Monument among the blossoms, Brandywine Park

Hospital red alert!

So Mr Charm broke his femur, and was taken to the hospital, where they set his bone. They made three neat little incisions--arthroscopic, don't you know. We have a view of the river this time, which beats last time, when we had a view of a cemetery.

However, Mr C has a roommate who is deaf, and confused. The nurse who was attending him raised her voice in an effort to make him understand. And what a voice! A fine Wagnerian soprano which caused the bedpans to rattle. Really--it was an assault on the ears and the nerves.

This hospital did not have a guy riding a huge floor polisher, but of course we were there on the weekend, and maybe their floor polishing man works Monday to Friday.

However, they did make a serious medication error--one that I've corrected several times, but which persists on the hospital database. Tomorrow I will talk to the doctor. I will not shriek! I will not shriek! No! Will not...

Could I be fated to enter the Guinness Book of World Records as the person who had two relatives murdered by hospitals in one month?

I asked my uncle many years ago what the date was when doctors started curing more patients than they killed. He looked pained and said he wasn't sure we had passed that date yet.

I will calm down. Have a cup of tea. Serious sedation is called for. Where are those beta blockers?

my dad in his youth

We have few ppictures of him; he was always behind the camera, as he is here.

It wouldn't be Passover without it

The Maxwell House hagaddah.

I still have a few copies.

My father, December 1911-April 2011

So my dad died, hastened to his end by the wonderful folks at Robert Wood Johnson Hospital, where he got the infection that did him in. No biggie, he was almost 100; but I wanted him to reach 100 and get a letter from the President, something he would have cherished.

I wanted to post a picture of him in his youth, but can't get Blogger, or Picasa, or either, or both, to work. I'm working on it, in my baffled, disgruntled, tooth-gnashing way.

He was fun to be around. He loved to tell stories of his adventures, some of which were actually true. My uncle, his brother, remarked that you could only believe half of the things Nate told you, but you didn't know which half. For instance, did he grow up in a house with a dirt floor? He did. How about taking his first airplane ride in 1926--doubtful, he would have been 15 then. Having a play optioned by a Broadway producer in 1939? Maybe.

He was very smart, and a quick study. He could understand the workings of various gadgets around the house. He could fix things--replace a light switch or fix a toilet, talents which have eluded me, as has his aptitude for math.

He didn't seem to get old, like other folks. When he was 90, he acted and looked like a man of 62. He was a writer, a painter, a cook, and he could balance his checkbook with ease. Just lately, though, he began to slack off, and we feared the end was near. I wanted him to have that signed letter from Obama, though. Dang.

1234

At last--the reason spent fuel rods continue to pile up--in the U.S. and not in other places

Why spent  fuel rods continue to pile up.

After World War II, Congress created the Atomic Energy Commission to oversee military and civilian use of nuclear phenomena. That action held that only the feds could make plutonium.
Under A.E.C. control, utilities built nuclear power plants and jointly built a fuel rod reprocessing plant. In 1978 the reprocessing plant was ready to start, but President Jimmy Carter, saw that it would produce a small quantity of plutonium.
Therefore, Congress prohibited civilian reprocessing of fuel rods and bumped the cost of nuclear power. Utilities can take 3 percent of the power from fresh fuel rods before reprocessing is needed.
The “spent” rods are stored until the day that Congress permits reprocessing. Meanwhile other countries reprocess their fuel over and over again.

The New Jersey Turnpike

I'm out of practice in driving the New Jersey Turnpike.  I had to drive it yesterday during the Friday evening rush hour.  What a relief to get off, finally!  I think you have to keep in practice to drive the thing, just like an Olympic athlete has to keep in practice.  Otherwise it's a bit intimidating.

I used to be scared of driving the turnpike, but since I am scared of lots of things I have to cope with, I ignored my fear.  If I let my fears govern me, they would get worse and worse, and eventually I would crawl into the hall closet and huddle into a ball among the winter overcoats.

Hospitals are dangerous

My father is in the hospital right now.

Among the mysteries of modern life is the  disappearance of the notion that hospitals should be quiet.   Remember those signs that used to be posted on the street?  Or am I revealing my age?

I visited my dad yesterday and was surprised by how noisy it was. Everyone appears to be shrieking at everyone else, unless they are too sick to move.  There is a clatter of trays and other equipment,  personnel coming and going and filling each other in on their private lives, greeting old friends and just gabbing.  To add to the confusion, a maintenance man was driving a  floor polisher which is so large he was seated on it.  It reminded me of a large tractor or a zamboni.  He must have driven the thing past my father's room six times.  What zeal!  Or maybe it was just fun to ride the thing.

My father's chair was in the reclining position, and the platform underneath was crusted with dust.  We called attention to this to his nurse, and she said that was not "our first priority" right now.  This was richly ironic, since my father was there in the first place because he had had a pacemaker inserted in this very hospital and received a blood infection from the procedure.  If they had been a little more obsessed with cleanliness, my dad would be home right now, watching a ball game and drinking a martini.

Getting children into the right school

The process begins at an early age.

It's necessary to go to the best schools from the getgo, so that after getting in the best pre-school you can get into the best elementary school, then the best high school and  the best college so you can get to the top of the tree and be very rich and successful so you can visit some undeveloped country, say in Africa, where the people are dirt poor and are by no means certain to have clean water.

Then you can observe how happy these poor people seem, and how material things don't necessarily make people more contented.

Nothing gold can stay

by Robert Frost:

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.

Mother's real estate empire

Mother really liked real estate.  She used to buy houses and fix them up, with the aid of my unwillling brother and a one-armed painter named Jimmy.  Jimmy was one of her homeys, as we would say today.  Actually, he was a client who never went away, but continued to do little things for mother, such as picking her up when she forgot to put gas in the car again or getting her in her house when she mislaid her keys or dropping off her glasses when she forgot them. 

The houses she bought were unpretentious.  She fixed them up, minimally, got the leaks in the roof repaired, slapped on a coat of paint, maybe replaced a leaky toilet, and then rented them for modest sums to poor or working class tenants.  Her real estate pretensions never rose above these modest investments, and frankly, considering the low rents she charged, I don't know whether she broke even on them.

Her tenants had a tendency to get arrested, or lose their jobs, or get drunk and rip the toilets from the wall, but she was a pushover.  The excuse she gave me for one tenant was that he had five children. 

Once, she had to evict a tenant.  This involved hiring a marshal, so the tenants must have tried her patience a lot.  My brother was called in to get the place back in shape, and he told me it was pretty bad.  He said it smelled like the monkey house in a zoo, among other things which I have forgotten.

But that was not the end of that tenant.  He stopped by her office a few weeks later and apologized, and she let him have the house back.  (Oh, yes, and she lent him ten bucks.)

Eventually, she turned over her entire real estate empire to Virginia, her long-suffering secretary.  Virginia was occupied by real estate transactions for years, almost to the exclusion of her real job, which was as a legal secretary,  Once in  a while in her spare moments she would type a legal document or file something, but most of her time was spent trying to collect rents or tearing her hair out.  She finally sold whatever of it she could, and got the rest torn down.

The short and simple annals of my checking account

I used to balance my checking account regularly, until I had surgery in 1992 and missed a month.  The following month, when I attempted to straighten out the various zigs and zags of my financial history, I got a headache and decided to wait until the next month and do a giant balancing act.

You know what happened next.  It got away from me entirely and I started making furtive visits to the ATM machine to see whether I still had any money.  As I am a pretty prudent spender, I usually did.  Then the bank started charging me a dollar for each peek at my account, and I stopped looking at it.  Or the bank statement.

I actually had another checking account at another bank, to which I deposited little windfalls--reimbursement of my expense account, rebate checks and little surprise sums like birthday checks from my mother.  When this mounted up enough, I would spend it on vacation.  I looked at this bank statement, as there was virtually no activity so it was easy to figure out.  Until they lost over a thousand dollars of my money.  I was able to straighten this out at great length and with much weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth.

So now I can look at my account online.   I don't have to talk to anybody, either on the phone or in person, and frankly, the fewer persons I talk to, especially if they are in call centers in India, the better.  I still don't reconcile my checking account--what is there to reconcile?  It's all in there.  I deposit checks and keep receipts, but mostly my pension check is deposited directly into my account, which is the closest I've ever come to understanding the concept of grace.

Biden didn't get the memo

...about college education:

After leading the world in college graduates for decades, the United States has slipped to ninth, and a new initiative Vice President Joe Biden announced earlier this week aims to help reverse the trend.

However, according to Instapundit:

“In fact, setting aside the technical professions (medicine, engineering, etc.) the cost of a bachelor’s degree is exploding just as its value in the marketplace is declining.”

So now we need more of what we have too much of already.  Let's spend federal money on it!

Stuff nobody eats any more

Nobody eats these things any more:
 Jello in a mold with cream cheese, fruit, and nuts;
Beef Wellington
Meat loaf with tomato sauce poured over it;
salmon patties;
scalloped potatoes;
celery stalks with cream cheese/peanut butter stuffed in it;
Ambrosia salad;
pickled beets;
creamed corn.

I could think of a lot of other things; these are just off the top of my head.  That Jello mold thing, that was considered quite the piece de resistance.  I never saw anyone eating it, though.  But the presentation was dramatic--it looked like a sculpture.  And what happened to garnishing food with a sprig of parsley?  Or lamb chops with little paper handles?  Or lamb chops at all, come to think of it?

All anyone seems to eat nowadays in breast of chicken, along with some form of broccoli, and arugela. 




















;

Flowers, Longwood Conservatory, March 20, 2011

Longwood Gardens, trees budding

Happy birthday to me!

I had a very nice birthday today, thank you very much.  I went to Longwood Gardens with my camera.  No Spring flowers are actually up, except for a crocus or two, but the conservatory made up for it.  I will be posting some pictures later.

The place was mobbed.  I wonder how many more will attend when there are actually, you know,  flowers!  Leaves on the trees!  Anyway, it was a nice day to be out, not warm but not too windy, and I was glad I went there instead of the dreary gym with its incessant loud rap music and guys whose necks are bigger than their heads groaning as they drop heavy weights.   I didn't want to be there, so I didn't go!  Tomorrow I will.

I got some nice cards and phone calls from all the relevant relatives.  I also got a phone call from an old friend who moved to Florida recently.  It was good to be in touch with her.  I bought a box of malted milk balls and ate it all; truthfully, I felt a little sick but I persisted.  If you can't stuff your face on your birthday, when can you?

Best of all, I got several happy birthday wishes on Facebook, including one from my 17-year-old niece.  And a friend dropped by with sunflowers!

The left vs the military

The lefties--pacifists about everything--don't believe anything is worth flghting for.  No tyrant---Hitler, Mussolini, Stalin, Attila the Hun--is vile enough to oppose with military force.

I honor Obama for taking action in Libya, and for following a successful course in Iraq, and trying to win in Afghanistan, all against the wishes of his insufferable adherents.

Down with the bad guys!  Take a leaf from Teddy Roosevelt's playbook.

In honor of St Patrick's Day--an Irish poem

A poem about Pangur Ban

I and Pangur Ban, my cat,
'Tis a like task we are at;
Hunting mice is his delight,
Hunting words I sit all night.

Better far than praise of men
'Tis to sit with book and pen;
Pangur bears me no ill will;
He, too, plies his simple skill.

'Tis a merry thing to see
At our task how glad are we,
When at home we sit and find
Entertainment to our mind.

Oftentimes a mouse will stray
Into the hero Pangur's way;
Oftentimes my keen thought set
Takes a meaning in its net.

'Gainst the wall he sets his eye
Full and fierce and sharp and sly;
'Gainst the wall of knowledge I
All my little wisdom try.

When a mouse darts from its den.
O how glad is Pangur then!
O what gladness do I prove
When I solve the doubts I love!

So in peace our tasks we ply,
Pangur Ban, my cat and I;
In our arts we find our bliss,
I have mine, and he has his.

Practice every day has made
Pangur perfect in his trade ;
I get wisdom day and night,
Turning Darkness into light.'

Translation by Robin Flowers (we think)

I am indebted to vulpeslibris for the translation.

Seen at the Good Will Store

 

 

Does anyone know what these are?

Mary Poppins 1.0

I am sorting my books, because some of them must go. This is tough for me because I love my books almost as much as I love my children and it causes me pain to part with them. But it is me or them. I was looking through some old books recently and came across my childhood copy of Mary Poppins, a books I loved so much that both the boards were gone.

This was my favorite book as a child. The movie, to my mind, vulgarized the story, or stories, as each chapter was a self-contained story. While Dick Van Dyke and Julie Andrews were charming and talented, they were much too sweet and lovable to be faithful to the original story. Mary Poppins was tart and put up with no nonsense from her charges, from whom she expected, and received, complete obedience.

I loved the foreignness of the book. The fact that the children had crumpets for tea, the fact that they had a meal called "tea" at all, were exotic and delightful. They celebrated Guy Fawkes Day, under a cold November sky, with fireworks and bonfires, and a policeman with a helmet--all of which were exciting as Timbuktoo to an American child.

Other things I loved: the children slept in the Night Nursery, all five of them, as did Mary Poppins. Like a school dormitory or a hospital ward, except that it was so British, with a fire blazing cozily in the fireplace and the aforementioned crumpets--or possibly scones, for tea, and the warm room reflected in the window above the night sky, and the bossy but reassuring Mary Poppins in charge.

Mary Poppins did not smile often, was not sugary, and the idea of her breaking out in song was unthinkable. She was much more inclined to look down her nose and sniff disapprovingly. She looked like "a Dutch doll," was vain, and loved to catch a glimpse of herself in a shop window, wearing her best hat or carrying her new umbrella and looking very smart indeed.

It was suggested in the film that the plot involved Mr Banks, the father of the children, learning that he needed to have more involvement with his offspring. Stuff and nonsense--as Mary Poppins would have said. The parents were background figures, unreal as scarecrows. The children lived in a special, self-contained world, where quotidian people and creatures, and even inanimate objects, were invested in a glow of magic.

Obviously Mrs. McCullough was misinformed

Dear Beloved,

It is by the grace of God that I received Christ,having known the truth; I
had no choice than to do what is lawful and just in the sight of God
foreternal life and in the sight of man for witness of God & His Mercies
and glory upon my life.

I am Rita McCulloch,the wife of Mr.Thomas McCulloch,both of us, are
citizens of Canada.My husband worked with the Chevron/Texaco in Russia for
twenty years and own an oil company before his untimely death in the year
2003.

We were married for ten years without a child. My Husband died after a
brief illness that lasted for only four days. Before his death we both got
born-again as dedicated Christians. Since his death I decided not to
re-marry or get a child outside my matrimonial home which the Bible is
strongly against. When my late husband was alive he deposited the sum of
£8.5 Million GBP (Eight Million Five Hundred Thousand Great Britain Pound
Sterling) with a Bank in UK.

Presently, this money is still with the Bank and the management just wrote
me as the beneficiary that our account has been DORMANT and if I, as the
beneficiary of the funds, do not re-activate the account; the funds will
be CONFISCATED or I rather issue a letter of authorization to somebody to
receive it on my behalf(note that you need to activate this account) as I
can not come over. Presently,I'm in a hospital in Russia where I have been
undergoing treatment for esophageal cancer.

I want a person that is God-fearing who will use this money to fund
churches,Mosques,Orphanages,Non-Governmental Organisation(NGO) and widows
propagating the word of God and to ensure that the house of God is
maintained. The Bible made us to understand that blessed is the hand that
giveth.I took this decision because I don't have any child that will
inherit this money and my husband's relatives are not Christians and I
don't want my husband's hard earned money to be misused by unbelievers. I
don't want a situation where this money will be used in an ungodly manner.
Hence the reason for taking this bold decision. I am not afraid of death
since I know where I am going to.

I know that I am going to be in the bossom of the Lord. Exodus 14 VS 14:
says that the Lord will fight my case and I shall hold my peace. I don't
need any telephone communication in this regard because of my soundless
voice and presence of my husband's relatives around me always. I don't
want them to know about this development.

I await your quick response to this mail as this is my last wish to see
this funds transferred before my Death.

Please my beloved for further communication on how we are going to
conclude this, reach me on my private mail: ritamcc@live.com

Remain Blessed

Your Sister in Christ,
Mrs. Rita McCulloch.

I'm not her sister in Christ. Good try, no cigar.

Good old Nagyvarad welcomes the invading Nazis

This is the town my father's father came from, welcoming the German troops in 1940. Goodness, they were excited! Throwing flowers and cheering, leaning out of windows.

I am glad that my grandparents made it safely out of there. Perhaps Helen Thomas thinks it would be a convenient residence for me.

Is childhood obesity a problem?

 

Me at 130 lbs



Should kids be stigmatized for being fat?

My own experience reveals a different emphasis. Kids--and adults too--are stigmatized for not being rail-thin. A person, generally a female person, is expected not to have an excess ounce on her frame, or she is unacceptable.

Here's my life story: I was a skinny kid and a picky eater until I was 11. Then I started to put on weight, including a small pot belly, I was as ashamed of this as if it were a serious deformity. During high school (5'3", 120 lbs), I felt gross.

In my first year of college, I gained the freshman ten, meaning that I weighed 130 lbs. I went on a diet and lost 12 lbs, which made me tremendously happy. I've been exercising and trying to lost weight ever since. However, instead of losing, I have gained a pound a year for 40 years. The only reversal of this trend came when I had surgery a few times. Each surgery resulted in the loss of 15 lbs--then I resumed my annual weight gain.

So this is the story of my life. I have been exercising and dieting since I was 16 and am in good health and overweight. My mother, on the other hand, with the same build as me, did not exercise or diet and gained weight every year until she died at 78, except for periods when she was ill, which made her temporarily lose weight.

I feel bitter about always worrying about my weight, when objectively I was not really fat. A woman who is 5'3" and weighs 130 lbs in not fat. She's just not skinny. I would be ecstatic to weigh 130 lbs again, or even 140.

My point is that society makes a fuss over not being thin, as well as being obese. Models and movie stars are gaunt, or else. The beautiful Jennifer Lopez is constantly chided for being fat! Marilyn Monroe would never make it nowadays. People who are not thin are unacceptable in this society. And the more thinness is stressed, the more obesity and anorexia we see in young women.

What's wrong with this picture?

Julian Assange, Jew hater

and prospective Nobel laureate.

Inflation explained

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The hospital

My father, who is quite elderly, went to the hospital to have a procedure.  He had  not been making sense for a while, and kept falling asleep and falling off chairs, so they decided he needed a pacemaker.  He was okay with it.  But they made him wait all day, fasting, as they do in New Jersey, and he refused to go to the operating room.  By this time, he believed he was in a hotel, and a damn poor one at that, and asked my stepmother to give him $10 to take a taxi home.

So it was arranged that he would have the procedure under general anesthesia the next day.  His wife signed the permission and they pumped him full of valium and God knows what else.  The pacemaker was inserted. 

When the anesthesia wore off, he  demanded to be discharged but they would not release him until he had been rational for 24 hours.  This made him even crazier.  He does not do well with hospitals.  The last time he had had general anesthesia he had a bad reaction and  was convinced that the man in the next bed was a Mafioso bent on killing him, despite reassurance to the contrary.

Well, they finally released him.  But meanwhile the phone lines between Delaware, New Jersey, Massachusetts and California were burning up, and the e-mails were flying.  I was chosen by popular acclaim to go to NJ and discover what the hell is going on, as  the nearest relative geographically.  So I am putting my investigative shoes on and off I go.

Old picture

I restored my system, and now I can transfer a photo. This is of l-r: a friend of mine, my mother, and me.

Please help out Princess Pelagie

Good evening!

How are you today,I hope fine? I am a female student from University of Burkina-Faso, Ouagadougou. I am 22 yrs old. I will love to have a long-term relationship with you and to know more about you. I would like to build up a solid foundation with you in time coming if you can be able to help me in this transaction. Well, my father died earlier 1 year ago and left I and my junior brother behind. He was a king, which our town citizens titled him over sixteen years before his death.I was a princess to him and I am the only person who can take care of his wealth now because my junior brother is still young and my late mother is also late two years ago before the death of my Late father.

He left the sum of (Twelve Million Five Hundred Thousand united state dollars ($12.5mUSD) in a Bank. This money was annually paid into my late fathers account from Gold Exploring companies operating in our locality for the compensation of youth and community development in our jurisdiction. I don't know how and what I will do to invest this money somewhere in abroad, so that my father's kindred will not take over what belongs to my father and our family, which they were planning to do without my present because I am a female as stated by our culture in the town.Now, I urgently need your humble assistance to move this money from the Bank of Africa to your bank account after which i come over to meet with you. and I strongly believe that by the grace of God, you will help me invest this money wisely.

I am ready to pay 40% of the total amount to you if you help us in this transaction and another 10% interest of Annual After Income to you, for handling this transaction for us, which you will strongly have absolute control over. Please if you are interested to help me, then get back to me urgent so that I will give you more details including my picturs.

Yours sincerely,
Princess Pelagie Yussuf.

This is my home address,From Burkina Faso in West Africa.Home Address: Rue 54 ave. LOUDIN.

I'm sure she's on the up-and-up--she left her address, didn't she?  Perhaps my readers could make some suggestions as to how she could invest her late father's millions.  Wouldn't you like a long-term relationship with a 22-year-old female?

Lower education--designed to produce bots?

According to Glenn Reynolds:

When our public education system was created in the 19th century, its goal, quite explicitly, was to produce obedient and orderly factory workers to fill the new jobs being created by the industrial revolution. Those jobs are mostly gone, now, and the needs of the 21st century are not the needs of the 19th.

Not true.

My mother, born in 1901, came to this country in 1906.  Her family settled in a mean hovel  located in a slum in Columbus, OH.  This non-English speaker got a good basic education in the fundamentals: she learned the names and capitol cities of all the states, memorized the times tables, learned what the parts of speech were and how to diagram a sentence, was told about American history and how the government worked on every level.  This was in a grammar school which served mainly poor black and Jewish children.   In high school, she learned geometry, trigonometry, Latin, and German, and was taught a great deal of English and American literature.  She graduated from high school at the age of 14, by the way.

Who needs all this education:  a docile, obedient factory hand, or the free citizen of a republic?

Of course, standards were lowered considerably by the time I went to school, but that's not relevant here except to note that she had learned more as a high school graduate than I did as a college graduate.  And her self-esteem seemed not to be adversely affected.  She went on to college and law school and practiced law for 50 years, having graduated from law school too young to be allowed to take the bar exam.

Fewer teens are having sex

or more teens are having less sex.

I don't understand why this is so for boys, having never been one. But for girls, perhaps the sight of high school youths sloping home from school decked out in baggy jeans and hoodies, with the hood concealing most of their faces, looking for all the world like burglars, is not an inspiring one. Perhaps, given what's on offer, the young ladies would rather do their homework or go shopping.

Link courtesy of instapundit.

Really useful advice

about your feet.

If you're a woman.

Notice to Amazon.com

Your drop-down menu is a nuisance. It completely covers the "Add this" and "Go to Checkout" buttons. If you are attempting to make it impossible to buy anything, you are succeeding beyond your wildest dreams.

Weird New Jersey government practices

I was just reading about Governor Scott Walker's budget plans, and it brought me back to the good old days when I coped with a library budget in dear old New Jersey. 

In the alternative universe that is New Jersey, the fiscal year starts on January 1 for most municipalities.  However, the town budget for that year has to be submitted to the State Department of Approving Municipal Budgets--that's not what it's called, but it's what it is--by March 30.  So you are already one quarter into your budget before it's even submitted.  The the Department goes over this budget at its leisure and sends it back, approved or disapproved, by April 30 on a very good year.  Most years it's more like May 30, and I have been present when it was approved on July 4, which means you really don't have much time left to make spending cuts, even if you don't have enough money to operate the way you did the past year. In the library, this usually involves cutting the materials budget, because what else can you cut?  You can also cut or eliminate the hours of part-time staffers, but they don't make anything anyway.  So management fires minimum wage-earning pages and has the books put away by a Senior Reference Librarian who makes $80,000 a year.

Ours was a civil service library.  In practice, that means anyone with a permanent appointment has a job for life.  There are also arcane rules, no doubt created by Franz Kafka,  for laying off people.  They go something like this:  first, everyone working in that job classification has to be informed that layoffs are contemplated 60 days, or 90 days, I forget which, before the layoffs will take place.  Then staffers are laid off in order of seniority, with 60 or 90 days notice.  By the time this has happened, 180 days have passed, which is half a year.  There are plenty more rules where these come from, but you get the idea.

Then they cut the hours.  The library, which used to be open 9 a m to 9 p m except for weekends, but had Saturday and Sunday hours as well, is closed Monday, opens at 12:30 Tuesday and closes at 5:15; has abbreviated hours Wednesday-Friday, closes at noon on Saturday and opens from 1-2 on Sunday, or whatever will cause maximum inconvenience to the public.  They stop buying multiple copies of bestsellers, in the belief that the peasants who pay taxes don't deserve to read that junk anyway.  Let them go to Barnes & Noble!

You can't blame unions for this stuff, either.  I know it's popular to dump on teachers unions,  but teachers actually teach children.  What do the administrators, Board secretaries, assistant Board secretaries, principals, assistant principals, and junior assistant principals do?  How about the County Boards of Education, who never see anyone under the age of 30--what do they do?  They have offices, employees, telephones, janitors, etc, but why are they there?

School budgets are generally submitted to the voters and often voted down.  Then the school board appeals to the State Department of Approving School Budgets, and sometimes wins and sometimes loses.  Whether they win or lose, the municipality has to pay their own lawyers and the education board lawyers, etc.  A good time is had by all, and a politically connected attorney never has to wonder where his next meal  is coming from.

If a town is lucky they have a volunteer fire department, but the police make up for any savings in public safety.  There are like 5,000 towns in New Jersey and they all have their own police departments, with arcane working rules, tough unions,  and Rottweilers for lawyers.

I just hope the State stays in business until I die, so I can continue to collect my pension.

The Queen's speech

I am so far behind in movie-viewing  that I just rented The Queen, last year's Academy Award winner, while everybody else is talking about the latest royal hooha.   Here's my take on it:  I'm with Queen Liz.  All those citizens standing around boohooing, placing flowers around the various palaces, and carrying candles are taking it too far. Where do these people get off, acting like they had just lost their best friend, their mother and dad, and the family dog?  They didn't know Diana, and chances are they wouldn't have liked her if they did, nor she them.

They're lucky I'm not queen--I would have sent the guards out to clear out the lot of them, and let the crowns fall where they may.  What ever happened to the stiff upper lip?  

The thing I most hold against Elizabeth is her giving birth to that royal ninny, Prince Chuck, whose greatest aspiration was to be a tampon.   But right after that is the speech she gave to the multitudes about Diana, a revolting mix of cheap sentiment and platitudes.  Clearly she loathed Diana and delivered the speech grudgingly.  If Tony Blair forced her to deliver the speech, then he is a humbug.

A musical note

Last Friday I attended a concert featuring a local composer I had never heard of--but that's no surprise, I could count all the living composers I've heard of without taking my socks off. The composer in question was called Libby Larson. She was given an award and made a speech announcing that there are fairies in the bottom of the garden. Well, not exactly--she merely asserted that her first language is music and other airy nonsense. So I didn't think I would like her work.

However, it wasn't bad, featuring snatches of jazz and ragtime; but somehow, it didn't cohere. The puzzle pieces did not seem to me to fit together. I am really trying to learn to like living composers. I like John Adams--does he count?

After the intermission the orchestra played a work by Dvorak. My first thought was: Libby Larson 0-Dvorak 1. The audience had a rip-roaring good time with Dvorak. I wonder--do they play the new composer first, hoping the audience will come back after the intermission to hear the good stuff?

Just asking.

I am seriously annoyed.

I am angry with Google. Google owns Blogger and it owns Picasa. So why can't I export a picture from Picasa to my Google-owned blog. I am also angry with myself for being such a dumb cluck about computers.

Grrrrr!

So now I can't post pictures

I can't export photos from Picasa into Blogger. I am looking for a good, easy, simple free photo editing software so I can continue to upload pictures, particularly to my painting blog. Any suggestions?

Re-arranging the kitchen

I got new cupboards in my kitchen, and spent a day worrying about re-arranging the storage space. At the start, I was searching for the perfect place to keep each item--should all canned goods be kept together, or should canned soup have its own place? What about baking needs? What should go where to make my tasks easier? should mixing bowls next to the mixer, or near the flour and sugar?

These questions vexed me for hours. I was trying to discover the Platonic ideal for kitchen storage, and it made my head ache. After putting the soup on the same shelf as other canned goods, I gave it its own shelf space, then discovered I did not have enough soup to fill the shelf. So canned pears went on the shelf. Then green beans and cranberry sauce. What about olives? Should they be with pickles? Even though the pickles are in a jar? Ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise?

It was 5 o'clock, and I hadn't even had a chance to read the morning paper. And I was going out at 7:15. So I ended up just putting everything any old place, just to get it out of my sight, Platonic ideal be damned.

belgium has had no government for 250 days

and they seem to be getting along just fine.

Maybe we should try it?

Green bottles. 2011

Does Canada have a wall separating church and state?

Department of complaining

Either I'm getting really cranky, or there is something wrong with modern life, in the administrative sense, I mean.  None of this threatens health or happiness,  it only makes life dreary and frustrating and eats up your time.  At the end of your day, nothing has advanced, no problems have been solved.  You might as well have stayed in bed.

Today I had a routine appointment with my family doctor. This necessarily involves going to  St Francis Hospital and finding a parking space in their parking garage, which is not easy, and then finding your car when you leave, which is almost impossible to me.  St Francis Hospital was obviously built in episodes:  every day, they decided they needed a new department and tacked it on somewhere where space could be found.  So it consists of a series of hallways, doors, elevators, and confusing signs, all loosely connected, sometimes by a short staircase.  Sometimes not.  Nothing has any distinguishing features; everything is one enormous St Francis blob.  So you wander up and down the halls, first left, then right, until you find the office you are looking for.

The office this particular doctor shares with God knows how many others would be greatly improved if its decor emulated a Greyhound Bus Station.  It is an enormous, low-ceiling room containing cheap chairs and tables, ugly floor tiles and nothing else. Not a picture, not a poster, not a plant, real or phony, not a toy or magazine, though there were plenty of children present.  It was striking how empty of adornment it was, how little there was for the eye to feast on, or even to observe.  Have I mentioned that everything was beige? Or that the lighting was really poor?  Not that there was anything to look at, but still...All you could do was sit there hoping the low ceiling would not drop further and crush the inhabitants into a large brick of beigeness.

A television set with the sound turned off was broadcasting a video illustrating CPR.  I watched this for a while, then tried to eavesdrop on a pair of women dressed in Muslim drapery.  But they were practicing their Arabic, no doubt trying to perfect plans for the Wilmington intifada, so I could not understand them.

The doctor told me he could not send my prescription to Express Scripts because the hospital's new computer system could not communicate with the Express Scripts computer.  Go figure.

Having finally seen the doctor, I then went to my pharmacy, where the prescription he had electronically sent was nowhere to be found, and waited for 45 minutes looking at the shampoos and the 50 percent off Valentine candy, spent 10 minutes reading People Magazine about poor Chelsea Clinton's marital problems, and came home.

I don't know where the morning went, but I spent the rest of the day trying to return a defective DVD to Amazon.com.  Since I did this from my computer, it was relatively easy.  Except I kept going around in circles, from one screen to another, and back to the first.  I bought a set of DVDs, and one of them was defective, but try telling thta to Amazon.  I've returned items to Amazon before, but this time I couldn't print a mailing label at all.  They also used to have a button saying "Contact us," but I guess too many people contacted them, so they eliminated it.  They seem to have disconnected their phone as well, if they ever had one.  Not that I like speaking to anyone's caller direction system. 

And now it is evening, the day is over, and Shabbat is coming.  24 hours off from frustration.

Bloated local government

Not here, but in England.

It's the same the whole world over, though.  In public service employment, I mean.

“Crazy non-jobs like cheerleading development officers and press officers tasked with spinning propaganda on bin collections provide no value to the public.

“Getting rid of the bloated bureaucracy that has grown in some elements of local government will ensure local authorities can protect front-line services.”

According to the data, the number of people employed by local authorities in Britain stood at 2,728,000 in 1997 when Labour came to power. Last year the figure was 2,907,000. There were 741,702 people on council payrolls who were not in traditional “front- line” jobs such as those in education, social services, recreation, libraries, planning, environmental health, culture, heritage or trading standards.[snip]


Among the jobs that have been spawned by the boom in “non-jobs” were a “bouncy castle attendant” on a salary of £13,000 at Angus council in Scotland and a “cheerleading development officer” in Falkirk.
Yesterday, ministers seized on Liverpool city council’s decision to advertise three highly paid “non-jobs” on a day when it was announcing job cuts in other areas. They were for a director of regeneration and employment on a salary of “up to £140,000”; an assistant director of adult services on £90,000 a year; and an assistant director for supporting communities, also on £90,000 a year. The council said it would be making cuts of £91 million, resulting in closures of libraries, leisure centres and youth projects and hundreds of job losses.
[snip]


This week it was disclosed that 220 town hall executives received a higher salary than the Prime Minister’s £142,500 a year.
At least 26 chief executives earned more than £200,000 last year and 1,000 council officials more than £100,000...

Ministers point out that public sector productivity fell under Labour while private sector productivity rose. Public sector salaries are now higher than those in the private sector.The TaxPayers’ Alliance has highlighted a series of “non-jobs” advertised by local authorities.
They included North East Lincolnshire council advertising for a “future shape programme manager” on £70,189 per annum.
The campaign group published research which showed that last year councils spent £5 million on 141 jobs for political advisers, £6 million on 183 European officer posts, and £10 million on 350 climate change officer roles.

It's no different  in local government here.  There are lots of small towns in New Jersey--I forget the exact number.  There were 60 in our library consortium alone.  Each had a chief of police, a recreation director, a social worker, a judge, a court clerk, and innumerable persons who were not at their desks because they had gone outdoors for a smoke.  Each one had a desk, a computer, health insurance, paid vacation, and a pension plan.  They all used up their share of oxygen and then some.

I should add that in the library we had part-timers who filled the roles of adjunct faculty in colleges and of slaves in the Roman Empire.  They got no health insurance or paid vacation, had to share a desk and a computer with someone else, and did a great many of the humble tasks that makes the place go on ticking.  These are the people the axe falls on when there is a financial crisis.  Their hours are cut, causing the library doors to be locked at the most inconvenient times.

Meanwhile the director of cheer-leading development or karaoke education gets an annual raise.

Texas politician thinks the term "black hole" is racist

He sounds like a product of the American education system.

It costs a lot of money to turn out citizens who are this ignorant.

Mr Charm's bill collectors

Some company has been burning up the telephone wires trying to collect a debt from Mr Charm.  The poor devils who do the calling are actually alive, but in the sense of being free agents they might as well be robots.  They have and are allowed to have, as much discretion as puppets.  In fact, they memorize their spiel and will not depart from it.  I ought to know, as I have heard it plenty of times.

Mr Charm, according to them, owes their firm, Bloodsuckrs R US, $1,000.  When I asked what the sum was for, they referred to a Mastercard which he allegedly had once had.  Since Mr Charm was a devoted user of American Express all his adult life, I did not believe in the existence of this Mastercard, and asked them to send me the particulars, like:  when did he open this account, which bank, what did he buy and when.  

In (non)response to my question, each of the poor devils informed me that they were required by law to tell me:  this was an attempt to collect a debt, Yada yada, yada.  I asked them again to give me the particulars of his debt, and they repeated the spiel.  Could they refer me to someone who knew what he was talking about?  This is an attempt to collect a debt.

A debt for what?  They didn't know.   Now Mr Charm, though once a Democrat, was a born Republican in the sense that he sat down at his desk with all the bills once a month and paid them,  though smoke occasionally came out of his ears. He even balanced his checkbook. He was the son of a woman who was too proud to go on welfare during the Depression even when her children were hungry. People like that pay their bills.

He's quite deaf now and his memory is not what it once was, but he denied emphatically ever having had a Mastercard.  And I believe him.  And if he had had one, he would have paid it.

So I decided to probe a little further.  Could they connect me to someone who knew what they were talking about?  Their canned script did not allow for any deviations from "This is an attempt...".  Could they, or someone, write to me?  I even promised to pay it if they could provide believable information.

Someone finally gave me the name of the company and suggested I write to them, but I was getting a little annoyed by this time and suggested that since they wanted my money rather than the other way around it was worth a stamp and and a look at the file.  Suppose I called you and asked you to send me $1,100.  Would you do it, with no evidence?  Me either.

So there we left it.   And since I have Caller ID, there it will remain.

In defense of libraries

This is the best argument for public libraries I have seen in a long time:

It’s true that you can’t use volunteers to manage a large library that serves the diversifying media needs of every imaginable customer in the year 2011, but not every cluster of shacks on some windblown sheepfold can expect to have a library like that, and to lack one is not a misfortune if your foremost concern is with reading...What’s needed by the reader, as such, is a lot of books, selected and organized with a modicum of intelligence, and the free run of them. Everything else is detail.

I can only add that it is important that libraries be open a sufficient number of hours  to allow the readers to visit them at their own convenience, not that of the library staff..

Now all my library friends are very unhappy with the cuts in library service in New Jersey under Chris Christie.  They should know that the decision to cut back library hours is made at the local level and designed to inconvenience the taxpayer to the max, while preserving necessities such as no show jobs for no-account relatives or giving no-bid contracts to friends.

Why do demonstrations take place in Egypt?

I was reflecting on why demonstrations are taking place in Egypt instead of, oh, I don't know, Wilmington, DE.  Here's my theory:

1)  Warm climate.  It's a lot more pleasant to demonstrate in Cairo, Egypt this time of year than in Cairo, IL.

2)  Youth of the populace.  Young people enjoy standing around screaming , marching, and waving signs more than people my age.  We have rheumatism and our feet hurt.

3) Unemployment.  The Egyptian demonstrators don't have to get up in the morning and go to work.

Income tax blues

At the Cute Little Library we had a volunteer who helped people with their income tax.  Theoretically the service was for low income people or seniors, but it was difficult to say no once people sat in front of you with their private papers spread in front of them, or so Mr Evans, the luckless volunteer, told me.  He did say that he really did not like to do taxes for people who made more money than he did, but he helped everybody he could.

Since no good deed goes unpunished, we had lots of complaints for and about poor Mr Evans.  One old lady told him exactly how much refund she wanted and was quite put out when he refused to guarantee results.  Several seniors complained that their neighbors got larger refunds than they did.   And of course, other patrons weighed in with complaints that Mr Evans and his clients made too much noise and were preventing them from using the library in peace.

One of our more unhinged patrons considered Mr Evans the devil's spawn and held up a giant crucifix when she was in his vicinity to ward off his evil influence.

But Mr Evans was at least a volunteer and knew what he was in for.  The rest of us were just trying to do our jobs and did not want to give tax advice nor were we qualified to do so. Look at it this way:  if you were an expert on personal finance, would you take a low-paying job at the public library? 

Why not discourage preparation for bad jobs?

What difference does it make?

Kid graduates with degree in theater, gets job folding sweaters.
Kid graduates with degree in women's studies, gets job folding sweaters.
Kid graduates with degree in English literature, gets job folding sweaters.

The first kid pursues a hobby acting or directing in regional theater, enjoys a fulfilling avocation.   For theater, you could substitute playing an instrument, singing, painting.   So maybe the kid doesn't make a name for himself in theater or movies or as a soloist at Carnegie Hall.  He still has learned something he values which is of use to him.

The other two--not so much.

Got milk?

You won't for long.

Unless British dairy farmers find a way to make it up on volume.

Indoctrination?

You decide.

My blood pressure is elevated and still rising when I read this stuff, from the Delaware Jewish Voice:  (link?  Don't be silly!)

Jewish Teens Learn about Political Involvement

On Sunday Dec 12, Congrgation Beth Emeth's 9th and 10th Graders had the opportunity to study with Joshua Schoenberg, Executive Director of the Delaware Democratic Party.  After studying text with the synagogue's rabbinic intern... the students learned about the importance of community and political involvement from a Jewish perspective....

This one is not so bad, considering that Coons is a Senator:

On Sunday, Jan 9, Senator Chris Coons and Hailie Sooifer, his foreign and defense policy avisor, came to Congregation Beth Emeth in Wilmington to address Jewish teens and their parents on Israel, advocacy, and the importance of confirmation.  [Obviously Jewish confirmation is something Coons is an expert about.]

The thing goes on about Coons' love for Israel and the Jewish people, yadda, yadda and is of no further interest to anyone except possibly his mother.

Does the indoctrination have to start this early?  Are these kids going to be turned into automatons at the age of 16?  Will they consider Republicans as beyond the pale, possibly eaters of human flesh who moreover never take showers?  Will they ever meet a Republican, or anyone who thinks differently from themselves?  Just asking.

photo and painting based on photo

 

 

geography lesson

The president seems to have an obsession, or what we would call "a bug up his a**" in reference to a less august personage, about high-speed rail.

Can you say high-speed rail? The president can. He mentioned railroads six times, because how else are we going to win the 19th century back?

I suggest the president get out a map of the United States and measure the immense distances from coast to coast and from north to south. I know high-speed rail works for Joe Biden--he even found his way here to report for jury duty, for God's sake--but it works for him only because it is highly subsidized. It would never pay for itself.

Obama may have forgotten, he's so used to flying around in Air Force I, that there are things in this country known as "airplanes"--and you don't even have to build roadways for them! All you need is a place for the things to take off from and land in. These are called "airports." Airplanes need no expensive right of ways, no land acquisitions, no eminent domain condemning taxable property. They fly in the sky! They can get you from NY to CA in 4-5 hours, and vice versa. The toughest thing about flying is getting to them through the roads built by President Eisenhower in the 50s and not expanded to meet the needs of the citizens of today.

Suggestion: Instead of high speed rail, why don't we expand and maintain our highways, bridges and tunnels? You know, the ways most people get around!

Students learn little or nothing?

Oh well, they have spent four--make that five--fun years.

I don't believe it. it's my theory that the professors hold the little darlings down and remove knowledge from their heads, so that they leave college stupider than they were when they started.

Shoveling

 

Paint chips

 

I have been looking at paint samples, trying to make up my mind about a color for my en suite bathroom. I wanted rose, but do not want my bathroom to be the same color as the inside of someone's mouth. So maybe I'll take the coward's way out and use up the turquoise paint I used for the other bathroom. Any suggestions?

These prom people just won't leave me alone

Coca-Cola Prom
230 Lyndhurst Road
Lyndhurst
Johannesburg
South Africa
2192
We wish to notify you that your email address was generated during the FIFA Soccer world cup finals in South Africa and has won you $1,220,000.00 USD (ONE MILLION TWO HUNDRED AND TWENTY THOUSAND UNITED STATES DOLLARS) to claim prize (Tel) 0027-71-578 -9360, email or sms your contact details to (SMS) 0027-78-774-8482 or Email: gracejones@bol.com.br
Contact Person. Shawn Zulu (For your Payment Process)
Your Ref No: FIFA2010/00453EURO.
Kindly email us the below details.
Full Names:
Sex:
City:
Country:
Direct Mobile Number:
Age:
Email:
Ref No:
Note: if ever you are under 18, you will be automatically disqualified unless you provide us with the information of someone who is above 18 years of age.
We Congratulates you on behalf of FIFA and its Partner for making FIFA2010 successful.This is brought to by the FIFA Partners below:
·
·
·

Congratulations,
Ms. Grace Jones
FIFA2010 LOC TEAM

Even though I have decided to continue my humble existence as an obscure Delaware blogger, they keep pestering me!

More about Jewish mothers

When I was a teenager mother and I drove by the place where she and her brothers had grown up. It's no longer there; it was torn down to build a highway, which was the best possible thing that could have happened to it.

Will Alley was squalid, dirty, cramped, mean. You did not have to enter the premises to see this. I had been in places like this before; some of mother's clients lived in similar places. I accompanied her to one or two of them to witness a will, or to visit a client who was sick.

Seeing this place and places like it opened my eyes to how bubbe succeeded in motivating her children. Of course, since they were Russian Jews, they indulged in a good deal of shouting, arguing, and dramatic pronouncements. But it was all theater and understood by everyone as such. Also understood by the children was how serious the stakes were. It was like God setting two choices before them, life or death. Only in this case, life was represented by learning the piano, going to Ohio State, and becoming doctors or lawyers. Death could be understood as growing up to live in Will Alley, toiling all your life without reward, and going to bed hungry. . It was never explained in so many words. The children learned this lesson by looking around them.

So bubbe pushed her children to practice the piano. It must have been an immense sacrifice to have a piano and pay for piano lessons. But the piano, like the lace curtains which bubbe also insisted on, was a symbol of aspiration.

How different from my coastal relatives, who also make their children practice the piano and want them to go to Harvard, or at the very least, some small and selective college in New England or Pennsylvania. It's not that they admire dear old Harvard's long and honorable history and rich traditions. Admission to Harvard is a mark of validation. It shows you have arrived. You are a member of the elect. You also meet the right people and doors are opened for you. You are admitted to a fancy law school or hired by a prestigious bank or an influential Congressman. In short, you've got it made.

My father demonstrated how important the right college was to him when my brother was admitted to MIT. For the first time in his life, he paid attention to a son he had never had much time for.

Why I am anonymous

I'm sure that anybody with half a brain could find out who I am if they cared to, so why do I blog anonymously? Mostly because I want to be under the radar. I want to be obscure, unfamous, unknown. I prefer obscurity. If I were famous, someone in my family would consider themselves duty-bound to check my blog out, and that would be the end of me. No-one in my family even knows about my blogs, and I want to keep it that way. If they really understood my political views, they would read me out of the family. Truly.

You might say, why live a lie? Why pretend to be something you're not? I actually try not to express any political views if I can, and if some heinous Republican activity causes family comment, I respond with a neutral monosyllable and attempt to change the subject.

I do it because they would expel me from the family! Or sit shiva for me, if they weren't atheists. And they are the only family I have. Only one to a customer.

Taking surveys

I never take surveys.

People who willingly take telephone surveys are either: (select one of the following options)

1. People who have time to waste;

2. People who want to make their opinions known, or

3. Crackpots.

Return this survey within 24 hours and you will be entered in a drawing for $100.00.

The view from the ivory tower

One of the most entertaining periodicals we receive here at Charm House is the Columbia Magazine. Mr Charm attended this bastion of learning so we get the magazine free. I wouldn't miss it for the world.

A citizen of the future could re-create 2011 liberal Ivy League civilization, urban style, just by reading it from cover to cover.

It features an article about death and how much better they do it in France, a short piece about a display of corpses in various stages of decay, and the requisite photographs of wistful Third World people in quaint settings.

But the most typical article is an objective discussion of the recent election by a typical political science professor:

The Tea Party movement, which, despite endless speculation by the punditry about its origins, has never been anything other than a Republican Party faction, tapped into the populist, antibailout mood, while the mainstream media gave voice to far-out accusations aimed at the president: He was planning death panels; he was driven by an “anticolonial” mentality; he lied about his religion; he hated white people; and he probably wasn’t really American anyway. The Democrats’ initial response to these unfathomably strange assertions was to view them as fringe opinions and ignore them.

On some level, given just how absurd these accusations were, this approach made sense. However, by not pushing back, the Democratic Party made it possible for these charges to gain traction among voters. A constant media repetition of these claims made them seem less strange and more plausible to voters with each passing day.

The Obama administration seemed to assume, in spite of increasing evidence to the contrary, that politics could be based on reasonable debate, and that groundless rumor-mongering had no place in the national discussion. Yet the political environment during the first two years of Obama’s presidency showed otherwise. Political debate was replaced by name-calling; any allegation, no matter how baseless, ended up on Fox News and other outlets and Web sites; and epithets like Nazi, fascist, Stalinist, and communist, formerly the refuge of the most marginalized political factions, were more or less accepted as part of the political debate. Rand Paul, the Republican Senate candidate and now U.S. senator from Kentucky, for example, compared President Obama to Hitler apparently because they both came to power during economically bad times and were good public speakers.

The Rand Paul quote is a boldfaced lie, worthy of Paul Krugman at his finest. The assertion about the Tea Party movement is baseless and backed by no evidence. In fact there is no evidence, not even anecdotal evidence, for any of these confident assertions. Every word of the rest, dripping with condescension, is the gospel according to the Church of Morningside Heights, where no-one has ever met anyone who voted for Nixon. Or Reagan. Or either President Bush.

Thanks ever so for explaining the doltish American electorate to us elect.

War of the super moms

Chinese vs Jewish mothers square off.

I confess I am left at the starting post by these two over-achievers.

The last super-mom in my family was bubbe. Her children were ordered to excel in school. They did, all except Uncle Doc. Bubbe believed one should be either a doctor or a lawyer; nothing else was worthwhile. Accordingly, she turned out two doctors and a lawyer, batting 1,000. My mother also learned to play the piano very well, but gave it up because it was not compatible with the practice of law.

Bubbe did it all by strength of character. I can only attribute it to that Jewish hypnotic power which makes terrorists piss in their milk. She did not shout. She did not tear her own (or her children's) hair. She had all the dignity of George Washington. She simply expected--and got--excellence. It took a bit of work to get Uncle Doc in line, but he was the baby, and he still became a doctor.

Mother was a weaker character. My brother was a genius; he didn't study, he learned quite effortlessly and only applied to one college, MIT, which accepted him. As for me...that is a story for another day.

I was a complete marshmallow as a mother. It goes without saying, both my girls were smart. Daughter A loved school and loved to do her homework. She stayed in on Sunday afternoon to do special reports for extra credit. Her idea, not mine. Daughter B drifted through school, sitting quietly in a corner looking out the window. I certainly tried to get her to apply herself, but she was slippery and evasive, and I couldn't pin her down. Vague as she was, she proved to have a stronger character than I did.

They both learned to swim well, though, so don't I get credit for that? It's a more useful life skill to be able to swim than to play the piano. Nobody ever saved their life with a piano, or any other musical instrument for that matter.

Giving up blogging Part II

I am going to be so rich! As per this letter:

Dear Associate,

How are you doing my friend, great I guess… Now I know this mail will definitely Come to you as a huge surprise, but please kindly take your time to go through it carefully as the decision you make will probably go a long way to determine my future and continued existence. First,let me introduce myself. I am Capt. Michael Scholl,assigned to 2nd Battalion, 3rd Marine Regiment, 3rd Marine Division, 3rd Marine Expeditionary Force, western Anbar Province in Iraq. I am desperately in need of assistance and I have summoned up courage to contact you. I am presently in Iraq and I found your contact particulars in an address journal. I am seeking your assistance to evacuate the sum of $10,570,000 (Ten million Five Hundred and Seventy Thousand USD) to the States or any safe country, as far as I can be assured that it will be safe in your care until I complete my service here. This is no stolen money and there are no dangers involved.

SOURCE OF MONEY: Some money in various currencies was discovered and concealed in barrels with piles of weapons and ammunition at a location near one of Saddam Hussein's old Presidential Palaces during a rescue operation and it was agreed by all party present that the money Be shared amongst us. This might appear as an illegal thing to do but I tell you what? No compensation can make up for the risks we have taken with our lives in this hellhole. The above figure was given to me as my share and to conceal this kind of money became a problem for me, so with the help of a German contact working with the UN here (his office enjoys some immunity) I was able to get the package out to a safe location entirely out of trouble spot. He does not know the real contents of the package as he believes that it belongs to an American who died in an air raid, before giving up trusted me to hand over the package to his close relative. I have now found a secured way of getting the package out !
of Iraq for you to pick up.

I do not know for how long I will remain here, as I have been lucky to survive two suicide bomb attacks by Pure Divine intervention. This and other reasons put into consideration have prompted me to reach out for help. If it might be of interest to you then Endeavor to contact me and we would work out the necessary formalities but I pray that you are discreet about this mutually benefiting relationship.

For more details please contact me via my private box: capt.michaelscholl01@usa.com

Respectfully,
Capt.Michael Scholl.
United States Marine Corps. IRAQ.

I am sharing this with my readers, as it is the best way to keep the matter confidential, as no-one reads my blog.

I may have to give up blogging. Divine Intervention strikes again.

A nice appreciation of Dr King

and his support of Israel.

Trouser talk

Tim Blair has an interesting story. The Jews put a spell on a Gitmo inmate, causing him to urinate in the milk.

Uh-huh.

If we Jews have so much power, why don't we force them to cut their own throats?

Better yet, why don't we exert our power over our enemies by forcing them to congregate en masse on a desert island and blow themselves up? If we're so powerful, why stop at a silly trick like pissing in milk?

Me at three (?)

 

I have been told that I still look like this. However, I don't have blonde hair any more.

Political discourse

I've just finished Joseph Ellis' biography of George Washington, "His Excellency." Talk about political discourse! Washington was venerated until he became president, and then his troubles began. Thomas Paine prayed that he would die. And that was just for openers. All the founding fathers loathed one another. Madison had no use for Jefferson, who hated Hamilton, John Adams essentially disliked everyone, and so it went.

When Washington was president, many of the above and others not yet mentioned suggested that the old man was senile, if not corrupt. He was accused of just about everything evil except being connected with Halliburton.

So political discourse wasn't so terribly civil in the early federal period. Moving right along down the corridors of history, in 1856 Preston S. Brooks of South Carolina attacked Senator Charles Sumner of Massachusetts on the floor of the Senate with a cane, grievously injuring him. The difference of opinion which motivated him was the issue of slavery.

If anything, political discourse has calmed down in modern times.

This makes me mad.

Crazy people are crazy, do crazy things.

This makes me sad

Closing libraries.

Jewish Congresswoman shot

That's the most important fact about Gabrielle Giffords? If she had been a Presbyterian, would that matter?

It reminds me of a tale told me by am old newspaper man. When Lindbergh made his heroic flight, the headline in the Bronx local newspaper said: LINDBERGH FLIES OVER BRONX.

Happy New Year!

Lights at Longwood Gardens, January 2011.

My head is exploding

Could this be true?

I witnessed an accident leaving work and stopped because it was obviously someone running a red light that hit someone turning green on an arrow. The whole thing seemed to happen in slow motion---I knew the red light runner would hit the other person because she honked her horn from way back, and the other driver hesitated too long before turning. I was sitting at the opposite intersection, first car at the line, and witnessed the whole thing and even glanced at the opposing light in disbelief as the person ran the red. Anyway, in Tucson our police don't come out for accidents unless there is an injury (yay, city budget cuts) so I passed along my name and number in case there insurance company wanted more perspectives than those of the drivers. People drive crazy here; I have been in and witnessed so many accidents since I started driving.

Pray tell, what do the police come out for?  Payday?

My new career

I retired as a librarian a few years ago, but I have found a new career in retail. Not retail, in the usual sense; my new career is as a consumer.  And how easy it is!  I don't even have to leave home.  I can buy over the Internet, and I do.  Electronics, cameras (I have three), an iPhone, books, clothing, furniture, dishes.

Don't blame me for the state of the economy--I'm out there, doing my best to be a one-woman stimulus program, but I can't do it alone.

Why the public admires Chris Christie

Have you noticed how Conservatives hem and haw, compromise, sympathize with their opponents' objectives, act defensive,  and  how ambiguous their remarks are?

About global warming, aka climate change, for instance:  you just know that President Bush knew in his heart that it was bullsh**, or at the very least, that it was unproven,  but he didn't want to take a stand because it didn't matter.  Much.  He wanted to be a good guy and meet the fanatics halfway.  And that's how we got fluorescent light bulbs, front-loading washers, barely wet showers, and unflushable toilets.  Senator McCain also genuflected to the God of Global Warming.  It was clear during his presidential campaign that he hadn't given the matter any thought, so to be safe, he paid obeisance to this totally phony issue.

On the other hand, the Left  bloviate with glib certainty that they are on the side of the angels.

As William Butler Yeats said: the best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.

What a relief Chris Christie is.   He  says what he means. In simple declarative sentences.   Instead of beating his breast about the recent snowstorm, he made it clear that cleaning local streets was the responsibility of local government, not of the State.  The message was short enough for Twitter.  Rather than go on at great length about the proposed tunnel he decided not to fund, he stated that the State couldn't afford it.  A case could certainly be made against him in both these instances. But instead of refuting his reasoning, his critics  make nasty personal remarks about his weight.  That seems to be their notion of reasoned argument. 


 

Diane Keaton movies explained:

Now you don't have to see them.

What a relief.

Poor people's food

Do poor people still eat the food we ate when we were poor?  Difficult to say.  I no longer know any poor people.  But I was one myself once.

Mr Charm was a graduate student, with the mandatory accessories:   a pregnant wife,a toddler, a student loan, and two jobs.  Our refrigerator was so empty we kept our glassware in it.  At least we always had chilled glasses.

We ate graduate student food:  spaghetti, with cheap hot sausages or canned clams for protein, tuna noodle casserole, hot dogs and beans, ramen noodles.  For a treat, we had Chinese takeout or maybe a hoagie once in a while.

We haven't needed to eat like that for a long time, but Mr Charm still likes most of that stuff.

It's my impression that nowadays poor people like junk food:  Kentucky fried chicken, McDonald's and its imitators.  I've noticed that poor people are generally fatter than rich people these days.

My mother knew real hunger, growing up.  Sometimes she and her two brothers shared a can of sardines while their parents ate bread and tea. They grew up to be shorter than average.  My father, on the other hand, had rickets and grew up bowlegged but was six feet tall.

Mr Charm was a child during the depression.  His mother was a single mom and lost her job at the worst possible time.  He was the youngest and used to cry because he was hungry.  They fed him pancakes made of flour and water to shut him up.  His older brother stole bread from people's doorways.  His mother refused to go on welfare--she considered it a disgrace to live on charity.  People thought that way then, I guess.

recipe for happiness

Paint your bathroom turquoise. Add pictures of birds. In gold frames.

Hang a few more pictures, also with gold frames.

, . al;

Add sculpture of bird.

The color is really, really turquoise. As in the top picture, only brighter.