving or using heavy machinery. Perhaps they just had too much to say on other topics, like how to clean the kitchen for Passover. (It involves a wooden spoon, a candle and a feather, if you must know.)

No use worrying about global warming...

We've all been dead from the new ice age for years. Or we've starved to death, and most of the earth is covered with tundra.

So eat, drink, and be merry, you miserable remnants of a decimated world population.

Put a poem in your pocket day report

I informed everyone, did I not, of Put a Poem in Your Pocket Day, April 17? Then you whip it out and have a conversation about it with the people you meet.

I decided to try it. I chose this one:

Daffodils

I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the Milky Way,

They stretch'd in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

By William Wordsworth (1770-1850).

and duly put it in my pocket(book). I was carrying a purse that day--no pocket.

I showed it to my dry cleaner; Ron, the auto repairman; and all the members of the Delaware Symphony Gala committee, but none of them had time to discuss it. The reference librarian at the local public library offered to find me critical literature about the poem, but said she was too busy to have a conversation about Wordsworth.

Some time later, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find two nicely dressed, smiling women, who were as polite and cordial as they could be. They just wanted a few minutes of my time to tell me about the Jehovah's Witnesses. I told them I would be happy to hear all about it, but first I wanted them to read and discuss my poem, which I just happened to have in my pocket(book).

They promised to return when they had more time, and backed carefully down the stoop. When they hit the sidewalk, they broke into a ladylike trot.

Nobody really has time for poetry any more.

A poet's muse has died

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn has died at 92.

Joan Jackson, who died on April 11 aged 92, was in her earlier life Joan Hunter Dunn, the inspiration for Sir John Betjeman's most popular poem, A Subaltern's Love-song, ...- and conjured up his reverie about them being affianced and playing tennis together:

What strenuous singles we played after tea,

We in the tournament - you against me!

Love-thirty, love-forty, oh! weakness of joy,

The speed of a swallow, the grace of a boy,

With carefullest carelessness, gaily you won,

I am weak from your loveliness, Joan Hunter Dunn.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,

How mad I am, sad I am, glad that you've won,

The warm-handled racket is back in its press,

But my shock-headed victor, she loves me no less.

Could this possibly be George Bush's fault?

It must be.

Isn't he responsible for everything that goes wrong in the world?

Two poems

To his Coy Mistress

by Andrew Marvell


Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love's day;
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood;
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.

But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preserv'd virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust.
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none I think do there embrace.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, like am'rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into one ball;
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.



O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear! your true-love's coming,
That can sing both high and low.
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know.

What is love? 'Tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty;
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

William Shakespeare

Poem of the day

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

-- Robert Frost

Appalling news

Oh the horror!

My worst nightmare

...getting stuck in an elevator alone.

I know it's irrational to be afraid of elevators. I am queasy about being in a closed space, anyway, like a subway tunnel, but I gain courage through the presence of other people. Surely the Powers That Be would not allow a whole lot of people to be stuck in an elevator or subway car forever, but if it was just me, who would miss someone as insignificant as me? Nobody, probably. My children would probably wonder what had happened to me, but would eventually conclude that I had run away from home to live in the deep woods under the name of Sanders, as I am always threatening to do.

I would be alone with my soul, and that's not enough company. Even one other person, unless he were a paranoid schizophrenic with violent tendencies, would be a comfort. We could play geography, me and my sole companion, or talk about what kind of a meal we would eat when we got out. We could speculate about what was keeping our rescuers, and grumble about the kind of help you get nowadays. We could tell each other long boring stories about trips we had taken. If there were significant light in the elevator car/tunnel, we could show each other pictures of our grandchildren. It would be boring, but the time would pass.

I once spent a month in a hotel where the elevators didn't work half the time. It was owned by a fellow named MacArthur, the very same man who died and left his fortune to be spent on genius grants. This hotel had exceeded its shelf life, and should have been torn down years before. But MacArthur was a rich man and could indulge himself as he pleased. The air conditioners kept breaking down as well. In the summer. In south Florida. Maintenance crews were always trying to fix the air conditioners, with limited success. And so it was with the elevators. MacArthur also allowed millions of ducks to pollute the grounds of his hotel. But I digress.

It would not have been prudent for me to hole up in my room for a whole month, so I conceived a strategy for riding in the elevator. I packed my bag with books, magazines, and the newspapers, and when the elevator stalled I just hunkered down and caught up with my reading. Fortunately, the lights never went out during my stay.

Poets disagree about April

There's T S Eliot:

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.

Whereas Chaucer believes it is a nice time for a trip:

Whan that Aprille with his shoures sote
The Droghte of Marche hath perced to the rote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe course y-ronne,
And smale fowles maken melodye,
That slepen al the night with open ye, -
So priketh hem nature in hir corage:
Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages -

and Robert Frost is ambivalent:

The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
You know how it is with an April day
When the sun is out and the wind is still,
You´re one month on in the middle of May.
But if you so much as dare to speak,
A cloud comes over the sunlit arch,
A wind comes off a frozen peak,
And you´re two months back in the middle of March.

Also posted on Carnival of the Insanities.

This poem is for today

I always think of this poem at this time of year:

Daffodils

I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the Milky Way,

They stretch'd in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

By William Wordsworth (1770-1850).

A new Carnival of the Insanities

Worth a visit.

How many 5-year-olds can you fight?

10

I'm a lush.

83%LUSH

April is Poetry Month--remember?

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant poises,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The shepherds's swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.

Christopher Marlowe
1599

The fun side of Passover

These are quite popular, it seems.


Finger puppets of the ten plagues.

I don't get it. Plagues are fun? I fail to see the light side of boils and cattle disease, and the thought of the death of first-born babies doesn't even evoke a slight smile.

These plagues were serious s--t, folks. You don't want to get God mad at you. Ask the Egyptians.

Longwood, April 2008

 

Tulips

An age being mathematical, these flowers
Of linear stalks and spheroid blooms were prized
By men with wakened, speculative minds,
And when with mathematics they explored
The Macrocosm, and came at last to
The Vital Spirit of the World, and named it
Invisible Pure Fire, or, say, the Light,
The Tulips were the Light's receptacles.
The gold, the bronze, the red, the bright-swart Tulips!
No emblems they for us who no more dream
Of mathematics burgeoning to light
With Newton's prism and Spinoza's lens,
Or berkeley's ultimate, Invisible Pure Fire.
In colored state and carven brilliancy
We see them now, or, more illumined,
In sudden fieriness, as flowers fit
To go with vestments red on Pentecost.


Padraic Colum

If you've ever wanted a yodeling pickle

here it is.

I've always wanted one, haven't you?

Put a poem in your pocket day, April 17, 2008

Put a poem in your pocket in honor of National Poetry Month.

Here's a fragment of one I like:

L'Allegro

Come, and trip it, as you go,
On the light fantastic toe;
And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty;
And, if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew,
To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free:
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And, singing, startle the dull night,
From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise...

John Milton

I found this amusing

From a blogger named Sally:

Plan opposed

and Bloomberg blames the State legislature.

Democratic members of the State Assembly held one final meeting to debate the merits of Mr. Bloomberg’s plan and found overwhelming and persistent opposition. The plan would have charged drivers $8 to enter a congestion zone in Manhattan south of 60th Street during peak hours. Mr. Bloomberg and his supporters, including civic, labor, and environmental organizations, viewed the proposal as a bold and essential step to help manage the city’s inexorable growth. The plan’s collapse was a severe blow to Mr. Bloomberg’s environmental agenda and political legacy. ...

The mayor has appeared increasingly frustrated with the situation in Albany in recent days and did not appear publicly after the measure’s defeat. He released an angry statement shortly after the rejection.

“It takes a special type of cowardice for elected officials to refuse to stand up and vote their conscience on an issue that has been debated, and amended significantly to resolve many outstanding issues, for more than a year,” Mr. Bloomberg said. “Every New Yorker has a right to know if the person they send to Albany was for or against better transit and cleaner air.”

What's all this legacy cr-p? Did George Washington sit around planning his legacy? Only two-bit nanny-state politicians (such as Bill Clinton) worry about such things. I suggest that if Bloomberg wants a "legacy," he leave his money to charity. Meanwhile, the score is: Taxpayers, 1,Bloomberg, 0.

Something nice

One of my chief regrets in the last few years has been that I have no-one to attend concerts with. This happened to me gradually, starting in New Jersey. First Mr Charm decided that he didn't want to go to concerts any more--for undisclosed reasons, since he loves music. My friend Betty doesn't mind an occasional concert, but her main interest is the theater. She also said she had heard enough Mahler for a lifetime.

So I started to go to concerts with Elaine, who was up for anything. We had a great time. Sadly, Elaine died, tragically and before her time. I miss her for lots of reasons.

Anyway, when I moved to Delaware I still had no-one to attend concerts with. My daughter goes with me sometimes, and I enjoy her company more than anyone on earth, but I still longed for a friend to go to concerts with from time to time. I seriously considered putting an ad in the local paper.

Instead, I volunteered for the Delaware Symphony, hoping some music would rub off on me.

Imagine my surprise when one of the women on the committee, who I had spoken to for a grand total of five minutes, called me tonight, to ask if I would attend a performance of Mahler's Eighth with her. She said the first person who popped into her head was me! Now it happens Mahler is my favorite composer, but his work is not performed very often.

Needless to say, I was thrilled to be asked. It made my day.

Was Rev Wright really a Marine?

Does anybody know? Is there any way to find out?

So many people lie about military service. Would he be one of them? Oh, no, he wouldn't lie, would he? A man of the cloth and a genuinely Holy Person?

So much of whatever else he says is clearly lies or rabble-rousing, why wouldn't this be?

I'm not accusing him of anything. Just asking.

Note: One of my readers confirmed that he really was a Marine.

My still life

 

The art teacher claims it is not finished. But I feel I am finished with it.

Hillary can't get it right

She reminisces about the death of Martin Luther King:

"...I will never forget where I was when I heard Dr. King had been killed. I was a junior in college and I remember hearing about it and just feeling such despair,” Clinton said, pausing, her voice quivering.

“I walked into my dorm room and took my book bag and hurled it across the room. It felt like everything had been shattered, like we would never be able to put the pieces together again."

The business with the book bag was over the top. It made her words seem contrived and false. She doesn't have what both her husband and Barack Obama have in abundance, the ability to express (or simulate) her feelings in a way that connects with her audience.

No doubt she was upset upon hearing about the murder of King. We all were. But she had to add that detail that went too far. What she should have said:

"..I will never forget where I was when I heard Dr. King had been killed." Pause. Silence.

Of course Bill and Barack can babble this kind of nonsense by the carload, and get the audience all misty-eyed. She can't.

I personally do not equate her with Katherine de Medici and do not believe she eats small children alive. But she has what Nixon had, an absolute tin ear. Whatever Nixon said, you didn't believe it--and I am one who voted for the guy.

Ht to Tim Blair.

Why muslims must say their prayers exactly on time

I never thought of it this way.

Hey the ACLU is correct on this one guys, {Muslim prisoners suing to have their meals not interfere with their prayers] sorry to tell you.
Allah is a very busy deity, between coordinating bombers entering paradise (he personally does the orientation speech), enforcing rules about stonings and beheadings and tea time with satan, he really only has a very small window each day to hear prayers, so it is vitally important for his followers to be on time for prayers, and the ACLU is well aware of this plight because satan brought it up at the last board meeting asking them to intervene.

From what I understand when his followers are late with prayers on wednesday it cuts into satan and allah’s canasta playing time, and allah is up 30 billion souls and satan just wants a chance to catch up.

Confessions of a sucker

I don't understand why everyone carries on all the time about the economy. I'm doing all I can to keep it going, spending money morning, noon and night. If everyone behaved like me, the economy would be doing great. Unemployment would be 0.000 percent.

Remember the days you had to go shopping in actual stores? I had no problem then. Stores keep regular business hours, and if they're not open you can't shop. This kept the monkey off my back a reasonable amount of time.

But then television direct ads began. I'm a sucker for them-- the kind that offer items for two (or three or six, whatever) easy payments of $19.95. You know the drill:

Act now! and we will send a second ***** absolutely free! plus this gizmo! All you pay is shipping! Our agents are standing by--call 555-555-1234 Now!

I admit to possessing a set of Debbie Meyer green bags, a dustbuster, the kind of flashlight you shake, and a rechargable sweeper. These are in the house, and I actually use them. Goodness knows what else has found its way to that Final Resting Place, the garage.

I also love special offers by mail. But they have to be really special. Macy's sends me coupons practically every week, offering me 20 percent, 15 percent, $10, or $25 off everything in the store! Every week, I faithfully report to my local Macy's, where I usually can be trusted to buy some damn thing I don't need, probably shoes. My collection of shoes is growing to such an extent that I have a special annex in the basement for the out of season shoes--boots in winter, sandals in summer--as well as a box in the spare bedroom for the shoes that are going to Good Will.

But wait--there's more! I have under the bed storage boxes for the overflow shoes. I don't even know exactly what's in those boxes, because I only clean under the beds twice a year. Whatever is in those boxes, I don't miss it, or even remember I have it, because I don't have time to open those boxes on the rare occasions I clean under the beds. And obviously, whatever is in them, I don't need it. If I needed it I would undoubtedly have gone out and bought another one by this time.

I was fine until e-mail offers were added to the mix. Now I am totally out-of-control, because I can buy something on the Internet 24/7. In the middle of the night I can respond to all the tempting offers I get every day by e-mail. (No, I'm not referring to penis extenders or Viagra. What filthy minds some people have!)

Just yesterday, HP offered to sell me a video cam for $59.95. I was strongly tempted. $59.95! I don't actually know what I would do with a video cam, how to operate one, or, actually, exactly what it is. But I want one! It's only $59.95 (plus shipping and handling). How could you go wrong?

Here's my fee

Powered By Sexy Store


What's yours?

Too skinny

 

I admit to envying thin women, but who would want to look like this? Or look at this? This model, from the Land's End catalog, looks like an escapee from a concentration camp. I have seen skeletons in anatomy class with more meat on their bones than she has.

I'm not buying anything from catalogs that feature women like this.

Yes, you can be too thin.

Hello time

Lately I have been wondering where the hell everyone is, and even whether I should continue this blog. So if you're out there, please say hello! You don't have to add anything pertinent. I just want to know you are out there.

What's wrong with Gitmo?

Why is everyone up in arms about Gitmo? Lots of American and Canadian lefties consider Cuba the island resort of choice. So why the heck does the mere mention of its name send shivers down American spines, including that of John McCain?

The very concept has become so abhorrent that there is no salvaging the place, so we are forced to find another venue for these prisoners. Some suggestions:

During the Civil War, prisoners were kept in the Dry Tortugas. I don't know anything about the place, except the thought of it makes me thirsty. However, the climate must be close to what these guys have at home, and undoubtedly there is plenty of sand. It also promotes itself as a tourist destination. There are lots of turtles and no fresh water.

If that doesn't suit, may I suggest Cleveland? Situated on scenic Lake Erie, which creates abundant snowfall, it would provide a change of pace. Bracing breezes waft down from Canada, especially in the winter. In the summer, you could fry an egg on the sidewalk. Cleveland is already the target of scorn and ridicule, but Americans actually live there: if it's good enough for them, it should be good enough for prisoners.

If Cleveland is ruled out for any reason, may I suggest Buffalo, situated in the home state of serial adulterers Eliot Spitzer and David Paterson. People used to like to shuffle off to it, but recently, not so much. Buffalo shares Cleveland's amenities, only more so--more snow, worse wind, more and better decaying industrial sites.

Detroit is another possibility. There are lots of mosques in Detroit, and plenty of vacant office space. They could get yummy home cooked food for Ramadan, delivered fresh to their door. Also the perpetual sound of gunfire would make the prisoners feel right at home.

My brother David

My brother David made some bizarre sartorial choices. Growing up, he was the little kid in the class who wore a striped t-shirt and plaid pants. His socks rarely matched. At one point, David decided to wear a crash helmet in the car--probably not a bad idea considering the way he drove--until we made fun of him mercilessly. We in the family cut him a lot of slack, as he is a genius software developer.

His most memorable wardrobe item was a fire engine red tracksuit. It was so shiny I believe it glowed in the dark, although I never tested the hypothesis. David, who is short and chubby, looked like an over-ripe Gouda cheese.

Finally, his employer told him never to wear this tracksuit to work again if he wanted to keep his job. So the tracksuit disappeared, until...




I saw Fidel Castro wearing it!

I always wondered what David did with that tracksuit!