Friday, February 27, 2004

One day the news came that Lenin would be making a visit to Poland. What could they do for the great man?

A delegation convened and they decided to commission a painting, a large and glorious oil painting on the theme "Lenin in Poland"

They went to the town's master painter. He promised to have it ready in a month. After a month they returned but he put them off. Two weeks later they were back. He needed still more time. But at last, just one day before Lenin's arrival they went to the studio. As they stood there the painter pulled back the cloth from the enormous canvas. They gazed in shocked silence. In the painting they saw Trotsky climbing into bed with Lenin's wife.

At last one of the delegation spoke up. But where is Lenin?

Ah, replied the painter Lenin is in Poland

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A few days later the town's Mathematics teacher, Professor Goldstein, who had been in Poland with Lenin, returned home and discovered his best friend, the town's English teacher, Professor Kittridge, in bed with his wife.

"Kittridge!" shouted the Mathematics Professor, "I am surprised to find you in bed with my wife. "

"No, Goldstein!" answered the English professor, now sitting upright in the marital bed.

"It is your wife and I who have been surprised. -- You are shocked to find me in bed with your wife."


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Credit for the story above goes to Bernie Katz



Friday, February 13, 2004

It was another damn sunny afternoon, the thermometer showed 82 degrees, so I went to see Fog of War which is a filmed interview of Bob McNamara including clips from family photos and newsreels. McNamara comes off very well, I thought, and he quotes poetry. I think you will be interested.

Sunday, February 08, 2004

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Narcissus leant over the spring, enthralled by the only man in whose eyes he had ever dared--or been given the chance--to forget himself.

Narcissus leant over the spring, enthralled by his own ugliness, which he prided himself upon having the courage to admit.



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We remember our dead. When they were born, when they passed away--either as men of promise, or as men of acheivement.


Dag Hammarskjold

Saturday, February 07, 2004

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Regrets are a waste of time. They are the past wallowing in the present.

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No matter what happens keep up your childish innocence. It is the most important thing.


From the film Under The Tuscan Sun

Wednesday, February 04, 2004

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Aubade

I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.

Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.

In time the curtain-edges will grow light.

Till then I see what's really always there:

Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,

Making all thought impossible but how

And where and when I shall myself die.

Arid interrogation: yet the dread

Of dying, and being dead,

Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.



The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse

-- The good not done, the love not given, time

Torn off unused -- nor wretchedly because

An only life can take so long to climb

Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never;

But at the total emptiness for ever,

The sure extinction that we travel to

And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,

Not to be anywhere,

And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.



This is a special way of being afraid

No trick dispels. Religion used to try,

That vast moth-eaten musical brocade

Created to pretend we never die,

And specious stuff that says No rational being

Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing

That this is what we fear -- no sight, no sound,

No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,

Nothing to love or link with,

The anaesthetic from which none come round.



And so it stays just on the edge of vision,

A small unfocused blur, a standing chill

That slows each impulse down to indecision.

Most things may never happen: this one will,

And realisation of its rages out

In furnace-fear when we are caught without

People or drink. Courage is no good:

It means not scaring others. Being brave

Lets no one off the grave.

Death is no different whined at than withstood.



Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.

It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,

Have always known, know that we can't escape,

Yet can't accept. One side will have to go.

Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring

In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring

Intricate rented world begins to rouse.

The sky is white as clay, with no sun.

Work has to be done.

Postmen like doctors go from house to house.


Phillip Larkin ---
Dear Stephen ben-Manny.

I know a bit about Bulgar, the grain, as I am delving into the life of Catherine the Great and much is written about her posed devotion to her people, the peasants. "Wherefrom comes Kasha?", I would ask.

Well, as you know K'ai Shu is the common script used in writing the Chinese language (you could look it up in your magnificent magnifier Oxford, of which I am very jealous having given mine to Max.)

But that is not the Kasha that we seek. According to my Shorter Oxford it is "a porridge made of cooked buckwheat or other grains." My old Merriam New Collegiate (1953) doesn't even mention it which surprised me.

Now I personally cook my oatmeal almost every morning, and I use the slow cooking brand, namely John McCann's Steel Cut Oats, that take a half-hour to cook.

Your description of how we lived under the Czar reminds me of what my grandfather said to me when I complained to him about the taxes that I was paying.

"Michael, you should be glad to pay your taxes here," he said, patting me on the head. "In Russia we paid no taxes--but every spring the mud was up to our knees -- and that was INSIDE our house."

In 1880 his mother, my great-grandmother, walked with him and his four sisters from Svier (near Vilna) to Hamburg where they got on the boat for New York. His father remained in Russia and followed them over a few years later. Two of those sister, Dora and Rose married the same man. My great-grandfather was one of seven founders of the Hebrew Free Loan Society, which still exists, though it is now controlled by the major Jewish Real Estate families of New York.

BULGAR WHEAT PILAF Courtesy Mrs. Google

bring 3 cups water or vegetable broth to boil add one head celery, choppedone large onion, sliced thinsimmer 5 minutesadd 2 cups bulgar wheatsimmer on low about 25 minutesturn off heat and let stand 5 or more minutesI have also made this a one pot meal, adding more vegetables such as sliced mushrooms, green beans or peas, you get the idea. Toss in some herbs, too, can't hurt. kwvegan vegan Note the misspelling : Should be "Can't hoit."

bulgar cereal courtesy mrs google

As hot cereal, I just put it a saucepan with two parts of water andsome cinnamon and raisins, bring to a boil and simmer it for about10 minutes. This gives the mushiest results, but it's just finefor hot cereal, and not as mushy as finer-cut 9-grain cereal mixes.

kwvegan vegan

Planning to go to the health food store for further information.

Love,

Michael ben-Bernie.
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Dear Stephen ben-Manny.

I know a bit about Bulgar, the grain, as I am delving into the life of Catherine the Great and much is written about her posed devotion to her people, the peasants. "Wherefrom comes Kasha?", I would ask.

Well, as you know K'ai Shu is the common script used in writing the Chinese language (you could look it up in your magnificent magnifier Oxford, of which I am very jealous having given mine to Max.)

But that is not the Kasha that we seek. According to my Shorter Oxford it is "a porridge made of cooked buckwheat or other grains." My old Merriam New Collegiate (1953) doesn't even mention it which surprised me.

Now I personally cook my oatmeal almost every morning, and I use the slow cooking brand, namely John McCann's Steel Cut Oats, that take a half-hour to cook.

Your description of how we lived under the Czar reminds me of what my grandfather said to me when I complained to him about the taxes that I was paying.

"Michael, you should be glad to pay your taxes here," he said, patting me on the head. "In Russia we paid no taxes--but every spring the mud was up to our knees -- and that was INSIDE our house."

In 1880 his mother, my great-grandmother, walked with him and his four sisters from Svier (near Vilna) to Hamburg where they got on the boat for New York. His father remained in Russia and followed them over a ��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������

Monday, February 02, 2004

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In the middle of the darkest, moonless nights, I listen to the radio in the den so as not to wake the little woman when I can't sleep. The other night I heard on this program, which usually reports the movements and sighting of UFO's and aliens, that Ben Laden had been captured, according to one usually reliable source.

Of course, the following morning I heard nothing of this story-rumor-concoction...But, I have heard in the past two things which I would like to add to the story.

When we captured many of the Iraqi enemies pictured on the cardpack, we liked to keep it quiet for a time so that their friends would not know and therefore we could make additional arrests based on what the captured general would tell us, before the targets had a chance to hide or destroy records and materials.
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It looks like Iraq had moved WMD into Syria where it has been buried for some time. The Israelis say that Kaye had been briefed and told the coordinates of the burial place. ..But why hasn't he said anything, if this is true?

The First Marines and the Third Army are scheduled to return to Iraq in a few months--before the election. The First and the Third were the elements of our forces that won the Iraq war in days.

How long will it take them to invade Syria, and capture the WMD? Not long.
Using the Investigation to trace the materials to Syria explains why no WMD was found, and gives Bush the reason he needs to invade Syria. Ah, Dr. Machiavelli must have an office in the White House.

Australia, Britain and the US each announced investigations in a three day period. Mr. Atom Bomb of Pakistan has been outed in the same time frame.

The purpose of the investigations is to lead us to Syria.