Thursday, December 25, 2003
Thursday, November 27, 2003
Monday, November 24, 2003
I have begun Don Quixote: but first:
From Michael Blowhard's Blog:
It's OK not to get some great art. This is art, after all, not science or history, and doin' the art thing is as much about exploring your own responses as it is about exploring the world.
I had a few subpoints in mind too: 1) You don't have to love everything you're told is great, 2) You don't have to claim greatness for everything you love, and 3) You don't have to dispute the greatness of the works and artists you dislike. Explore a lot of great art, give yourself the experience of it, have whatever response you have to it -- and then let it all go. What does it matter, really, whether you agree with the so-called experts? (I can get vexed when I see people try-try-trying, oh so very hard, to "appreciate" a work in exactly the way they've been told to. Why do they strain with such determination to have a particular great experience? Why not have the experience they're having instead, whatever it is?) It matters only that you give the work a try and take note of what the experience was like for you. But don't be such a self-pleasing fool that you avoid what's been deemed to be great. That's crazy too. Hey, it's cool and fun to challenge yourself.
Anyway, the rules of this game:
You aren't disputing the greatness of the artist or the artwork.
You can see the point of the work or the artist, and you understand what's there to be gotten.
You understand the greatness of it too -- the range of its influence, what other artists have taken from it, etc. It's impressive, and you're impressed.
And you've given the work or the artist a decent and earnest try.
But you've found that when you look at it, or you listen to it, or you read it -- the magic evaporates.
To kick things off, here's a modest Michael Blowhard "It ain't happenin' for me" list: Henry James. Dostoevsky. "Citizen Kane." Bob Dylan. "The Waste Land." Euripides. Mahler. Miles Davis.
Perfectly content that all these artists and artworks are deemed great. I got no problem with that at all. They just don't -- alas -- do a thing for me.
(Between you and me, I'm excluding much 20th century art and architecture because I'm betting that the 20th century's "greatness" list is going to be revised in the fairly near future. I'd bet, for example, that in 25 years Faulkner and Joyce -- both of whom I generally like -- will be largely forgotten. And don't get me started about "great" modernist architecture.)
What indisputably great art do you blank out on? Eager to hear from visitors too, of course.
Best,
Michael
From Michael Blowhard's Blog:
It's OK not to get some great art. This is art, after all, not science or history, and doin' the art thing is as much about exploring your own responses as it is about exploring the world.
I had a few subpoints in mind too: 1) You don't have to love everything you're told is great, 2) You don't have to claim greatness for everything you love, and 3) You don't have to dispute the greatness of the works and artists you dislike. Explore a lot of great art, give yourself the experience of it, have whatever response you have to it -- and then let it all go. What does it matter, really, whether you agree with the so-called experts? (I can get vexed when I see people try-try-trying, oh so very hard, to "appreciate" a work in exactly the way they've been told to. Why do they strain with such determination to have a particular great experience? Why not have the experience they're having instead, whatever it is?) It matters only that you give the work a try and take note of what the experience was like for you. But don't be such a self-pleasing fool that you avoid what's been deemed to be great. That's crazy too. Hey, it's cool and fun to challenge yourself.
Anyway, the rules of this game:
You aren't disputing the greatness of the artist or the artwork.
You can see the point of the work or the artist, and you understand what's there to be gotten.
You understand the greatness of it too -- the range of its influence, what other artists have taken from it, etc. It's impressive, and you're impressed.
And you've given the work or the artist a decent and earnest try.
But you've found that when you look at it, or you listen to it, or you read it -- the magic evaporates.
To kick things off, here's a modest Michael Blowhard "It ain't happenin' for me" list: Henry James. Dostoevsky. "Citizen Kane." Bob Dylan. "The Waste Land." Euripides. Mahler. Miles Davis.
Perfectly content that all these artists and artworks are deemed great. I got no problem with that at all. They just don't -- alas -- do a thing for me.
(Between you and me, I'm excluding much 20th century art and architecture because I'm betting that the 20th century's "greatness" list is going to be revised in the fairly near future. I'd bet, for example, that in 25 years Faulkner and Joyce -- both of whom I generally like -- will be largely forgotten. And don't get me started about "great" modernist architecture.)
What indisputably great art do you blank out on? Eager to hear from visitors too, of course.
Best,
Michael
Sunday, November 23, 2003
Thursday, November 20, 2003
Monday, November 17, 2003
ONE ART
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
--- Elizabeth Bishop, 1976.
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
--- Elizabeth Bishop, 1976.
Sunday, November 16, 2003
Thursday, November 06, 2003
Universal Draft --Selective Service
As you know the government is looking for volunteers for the draft board. I am thinking about volunteering and have listed the following pros and cons.
Con
Assists the government in an unholy endeavor.
Pro
Help to assure that the conscription not be limited to a single class. Making the selection certain of white, middle-class youth.
Preventing the escape of service by the children of the wealthy and powerful.
Making sure that all citizens be included and enrolled along side the white underclass and other classes such as blue-collar, Latinos, patriotic, and African-Americans, and other minorities thus ensuring a democratic and better educated armed force.
Help prevent a Junker class from evolving by assuring the cross-class, democratic selection of members of the armed forces.
Ensuring that in the future fewer members of Congress or the executive would be able to vote for war without having actually served themselves.
Your comments are solicited.
Gratwicker@aol.com
Golden Mean = 1.618
As you know the government is looking for volunteers for the draft board. I am thinking about volunteering and have listed the following pros and cons.
Con
Assists the government in an unholy endeavor.
Pro
Help to assure that the conscription not be limited to a single class. Making the selection certain of white, middle-class youth.
Preventing the escape of service by the children of the wealthy and powerful.
Making sure that all citizens be included and enrolled along side the white underclass and other classes such as blue-collar, Latinos, patriotic, and African-Americans, and other minorities thus ensuring a democratic and better educated armed force.
Help prevent a Junker class from evolving by assuring the cross-class, democratic selection of members of the armed forces.
Ensuring that in the future fewer members of Congress or the executive would be able to vote for war without having actually served themselves.
Your comments are solicited.
Gratwicker@aol.com
Golden Mean = 1.618
Wednesday, November 05, 2003
Friday, October 31, 2003
Tuesday, October 28, 2003
Dear S:
A quick, from the hip reply:
Many writers kill themselves without being a part of any oppressed minority. I give you Ernest Hemingway, for one.
I read Mrs. Heilbron's obituary in the Times and was impressed by her life. I don't know why she felt it necessary to kill herself. Was she sick, or was she afflicted by writer's block? Did she feel that she had written all she could write and that there were no more words left in her pen? Had someone left her alone after a long term relationship?
My Dad had a friend, Murray Getz, who was retired from the Searl Pharmaceutical Company where he had been Sales Manager. He was in good health, and married to a good looking woman with a very sensual deep voice. He was tall, handsome, and apparently very strong. Dad said his only failing was that he sometimes drew to make inside straights.
Perhaps the loss of his job, or his wife's very deep voice drove him to the edge of the subway platform. But it wasn't being a member of an oppressed minority, and it wasn't because the Dodgers moved to California.
He leaped in front of a Number 5 train at the Jay Street Station in Downtown Brooklyn.
Several years I read a book called "Suicide" by A. Alvarez, an English critic. Although the book was over 200 pages he came to no conclusions regarding motives for suicide.
I shall order Ms Heilbron's book, and am ready to enter into any discussion that you may lead.
A quick, from the hip reply:
Many writers kill themselves without being a part of any oppressed minority. I give you Ernest Hemingway, for one.
I read Mrs. Heilbron's obituary in the Times and was impressed by her life. I don't know why she felt it necessary to kill herself. Was she sick, or was she afflicted by writer's block? Did she feel that she had written all she could write and that there were no more words left in her pen? Had someone left her alone after a long term relationship?
My Dad had a friend, Murray Getz, who was retired from the Searl Pharmaceutical Company where he had been Sales Manager. He was in good health, and married to a good looking woman with a very sensual deep voice. He was tall, handsome, and apparently very strong. Dad said his only failing was that he sometimes drew to make inside straights.
Perhaps the loss of his job, or his wife's very deep voice drove him to the edge of the subway platform. But it wasn't being a member of an oppressed minority, and it wasn't because the Dodgers moved to California.
He leaped in front of a Number 5 train at the Jay Street Station in Downtown Brooklyn.
Several years I read a book called "Suicide" by A. Alvarez, an English critic. Although the book was over 200 pages he came to no conclusions regarding motives for suicide.
I shall order Ms Heilbron's book, and am ready to enter into any discussion that you may lead.
Note to a group of friends from SS: My first response is above.
Three weeks ago Carolyn Heilbron a women I had met on a couple of informal
occasions killed herself. She was in her 70's not ill or obviously effected by
major depression. She was an academic and retired as a professor of Lit
at Columbia University. She wrote books on literary subjects with a feminist
view point as well as detective novels under the pseudonym of Amanda Cross
I picked up a copy of her book "Writing a Women's Life" and I have been struck
with the fact that even though I have tried to understand the oppression of
women in our world that I still need education and enlightenment. This I feel
is a need that you all share.
I suggest we read this short(140)page book and discuss among ourselves and
maybe others. Sylvia Plath, Virginia wolf?
ss
Three weeks ago Carolyn Heilbron a women I had met on a couple of informal
occasions killed herself. She was in her 70's not ill or obviously effected by
major depression. She was an academic and retired as a professor of Lit
at Columbia University. She wrote books on literary subjects with a feminist
view point as well as detective novels under the pseudonym of Amanda Cross
I picked up a copy of her book "Writing a Women's Life" and I have been struck
with the fact that even though I have tried to understand the oppression of
women in our world that I still need education and enlightenment. This I feel
is a need that you all share.
I suggest we read this short(140)page book and discuss among ourselves and
maybe others. Sylvia Plath, Virginia wolf?
ss
Monday, October 27, 2003
The Wedding Ring
As you may know a time came a few years ago ago, when Maria asked that I wear a ring to symbolize ...
My father never wore a ring; I used one, hastily purchased on Greenwich Street, at the ceremony that tied us together in June of 1963, in Riverside Church, the Reverend Pablo Colon, presiding. What happened to that ring I cannot tell. It is gone for a long time, many years, perhaps stolen by a burglar at our home in Great Neck. Or lost, forgotten on a sink somewhere. I don't know. At the time I did not feel comfortable wearing it, and never replaced it.
Many years later, Maria asked that I wear one, just after our reconciliation feeling somewhat under pressure, and guilty too, I agreed, and immediately went to find one. I tried a few on, but I couldn't bring myself to go through with a purchase. So a year has elapsed, perhaps more.
A few days ago I visited a few nearby jewelry stores; my finger was measured -- ring size 11 1/2. A few rings were tried on, none suited me, most were too wide, one too narrow, finally it seemed that whenever I liked one the store would fail to have in stock a size 11 1/2
I tried a few pawnshops, but not one had a suitable ring, though the thought crossed my mind that in a pawn shop each ring must have had a more interesting story to tell than any new one that I might buy.
So this morning, once again, I went ring-hunting and found what I sought. A size 11 ½ of medium width, 18K.
And I wear it now -- as I type.
I wanted to surprise Maria by wearing the ring without telling her that I had purchased it. As I placed it on my finger, the salesman smiled and asked whether my haste to wear it outside indicated a shotgun wedding of some kind, but I explained to him that I had been married for forty years and that the purchase (and my wearing) of the ring was a present for my wife.
He suggested that buying her a present would be more appropriate. Well, I had no time to explain my convoluted thinking so I left the store, the ring on my finger and burning into it.
I walked away, finger ringed, now searching for Maria.
She called me on my cellphone and we agreed to meet at another store in the Mall. We met and I waited for Maria to notice the ring.
At first she failed to notice it, as I had purchased a silken robe for her from VictoriaÂ’s Secret, and she was busy looking at the robe. My secret was betrayed by a bulge in my pocket where I had placed the ring box. She saw and asked what was in my pocket. -- Still not seeing what was on my finger.
"My cell phone," I lied. She detected the lie quickly as I had the cellphone in my hand.
"Let me see it," she demanded. Sheepishly I pulled the box out and she saw the Tiffany box.
"Look, I bought a ring," I announced.
She complained that I didn't bring her with me when I bought it. It was too small. Of course I bought in Tiffany's so it had to cost too much.
I wanted to surprise her and I thought that she would be very happy when she saw the ring. Well, no good deed goes unpunished.
As you may know a time came a few years ago ago, when Maria asked that I wear a ring to symbolize ...
My father never wore a ring; I used one, hastily purchased on Greenwich Street, at the ceremony that tied us together in June of 1963, in Riverside Church, the Reverend Pablo Colon, presiding. What happened to that ring I cannot tell. It is gone for a long time, many years, perhaps stolen by a burglar at our home in Great Neck. Or lost, forgotten on a sink somewhere. I don't know. At the time I did not feel comfortable wearing it, and never replaced it.
Many years later, Maria asked that I wear one, just after our reconciliation feeling somewhat under pressure, and guilty too, I agreed, and immediately went to find one. I tried a few on, but I couldn't bring myself to go through with a purchase. So a year has elapsed, perhaps more.
A few days ago I visited a few nearby jewelry stores; my finger was measured -- ring size 11 1/2. A few rings were tried on, none suited me, most were too wide, one too narrow, finally it seemed that whenever I liked one the store would fail to have in stock a size 11 1/2
I tried a few pawnshops, but not one had a suitable ring, though the thought crossed my mind that in a pawn shop each ring must have had a more interesting story to tell than any new one that I might buy.
So this morning, once again, I went ring-hunting and found what I sought. A size 11 ½ of medium width, 18K.
And I wear it now -- as I type.
I wanted to surprise Maria by wearing the ring without telling her that I had purchased it. As I placed it on my finger, the salesman smiled and asked whether my haste to wear it outside indicated a shotgun wedding of some kind, but I explained to him that I had been married for forty years and that the purchase (and my wearing) of the ring was a present for my wife.
He suggested that buying her a present would be more appropriate. Well, I had no time to explain my convoluted thinking so I left the store, the ring on my finger and burning into it.
I walked away, finger ringed, now searching for Maria.
She called me on my cellphone and we agreed to meet at another store in the Mall. We met and I waited for Maria to notice the ring.
At first she failed to notice it, as I had purchased a silken robe for her from VictoriaÂ’s Secret, and she was busy looking at the robe. My secret was betrayed by a bulge in my pocket where I had placed the ring box. She saw and asked what was in my pocket. -- Still not seeing what was on my finger.
"My cell phone," I lied. She detected the lie quickly as I had the cellphone in my hand.
"Let me see it," she demanded. Sheepishly I pulled the box out and she saw the Tiffany box.
"Look, I bought a ring," I announced.
She complained that I didn't bring her with me when I bought it. It was too small. Of course I bought in Tiffany's so it had to cost too much.
I wanted to surprise her and I thought that she would be very happy when she saw the ring. Well, no good deed goes unpunished.
Saturday, October 25, 2003
Friday, October 17, 2003
Thursday, October 16, 2003
Unexplainable to me.
Freedom of choice... unless you're a doctor.
I am not "pro-choice" but what follows is very suspect.
Planned Parenthood, the ACLU, and NARAL all oppose a bill permitting doctors and hospitals to refrain from performing abortions.
Apparently, Alaska forbids doctors/hospitals from abstaining from abortion for conscience reasons. How on earth do they enforce this? A better question is directed to the rank and file pro-choicers out there: how do your consciences allow this? How do you still support NARAL, Planned Parenthood, NOW, etc. when they are:
against parental notification for minors wishing abortion
against outlawing partial birth abortion
in favor of forcing doctors who believe abortion is reprehensible to perform them
against regulations of abortion that are mandated for procedures that are much, much safer.
Freedom of choice... unless you're a doctor.
I am not "pro-choice" but what follows is very suspect.
Planned Parenthood, the ACLU, and NARAL all oppose a bill permitting doctors and hospitals to refrain from performing abortions.
Apparently, Alaska forbids doctors/hospitals from abstaining from abortion for conscience reasons. How on earth do they enforce this? A better question is directed to the rank and file pro-choicers out there: how do your consciences allow this? How do you still support NARAL, Planned Parenthood, NOW, etc. when they are:
against parental notification for minors wishing abortion
against outlawing partial birth abortion
in favor of forcing doctors who believe abortion is reprehensible to perform them
against regulations of abortion that are mandated for procedures that are much, much safer.
Monday, October 13, 2003
Tuesday, October 07, 2003
Jan 1, 2003 -- old notes found in old books
Decorating
Maria and I are setting up the apartment--its slow going, especially as we have very different ideas--I am for buying the best, using a decorator if necessary, as I feel this is probably our last place and we should make it as beautiful and good as we can. She is Miss Frugal (thank God for that, otherwise we would have run out of money long ago, I must admit) But aside from cost our tastes are very different too. She is very beige, very bland, very traditional, I am for something, anything, knockout, that will still stand the test of living with it for twenty years. I could go for very modern, or very traditional, but give me something with a definite style. I saw, for instance, a portrait in Connecticut of an 18th century boy, frowning, dressed as a girl, for some reason. Striking, unusual, well painted. I crave it. Maria: "bizarre, I can't live with it."
We have had our only arguments since I returned, over furniture and so I am giving up. I am turning over the entire furniture selection to her, as there is no compromise--and it probably my inability to compromise that is at fault. I am very critical, and see crap for what it is. She doesn't. So, I am letting it go.....
Decorating
Maria and I are setting up the apartment--its slow going, especially as we have very different ideas--I am for buying the best, using a decorator if necessary, as I feel this is probably our last place and we should make it as beautiful and good as we can. She is Miss Frugal (thank God for that, otherwise we would have run out of money long ago, I must admit) But aside from cost our tastes are very different too. She is very beige, very bland, very traditional, I am for something, anything, knockout, that will still stand the test of living with it for twenty years. I could go for very modern, or very traditional, but give me something with a definite style. I saw, for instance, a portrait in Connecticut of an 18th century boy, frowning, dressed as a girl, for some reason. Striking, unusual, well painted. I crave it. Maria: "bizarre, I can't live with it."
We have had our only arguments since I returned, over furniture and so I am giving up. I am turning over the entire furniture selection to her, as there is no compromise--and it probably my inability to compromise that is at fault. I am very critical, and see crap for what it is. She doesn't. So, I am letting it go.....
Monday, October 06, 2003
Sunday, October 05, 2003
Question for my two readers on the poem below.: I published this poem, by A.R. Ammons, on Sept 17th, a month or so ago. I have wondered about the last lines:
"...When
You left, the area around here rose,
A tilted tide, and everything that
offers desolation drained away."
In the context of the poem how does these last four lines fit? Is the author saying that when "you came" your brought depression and when you left the desolation disappeared? I first read it as a love poem, one that said that when "you came" life lit up and everything attained meaning.
Let me hear your ideas on the poem...Thanks.
gratwicker@aol.com
Everything
You came one day and
as usual in such matters
significance filled everything--
your eyes, the things you
knew, the way you turned,
leaned, stood or sat,
this way or that. When
you left, the area around here rose,
A tilted tide, and everything that
offers desolation drained away.
A. R. Ammons
"...When
You left, the area around here rose,
A tilted tide, and everything that
offers desolation drained away."
In the context of the poem how does these last four lines fit? Is the author saying that when "you came" your brought depression and when you left the desolation disappeared? I first read it as a love poem, one that said that when "you came" life lit up and everything attained meaning.
Let me hear your ideas on the poem...Thanks.
gratwicker@aol.com
Everything
You came one day and
as usual in such matters
significance filled everything--
your eyes, the things you
knew, the way you turned,
leaned, stood or sat,
this way or that. When
you left, the area around here rose,
A tilted tide, and everything that
offers desolation drained away.
A. R. Ammons
Saturday, October 04, 2003
Friday, October 03, 2003
a fine and quiet place
The ship is over a thousand feet long and has sixteen decks open to the public and a few more under the public ones, in the ships belly. We were on Deck Two--it took me two or three days to stop calling it "the second floor." On these ships traveling on Deck Two is akin to traveling steerage but we were by ourselves in a cabin. It had a large round window, not really a porthole, there was no shiney brass hardware on it, and it couldn't be opened.
A chambermaid was assigned to make sure that the cabin was kept shipshape probably because Royal Carribean's agents on the pier had spotted me as the type who would toss my underwear on the floor. They were not so perceptive when it came to Maria, however, as she is quick to spot a mess in the making and then quick to make sure that the underwear in question is put in its proper place.
Between the two, chambermaid and spouse, our cabin was always ready for the Captain's inspection.
Our cabin was tiny, though the furnishings of the space were so well designed that it was comfortable. There was a closet, dresser, vanity-desk with lighted mirror, wall safe, television, a small refrigerator and several extra drawers all in one prefabricated piece made of a light colored beechwood on one wall.
A double bed was placed under the 30" inch in diameter porthole. The bed could have been split into twins. On each side of the bed were small night tables. The space under the bed was used to kleep our luggage and two flourescent red life preservers.
Opposite the prefabricated wall unit the other wall had a comfortable couch, that I imagine might have been a pull out sleeper. A glass topped coffee table was placed in front.
The bath unit, also prefabricated from the same beechwood and one of the newer ceramic-plastic materials, consisted of a stall shower with a fine stainless steel spray unit; and a sink and countertop, medicine chest, and more lighted mirrors.
Although we were only a deck or two away from the engines, we could neither hear them nor could we feel their vibration at all.
No complaints at all about the room. Steerage, on the Royal Caribean, at least, is a fine and quiet way to go.
mek
The ship is over a thousand feet long and has sixteen decks open to the public and a few more under the public ones, in the ships belly. We were on Deck Two--it took me two or three days to stop calling it "the second floor." On these ships traveling on Deck Two is akin to traveling steerage but we were by ourselves in a cabin. It had a large round window, not really a porthole, there was no shiney brass hardware on it, and it couldn't be opened.
A chambermaid was assigned to make sure that the cabin was kept shipshape probably because Royal Carribean's agents on the pier had spotted me as the type who would toss my underwear on the floor. They were not so perceptive when it came to Maria, however, as she is quick to spot a mess in the making and then quick to make sure that the underwear in question is put in its proper place.
Between the two, chambermaid and spouse, our cabin was always ready for the Captain's inspection.
Our cabin was tiny, though the furnishings of the space were so well designed that it was comfortable. There was a closet, dresser, vanity-desk with lighted mirror, wall safe, television, a small refrigerator and several extra drawers all in one prefabricated piece made of a light colored beechwood on one wall.
A double bed was placed under the 30" inch in diameter porthole. The bed could have been split into twins. On each side of the bed were small night tables. The space under the bed was used to kleep our luggage and two flourescent red life preservers.
Opposite the prefabricated wall unit the other wall had a comfortable couch, that I imagine might have been a pull out sleeper. A glass topped coffee table was placed in front.
The bath unit, also prefabricated from the same beechwood and one of the newer ceramic-plastic materials, consisted of a stall shower with a fine stainless steel spray unit; and a sink and countertop, medicine chest, and more lighted mirrors.
Although we were only a deck or two away from the engines, we could neither hear them nor could we feel their vibration at all.
No complaints at all about the room. Steerage, on the Royal Caribean, at least, is a fine and quiet way to go.
mek
Tuesday, September 30, 2003
At Sea
In every book that I have read about the sea the engines thrum and sea spray salts the faces of the crew or passengers, but on the Navigator, Royal Caribbean’s newest ship, by design thrum is neither felt nor heard, and sea spray is sighted only at the bow of the ship where its knife edge parts the water, a thousand feet from the deck. While on the ship the closest a passenger gets to the sea would be in any of the three or four saltwater swimming pools that could be found on the top two decks. As the pools were filled with most of three thousand passengers I avoided them, keeping a wary eye out for any wayward pool splash that might be aimed at me by frolicking Coney Islanders.
Of course, no pool in the Caribbean would be complete without Pina Coladas and a steel drum band, so the ship’s owners have provided several bars and a band, amplified at a level high enough so that should the guest be swimming at the bottom of the pool, ten feet under water, he or she could still hear the merry music.
There are always a few guests who carry with them glum and serious faces, wrinkled brows, and a Social Director has been provided to nudge them out of their self-concerned reveries and into a Royal Caribbean euphoria. One soon learns to paste a smile on ones’ face, as armor against said Social Director’s efforts, should one want to be alone a la Greta Garbo.
In every book that I have read about the sea the engines thrum and sea spray salts the faces of the crew or passengers, but on the Navigator, Royal Caribbean’s newest ship, by design thrum is neither felt nor heard, and sea spray is sighted only at the bow of the ship where its knife edge parts the water, a thousand feet from the deck. While on the ship the closest a passenger gets to the sea would be in any of the three or four saltwater swimming pools that could be found on the top two decks. As the pools were filled with most of three thousand passengers I avoided them, keeping a wary eye out for any wayward pool splash that might be aimed at me by frolicking Coney Islanders.
Of course, no pool in the Caribbean would be complete without Pina Coladas and a steel drum band, so the ship’s owners have provided several bars and a band, amplified at a level high enough so that should the guest be swimming at the bottom of the pool, ten feet under water, he or she could still hear the merry music.
There are always a few guests who carry with them glum and serious faces, wrinkled brows, and a Social Director has been provided to nudge them out of their self-concerned reveries and into a Royal Caribbean euphoria. One soon learns to paste a smile on ones’ face, as armor against said Social Director’s efforts, should one want to be alone a la Greta Garbo.
Sunday, September 28, 2003
Return from a well-deserved rest
Yes, rightfully, you have asked the question: "Rest From What?" "From what?" you say? Well, a vacation is always needed to re-create oneself--thus, recreation. Nes Pa?
Maria thought that getting me on a cruise would be good for our joint soul--I must add, however, though not our joint bank account.
We cruised what is known as the Western Caribbean, in the company of some 3100 other souls in need of rest, and 1100 persons assigned to wait upon us hand and foot. Well, we were well waited upon. The service was enthusiastic, willing, and skilled.
Of course, not one American was to be seen in service. 37 other countries were represented, and the citizens of those countries were drilled and trained in the custom of service as practiced in Victorian Days. With the single exception of facing the wall when passengers passed, all other customs known to me were practiced. As far as the help was concerned crisp uniforms, reserved, quiet and discreet conversations were the mode and rule of the Cruise. Beds were made and re-made twice a day, guests were fed at least five times a day, and snacks, buffets, and other treats were available at all other times. One man was caught skipping Second Breakfast and the Captain ordered him to be force-fed by pushing a red rubber hose down his throat.
The shipboard help had been taught their place and behaved accordingly but not so much could be said for us passengers (now called guests, by the way) Passengers (guests) dressed as they wished, some were ready for Coney Island, others got the idea that they were going to be on the Rivera. As for me--Ft. Lauderdale style was fine. Full Blown whites: White ducks, white belt, white shirt, white bucks, straw boater with a white band.
+++++++++++
More later as I am up past my bedtime and duty calls--or is that the little woman's voice I hear?
Yes, rightfully, you have asked the question: "Rest From What?" "From what?" you say? Well, a vacation is always needed to re-create oneself--thus, recreation. Nes Pa?
Maria thought that getting me on a cruise would be good for our joint soul--I must add, however, though not our joint bank account.
We cruised what is known as the Western Caribbean, in the company of some 3100 other souls in need of rest, and 1100 persons assigned to wait upon us hand and foot. Well, we were well waited upon. The service was enthusiastic, willing, and skilled.
Of course, not one American was to be seen in service. 37 other countries were represented, and the citizens of those countries were drilled and trained in the custom of service as practiced in Victorian Days. With the single exception of facing the wall when passengers passed, all other customs known to me were practiced. As far as the help was concerned crisp uniforms, reserved, quiet and discreet conversations were the mode and rule of the Cruise. Beds were made and re-made twice a day, guests were fed at least five times a day, and snacks, buffets, and other treats were available at all other times. One man was caught skipping Second Breakfast and the Captain ordered him to be force-fed by pushing a red rubber hose down his throat.
The shipboard help had been taught their place and behaved accordingly but not so much could be said for us passengers (now called guests, by the way) Passengers (guests) dressed as they wished, some were ready for Coney Island, others got the idea that they were going to be on the Rivera. As for me--Ft. Lauderdale style was fine. Full Blown whites: White ducks, white belt, white shirt, white bucks, straw boater with a white band.
+++++++++++
More later as I am up past my bedtime and duty calls--or is that the little woman's voice I hear?
Wednesday, September 17, 2003
Everything
You came one day and
as usual in such matters
significance filled everything--
your eyes, the things you
knew, the way you turned,
leaned, stood or sat,
this way or that. When
you left, the area around here rose,
A tilted tide, and everything that
offers desolation drained away.
A. R. Ammons
You came one day and
as usual in such matters
significance filled everything--
your eyes, the things you
knew, the way you turned,
leaned, stood or sat,
this way or that. When
you left, the area around here rose,
A tilted tide, and everything that
offers desolation drained away.
A. R. Ammons
Here's a worrisome piece of data I picked up in Adbuster's Magazine Sept - Oct 2003:
"Ironically paying for biodefense vaccines threatens the very research that produced them. The White House Budget Office stipulated that NIAID (Nat'l Institute of Allergies and Infectious Diseases) must purchase $233 million worth of a new Anthrax vaccine, and while the money must come from NIAID's budget, it isn't to touch the biodefense programs. "
"NIAID must slash funding grants to other areas of its research program--like basic immunology, infectious diseases, and AIDS research--in order to bankroll the bio-war demand. "
"Ironically paying for biodefense vaccines threatens the very research that produced them. The White House Budget Office stipulated that NIAID (Nat'l Institute of Allergies and Infectious Diseases) must purchase $233 million worth of a new Anthrax vaccine, and while the money must come from NIAID's budget, it isn't to touch the biodefense programs. "
"NIAID must slash funding grants to other areas of its research program--like basic immunology, infectious diseases, and AIDS research--in order to bankroll the bio-war demand. "
September 17, 1902 --Dad's date of birth. Brooklyn, NY
Dad would have been 101 today. If he's here looking over my shoulder, I miss you Dad--and wish we could have a conversation. Maybe you could get Grandpop, and the three of us could all be the same age--say 50--right now. What a talk that would be. I'd like to know you as a 50 year old man talking to me as a 50 year old man.
And then, maybe, a later talk bringing everyone up to 65. But each of the same age--50 and then 65.
Gee, now that I think of it--how about a series of conversations at each age starting with ten--then every five years...?
Dad would have been 101 today. If he's here looking over my shoulder, I miss you Dad--and wish we could have a conversation. Maybe you could get Grandpop, and the three of us could all be the same age--say 50--right now. What a talk that would be. I'd like to know you as a 50 year old man talking to me as a 50 year old man.
And then, maybe, a later talk bringing everyone up to 65. But each of the same age--50 and then 65.
Gee, now that I think of it--how about a series of conversations at each age starting with ten--then every five years...?
Tuesday, September 16, 2003
+
+ Decision
+
Dante says that the vestibule of Hell is reserved for those who cannot make up their minds.
Be this or that
When things are done
Both rain and snow have friends
But slush has none.
.................TRUTH......................
Most of us have an Operational Truth that we use to move through life. Every leftist and rightist has his own Truths. As do fanatic atheists and fanatic believers. Truth is never compatible with dogma.
Each of us looks in a mirror when he seeks Truth, but our eyes are blinded by what we have already seen in the past.
mek
mek
+ Decision
+
Dante says that the vestibule of Hell is reserved for those who cannot make up their minds.
Be this or that
When things are done
Both rain and snow have friends
But slush has none.
.................TRUTH......................
Most of us have an Operational Truth that we use to move through life. Every leftist and rightist has his own Truths. As do fanatic atheists and fanatic believers. Truth is never compatible with dogma.
Each of us looks in a mirror when he seeks Truth, but our eyes are blinded by what we have already seen in the past.
mek
mek
Monday, September 15, 2003
Basically distrust comes from not trusting our parents. If parents cannot be trusted than no one can be trusted. And if someone were very good to me he couldn't be for real because then my parents would be proven even worse.
Can you imagine the parent at bedtime who whispers into her child's ear the hypnogogic suggestion that "no one will ever love you more than I do?"
How then, can this child grow up to trust and believe in the love of any other person?
Can you imagine the parent at bedtime who whispers into her child's ear the hypnogogic suggestion that "no one will ever love you more than I do?"
How then, can this child grow up to trust and believe in the love of any other person?
Sunday, September 14, 2003
Cleaning up notes from the backs of envelopes, matchbooks, and assorted notebooks.
I am a fairly educated person, but not a scholar, and as an educated layman I do quite a lot of reading. But when reading certain authors I run into a macaronic tendency to drag in untranslated quotations. This is an annoying carryover from the days when educated people were expected to know Latin, Greek and a few modern languages like French and German.
Aside from a smattering of Spanish I have none of these languages, and I daresay that few of my contemporaries do either. Its time to start translating quotations, if only in footnotes. Leaving them untranslated has become de trop.
***
In Paris, when the War was over, Albert Camus, having seen both Nazis and Communists close up, defied democracy as that regime created and sustained by those who know that they do not know everything.
I am a fairly educated person, but not a scholar, and as an educated layman I do quite a lot of reading. But when reading certain authors I run into a macaronic tendency to drag in untranslated quotations. This is an annoying carryover from the days when educated people were expected to know Latin, Greek and a few modern languages like French and German.
Aside from a smattering of Spanish I have none of these languages, and I daresay that few of my contemporaries do either. Its time to start translating quotations, if only in footnotes. Leaving them untranslated has become de trop.
***
In Paris, when the War was over, Albert Camus, having seen both Nazis and Communists close up, defied democracy as that regime created and sustained by those who know that they do not know everything.
James Russell Lowell
Democracy has the unpleasant "habit of making itself generally disagreeable by asking the Powers That Be at the most inconvenient moment whether they are the Powers that Ought to Be. "
***
Truth, after all, wears a different face to everybody. She is said to lie at the bottom of a well, for the very reason, perhaps, that whoever looks down in search of her sees his own image at the bottom and is persuaded not only that he has seen the goddess, but that she is better looking than he had imagined.
Democracy has the unpleasant "habit of making itself generally disagreeable by asking the Powers That Be at the most inconvenient moment whether they are the Powers that Ought to Be. "
***
Truth, after all, wears a different face to everybody. She is said to lie at the bottom of a well, for the very reason, perhaps, that whoever looks down in search of her sees his own image at the bottom and is persuaded not only that he has seen the goddess, but that she is better looking than he had imagined.
/ from a note made to myself this summer in NYC:
Two very well appointed black women on the Madison Avenue bus. In the course of enthusiastic office gossip one remarks to the other: "He must respect me--I'm no house nigger."
Still, after so many years Blacks cannot escape the chains of blackness in America. (Or are they only perceived chains?) I wonder to myself why have the links have held, why have they not rusted away?
Two very well appointed black women on the Madison Avenue bus. In the course of enthusiastic office gossip one remarks to the other: "He must respect me--I'm no house nigger."
Still, after so many years Blacks cannot escape the chains of blackness in America. (Or are they only perceived chains?) I wonder to myself why have the links have held, why have they not rusted away?
>
light and darkness
good and evil
matter and God
truth and falsehood
>
Iris Murdoch ----from The Jackson Dilemma
...An awareness of the tragedy of human life, good and evil, crime and punishment--remorse.
Surveying myself in the mirror, there was little light, the mirror old, I always wondered what I looked like. --This connects with who am I, what I am...I wonder why everyone does not feel like this, or is it a gift, free from my gods, an understanding of the only reality which is in truth that we are nothing. The mirror now shows me mostly my father, my brows thickening, perhaps...
light and darkness
good and evil
matter and God
truth and falsehood
>
Iris Murdoch ----from The Jackson Dilemma
...An awareness of the tragedy of human life, good and evil, crime and punishment--remorse.
Surveying myself in the mirror, there was little light, the mirror old, I always wondered what I looked like. --This connects with who am I, what I am...I wonder why everyone does not feel like this, or is it a gift, free from my gods, an understanding of the only reality which is in truth that we are nothing. The mirror now shows me mostly my father, my brows thickening, perhaps...
Tuesday, September 09, 2003
Monday, September 08, 2003
"Postmodernism is about the reappropiation of the past, the making real of false consciousness, the revaluation of values. Until now we have been living in a false culture, surrounded by mass-produced kitsch....We borrow from the past, we have no history so we write it where it doesn't exist." Igor, Between East & West
imaginary realism-- imaginary truth.
imaginary realism-- imaginary truth.
ROBOTIC AYN RAND
Need advice about your latest megalomaniacal scheme? If only you could ask history's greatest megalomaniac, "novelist" and "philosopher" Ayn Rand. Too bad she's dead. But wait! In 1963, a secret cabal of Objectivists intent on taking over the Student Union at MIT built the first robotic Ayn Rand, and now you can own a Randroid® based on their original design. Comes with stock phrases such as "Morality ends where the gun begins," "Pity for the guilty is treason to the innocent," and "Nathaniel! Bring me another gin and tonic!"
Price: US$50,000 includes software*
*software tends to be rather buggy. For instance, your Randroid may oppose immigration, yet be an immigrant herself. She may oppose infidelity, yet cheat on her husband. She may espouse individuality, yet believe that only those who follow her are individuals. She may oppose the control of individuals by organizations, yet laud corporate power. These bugs can not be repaired.
Item Available at VillainSupply.com
Need advice about your latest megalomaniacal scheme? If only you could ask history's greatest megalomaniac, "novelist" and "philosopher" Ayn Rand. Too bad she's dead. But wait! In 1963, a secret cabal of Objectivists intent on taking over the Student Union at MIT built the first robotic Ayn Rand, and now you can own a Randroid® based on their original design. Comes with stock phrases such as "Morality ends where the gun begins," "Pity for the guilty is treason to the innocent," and "Nathaniel! Bring me another gin and tonic!"
Price: US$50,000 includes software*
*software tends to be rather buggy. For instance, your Randroid may oppose immigration, yet be an immigrant herself. She may oppose infidelity, yet cheat on her husband. She may espouse individuality, yet believe that only those who follow her are individuals. She may oppose the control of individuals by organizations, yet laud corporate power. These bugs can not be repaired.
Item Available at VillainSupply.com
Sunday, September 07, 2003
Last night the little woman and I went to see the International Sport Latin Ballroom Dancing Competition at the Diplomat Hotel. This is not dancing as we knew it in the Catskills. The two Titos would be very surprized, shocked (!) to see this highly stylized, ritualistic, robotic dancing.
The "sport" in the title of the competition refers to the furious movements that partners make on the floor. The Tango's ritual seem to be carried over to every dance, Rhumba, Tango, Cha Cha, Cha. These partners really sweat during their performance and when they violently turn their heads the sweat sprays a circle around their bodies. Did I see a rainbow in the rain of persperation? Maybe. There was some agreeable grace in the slides of the Quick Step and perhaps in the Paso-Doble.
Fred Astaire? Neither present in body nor in spirit.
The "sport" in the title of the competition refers to the furious movements that partners make on the floor. The Tango's ritual seem to be carried over to every dance, Rhumba, Tango, Cha Cha, Cha. These partners really sweat during their performance and when they violently turn their heads the sweat sprays a circle around their bodies. Did I see a rainbow in the rain of persperation? Maybe. There was some agreeable grace in the slides of the Quick Step and perhaps in the Paso-Doble.
Fred Astaire? Neither present in body nor in spirit.
Friday, September 05, 2003
Saw Matchstick Men last night at Cinema Paradiso. Nicolas Cage is good as a phobia-addled con artist . His life goes awry when Cage's teenage daughter (Alison Lohman) shows up. Alison Lohman is very good as a 14 year old. B+
Look, I want a movie that's free of anecdote and cheap sentiment. This wasn't it. Most films today just can't take me over the wall and into the world of real emotions or beauty or honesty.
I can't breathe anymore. The sterile atmosphere around me has become irrespirable. I need beauty, art, emotion. That's my oxygen. And no one around me understands. People around here equate going to restuarants with living. They fail to know that they are engaged in a desperate search for life. But restuarants and TV aren't life. And talking about restaurants and food coupons isn't conversation either.
Gad.
Look, I want a movie that's free of anecdote and cheap sentiment. This wasn't it. Most films today just can't take me over the wall and into the world of real emotions or beauty or honesty.
I can't breathe anymore. The sterile atmosphere around me has become irrespirable. I need beauty, art, emotion. That's my oxygen. And no one around me understands. People around here equate going to restuarants with living. They fail to know that they are engaged in a desperate search for life. But restuarants and TV aren't life. And talking about restaurants and food coupons isn't conversation either.
Gad.
Thursday, September 04, 2003
Monday, September 01, 2003
Friday, August 29, 2003
Okay, back in Florida. Joined a gym. I don't know why--the building I live in has its own gym, and of course we have the pool, and the ocean as well, and that's swell.
But maybe I want to get away, meet some people, and the whirlpool at this gym is very hot--hotter than I am used to, and finally I feel satisfied by the heat in the whirlpool and the suana. No steamroom here though. My fellow gymnaughts seem very blue collar which is to be expected here, as the price is very very low. But the gym is spotless, the pool is big enough and there are more machines here than in the Ford Motor plant in Dearbourne.
Maria and I have to go through all the mail that was kept by the post office here. This is the kind of project that proves my need to procrastinate, so I guess it will be a few days (weeks?) before I complete the project.
Le Divorce : American girl lives in Paris with French artist husband who walks out her. Sister comes to help her through her misery, but instead becomes the mistress of an important French businessman-politician. B-
But maybe I want to get away, meet some people, and the whirlpool at this gym is very hot--hotter than I am used to, and finally I feel satisfied by the heat in the whirlpool and the suana. No steamroom here though. My fellow gymnaughts seem very blue collar which is to be expected here, as the price is very very low. But the gym is spotless, the pool is big enough and there are more machines here than in the Ford Motor plant in Dearbourne.
Maria and I have to go through all the mail that was kept by the post office here. This is the kind of project that proves my need to procrastinate, so I guess it will be a few days (weeks?) before I complete the project.
Le Divorce : American girl lives in Paris with French artist husband who walks out her. Sister comes to help her through her misery, but instead becomes the mistress of an important French businessman-politician. B-
Wednesday, August 20, 2003
Soulmate Aug 2003
On a walk through Central Park, on a rainy afternoon, I had asked my closest friend whether he felt that the woman that he had been married to for the past twenty years was his soul mate.
At six-thirty the next morning I received a phone call. I picked up the receiver and listened to the plaintive voice of his wife. She was sixty and had gone off the hormones that had kept her flush free for the past seven years. …
……………..
I looked at her, soundly sleeping, hair plastered against her sweated forehead; even in sleep drops of perspiration could be seen on her cheek. She was sixty and had gone off the hormones that had kept her flush free for the past seven years.
He was his own weather system, now in storm cycle, and no, it wasn’t that romantic distant thunder that brings lovers together, but rather it was the startling, fearsome crack right overhead, the flash of it simultaneous with its sound, evidence of its dangerous closeness, and blinding, a cleansing smell of ozone wafting through the brilliantly lit trees, eidetic, drenched and gleaming, then disappearing back to black in the threatening darkness.
He beat her mercilessly, with the alcohol fueled fury of a man too short and too fat, and too slow for his lean and hungry ambition. She loved him anyway, craved him for it, as most women love the men who beat them.
“Uncertainty,” Robert Musil said, “is sometimes nothing more than mistrust of the usual certainties.”
On a walk through Central Park, on a rainy afternoon, I had asked my closest friend whether he felt that the woman that he had been married to for the past twenty years was his soul mate.
At six-thirty the next morning I received a phone call. I picked up the receiver and listened to the plaintive voice of his wife. She was sixty and had gone off the hormones that had kept her flush free for the past seven years. …
……………..
I looked at her, soundly sleeping, hair plastered against her sweated forehead; even in sleep drops of perspiration could be seen on her cheek. She was sixty and had gone off the hormones that had kept her flush free for the past seven years.
He was his own weather system, now in storm cycle, and no, it wasn’t that romantic distant thunder that brings lovers together, but rather it was the startling, fearsome crack right overhead, the flash of it simultaneous with its sound, evidence of its dangerous closeness, and blinding, a cleansing smell of ozone wafting through the brilliantly lit trees, eidetic, drenched and gleaming, then disappearing back to black in the threatening darkness.
He beat her mercilessly, with the alcohol fueled fury of a man too short and too fat, and too slow for his lean and hungry ambition. She loved him anyway, craved him for it, as most women love the men who beat them.
“Uncertainty,” Robert Musil said, “is sometimes nothing more than mistrust of the usual certainties.”
Tuesday, August 19, 2003
From Hal:
Spencer Tracy said it best; when asked what advice he could give to aspiring movie actors to make them good actors, he answered " show up on time....hit your mark...look into the lens....and tell the truth ! " I think something like this, could restore our ability to communicate......Hal
From Basil:
I am going to be sixty five in January. I've reached the stage in life
where I know it is all downhill from here. I look in the mirror and
don't like what I see. I try to do my exercising and I don't like how I
feel. I used to run four miles just to warm up. I now can barely jog
four miles. My doctor says I am in great shape for my age but that does
not help how I feel. I am getting old and I don't want to. I don't want
to deteriorate to the point where I can't stand looking at myself. I
think it is mostly a question of vanity but the thought of my muscles
becoming any more flaccid and my skin becoming more wrinkled is not
something I am looking forward to no matter how healthy I am. If I don't
die it will happen. I don't want to die but I think I would prefer dying
to growing much older. I am afraid of dying but I would be even more
afraid of living forever. Intellectually I know once I'm dead it's all
over so death is definitely more preferable.
On the other hand I don't worry about dioxins or watch what I eat and I
do not exercise obsessively. I smoke my cigars and eat fats and
sweets.......... What a relief Basil
From Gross:
I just finished Barzun's History of the West. He wrote this sweeping vision of civilization when he was 91; and he had stopped jogging years before. When we are no longer sufficiently fueled by our muscles, we need to look for a new energy source. gross
Basil's moaning results from the assumption that life is limited by physical capacity. The defect in that presumption is apparent from it's making. There is much evidence that our consciousness is capable of expanding indefinitely. Thinking carries us beyond our biology. Witness Stephen Hawking. The mind's eye clears with age. Look beyond the length of a jog, (which is also dependent upon time). Exercise ideas. Pessimism is poison. gross
Spencer Tracy said it best; when asked what advice he could give to aspiring movie actors to make them good actors, he answered " show up on time....hit your mark...look into the lens....and tell the truth ! " I think something like this, could restore our ability to communicate......Hal
From Basil:
I am going to be sixty five in January. I've reached the stage in life
where I know it is all downhill from here. I look in the mirror and
don't like what I see. I try to do my exercising and I don't like how I
feel. I used to run four miles just to warm up. I now can barely jog
four miles. My doctor says I am in great shape for my age but that does
not help how I feel. I am getting old and I don't want to. I don't want
to deteriorate to the point where I can't stand looking at myself. I
think it is mostly a question of vanity but the thought of my muscles
becoming any more flaccid and my skin becoming more wrinkled is not
something I am looking forward to no matter how healthy I am. If I don't
die it will happen. I don't want to die but I think I would prefer dying
to growing much older. I am afraid of dying but I would be even more
afraid of living forever. Intellectually I know once I'm dead it's all
over so death is definitely more preferable.
On the other hand I don't worry about dioxins or watch what I eat and I
do not exercise obsessively. I smoke my cigars and eat fats and
sweets.......... What a relief Basil
From Gross:
I just finished Barzun's History of the West. He wrote this sweeping vision of civilization when he was 91; and he had stopped jogging years before. When we are no longer sufficiently fueled by our muscles, we need to look for a new energy source. gross
Basil's moaning results from the assumption that life is limited by physical capacity. The defect in that presumption is apparent from it's making. There is much evidence that our consciousness is capable of expanding indefinitely. Thinking carries us beyond our biology. Witness Stephen Hawking. The mind's eye clears with age. Look beyond the length of a jog, (which is also dependent upon time). Exercise ideas. Pessimism is poison. gross
Every man has seen women's bared breasts. Most have seen them hundreds, if not thousands of times under varied circumstances.
Why then, do we still hope for a glimpse of still another bare breast or nipple? Tonight Cameron Diaz was a guest on Jay Leno's night show. She wore a particularly revealing dress, one that looked as though her breast might fall out, or perhaps a nipple might appear. What kept me waiting, watching, hoping for a look?
Why then, do we still hope for a glimpse of still another bare breast or nipple? Tonight Cameron Diaz was a guest on Jay Leno's night show. She wore a particularly revealing dress, one that looked as though her breast might fall out, or perhaps a nipple might appear. What kept me waiting, watching, hoping for a look?
Friday, August 15, 2003
Yesterday, the day of the big blackout, I went to the Whitney with MG, hoping to visit Tim Baum at the same time as his gallery is only a block way. Well, we never heard from Tim, so Mike and I did the Whitney, after passing through a blockade of very aggressive fund raisers. I t was lucky that Mike and I had the benfit of fighting for Coach Quinn on our old HS football team, Mike as a first string tackle and me as a benchwarming guard. Anyway, we cross blocked the little old lady and soon found our selves on the admission line.
Following our Whitney experience we went for a walk through Central Park, stopping for sandwiches at the Boathouse. We talked about soulmates and decided, basically, that they were very hard to come by. Comprimise seems to be the order of the day, especially at this age.
I was to have dinner in Great Neck with a neighbor from the old days on Willow Lane, and so I left Michael and took the "C" train from 79th and CPW to Penn Station where I made the last train that made it all the way home before the blackout. I arrived at Great Neck at 3:59 PM and went to 5 Continents to pick up some cheese for cocktails with Vesta and Maria. At 4:10 PM as the cheeseman began to weigh the cheese on an electronic scale he lights went out. The Cheeseman paniced and ran out of his store, leaving me alone with the cheese. Resisting the natural impluse to steal all the cheese in sight I waited for him to come back in. But now the electronic scale couldn't weigh anything--not even Mr. Cheeseman's thumb. He was reluctant to sell me anything, even though he had already cut my cheese. So I convinced him to estimate the weight--and finaly just stuffed some cash in his hand and took the cheese.
Following our Whitney experience we went for a walk through Central Park, stopping for sandwiches at the Boathouse. We talked about soulmates and decided, basically, that they were very hard to come by. Comprimise seems to be the order of the day, especially at this age.
I was to have dinner in Great Neck with a neighbor from the old days on Willow Lane, and so I left Michael and took the "C" train from 79th and CPW to Penn Station where I made the last train that made it all the way home before the blackout. I arrived at Great Neck at 3:59 PM and went to 5 Continents to pick up some cheese for cocktails with Vesta and Maria. At 4:10 PM as the cheeseman began to weigh the cheese on an electronic scale he lights went out. The Cheeseman paniced and ran out of his store, leaving me alone with the cheese. Resisting the natural impluse to steal all the cheese in sight I waited for him to come back in. But now the electronic scale couldn't weigh anything--not even Mr. Cheeseman's thumb. He was reluctant to sell me anything, even though he had already cut my cheese. So I convinced him to estimate the weight--and finaly just stuffed some cash in his hand and took the cheese.
Wednesday, August 13, 2003
Last night we saw the Smuin Ballet dance Dancin' with Gershwin.at the Joyce. The Joyce is a small theater which was re-built especially for dancing and I dare say that there isn't a single bad seat in the house. But the Dancin': like eating at a restuarant named Moms or playing cards with a guy named Doc, one should not attend events when the producer thinks it's a good idea to drop the "g" at the end of a word ending in "ing." You can write that down. And shoould one be a dancer one should know that it is not a good idea to try to tap dance in a tuxedo to a recording of Fred Astaire singing Fascinating Rhythm. Mark this: when the audience hears Astaire's voice it cannot help seeing Him dance. I felt sorry for Shannon Hurlburt and Roberto Cisneros as they tried to climb the Astaire Mountain. Can't be done. It's like trying to outplay Art Tatum at the piano. Astaire and Tatum are in a class by themselves. You can be great but you can't be Astaire.
However, the rest of the night was light and fun. the light funtastic comes to mind.
However, the rest of the night was light and fun. the light funtastic comes to mind.
Tuesday, August 12, 2003
I checked your link, and spent some time looking at the pictures that the Italian futurists made--the graphics, lettering, etc. I have a friend, a schoolmate, named Tim Baum, who is an expert on Man Ray, and a major dealer of his work. He befriended Man Ray during the last ten years of Man Ray's life.
Tim has a gallery in an apartment on Madison Avenue, and I will be calling him tomorrow because I discovered a coincidence. Inspired by looking at the Futurists I went to the library today and took out several Man Ray books--photos, biographies, etc.
It seems that Emmanuel Radnitsky and his family lived on the block where my grandfather had a drug store. I imagine that they were his customers and probably often used the telephone in his store or were called to it when people would call the Radnitsky family.
Tim has a gallery in an apartment on Madison Avenue, and I will be calling him tomorrow because I discovered a coincidence. Inspired by looking at the Futurists I went to the library today and took out several Man Ray books--photos, biographies, etc.
It seems that Emmanuel Radnitsky and his family lived on the block where my grandfather had a drug store. I imagine that they were his customers and probably often used the telephone in his store or were called to it when people would call the Radnitsky family.
Sunday, August 10, 2003
Wednesday, August 06, 2003
My studies of Leopold II temporarily put aside, I am now reading Ben Hecht's autobiography which brings back many of the names of my youth, unknown by anyone of your generation except, of course, you, names like Sherwood Anderson, Charles MacAurthur, Fanny Brice, Gene Fowler, Billy Rose, Mike Ben Ami (Israeli gun runner,) William Frawley, David Bellasco (now you know who the theater is named for--he was a producer) Red Grange, Hugo Haase*--I didn't know the name either--anyway a hoard of names was buried deep in my mind, and mining them has been fun, not the back breaking work that usually accompanies my literary "studies" when I must struggle to learn new names. Recovering the old ones is easier, and the slagheap shrinks.
Of course, there are many others mentioned in Hecht’s book who are still known names, but what interests me is the number of names who were important in Hecht's day who have been forgotten by Everyone, and who were not even known in the fifties. At least not known by me in the fifties. Fame is, indeed, fleeting.
Maria knew one of the names: Bill Frawley.
Well, here's a factoid for you: Sherwood Anderson died on shipboard after swallowing a toothpick in an hors d'oeuvre sausage. So much for toothpicks & sausage, eh?
Much of my reading this spring and summer has emphasized the inhumanity of man, and we are reminded that it is nothing new. You can read about it in the Bible, some of the inhumanity ordered by God Himself. Gross told me a little about the un-Godlike punishments delineated in the Bible but I didn’t pay attention until I began to read about the other genocides we’ve lived through.
Strange, eh? Well, Leopold and his minions were no pikers when it came to elemental bestial horror, and with these biographies under my belt "Heart of Darkness” gets a new reading, the horror now being the Belgians and Europeans rather than the Africans. It’s not as though the Africans learned much from us, they had some of their own home-grown horrors, but it is true that bestial behavior on earth isn’t limited to the beasts, nor is it limited to Saddam, Stalin and Hitler.
Gross has moved from his study of religion to a new study of science based on his reading of science written for the “educated layman.” Well, we may not be properly educated, but we are laymen. He mentioned his astonishment at the miracle of our presence on earth, considering all the mischance that could have occurred going back millions of years even before there was a man who could be inhumane to his fellow creatures.
Eons of evolution brought us to the human state and at any minute during all those eons the path leading to humanity could have been obliterated; then more eons when anyone of our ancestors could have been killed or could have died of illness before having the offspring that would lead to us.
For this alone, we should give more honor to our grandparents and those before them. Look at me—in effect the penultimate of the Katz line—it doesn’t look as though Aaron will have any more children and most likely Max will remain childless. So, there’s no more Katz’.
But all the ones before us struggled, starved, froze, planted, hunted, star gazed, humbled themselves (or didn’t), just so that you and I could be here worrying about our weight or a tax increase. How many times did we hide in the woods, hearing our neighbors being raped and killed? Look, we’re just dots in the universe and lucky dots at that.
So why are we so bad to each other? Jerry, the fellow in whose apartment we are staying, had a daughter who died of cancer in her thirties. Right now he is having an air conditioning problem. I remarked that Maria and I felt bad for him, and he answered, with more than a lump in his throat and a tear in his eye, that after losing a daughter he was able to focus on the real, the good and the important. According to Jerry, air conditioning filters don’t fit into any of those categories.
Genocide: A case may be made that the first genocide was God's killing of the first born Egyptians. Since then genocide has been a popular method of taking control of land or getting rid of neighbors.
The twentieth century has seen plenty of genocidal terrors--starting early in the century with the Turkish eradication of the Armenians. Americans stood by and allowed it to happen, denying all the time that it was happening, in spite of Ambassador Morgenthau's warnings, protests, and pleadings with our Congress. We wanted to maintain a delicate relationship with the Otttoman Empire and so we said nothing. We've always found diplomatic or policy rationalizations for ignoring humanity in need. Need I remind you of Cambodia, Bosnia or Rwanda?
A Problem from Hell -- America and the Age of Genocide -- Samantha Power -- Race Murders in the twentieth century --Armenia Cambodia, Holocaust, Bosnia, the Kurds, Kosovo, Rwanda. But remember genocide goes back much further than the 20th century.
Leopold II of the Belgians, King of Colonialism -- Barbara Emerson.
Leopold owned the Congo personally and his evil is painted herein by a silken brush.
King Leopold's Ghost: Adam Hochschild. Genocide and plunder in the Congo. Money making for the very rich and unconcerned.
*Hugo Haase was a German hero-politician of the twenties and thirties who chose to stand up to the Weimar Government when it massacred two thousand Germans in Moabit prison and later chose to stand up to the Nazis and was assassinated for it on the steps of the German Parliament.
Well, its late. I’m going to call my granddaughter Remi, and give her a hug over the phone.
Buster Stronghart
Of course, there are many others mentioned in Hecht’s book who are still known names, but what interests me is the number of names who were important in Hecht's day who have been forgotten by Everyone, and who were not even known in the fifties. At least not known by me in the fifties. Fame is, indeed, fleeting.
Maria knew one of the names: Bill Frawley.
Well, here's a factoid for you: Sherwood Anderson died on shipboard after swallowing a toothpick in an hors d'oeuvre sausage. So much for toothpicks & sausage, eh?
Much of my reading this spring and summer has emphasized the inhumanity of man, and we are reminded that it is nothing new. You can read about it in the Bible, some of the inhumanity ordered by God Himself. Gross told me a little about the un-Godlike punishments delineated in the Bible but I didn’t pay attention until I began to read about the other genocides we’ve lived through.
Strange, eh? Well, Leopold and his minions were no pikers when it came to elemental bestial horror, and with these biographies under my belt "Heart of Darkness” gets a new reading, the horror now being the Belgians and Europeans rather than the Africans. It’s not as though the Africans learned much from us, they had some of their own home-grown horrors, but it is true that bestial behavior on earth isn’t limited to the beasts, nor is it limited to Saddam, Stalin and Hitler.
Gross has moved from his study of religion to a new study of science based on his reading of science written for the “educated layman.” Well, we may not be properly educated, but we are laymen. He mentioned his astonishment at the miracle of our presence on earth, considering all the mischance that could have occurred going back millions of years even before there was a man who could be inhumane to his fellow creatures.
Eons of evolution brought us to the human state and at any minute during all those eons the path leading to humanity could have been obliterated; then more eons when anyone of our ancestors could have been killed or could have died of illness before having the offspring that would lead to us.
For this alone, we should give more honor to our grandparents and those before them. Look at me—in effect the penultimate of the Katz line—it doesn’t look as though Aaron will have any more children and most likely Max will remain childless. So, there’s no more Katz’.
But all the ones before us struggled, starved, froze, planted, hunted, star gazed, humbled themselves (or didn’t), just so that you and I could be here worrying about our weight or a tax increase. How many times did we hide in the woods, hearing our neighbors being raped and killed? Look, we’re just dots in the universe and lucky dots at that.
So why are we so bad to each other? Jerry, the fellow in whose apartment we are staying, had a daughter who died of cancer in her thirties. Right now he is having an air conditioning problem. I remarked that Maria and I felt bad for him, and he answered, with more than a lump in his throat and a tear in his eye, that after losing a daughter he was able to focus on the real, the good and the important. According to Jerry, air conditioning filters don’t fit into any of those categories.
Genocide: A case may be made that the first genocide was God's killing of the first born Egyptians. Since then genocide has been a popular method of taking control of land or getting rid of neighbors.
The twentieth century has seen plenty of genocidal terrors--starting early in the century with the Turkish eradication of the Armenians. Americans stood by and allowed it to happen, denying all the time that it was happening, in spite of Ambassador Morgenthau's warnings, protests, and pleadings with our Congress. We wanted to maintain a delicate relationship with the Otttoman Empire and so we said nothing. We've always found diplomatic or policy rationalizations for ignoring humanity in need. Need I remind you of Cambodia, Bosnia or Rwanda?
A Problem from Hell -- America and the Age of Genocide -- Samantha Power -- Race Murders in the twentieth century --Armenia Cambodia, Holocaust, Bosnia, the Kurds, Kosovo, Rwanda. But remember genocide goes back much further than the 20th century.
Leopold II of the Belgians, King of Colonialism -- Barbara Emerson.
Leopold owned the Congo personally and his evil is painted herein by a silken brush.
King Leopold's Ghost: Adam Hochschild. Genocide and plunder in the Congo. Money making for the very rich and unconcerned.
*Hugo Haase was a German hero-politician of the twenties and thirties who chose to stand up to the Weimar Government when it massacred two thousand Germans in Moabit prison and later chose to stand up to the Nazis and was assassinated for it on the steps of the German Parliament.
Well, its late. I’m going to call my granddaughter Remi, and give her a hug over the phone.
Buster Stronghart
Monday, August 04, 2003
John Watkins, M.D.
221A Baker Street
Sunday, August 3, 2003
Dear Steve:
I noted your loss of weight the other day at Chelsea Piers; but there was something else I noted with some interest. I believe that it is the second time that I saw you place the unwanted portion of your food with deliberate neatness onto a certain part of your plate.
At Chelsea Piers it was the roll part of your hamburger. You took both sections and placed the top half over the bottom half after carefully removing all the meat and cheese. You moved the roll to a place slightly off center on your plate.
You ate everything else, every morsel of “Atkins-allowed” food, I guess. When you were done your plate was clean, the roll perfectly reassembled (though somewhat flattened by the weight of its absorption of juices and fats) in that slightly off center place on the plate.
A month before, when we ate at March I noticed the same behavior. A careful separation of wanted and unwanted food. And then, you created artfully what was almost a “presentation” of the food to be returned to the kitchen by the busboy.
I am wondering whether this curious behavior is intentional, a method of, perhaps, rewarding yourself for your improved eating habits, or whether it is unconscious. Are you aware of it? Has anyone else commented upon it? Does your plate-designing behavior precede Dr. Atkins’ diet?
Your obedient servant,
John Watkins
Dr. John Watkins, Holmes’ loyal assistant.
221A Baker Street
Sunday, August 3, 2003
Dear Steve:
I noted your loss of weight the other day at Chelsea Piers; but there was something else I noted with some interest. I believe that it is the second time that I saw you place the unwanted portion of your food with deliberate neatness onto a certain part of your plate.
At Chelsea Piers it was the roll part of your hamburger. You took both sections and placed the top half over the bottom half after carefully removing all the meat and cheese. You moved the roll to a place slightly off center on your plate.
You ate everything else, every morsel of “Atkins-allowed” food, I guess. When you were done your plate was clean, the roll perfectly reassembled (though somewhat flattened by the weight of its absorption of juices and fats) in that slightly off center place on the plate.
A month before, when we ate at March I noticed the same behavior. A careful separation of wanted and unwanted food. And then, you created artfully what was almost a “presentation” of the food to be returned to the kitchen by the busboy.
I am wondering whether this curious behavior is intentional, a method of, perhaps, rewarding yourself for your improved eating habits, or whether it is unconscious. Are you aware of it? Has anyone else commented upon it? Does your plate-designing behavior precede Dr. Atkins’ diet?
Your obedient servant,
John Watkins
Dr. John Watkins, Holmes’ loyal assistant.
Sunday, August 03, 2003
Sunday, July 27, 2003
As a runner (actually, now a walker) I am very upset that the photo, painting, letters from the Senate and other memorabilia regarding Alberto Arroyo have been removed from the Central Park Reservoir Gate House.
The materials were removed prior to the visit of Mayor Bloomberg to the gatehouse in regard to Conservatory sponsored renovations of the fence surrounding the reservoir. Probably someone wanted to "pretty up" the gatehouse. It may have "prettied" it up, but it was at the expense of a sense of tradition.
Alberto humanizes New York, and its sad that one of the true characters of our city has been pushed aside because of someone's mistaken idea of what is appropriate.
Alberto, 88 years old, is an inspiration to runners who see him everyday walking the reservoir track, cane in hand. Although he was never a postman, neither rain nor snow stops Alberto from making his daily rounds of the track.
Alberto has been at the track as long as I have been going there, and it is my understanding that he began running in the late fifties and hasn't stopped since.
He has been honored by the New York Road Runners Club, two mayors of New York, Henry Stern, and many others.
Part of the aura of Central Park is tradition. Alberto is a living tradition.
Can something be done to replace Alberto's plaque? If appearance is what is in question, a proper plaque should be installed on the wall of the Gatehouse.
Every runner who runs on a daily basis knows Alberto.
Buster Stronghart
The materials were removed prior to the visit of Mayor Bloomberg to the gatehouse in regard to Conservatory sponsored renovations of the fence surrounding the reservoir. Probably someone wanted to "pretty up" the gatehouse. It may have "prettied" it up, but it was at the expense of a sense of tradition.
Alberto humanizes New York, and its sad that one of the true characters of our city has been pushed aside because of someone's mistaken idea of what is appropriate.
Alberto, 88 years old, is an inspiration to runners who see him everyday walking the reservoir track, cane in hand. Although he was never a postman, neither rain nor snow stops Alberto from making his daily rounds of the track.
Alberto has been at the track as long as I have been going there, and it is my understanding that he began running in the late fifties and hasn't stopped since.
He has been honored by the New York Road Runners Club, two mayors of New York, Henry Stern, and many others.
Part of the aura of Central Park is tradition. Alberto is a living tradition.
Can something be done to replace Alberto's plaque? If appearance is what is in question, a proper plaque should be installed on the wall of the Gatehouse.
Every runner who runs on a daily basis knows Alberto.
Buster Stronghart
Thursday, July 24, 2003
Rocco's Restuarant
Maria and I tried Rocco's tonight to celebrate the news from Baghdad. Here's the scoop on the most publiczied restuarant opening in history.
/decor: sleek
food: not better than okay
noise: dangerous
price: too high for not better than okay food
wine: great list, priced fairly
service: Rocco took people off street in massive hiring spree. He must have forgotten to train them.
Maria and I tried Rocco's tonight to celebrate the news from Baghdad. Here's the scoop on the most publiczied restuarant opening in history.
/decor: sleek
food: not better than okay
noise: dangerous
price: too high for not better than okay food
wine: great list, priced fairly
service: Rocco took people off street in massive hiring spree. He must have forgotten to train them.
From the Bahgdad Blogger:
It is so unbelievable how they have wasted a chance to show Iraqis they really are doing something. It was the most useless of press conferences, first off this Sanchez speaks only in Militar-ese, meaningless words come out of his mouth while we are all hanging on the edge of our seats waiting for one single picture, definitive proof. It is so easy, all it takes is to show us the friggin’ corpses. They do have them. Someone did see them and when asked why it wasn’t sown to the public they came up with the moral issues stuff. Habibi it didn’t bother you that all those Iraqis, Americans and British are being killed for dubious reasons, so why suddenly become so squeamish? Give the Images to Jazeera, moral issues have never stopped them from showing gruesome images, let them do your dirty work. All I care about is knowing, seeing, being 100% doubt free and that press conference proved nothing. An Iraqi journalist stopped me at the door of that hall and asked me whether I am American media (this happens from hanging around NY Times people too much), I told him I wasn’t but I could put him in touch, he said he was a journalist with IMN (Iraqi Media Network, the coalition sponsored media tool) he said that he wanted to make sure that the American journalists understand that Iraqis have huge doubts and if we would go out on the street we would be told that the whole thing in Mosul was a farce. Actually I was on the street and did ask that question. And people do need proof. The Americans just fucked up. Just like they waited too long after the fall of Baghdad to show the Iraqis they have things under control they have fucked up again by first making the decision to kill the idiots and then not give us clear proof of their death.
At that press conference there was a gentleman who asked an extremely important question which was answered by Sanchez with “that is speculation. Next question.” I later found out that the man in front of me was Fisk and the question he asked which we all want to be answered was: why was the decision made to attack with a force that would have been capable of annihilating a city block? Why did they opt for killing them when they knew their importance as sources of information on all sorts of things and the wish all Iraqis have that they be put thru trial?
Fisk started the ball rolling, sanchez was asked the same question at least 5 times in different ways and with it the question of how to prove this to the Iraqi people. And what do we get? Meaningless militareses. Beyond disappointing.
What sort of wake up call do they need? You get people saying the Americans are slow, the Americans are not fulfilling their promises. Don’t fucking lose it, you are really stretching your luck, act act act. You came and gave people big hopes and you let them fall flat on their faces. I can’t believe that there has not been a single big celebration, I went to the office this morning and one of the photographers was asking “so where do you think they will be dancing in the streets?”. It doesn’t feel like there is a reason to celebrate. People are still being killed left and right.
The only people who are having parties are journos and NGO’s, oh and I hear OCPA has a disco night at the Rasheed Hotel once a week.
After the war with Iran was over people were in the streets for a whole night, dancing and singing.
I am just pissed off, this thing today has redefined anticlimactic for me. I still have hopes for the day they catch Saddam. Maybe we will have our street party then.
And I would like to add that Jazeera is the worst ever. They should be banned under Mullah Bremer’s Fatwa banning all pro-saddam/pro-ba’ath propaganda. That political analyst they have, something al-ani, is a fucking saddamite.
:: salam 2:07 PM [+] ::
It is so unbelievable how they have wasted a chance to show Iraqis they really are doing something. It was the most useless of press conferences, first off this Sanchez speaks only in Militar-ese, meaningless words come out of his mouth while we are all hanging on the edge of our seats waiting for one single picture, definitive proof. It is so easy, all it takes is to show us the friggin’ corpses. They do have them. Someone did see them and when asked why it wasn’t sown to the public they came up with the moral issues stuff. Habibi it didn’t bother you that all those Iraqis, Americans and British are being killed for dubious reasons, so why suddenly become so squeamish? Give the Images to Jazeera, moral issues have never stopped them from showing gruesome images, let them do your dirty work. All I care about is knowing, seeing, being 100% doubt free and that press conference proved nothing. An Iraqi journalist stopped me at the door of that hall and asked me whether I am American media (this happens from hanging around NY Times people too much), I told him I wasn’t but I could put him in touch, he said he was a journalist with IMN (Iraqi Media Network, the coalition sponsored media tool) he said that he wanted to make sure that the American journalists understand that Iraqis have huge doubts and if we would go out on the street we would be told that the whole thing in Mosul was a farce. Actually I was on the street and did ask that question. And people do need proof. The Americans just fucked up. Just like they waited too long after the fall of Baghdad to show the Iraqis they have things under control they have fucked up again by first making the decision to kill the idiots and then not give us clear proof of their death.
At that press conference there was a gentleman who asked an extremely important question which was answered by Sanchez with “that is speculation. Next question.” I later found out that the man in front of me was Fisk and the question he asked which we all want to be answered was: why was the decision made to attack with a force that would have been capable of annihilating a city block? Why did they opt for killing them when they knew their importance as sources of information on all sorts of things and the wish all Iraqis have that they be put thru trial?
Fisk started the ball rolling, sanchez was asked the same question at least 5 times in different ways and with it the question of how to prove this to the Iraqi people. And what do we get? Meaningless militareses. Beyond disappointing.
What sort of wake up call do they need? You get people saying the Americans are slow, the Americans are not fulfilling their promises. Don’t fucking lose it, you are really stretching your luck, act act act. You came and gave people big hopes and you let them fall flat on their faces. I can’t believe that there has not been a single big celebration, I went to the office this morning and one of the photographers was asking “so where do you think they will be dancing in the streets?”. It doesn’t feel like there is a reason to celebrate. People are still being killed left and right.
The only people who are having parties are journos and NGO’s, oh and I hear OCPA has a disco night at the Rasheed Hotel once a week.
After the war with Iran was over people were in the streets for a whole night, dancing and singing.
I am just pissed off, this thing today has redefined anticlimactic for me. I still have hopes for the day they catch Saddam. Maybe we will have our street party then.
And I would like to add that Jazeera is the worst ever. They should be banned under Mullah Bremer’s Fatwa banning all pro-saddam/pro-ba’ath propaganda. That political analyst they have, something al-ani, is a fucking saddamite.
:: salam 2:07 PM [+] ::
Sunday, July 20, 2003
Propaganda is despicable, no matter which side spews it out. Surely, the reader knows that anyone choosing violence of any kind for any reason risks innocent victimization.
IF
IF
IF .you have changed your email address let me know your new one.
What would you think of the proposal below, which was actually proposed by Leopold II, in Belgium and considered by Disraeli in England when the suffrage was first extended to all males over 25?
Every male citizen over 25 has the vote.
Those occupying taxable property were to have a second vote.
Those having successfully passed secondary school examinations would get an extra vote.
Civil Servants were to have an extra vote.
Heads of families would have an extra vote.
However, no one would have more than three votes.
Voting was to be made obligatory to ensure that moderates, who were frequently the politically indifferent, were not swamped by militants.
This proposal interests me because it addresses the tax question that has become a driving force of the militant conservatives in the country. The bonus vote to those who have families and to those who have educated themselves seems just.
The idea of required voting would work as conceived, it would smooth out the effects of radical ideas of the left and the right and would prevent minority militants of every stripe from controlling their parties as is the case today.
Your arguments pro or con are requested.
Mike GRATWICKER@AOL.COM
IF
IF
IF .you have changed your email address let me know your new one.
What would you think of the proposal below, which was actually proposed by Leopold II, in Belgium and considered by Disraeli in England when the suffrage was first extended to all males over 25?
Every male citizen over 25 has the vote.
Those occupying taxable property were to have a second vote.
Those having successfully passed secondary school examinations would get an extra vote.
Civil Servants were to have an extra vote.
Heads of families would have an extra vote.
However, no one would have more than three votes.
Voting was to be made obligatory to ensure that moderates, who were frequently the politically indifferent, were not swamped by militants.
This proposal interests me because it addresses the tax question that has become a driving force of the militant conservatives in the country. The bonus vote to those who have families and to those who have educated themselves seems just.
The idea of required voting would work as conceived, it would smooth out the effects of radical ideas of the left and the right and would prevent minority militants of every stripe from controlling their parties as is the case today.
Your arguments pro or con are requested.
Mike GRATWICKER@AOL.COM
Sunday, July 13, 2003
Current reading matter:
The Gardens of Light Amin Maalouf
Mesopotamia 200 years after the birth of Christ. the story of Mani (know the word Manicheism?) a prophet, a singular man who understood that Evil and Good are bound togethr by God and that it is our earthly duty to separate the two and live for Good. Mani live contemporaneously with the Jewish, Christian, Zoroastrianism, Buddhism and he tried to incorporate pieces of each religion into Manichaeism. He acheived great success but died under torture and imprisoned. Manichaeism has become a pejoritive--especially in Catholic circles, but reading of his life puts his thought into a brighter light. He lived a rationalised versionof the Golden Rule; and had millions of disciples.
Leopold II of the Belgians, King of Colonialism Barbara Emerson.
Leopold owned the Congo personally and his evil is painted herein by a silken brush. I had wanted to read a newer version of his life, The Ghost of Leopold, but it was not available in the Great Neck Library.
IF
IF
IF .you have changed your email address let me know your new one.
The Gardens of Light Amin Maalouf
Mesopotamia 200 years after the birth of Christ. the story of Mani (know the word Manicheism?) a prophet, a singular man who understood that Evil and Good are bound togethr by God and that it is our earthly duty to separate the two and live for Good. Mani live contemporaneously with the Jewish, Christian, Zoroastrianism, Buddhism and he tried to incorporate pieces of each religion into Manichaeism. He acheived great success but died under torture and imprisoned. Manichaeism has become a pejoritive--especially in Catholic circles, but reading of his life puts his thought into a brighter light. He lived a rationalised versionof the Golden Rule; and had millions of disciples.
Leopold II of the Belgians, King of Colonialism Barbara Emerson.
Leopold owned the Congo personally and his evil is painted herein by a silken brush. I had wanted to read a newer version of his life, The Ghost of Leopold, but it was not available in the Great Neck Library.
IF
IF
IF .you have changed your email address let me know your new one.
Thursday, July 10, 2003
http://dear_raed.blogspot.com/ THIS IS THE ADDRESS OF THE BAGDHAD BLOGGER. A VERY INTERESTING BLOG.
http://ishtartalking.blogspot.com/ HERE'S ANOTHER: A WOMAN WHO WRITES IN ARABIC WITH TRANSLATIONS BELOW.
WE HAVE NO IDEA HOW IT IS TO LIVE IN WAR CONDITIONS, WE ARE VERY LUCKY BABIES. MEKHERE'S ANOTHER: A WOMAN WHO WRITES IN ARABIC WITH TRANSLATIONS BELOW.
http://ishtartalking.blogspot.com/ HERE'S ANOTHER: A WOMAN WHO WRITES IN ARABIC WITH TRANSLATIONS BELOW.
WE HAVE NO IDEA HOW IT IS TO LIVE IN WAR CONDITIONS, WE ARE VERY LUCKY BABIES. MEKHERE'S ANOTHER: A WOMAN WHO WRITES IN ARABIC WITH TRANSLATIONS BELOW.
Wednesday, July 09, 2003
drove out to Westhampton today with Maria to visit Jerry and Flo. Got into the cold Atlantic at Westhampton Beach and it was terrific.
The water was too cold for the other oldsters, and Jerry, Flo, and Maria remained ashore while I swam out past the waves. I like the cold water-better than Florida's piss-warm water. There were some nice rollers, not the great overwhelming ones that I would ride when I was nine or ten--but still nice ones. I liked being in the water and swimming, , letting the salt water into my mouth, opening my eyes under water. Perhaps the waves don't seem as high anymore because I am bigger--about 200 pounds today.
Well, if only, you know, if only we could afford a place there. ... I was surprized that Maria wanted lobster. We went to a lobster joint and ate a couple of 1 1/2 pounders each. I drank a couple of vodka/rocks to go along with the lobsters and a good time was had by all. Maria was the designated driver and got me home safe and sound.
Drive time from Great Neck to Westhampton? about an hour and a half--Maybe a few minutes less.
IF
IF
IF .you have changed your email address let me know your new one.
The water was too cold for the other oldsters, and Jerry, Flo, and Maria remained ashore while I swam out past the waves. I like the cold water-better than Florida's piss-warm water. There were some nice rollers, not the great overwhelming ones that I would ride when I was nine or ten--but still nice ones. I liked being in the water and swimming, , letting the salt water into my mouth, opening my eyes under water. Perhaps the waves don't seem as high anymore because I am bigger--about 200 pounds today.
Well, if only, you know, if only we could afford a place there. ... I was surprized that Maria wanted lobster. We went to a lobster joint and ate a couple of 1 1/2 pounders each. I drank a couple of vodka/rocks to go along with the lobsters and a good time was had by all. Maria was the designated driver and got me home safe and sound.
Drive time from Great Neck to Westhampton? about an hour and a half--Maybe a few minutes less.
IF
IF
IF .you have changed your email address let me know your new one.
Sunday, July 06, 2003
Wednesday, July 02, 2003
Capturing the Friedmans
" 'This is private, so if you're not me, you shouldn't be watching.' So warns David Friedman into a video camera as he records his dew-eyed rantings regarding the sex scandal that was devouring his family. At first you feel like a guilty voyeur to witness such raw emotions, but then you think: Wait, who else could have given the maker of "Capturing the Friedmans" the tape?
The contradiction is typical of the Friedman family and Andrew Jarecki's disturbing, multilayered, compulsively watchable documentary. Every time you think you have a handle on who these people are, what this story is, some new piece of information, usually ugly, gives you a fresh case of mental whiplash."
Critic in Portland, OR
"Jarecki's deft organization of the factual material provides the momentum for a never-flagging exposition of the complexities of the Friedman case; he parcels out pieces of information over the course of the film which keep changing the complexion of what has come before. This was a time when there was widespread hysteria in the United States over child molestation, with a number of high profile court cases (the McMartin case, for example) on the front pages for months on end. Therapists claimed to have uncovered repressed memories which sometimes turned out to be fictions planted during hypnotherapy. In the Friedman case, even the police acknowledge that there was not a single piece of hard evidence against the alleged perpetrators. On the other hand, Arnold's own voluntarily written personal history indicates that there was ample reason to consider the possibilities of misconduct.
The elusiveness of the truth about what did or did not happen in those computer classes is made evident; Jarecki lets his leanings show through, but he keeps his treatment evenhanded. There's no question, however, about the fallout of the case. The misery and the disintegration of the Friedman family is painfully documented in the film. The realities of the family relationships, particularly between Arnold and Elaine, and between Elaine and her sons, belie their own self-images and the projected image in the community of a happy middle class suburban family. And the denouement, complete with utterly conflicted stories between son Jessie and his own defense attorney, gives rise to bewildered wonderment over the justice system and its practitioners." Critic in Chicago
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
If you use Rotten Tomatoes as a movie guide you know that up to a hundred different critics are quoted in full about each movie. Then a rating is arrived at by a complex methodology not understood by this writer. However, I have never before seen a 96% consensus that any movie deserves from 4 to 5 stars out of 5. Capturing the Friedmans got a 96% rating.
If this movie doesn't disturb you, make you think, wake you up, and leave you in a quandary, nothing will.
For many years I have been bewildered by the "child molestation" hysteria that began with the McMartin case. The Friedman case is just as outrageous but there are certain elements that make the viewer believe that there might have been a case. But a case for what?
Friedman conducted computer classes in his home for boys from 8 to 16. A postal inspector reported that he had received one pedophile magazine from the Netherlands. Police came to his home with a search warrant to find the offending magazine and then to arrest him for possession of pornopgrahic-pedophilic materials.
A detective discovered that Friedman was giving computer classes for young boys and decided to put two and two together and then, after a lengthy and expensive investigation came up with testimony from children and teenagers that improper activities had taken place.
I have always distrusted eyewitness testimony, and eyewitness testimony from coached children is even more suspect. And don't get me started on recovered memories or hypnosis. I do not believe that the Truth can ever be determined when children are led to give answers satisfactory to adults, or hypnotists go to work on someone's memory.
Truth is always a mystery, and families and individual lives should not be destroyed by detectives who see crime under every rock, judges who have their eyes on public opinion, parents whose minds have been twisted by uncorroborated reports from detectives intent on developing witnesses, and ambitious prosecutors seeking not justice, but rather advancement.
I cannot tell you whether or not the Friedmans were guilty of anything (except possessing child pornography) but I can tell you that no thinking jury would have convicted them of the other horrible crimes of which they were accused.
This is an amazing documentary which should be seen by everyone interested in the law and in Truth.
" 'This is private, so if you're not me, you shouldn't be watching.' So warns David Friedman into a video camera as he records his dew-eyed rantings regarding the sex scandal that was devouring his family. At first you feel like a guilty voyeur to witness such raw emotions, but then you think: Wait, who else could have given the maker of "Capturing the Friedmans" the tape?
The contradiction is typical of the Friedman family and Andrew Jarecki's disturbing, multilayered, compulsively watchable documentary. Every time you think you have a handle on who these people are, what this story is, some new piece of information, usually ugly, gives you a fresh case of mental whiplash."
Critic in Portland, OR
"Jarecki's deft organization of the factual material provides the momentum for a never-flagging exposition of the complexities of the Friedman case; he parcels out pieces of information over the course of the film which keep changing the complexion of what has come before. This was a time when there was widespread hysteria in the United States over child molestation, with a number of high profile court cases (the McMartin case, for example) on the front pages for months on end. Therapists claimed to have uncovered repressed memories which sometimes turned out to be fictions planted during hypnotherapy. In the Friedman case, even the police acknowledge that there was not a single piece of hard evidence against the alleged perpetrators. On the other hand, Arnold's own voluntarily written personal history indicates that there was ample reason to consider the possibilities of misconduct.
The elusiveness of the truth about what did or did not happen in those computer classes is made evident; Jarecki lets his leanings show through, but he keeps his treatment evenhanded. There's no question, however, about the fallout of the case. The misery and the disintegration of the Friedman family is painfully documented in the film. The realities of the family relationships, particularly between Arnold and Elaine, and between Elaine and her sons, belie their own self-images and the projected image in the community of a happy middle class suburban family. And the denouement, complete with utterly conflicted stories between son Jessie and his own defense attorney, gives rise to bewildered wonderment over the justice system and its practitioners." Critic in Chicago
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
If you use Rotten Tomatoes as a movie guide you know that up to a hundred different critics are quoted in full about each movie. Then a rating is arrived at by a complex methodology not understood by this writer. However, I have never before seen a 96% consensus that any movie deserves from 4 to 5 stars out of 5. Capturing the Friedmans got a 96% rating.
If this movie doesn't disturb you, make you think, wake you up, and leave you in a quandary, nothing will.
For many years I have been bewildered by the "child molestation" hysteria that began with the McMartin case. The Friedman case is just as outrageous but there are certain elements that make the viewer believe that there might have been a case. But a case for what?
Friedman conducted computer classes in his home for boys from 8 to 16. A postal inspector reported that he had received one pedophile magazine from the Netherlands. Police came to his home with a search warrant to find the offending magazine and then to arrest him for possession of pornopgrahic-pedophilic materials.
A detective discovered that Friedman was giving computer classes for young boys and decided to put two and two together and then, after a lengthy and expensive investigation came up with testimony from children and teenagers that improper activities had taken place.
I have always distrusted eyewitness testimony, and eyewitness testimony from coached children is even more suspect. And don't get me started on recovered memories or hypnosis. I do not believe that the Truth can ever be determined when children are led to give answers satisfactory to adults, or hypnotists go to work on someone's memory.
Truth is always a mystery, and families and individual lives should not be destroyed by detectives who see crime under every rock, judges who have their eyes on public opinion, parents whose minds have been twisted by uncorroborated reports from detectives intent on developing witnesses, and ambitious prosecutors seeking not justice, but rather advancement.
I cannot tell you whether or not the Friedmans were guilty of anything (except possessing child pornography) but I can tell you that no thinking jury would have convicted them of the other horrible crimes of which they were accused.
This is an amazing documentary which should be seen by everyone interested in the law and in Truth.
Tuesday, July 01, 2003
Well, I have to summarrize a whole week, and so I'll be brief with most of it.
We took the auto-train which saves a day of driving. The train leaves Sanford, Florida and arrives the next morning at Lorton, Va, near Baltimore, MD. We took a tiny compartment. Just like the old pullmans which I used to take to Raquette Lake, there are uppers and lowers. We flipped a coin and Maria took the upper and I got the lower which has a window. I like looking out the lights of the towns --or still better, the lights of lonely farm houses, sited on hills some distance from the tracks-- as we pass them. The bed is comfortable, firm, compact. the dining car is okay, of course, nothing like the service way back in the forties and fifties when there were line table clothes and heavy triplle plated flatware. Well, no more of that, and no white coated black porters either, ready to shine a shoe or fetch a drink. But we did sleep in a car named after A. Phillip Randolf, so I felt a pleasing connection with the past.
We left Lorton at about ten o'clock in the morning and flew to the Veranzanno Bridge in a few hours--but then hit a wall of traffic. It took three and half hours to get out to Montauk, so all we did was go to bed. the meetings of the Pension Fund started the next morning. we remain in the top decile of Taft-Hartley Plans.
Maria and her friends hiked to to the lighthouse, did some birdwatching and played tennis. After the first meeting i had a terrific massage. Dinner should have been skipped.
The second night's dinner was a lobster feast, you know all the lobster, clams, etc that you want. The lobsters were good for Montauk, but my memory of last summer at Maine kept my standards very high. bUT THEN, AT ABOUT 3:00 am MARIA COMMENCED TO VIOLENTLY VOMIT.
Correction in definition. An ischemia is a loss of blood flow. It might be to the heart: cardio-ischemia -- or to the brain, or a limb. The eyes too. And others. in the case of gastro-ischemia it is usually temporary but can be serious. Maria has been in a lot of pain. She is unable to eat, and is sleeping a lot. Even when Remi called she couldn't speak to her. Here is a list of her meds for those who have not already received it:
Trimethobenzamide, Cipro, Asacol.
She insisted on driving two hours and some minutes to get to her own doctor in Great Neck. We had been at a Pension Fund annual meeting at the Montauk Yacht Club and at 3:00 AM, after a clam, mussel, lobster dinner she began to vomit violently and have diarrhea this continued until about 5:00 AM when she fell asleep. I considered the hospital, but she was adamant about getting to Great Neck.
We drove past Southampton hospital and Stony Brook Hospital, but she wanted to see Dr. Schulman, her favorite. He has an in patient set up in his office and was able to re-hydrate her and do a sigmoidoscopy. (He was the fellow who did my colonoscopy and I must admit it was a pleasant, if unconscious, experience)
Schulman turned her over to me for recuperation, and I am doing my best.
mike
We left Montauk, bypassed two hospitals at the Madam's insistence, and arrived at Great Neck so that she could see her own doctors. As it turned out, a wise move. We are staying at a friend's apartment in Great Neck, which is vacant for the month of July. Unfortunately for us, they are selling it as of Aug 1.
I hope your diagnosis is correct. We will know more Monday.
We took the auto-train which saves a day of driving. The train leaves Sanford, Florida and arrives the next morning at Lorton, Va, near Baltimore, MD. We took a tiny compartment. Just like the old pullmans which I used to take to Raquette Lake, there are uppers and lowers. We flipped a coin and Maria took the upper and I got the lower which has a window. I like looking out the lights of the towns --or still better, the lights of lonely farm houses, sited on hills some distance from the tracks-- as we pass them. The bed is comfortable, firm, compact. the dining car is okay, of course, nothing like the service way back in the forties and fifties when there were line table clothes and heavy triplle plated flatware. Well, no more of that, and no white coated black porters either, ready to shine a shoe or fetch a drink. But we did sleep in a car named after A. Phillip Randolf, so I felt a pleasing connection with the past.
We left Lorton at about ten o'clock in the morning and flew to the Veranzanno Bridge in a few hours--but then hit a wall of traffic. It took three and half hours to get out to Montauk, so all we did was go to bed. the meetings of the Pension Fund started the next morning. we remain in the top decile of Taft-Hartley Plans.
Maria and her friends hiked to to the lighthouse, did some birdwatching and played tennis. After the first meeting i had a terrific massage. Dinner should have been skipped.
The second night's dinner was a lobster feast, you know all the lobster, clams, etc that you want. The lobsters were good for Montauk, but my memory of last summer at Maine kept my standards very high. bUT THEN, AT ABOUT 3:00 am MARIA COMMENCED TO VIOLENTLY VOMIT.
Correction in definition. An ischemia is a loss of blood flow. It might be to the heart: cardio-ischemia -- or to the brain, or a limb. The eyes too. And others. in the case of gastro-ischemia it is usually temporary but can be serious. Maria has been in a lot of pain. She is unable to eat, and is sleeping a lot. Even when Remi called she couldn't speak to her. Here is a list of her meds for those who have not already received it:
Trimethobenzamide, Cipro, Asacol.
She insisted on driving two hours and some minutes to get to her own doctor in Great Neck. We had been at a Pension Fund annual meeting at the Montauk Yacht Club and at 3:00 AM, after a clam, mussel, lobster dinner she began to vomit violently and have diarrhea this continued until about 5:00 AM when she fell asleep. I considered the hospital, but she was adamant about getting to Great Neck.
We drove past Southampton hospital and Stony Brook Hospital, but she wanted to see Dr. Schulman, her favorite. He has an in patient set up in his office and was able to re-hydrate her and do a sigmoidoscopy. (He was the fellow who did my colonoscopy and I must admit it was a pleasant, if unconscious, experience)
Schulman turned her over to me for recuperation, and I am doing my best.
mike
We left Montauk, bypassed two hospitals at the Madam's insistence, and arrived at Great Neck so that she could see her own doctors. As it turned out, a wise move. We are staying at a friend's apartment in Great Neck, which is vacant for the month of July. Unfortunately for us, they are selling it as of Aug 1.
I hope your diagnosis is correct. We will know more Monday.
Saturday, June 21, 2003
This afternoon, after another golden hour, Maria asked me what I thought happened forty years ago that brought us together. She wondered that "it was meant to be."
I smiled, and thought back to those early days. She was shy, graceful, and quiet. She would look at me with a Mona-Lisa smile that drew me to her, while she tried to push me away. She was intelligent and beautiful. But she was exotic. She lived very much within herself. Sensual and yet in her innocence she reminded me of a fawn at the verge of the forest, watching, knowing.
There was no resisting her.
I couldn't put my finger on it. The French have a phrase je ne sais quoi.
Maria always ineffable and so ineluctable.
mek
I smiled, and thought back to those early days. She was shy, graceful, and quiet. She would look at me with a Mona-Lisa smile that drew me to her, while she tried to push me away. She was intelligent and beautiful. But she was exotic. She lived very much within herself. Sensual and yet in her innocence she reminded me of a fawn at the verge of the forest, watching, knowing.
There was no resisting her.
I couldn't put my finger on it. The French have a phrase je ne sais quoi.
Maria always ineffable and so ineluctable.
mek
Friday, June 20, 2003
So, I seem to be okay, no heart attack as of yet, and Maria and I went to see a movie. (not a film)
Movie: Belly laughs, tears in my eyes:
Maria and laughed most of the way through "The In-Laws," Albert Brooks and Michael Douglas.
Candice Bergen playing Douglas' aging hippie wife is a dream and is as fetching as ever.
Movie: Belly laughs, tears in my eyes:
Maria and laughed most of the way through "The In-Laws," Albert Brooks and Michael Douglas.
Candice Bergen playing Douglas' aging hippie wife is a dream and is as fetching as ever.
Just did a longer than usual workout on the treadmill, 50 minutes at 4 mph or so, and then came up for a shower. While bending over to put on my shoes I felt something in my chest. Is this it? Am I having a heart something? Did I over-do it?
Well these are the considerations: too much trouble to go to the doc to find out. Even more trouble to go to the emergency room. And then there is the insurance angle.
I think that we are covered for the EM but not for a private doc who would send me to the EM anyway, because that's where all the equipment is.
Well, we are going north on Sunday by Amtrak. Ill wait to see Dr. Kerpin, he knows me and is a cardiologist.
It's just too much trouble--stupid right?
In the meantime, working out makes me feel great. I need the sweat, that tired-relaxed feeling that comes over my body.
I am listening to Tibetan Chanting now on a CD.
Should I join an ashram?
Well these are the considerations: too much trouble to go to the doc to find out. Even more trouble to go to the emergency room. And then there is the insurance angle.
I think that we are covered for the EM but not for a private doc who would send me to the EM anyway, because that's where all the equipment is.
Well, we are going north on Sunday by Amtrak. Ill wait to see Dr. Kerpin, he knows me and is a cardiologist.
It's just too much trouble--stupid right?
In the meantime, working out makes me feel great. I need the sweat, that tired-relaxed feeling that comes over my body.
I am listening to Tibetan Chanting now on a CD.
Should I join an ashram?
Genocide: A case may be made that the first genocide was God's killing of the first born Egyptians. Since then genocide has been a popular method of taking control of land or getting rid of neighbors.
The twentieth century has seen plenty of genocidal terrors--starting early in the century with the Turkish eradition of the Armenians. Americans stood by and allowed it to happen, denying all the time that it was happening, in spite of Ambassador Morgenthau's warnings, protests, and pleadings with our congress. We wanted to maintain a delicate relationship with the Otttoman Empire and so we said nothing. We've always found diplomatic or policy rationalizations for ignoring humanity in need.
The twentieth century has seen plenty of genocidal terrors--starting early in the century with the Turkish eradition of the Armenians. Americans stood by and allowed it to happen, denying all the time that it was happening, in spite of Ambassador Morgenthau's warnings, protests, and pleadings with our congress. We wanted to maintain a delicate relationship with the Otttoman Empire and so we said nothing. We've always found diplomatic or policy rationalizations for ignoring humanity in need.
Thursday, June 19, 2003
Books I is reading or has read during the last few weeks:
Between East and West --Anne Applefield -- travels along what used to be the borderlands between Russia and Europe.
Closing of the American Mind --- Allan Bloom-- Who are we today and how did we get to this dismal intellectual state?
A Problem from Hell --America and the Age of Genocide -- Samantha Power -- Race Murders in the twentieth century --Armenia Cambodia, Holocaust, Bosnia, the Kurds, Kosovo, Rwanda. But remember genocide goes back much further than the 20th century.
The DaVinci Code-- a great page turner-- a lot about the Catholic Church, the Virgin Mary Cult, Mary Magdellan, Knights Templar, Opus Die...
Starting The Man Without Qualities Robert Musil -- This will be my second time around. .
Between East and West --Anne Applefield -- travels along what used to be the borderlands between Russia and Europe.
Closing of the American Mind --- Allan Bloom-- Who are we today and how did we get to this dismal intellectual state?
A Problem from Hell --America and the Age of Genocide -- Samantha Power -- Race Murders in the twentieth century --Armenia Cambodia, Holocaust, Bosnia, the Kurds, Kosovo, Rwanda. But remember genocide goes back much further than the 20th century.
The DaVinci Code-- a great page turner-- a lot about the Catholic Church, the Virgin Mary Cult, Mary Magdellan, Knights Templar, Opus Die...
Starting The Man Without Qualities Robert Musil -- This will be my second time around. .
Greg Peck, Hume Cronim, and Larry Doby all died this week.
Larry Doby's name reminded me of Grand Admiral Karl C. Dönitz, last leader of Nazi Germany; (remember him?)
too bad his middle name wasn't Duncan. mek
born on 9-16-1891 in Berlin, Germany
expired 12-24-1980 in Aumühle-Bilenkamp, Germany age 89
Maria and I will be headed north on Sunday. Looks like we'll be staying in Great Neck after a week at the Montauk Yacht Club with the pension fund. (actually 2 days with the Pension Fund. The other days are on me.) If we have any money left we'll go to Maine at the end of July because I need lobster...
Larry Doby's name reminded me of Grand Admiral Karl C. Dönitz, last leader of Nazi Germany; (remember him?)
too bad his middle name wasn't Duncan. mek
born on 9-16-1891 in Berlin, Germany
expired 12-24-1980 in Aumühle-Bilenkamp, Germany age 89
Maria and I will be headed north on Sunday. Looks like we'll be staying in Great Neck after a week at the Montauk Yacht Club with the pension fund. (actually 2 days with the Pension Fund. The other days are on me.) If we have any money left we'll go to Maine at the end of July because I need lobster...
Tuesday, June 17, 2003
Breathing class today. Imagine if my Dad or Grandfather knew that I paid money to learn how to breath. I learned that I am a shallow breather and I will have to learn how to breathe properly--but, Maria and I are going North, so I may not learn before next fall. In the meantime, I'll be holding my breath.
My Dad used to take the family to Toots Shor's for Sunday dinner. My sister and I would have Oysters and a lobster or Roast Beef. Dad always had a scotch and roast beef, I think. The Men's and Lady's room were staffed by a married couple. When my sister and I returned from camp one year, why Hattie and Ozzie weren't in the RestRooms. Apparantly Hattie had shot and killed her husband over another woman. (If I have the names wrong, please correct me). The maitre'd was a pal of my Dad's. His name was Joe Harrison. Corrections appreciated. Reach me at Gratwicker@aol.com
Monday, June 16, 2003
Here are my movies to see as of this week.
Man on a train --A mysterious man arrives in a small town in France and is befriended by an elderly retired schoolteacher. 4 1/2 stars out of 5. worth seeing
Man with no Past -- another man gets off a train in Finland and is mugged causing him to totally lose his memory. Contrast the aid he receives from strangers and the aid he fails to get from the State. A very moving and inspiring film. 5 stars out of 5. a must see
The Dancer Upstairs: well-made docudrama (almost a docudrama) about a detective attempting to find a terroist in an unnamed South American country. 3 1/2 stars out of five. worth seeing.
Blue Velvet: Mysterious, violent, psycho-sexual, hidden 5 stars out of five
Man on a train --A mysterious man arrives in a small town in France and is befriended by an elderly retired schoolteacher. 4 1/2 stars out of 5. worth seeing
Man with no Past -- another man gets off a train in Finland and is mugged causing him to totally lose his memory. Contrast the aid he receives from strangers and the aid he fails to get from the State. A very moving and inspiring film. 5 stars out of 5. a must see
The Dancer Upstairs: well-made docudrama (almost a docudrama) about a detective attempting to find a terroist in an unnamed South American country. 3 1/2 stars out of five. worth seeing.
Blue Velvet: Mysterious, violent, psycho-sexual, hidden 5 stars out of five
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