Referring to radicals and Marxists, Terry Eagleton says:
Their task is to get to the point where they are no longer needed.
from: Why Marx was Right.
Friday, July 01, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Sunday, June 05, 2011
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
Every morning she would appear at the bakery precisely at ten A.M. with a shopping list purportedly for the three women who lived with her, but actually it was all for her--and most of the workers at the bakery knew it. I sat at the small cafe table, eying her huge ass, her mountainous breasts, pushing at her holey knitted sweater, and watched as it rode up from her waist over her belly.
Her eyes would widen as the counter girl placed a prune danish into the bottom of the bag, then a almond cheese danish, and a brioche, at last a croissant, some liquefied butter appearing as it was squeezed slightly to fit it into the bag. Usually at this time she would push some hair off her forehead and then, after she paid for the baked goods she would go behind the shed to have her four pastries out of sight. She daintily nibbled at first, but finally devoured all, using her pudgy fingers to push them into her mouth in a last desperate moment, determined to finish before being discovered.
_______________
Her eyes revealed a no longer suppressed, ever present sorrow, a sadness drawn out of bitterness. Of course, I was drawn to her.
_________________________---
I have come to a conclusion: My loathings are simple: stupidity, oppression, crime, cruelty, soft music.
Vladimir Nabokov
Thursday, December 30, 2004
Every morning she would appear at the bakery precisely at ten A.M. with a shopping list purportedly for the three women who lived with her, but actually it was all for her--and most of the workers at the bakery knew it. I sat at the small cafe table, eying her huge ass, her mountainous breasts, pushing at her holey knitted sweater, and watched as it rode up from her waist over her belly.
Her eyes would widen as the counter girl placed a prune danish into the bottom of the bag, then a almond cheese danish, and a brioche, at last a croissant, some liquefied butter appearing as it was squeezed slightly to fit it into the bag. Usually at this time she would push some hair off her forehead and then, after she paid for the baked goods she would go behind the shed to have her four pastries out of sight. She daintily nibbled at first, but finally devoured all, using her pudgy fingers to push them into her mouth in a last desperate moment, determined to finish before being discovered.
Her eyes revealed a no longer suppressed, ever present sorrow, a sadness drawn out of bitterness. Of course, I was drawn to her.
_________________--
I have come to a conclusion: My loathings are simple: stupidity, oppression, crime, cruelty, soft music.
Vladimir Nabokov
Saturday, June 04, 2011
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
This morning NPR had a piece about twin brothers who joined the Franciscans on the morning of the day that the afternoon's mail brought their draft notices for service in WW2.
The boys had been absolutely inseparable since infancy and when given the choice between serving God or the infantry they opted for God. They remained in the Franciscans, performing those menial chores required of the brothers for more than 70 years.They remained together, one never leaving the side of the other for a life time. The elder by an hour, died yesterday morning. The younger died yesterday afternoon. They were 93 years old.
The Priest who reported the story thought that just as they had remained faithful to God, He remained faithful to them and took them up to heaven together, so that they could remain as one forever.
I am reading an interview of W.G. Sebald. The interviewer asks him to explain an episode in The Emigrants involving twins. There's a photograph of twin boys who look exactly like Kafka did at that age. Sebald explains that he had been on a trolley on his way to Kafka's birthplace when he saw the boys. He asked the parents for permission to photograph them, thinking that he wanted to document the improbable coincidence. Probably they thought him to be a pederast, and refused. The irony is that doubles, twins and triplets are often found in Kafka's stories. Sebald thought that it was nature's way of breaking thought the surface, disclosing the fault line between nature and civilization. He says, "We may not know what it means, but we have a sense that something beyond us is taking place." Things, Sebald senses, are "outside our control."
This morning NPR had a piece about twin brothers who joined the Franciscans on the morning of the day that the afternoon's mail brought their draft notices for service in WW2.
The boys had been absolutely inseparable since infancy and when given the choice between serving God or the infantry they opted for God. They remained in the Franciscans, performing those menial chores required of the brothers for more than 70 years.They remained together, one never leaving the side of the other for a life time. The elder by an hour, died yesterday morning. The younger died yesterday afternoon. They were 93 years old.
The Priest who reported the story thought that just as they had remained faithful to God, He remained faithful to them and took them up to heaven together, so that they could remain as one forever.
I am reading an interview of W.G. Sebald. The interviewer asks him to explain an episode in The Emigrants involving twins. There's a photograph of twin boys who look exactly like Kafka did at that age. Sebald explains that he had been on a trolley on his way to Kafka's birthplace when he saw the boys. He asked the parents for permission to photograph them, thinking that he wanted to document the improbable coincidence. Probably they thought him to be a pederast, and refused. The irony is that doubles, twins and triplets are often found in Kafka's stories. Sebald thought that it was nature's way of breaking thought the surface, disclosing the fault line between nature and civilization. He says, "We may not know what it means, but we have a sense that something beyond us is taking place." Things, Sebald senses, are "outside our control."
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
I am comfortable with that state of things, I know that the rudder of my ship is small, and that at times I won't be able to avoid a rock or even the rapids. But, I'll do my best, and I might call for all hands, or on occasion I'll find myself just going along for the ride, but, in the end, I am confident that the rapids will peter out before my boat is swamped.
Fate is in my hands or not?
I doubt it.
Just when I think that I have everything under control and that I have become the master of my own fate, something happens, something usually not under my control.
Monday, May 30, 2011
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
The Dunning–Kruger effect:
is a cognitive bias in which unskilled people make poor decisions and reach erroneous conclusions, but their incompetence denies them the metacognitive ability to appreciate their mistakes. The unskilled therefore suffer from illusory superiority, rating their ability as above average, much higher than it actually is, while the highly skilled underrate their own abilities, suffering from illusory inferiority. Actual competence may weaken self-confidence, as competent individuals may falsely assume that others have an equivalent understanding. As Kruger and Dunning conclude, "the miscalibration of the incompetent stems from an error about the self, whereas the miscalibration of the highly competent stems from an error about others"
("Ignorance more frequently begets confidence than does knowledge") Charles Darwin
Saturday, May 28, 2011
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
+ like “challenge,” “lurch” is an orthopedic term, of which you may not be familiar
Rain yesterday just as I was about to go into the pool. Today, the Weatherman, (not Bob Dylan, the one on TV) threatens more occasional thunderstorms, so I am going down soon. I’ve been trying to get more exercise and the pool is one place where I am getting it.
On a scale of 1 (very little) to 10 (unbearable) I’ve had a slight hip pain (1 or 2, may even ½) for a month or so. Therefore, I went to the hip doctor in Ft. Lauderdale, who is the so-called “best of the best*” where I paid $250 for a consultation. (No Medicare) . As you know, I’ve always maintained that no layperson can judge a doctor (or a car mechanic, for that matter) but this doctor seemed to be great. Tall, lanky, about 55, well spoken, very interested, humorous, and reminded me of a kind version of Marty Heilbraun, the best diagnostician I ever knew, who disappeared from his practice in Great Neck at the outset of third party medicine. Marty, a caustic humorist, whose examinations were without end, and included fingernails and very deep discussions of the patient’s personal life, just closed his doors without notice… Maybe his wife murdered him on the grounds of excessive causticness or crustiness.
I spent years wondering about the disposition of his notes on my personal life. I was sure that no one else could have had such an “interesting” personal life which only shows how naïve I was at forty. Now we know that everyone was having those lives. {Randleman often said that he didn’t regret a moment or a single woman.}
The papers say that Arnold Schwarzenegger has regrets but I doubt it. Ditto for Clinton, and the rest of mankind. (Gender-ized word intentional, but now that I think of it, women are probably included in the non-regretful.)
Anyway Dr William (“call me Will”) XX, chatted with Maria about her knees and about tennis, which he gave up because of his knees! However, one of his workers ( a pathfinder, whose mission it is to lead patients around the office, an endless labyrinth, has double knee replacements, and runs tennis programs where Maria plays. They knew each other.
Digital X-rays were taken of my hips (I asked about the difference between hip and pelvis, and he showed me on the pics). One of the best things about this doctor (“call me Will”) was that he studied the pics carefully, for what seemed like a very long time, and then, turning to Maria, pronounced my bones “excellent.” I felt proud and elated, and thankful that Maria was there to hear how wonderful my bones were.
He asked me to get up on a table across the room. I had to rise from the chair in which I had been sitting for about 15 or 20 minutes. Although I didn’t feel pain at the time, “Will” noticed a slight limp that disappeared as I took my fifth or six step. Once he remarked about it, I became aware of it. And, in fact, now I feel or notice the very slight “lurch,”+ whenever I get up out of a chair.
Once up on the table, he moved my legs into various, almost yoga-like positions, none of which elicited pain. But then he told me that he was going to “challenge”+ my hip, and he did cause some pain on the 2-3 level. Neither “Will” nor I were concerned about the pain.
Again, “Will” turned to Maria and remarked about the marvelous strength in my legs and the musculature of my calf and thigh. I glowed in pride and immediately knew that no other doctor could serve.
“Will” (I was, and am, very uncomfortable about calling him by his first name) thought that no further tests were called for at this time, and only if the pain persists or increases might some tests be indicated. He named several tests that could be done, MRI for instance, that only Maria knew about (you know, of course, that she’s another doctor).
I should continue to walk the beach, he wasn’t concerned about the angle of the sand at its verge. I could do anything, but should not indulge in painful activities. (From that advice you can tell that he didn’t get to know me as well as Heibraun. -- No one has to tell me to avoid pain or unnecessary exertion.)
No source for the pain was identified positively. So, no hip replacement for me, but an interesting morning at the Docs. If only they were all like this.
*”Best of the Best” means crème d’ la crème.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
Reading someone else's blog has 'all the sparkle of a second mortgage.'* They're really diaries written by amateurs and rarely rise to the level of mildly interesting to anyone not directly involved in the action or emotion or moral described. Even relatives must fight off the impulse to turn the page or click onwards in an optimistic, but futile hope, of a literary promised land.
Forty years? Not enough time to find one. Stick to the classics and give up your wanderings in an empty desert.
If your life were really interesting someone else would have written about it**..
“Unremarkable lives should go unremarked upon, the way God intended,”***
*Dick Cavett's phrase.
**Fran Lebowitz'
***.Neil Genzlinger, NY Times Book Review
Reading someone else's blog has 'all the sparkle of a second mortgage.'* They're really diaries written by amateurs and rarely rise to the level of mildly interesting to anyone not directly involved in the action or emotion or moral described. Even relatives must fight off the impulse to turn the page or click onwards in an optimistic, but futile hope, of a literary promised land.
Forty years? Not enough time to find one. Stick to the classics and give up your wanderings in an empty desert.
If your life were really interesting someone else would have written about it**..
“Unremarkable lives should go unremarked upon, the way God intended,”***
*Dick Cavett's phrase.
**Fran Lebowitz'
***.Neil Genzlinger, NY Times Book Review
Friday, April 15, 2011
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
Is there honor among thieves? Some thieves would wholeheartedly say yes. Some would lie and say yes. While others would say no. When asking about honor among thieves, one also has to ask about the rules. Criminals break every rule when it suits them. If there is a buck to be made, the rules need to be broken like a safe filled with money or a glass shopping window showcasing expensive diamonds. When gangsters are breaking every rule in the book, lying, cheating, stealing, and murdering, how can one expect such men to uphold a code of honor? A code of silence? After a life of crime, isn’t that code just another rule that is meant to be broken?
Is there honor among thieves? Some thieves would wholeheartedly say yes. Some would lie and say yes. While others would say no. When asking about honor among thieves, one also has to ask about the rules. Criminals break every rule when it suits them. If there is a buck to be made, the rules need to be broken like a safe filled with money or a glass shopping window showcasing expensive diamonds. When gangsters are breaking every rule in the book, lying, cheating, stealing, and murdering, how can one expect such men to uphold a code of honor? A code of silence? After a life of crime, isn’t that code just another rule that is meant to be broken?
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
- Today, Father, is Father's Day
- And we're giving you a tie
- It's not much we know
- It is just our way of showing you
- We think you're a regular guy
- You say that it was nice of us to bother
- But it really was a pleasure to fuss
- For according to our mother
- You're our father
- And that's good enough for us
- Yes, that's good enough for us.
- Harry Ruby
Friday, April 08, 2011
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
An Oxford Don meets an old student and asks him what he's been up to --the student tells him that he's working on a doctoral dissertation about the survival of the class system in the U.S. The Professor expresses surprise and says, "I didn't think that there was a class system in the United States."
"Nobody does," the student replies, "that's how it survives."
An Oxford Don meets an old student and asks him what he's been up to --the student tells him that he's working on a doctoral dissertation about the survival of the class system in the U.S. The Professor expresses surprise and says, "I didn't think that there was a class system in the United States."
"Nobody does," the student replies, "that's how it survives."
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