Okay, one last post, and then I'm off. With regards to the whole "one nation under surveillance" meme, I think that the biggest critics of the Patriot Act are the ones least informed on it. I remember talking months ago about this to a friend of mine who mentioned something about implanting us all with microchips (huh?). On asking her to explain herself, her response was something to the effct of 'well I read the Constitution, damnit.' Okay. Didn't really understand the relevance of this, but, as I've later seen, it's a pretty popular answer.

Anyway - I have a challenge:

Here is a copy of the US Constitution with all the amendments and a bonus edition of the Declaration of Independence.

Here is a copy of the US Patriot Act.

Let's get these documents read before we debate them, okay?, rather than rely on other groups' or individuals' commentaries on them? Otherwise, with all due respect, please just shut up.

Just got a flier for these new darlings. Granted, they are more attractive and less militantly stupid than these. Still, I think that if I were to go out and indulge my impulsive need for a meaningful symbol, I might as well get something that actually has some substance to it.

Blogs are like those Russian nesting dolls - open one up, and you find another gem within. Steven den Beste, my favorite neglected blogger (gosh darnit, I need to read him more regularly), has a great article called "Teleology and Solipsism." It's about the schism between disciplines requiring rigor and empricism and the others that do not - and on the resentment felt by academes in the latter area (who den Beste refers to as philosophical or 'P-Idealists.')

Granted, I'd not been in academia long enough (by Boston standards, anyway) to have had my brain sullied by postmodern literary theory, so I do have a hard time grasping it. My interests prettymuch end at about WWII, anyway. I guess what has been disturbing to me and what also has given me a great distaste for continuing literature studies the now mainstream appeal this form of criticism has in humanities departments and beyond. I can't function in this lack of reason. Therefore, my brain has been seeking alternative food for thought. Hence the interest and pursuit of a greater depth of knowledge statistics - something still pretty creative, but with more of a solid footing.

Heck, another factor might the deeply ingrained pragmatism of the lower classes. You know, the same thing that keeps making me think that the only people who are fervent believers in things like Socialism are the upper classes who can afford it.

Another beheading, more images of torture in Abu Ghraib - this time of the horrors perpetrated by Saddam's thugs. (I won't link to the pictures of Nick Johnson's decapitated body - you want to see them, you'll find them. I also have to warn you, Nick Shulz's article on the Abu Ghraib video is very graphic and made me sick to my stomach.)

Given how the US guard scandal - a horrible thing to be sure, but surely not the norm, and something that is being investigated and corrected as I write - was paraded all over the television screens and newspaper front pages, why is it that next to no one is covering these other acts of atrocity? Is it because they give lie to the notions that the media hold to be their truth?

Ed Driscoll has some great posts on the nature of this, and other forms of historical revisionism taking place.

(via Instapundit, of course.)

Rude awakening: woke up in a fit due to a dream I had of being so sorely aggravated at work that I yelled at the bosses and packed my things. Forgot that it was Saturday morning. Called Karen to assure myself that I did not, in fact, yell at her, that I did not leave work and that it was actually the weekend.

I don't like to talk about work here. Too personal, I think, plus, you don't really need to hear me kvetch. We all have our little trials. The past several months have been very difficult, however, between systemic changes and turf wars going on. At the moment, I've the sad occasion of being under two managers who are completely at odds over everything. The one I usually side with (the correct one 9 times out of 10), tends towards being stomped down by others. My nickname for her is Cassandra.

At the current moment, and I swear it's an emotional thing on his part, my other manager (her boss) is trying his darndest to oppose everything she does in spite of its appropriateness. He's also taken to hollering at her. Sadly, I find myself caught up in the middle of things. If going to a higher up were an option, I would.

It's a difficult position to be in, and one that I find myself wasting too much time, emotional and intellectual energy on.

[The notes of this paradoxalist do not end here, however. He could not
refrain from going on with them, but it seems to us that we may stop
here.]

"But speaking here in my capacity as a polished, sophisticated European as well, it seems to me the laugh here is on the polished, sophisticated Europeans. They think Americans are fat, vulgar, greedy, stupid, ambitious and ignorant and so on. And they've taken as their own, as their representative American, someone who actually embodies all of those qualities." - Christopher Hitchens

Michael Moore Update, via Instapundit.

There seem to be a lot of gullible EE types, as well, who fall for this whole package. Michael Moore is quite a good marketer in that he gives his public what they want. For that, I salute him.

However, I can't help but cheer this sort of stuff on.

Strongest tastes and smells of the day:

On my walk in, had the start of the linden blooms mingled with the unmistakable perfume of ailanthus.
Not exactly pleasant, but totally unforgettable.

Breakfast, apple crisp granola bar. These are not the nature valley bars I grew up with, let me tell you.

Three cheers for the State Department!

I needed to get my passport renewed - figured it would take at least a couple months, so sent the extra fee to expedite matters some. Last week, I got a surprise call from a lovely fellow in New Hampshire (the national passport processing facility), telling me that it wouldn't take so long - maybe three weeks, and maybe I could spend the money better elsewhere. Goodness! He voided my check, recharged me at 1/2 the amount. Figured I'd get my new passport in July sometime.
Looked in my mail slot at work yesterday and found that the darn thing had arrived!

I am so pleased! Hal says that I got this treatment because a guy saw my photo. I don't know about that. Being a bureaucrat, I understand that, though there are many ineffectuals out there, there are a few good eggs as well.

Time for a round of "Don't Worry About the Government:"

"...Some civil servants are just like my loved ones
They work so hard and they try to be strong.
I'm a lucky guy to live in my building,
We all need buildings to help us along.

It's over there, it's over there!

My building has every convenience
It's gonna make life easy for me.
It's gonna be easy to get things done
I will relax along with my loved ones...

...loved ones, loved ones, enter the building.
Take the highway out and come up and see me.
I'll be working-working, but if you come visit
I'll put down what I'm doing; my friends are important.

Don't you worry about me
I wouldn't worry about me
Don't you worry about me...
Don't - you - worry - 'bout - me!"

For those of you not into pre romantic Polish literature, this adaptation is one of my favorite films of all time. (Probably the only thing that Jerry Garcia and I had in common.)  

Like Ray's Charulata, or nearly anything by Kurosawa, this film is one that is so rich in detail that you will misremember it in color. The storyline reminds me of a Chinese box or those nesting Russian dolls, one within another and so easy to get lost in. Also not to be missed is Krzysztof Penderecki's trippy score.

Gosh, I'm going to really have to pencil in some beach time for all this reading.

More Summer Reading?

Crime and Punishment...Russian Landowners...French Language...fashion among Polish Nobility during enlightenment/romantic period to speak and write in French brings me to:

The Saragossa Manuscript, Jan Potocki.

Romantic time, one of my favorites to read about - when men were men and women were beautiful, strong and wicked smaht. (see Jean Giono, Stendhal) Heck, modern feminists could learn a thing or two from the female protagonists of these stories.

Summer Reading?

The mobile reader piqued my interest, not only due to his multitasking skills, but also because he and I (though he didn't know it) shared something: savoring Dostoyevsky in translation in our second language. Someday, I'd love to be able to read his works in the native language, but I've gotten pretty close with French. Since he was upper class (landed) at a point where it was fashionable for the upper classes/nobility to speak French, generally a good portion of his writings were in that language. The translations I've read have had standard text for the translations and italics denoting the french as version originale. I've actually read of people in work camps in Soviet Russia learning French through reading Dostoyevsky and a dictionary. I guess it's possible.

Anyway, bilingual guy was reading The Brothers Karamazov. Not my favorite, but still enough for me to think on on the way home. Might be good summer (re)reading. My memories of it are much less fine, since so many years have gone by and I don't take my copy out to savor a couple times a year like I do Crime et Cha(s)timent. The characters seemed too caricature-y for me in comparison to Raskolnikov. Who knows - perhaps with more maturity under my belt and a survey of his other works for framework, I might catch something I missed before.

Two nights of good, uninterrupted sleep. What a luxury. Yesterday saw my strength increased enough to rage. Today, I'm on a more even keel. I think, too, that a breakfast of Raphaella's homemade pizelle might have helped the mood, too.

Had a lovely walk in - warm, a bit humid, people generally in good humor. On the last leg of my journey, literally ran into a man walking while reading. Made a comment about not being able to multitask like that, as invariably, I would walk into moving cars/trees/walls.

Yes, by the way, that is a picture of me posted there.
Enjoy.

Beautiful Saturday afternoon spent at the Arboretum.

Got to lay down and dream a bit under my stand of catalpa trees - the constantly changing rhythms of the leaves set against the clouds moving in the sky always lull me to sleep. (think of a visual equivalent to minimalism - John Adams or Phillip Glass comes to mind.)

Visited my massive plane trees (largest girth in the western hemisphere) and my stately magnolias (liriodendron tulipifera is the tallest east coast tree) - made the acquaintance of an amazing magnolia I'd not noticed before - magnolia macrophylla. Out of this world.

Snowy dogwoods and blushing crabapples were some other highlights.
I need to get back there more often. It's got to be one of my favorite places in the city.
 

Sleepy Saturday morning for this girl. Got some amazing chiropractic - made me relaxed to the point of dozing off most of the afternoon. Enjoyed a little 'quality time' with the boss and two friends from work, with the help of Neil Diamond's latest album and the restaurant-sized bottle of Pavão. Today, instead of climbing mountains, I think it will be a quiet afternoon either at the beach or the Arnold Arboretum.

I apologize for the short and often flat posts of late. Couple factors: I'm running around a lot - moreso than usual. Also, am doing a lot of mental processing. Generally, while ruminating, I don't have much room for anything else.

Think it's time to just use the body and not worry so much about the mind. Stuff will sort itself soon enough, I'm sure.

Harvested the peas today. Lovely little pods, very sweet and only slightly starchy.
I'm trying to figure out what to plant in their place in the garden plot. Perhaps some of the tomatoes, perhaps the cukes.

A coworker gave me a number of heirloom plants - black and white tomatoes, miniature summer squash, cornichons. New things to play with.

The garden's at the stage where if I don't start pruning and cutting back, it will be overgrown. I hate having to discipline anything, but I know it's for the best. Next week I'll go at it with the scissors.

A coworker just told me that someone came while she was at work and cleared all the blooms off of one of her peony bushes. Apparently this is not an uncommon occurrence in the suburbs.
I can tell you that in most of the city neighborhoods I've lived in, there'd be vengeance exacted, complete with enforcement of a code of silence.

For my friend with the now flowerless peony - we can only hope that the perpetrator did not think to dip his booty in water and ended up with an ant infestation.

Here's a new take on the insomnia thing: I was woken up at about 5:30 am by the neighbors across the street blasting salsa music, then driving off to some dancehall tune featuring Toni Childs's womonly wail.

Am about ready to brain someone at work. Communication is worse than usual and this makes it even more difficult and time consuming to do my job. I feel like I'm part of a maintenance crew following the Keystone Kops around.

Almost got taken out again on one of my evening walks - this time by a couple not paying attention to the road because they were too busy groping each other.

Je me sens comme si j'ai tire une nuit blanche.
I think I did nearly pull an all-nighter again last night. Full day at the office(une veritable aventure rocambolesque) followed by maintenance around the house, some writing, then the sounds of light carpentry work over at the neigbors' compound.

Folks, I've been up since 4:00 am enjoying the view from the roof of the Harvard Science Center. What a party! Lectures, viewings, tee shirts, even a musical interlude.

Right now, I'm occupying both giddiness and utter exhaustion. I figure I'll be good for maybe another two hours or so tops.

Good morning!

I'm Venus. Just passing through.

Have a nice day!

Got the best ever party dress this weekend - a bona fide Hawaiian one that is perhaps older than I am! It's got the requisite violent pattern in *glowing* red orange and white. Fits me beautifully and has a wonderful reference to a lei sewn around the neckline. It's one of those things that, if I don't find an occasion to wear it, I'm going to have to make one.

Morning walk: the mountain laurel on 140 Highland looks like the fourth of july, all these sparkles of blossoms and buds.

I think that the couple keeping an eye on things in this part of the neighborhood is actually a pair of falcon mates. Wasn't buzzed like a couple weeks ago, but one of them got close enough for me to check out the size, markings, head shape.

Ala from the Quickie Mart on School Street mentioned that he's going out of town for a while. Told me to let the morning guy know when they ran out of my juice. I'm going to miss him, even though this is a regular thing...back to Egypt for a month! I wonder if the cute maghrebin-looking guy is going to be watching the shop mornings. Schools out; that could be the case.

Numbers to make your day worth waking up for:

MST3K reruns watched this weekend: 21/2
Irises clipped to brighten up the house: 9
Hours I slept last night: 63/4
Hours I've been awake: 13/4
Number of cups of coffee I've had: 2
Number of animals on my lap: 1
The extent of my surprise at the lap cat being the girl kitty: immeasurable

Happy Monday.
Happy effing Monday.

Yes, we're talking again, sort of.

Took a walk on Saturday to Arlington Center. Visited a Catholic cemetary off of Fresh Pond. Hal remarked on how the graves all seemed to be fairly recent (ie - from about 1850 to now.) for a Boston area cemetary. Mentioned to him that that was about the time when the Irish were settling around here. Likewise the French. The Poles and Italians came a bit after.

At Spy Pond, got to sit and watch the geese. He floated the idea that perhaps I could get the next crop of Tufts students to imprint on me and then maybe they wouldn't have so many loud parties. Hmm, it's a thought.

Though I was not surprised by Saturday's news, there still was a bit of a shock at hearing of former president Reagan's death. This was the man who presided over my country through most of my childhood. I am sad, of course. Right now, too, I feel the need to learn more about this complex personnage who is so emblematic of our country, the west even, in modern times. Since most of my impressions of him come from selected images (the summerschool I was attending way back when cancelled classes and had televisions rolled in so we could watch the 'historic undoing' of the administration in what was Iran-Contra), pre chosen sound bites, I feel unqualified to discuss whether he was possibly the best president since FDR (as Andrew Sullivan called him). I don't believe him to have been the Doddering Old Fool that many in my current location and milieu see him as.

Anyhow, while I sort this out, here are some writings on the former president from Andrew Sullivan, from Lileks, from Oliver Kamm. Be sure to check out National Review and Opinionjournal for more.

Cosby gets nailed for speaking his mind at an NAACP banquet last week. Can't win here - if a white person were to say anything like this, it would be viewed as racist. A black man says it (especially one from a pre Affirmative Action generation) and it's classism.

Everybody's using the term, but does anyone actually know what it means?
Ask five people what a 'neoconservative' is, chances are, you'll get six or seven different answers.

Whenever I hear a buzzword bandied about, I like to get the bottom of it - origins, meanings, etc. Neoconservatism piques my curiosity particularly because I think it might be something that touches on my world view at this point. At first, I thought it a change from current 'liberal' values to 'conservative' ones with regard to foreign policy after 9/11. Then I heard that a neoconservative was a follower of a relatively obscure economics professor at a midwestern university. From my snarkier Cambridge or European counterparts - I learned it was being a Jew in politics.

About a week ago, Opinionjournal had an interesting article - it's been one of the more helpful essays on the subject that I've seen. Their maintenance is that it is not 'neo,' (has its origins in the origins in this country), it is not 'conservative,' (too idealist) - but something uniquely American. A balance between idealism and pragmatism.

I'm not a Jewess (but can play one on TV), however I am an American and not ashamed at all of that. I'm not a politician. I think my liberalism is more in tune with classic liberal values rather than the idealization of a socialist state that seems to define the term nowadays. I know that in everything I do, there is serious given to what I'd like something to be vs what the actual reality before me is. There might be something to this.

Damn Tufts Students.

Another beer blast last night, apparently. Until 2:00 am we had the HOO HOO HOO noises - making me feel as though I were trying to fall asleep during the filming of a Diane Fosse documentary.

I swear, this happens again, I'm going to borrow my roommate's speakers, train them out my window and effing a$$ crank Karlheinz Stockhausen on their sorry undergrad a$$es at six in the morning.

Pfft. Spit. Froth.

Happy technical Monday.
I'm feeling much better than during the weekend, thank you very much.
The back and neck aren't completely better, but I have considerably more motility than when I started the weekend (I don't feel as though I should be wearing a neck brace and suing someone). It's raining again, of course. I worry for the garden.

This weekend was such a haze of pain and anger. Anger at the pain, and at other things. When I'm like this, I feel very weak and raw. The guy was banished from my life pretty definitively on Saturday. We're negotiating right now.

Since I can't run right now, I've been taking to walking the running route - just to keep things up. Not too bad - same nice scenery, just a bit slower is all. I hope that I can get the knees, ankles (and still) the foot in decent shape so as to be able to pick up the pace again.

New York School Orgy on WHRB right now. Wolff's "Duo for Violin and Pianist."

Nothing pithy, witty, meaningful here. Just some impressions colored by a gray morning.

Today's WHRB orgy is devoted to the Zhdanov Degree of 1948 against formalism in Soviet Music. This decree was one that decried 'formalism and anti populism in soviet music' singling out composers whose works expemplified the 'horrors of the bourgeois aesthetic.' This was largely levelled at the works of Khatchaturian, Myaskowsky, Prokofieff, and Shostakovich -formerly revered composers, who were eventually fired from their posts and humiliated by the Party.

I've found a little snippet on Zhdanov here, along with a good timeline of events in Soviet history for all who might be interested.

It was so funny - after the relative calm of the Copenhagen Jazz Orgy - when they started with the opening bars of the first movement of Shostakovich's "Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District", you should have heard the *crash* when both startled cats jumped!

Happy Memorial Day!

Lileks raises the bar for Memorial Day tributes.

Glenn Reynolds has a note and a photo from his correspondent in Afghanistan, along with several Memorial Day links.

I found this biting essay by P J O'Rourke on yesterday's Opinion Journal site. Do read it - it sort of made me think of Jonathan Swift if he were writing today as what I consider to be a neoconservative.

Woke up early this morning, decided to take a walk. I'm glad I did - the sun felt so good on me. I must've been out in it for a couple hours, at least. Good for clearing out the brain, for musing, ruminating.

The pain is pretty severe right now, feet to ankles to knees up to the lower back. Compensation and teeth-grinding leaves the neck and shoulders tensed up. I have to see my way out of this, somehow. I know I did it before - and I will get through it again. I just don't feel very strong or willing.

The relationship isn't much help, either. I feel chained to a shop mannequin or something, for all the help and support I get. Though everyone will say that you need others, there is a lot I can say for self reliance.

Just felt like doing a bit of 'spring cleaning' on the blog. They've got all sorts of nifty new templates and features over at Blogger.com. I'll get the site links up soon, ¡ojala! and maybe even start some limited photoblogging.

Finally! a decent day outside.
Am feeling a bit muzzy headed and tired, but I think I really need to profit from this sun - it might not come back.

Lots of work needs to be done in the garden, transplanting, etc. I'm afraid that a lot of my plants got waterlogged. I hope that they'll dry out enough to actually thrive like I think that they could. The tomato seedlings are looking kind of unhealthy, but the peas are looking pretty nice. I even have four pods already!

Finished the shawl made of the cookie monster blue yarn extravaganza. I'm thinking of making one from a nice purple yarn I picked up the other night. Then I'd like to make a little something for me, for a change - nothing complicated, just something.

Feeling a bit down, as am on a love stinks kick at the moment. Not too inspired to think, to be witty, to write. Just want to work with the hands, to not think too hard. Just be for now.

Enjoy the long weekend if you have one. I'm certainly going to try.

My chronic crankiness has more to do with the having to disinter flannel from my winter wardrobe than anything else (zen number wave and hormonal spikes included).
Seeing the department head in her bright, gladiolus-colored suit, however, brought to mind a bird of paradise sighting during my morning commute today.

A startling vision of pink confronted me on my walk up Highland Ave. As I got closer, I could make out a statuesque figure, meticulously coiffed platinum hair, perfectly tanned legs. Even closer, I noted the outfit of little substance (way too lacy and clingy for the grim, cool, damp day) and the lack of stockings. Immediately, I thought - hmm, has to be a guy. Please turn around, you vision - I have to know. Perhaps she felt my eyes, perhaps she heard my steps, but she did turn around to give me an unobstructed view of her adam's apple.

I've heard that men have a harder time telling transvestites from real women, but for me, at least, it's always been obvious: only a guy would be seen dressed so darn...impractically.

God love 'em, I guess someone's got to be able to wear those outfits.

Learned a new term from my cube neighbor yesterday: 'screw like a jackrabbit.' Since I only have what you might generously call a retro color TV (no remote) stowed in a corner of the livingroom and am too cheap to get cable, I've not been privy to such Culture as can be found in series like 'Sex in the City.'

Apparently the old screwing like the jackrabbit thing is not good. It's akin to being 'jackhammered.'

Since I have been enriched with this knowledge, I can unequivocally state that my day has not been wasted.

One thing can be said about those of us on the functional level at my organisation: we watch each others' backs or 'cosign' for each other (as my cube neighbor calls it).

Today, one girlfriend sent me a part time job posting for Yiddish instructor at Brookline Community Ed. I was a little perplexed. Explained that my grasp of that language was similar to hers of Portuguese (tenuous). Bad Jew that I am, I ended up in CCD rather than Hebrew school where I'd not have learned formal Yiddish anyway.

Girlfriend stopped by and asked why anyone would want to learn a language that is dying anyway. Why indeed (well, Bashevis Singer comes to mind as only one of many who wrote in that language). Best response I could come up with was that it was a good means of sublimation for the Brookline matrons as well as a good excuse for the men of the house to get out for a drink and a snack with their 'girlfriends.'

I'm trying to be a big girl.

For as long as I can recall, I've had this horror of thunderstorms. It feels unreasonable, and the rational part of me understands that I'm pretty safe from lightning strikes.
The emotional side, however, will not listen to reason. Friends, families, loves have poked fun at my fear. Even the cats will give me no quarter in my time of need.

About my sophomore year of college, I had a relationship with a neighbor that consisted only of his coming over to hold me during storms. Though I don't really miss him - this was a very long time ago, after all - I do miss that contact, that comfort of having someone near me who was only there to see me safe. Sort of like a dad, only different.

I remember hiding behind the door that led to our back balcony when my mom, my stepfather and my brother would sit out and watch the jagged light in the sky, 'ooh' ing and 'aah' ing at the natural pyrotechnics as though they were firecrackers. The fascination was always marred by blind fear of being struck and of the pain from the aftershocks. Everyone else seemed to enjoy these storms except me. What caused me to be so sensitive?

My mother tells me that it was my paternal grandmother who planted these seeds of fear in me when I was little. My recollections are only of staying with her in the summer and being woken up at night (she'd sleep with me). We'd move down to the parlor and sit in her red leather chair by the picture window. She'd rock me and hold me and hand me peanut cookies and tell me that we were big girls, that there was nothing to be afraid of, right? Big girls weren't scared of the night storms. Big girls didn't fear the electricity or dread the loud noise. It was only angels bowling, after all, and they could have fun if they wanted. A particularly loud crash would follow and she'd squeeze my hand tighter and repeat the same mantra faster - we were big girls and big girls weren't afraid.

I wonder if Grandma is still afraid of the storms or if she is having a ball up there bowling with the angels. I'd love to know - it would help so much. I can't though. I can only look up into the sky, cringe a bit, hug myself, wish for a cookie and keep telling myself that I'm a big girl, I shouldn't be scared.

Stuff we don't tell Mom:

Got into trouble freshman year of high school for having boys in our hotel room on a band trip.
I remember ordering a pizza, having them come over, then being raided by the chaperones. The ensuing lecture (us four sitting on one bed, the adults standing in front of us) was on 'boys and their urges.' Pretty ironic, as I'd had it on pretty good authority that one of the lecturers liked 'em young.

Late last night, I got home to find a phone message from Ness. Two words: Agamemnon. Rickenbacker.

My first question to her when I called back was - Did he get into trouble? Is he in jail?

This is one small trial when your best friend in the whole world has children: your history becomes one of those "when I was your age" stories. Vick (who is a little older now than what Ness and I were when we met) is dealing with high school crushes. Ness wanted me to tell Vick about when we were her age and how we dealt with unrequited love. Now, I'm of the mind that no one should be asking me any advice on anything, especially boys...most especially in high school, as I'd never actually dated anyone (knowingly) until after college. But, still, I was called upon and I had to deliver. I told my friend's daughter about the boy in front of me in math class - Scott, golden boy football player with the cupid's bow lips. For two years I pined over him until I heard through the rumor mill that he thought me a toad. Then, there were the brothers in our band: Agamemnon and John. Identical twins - but I could tell them apart easily. Aside from the fact that John was the drummer and Ag was a bassist, there were subtle differences in their faces. John did nothing for me, though he was the more sociable of the two. Agamemnon with his cool distance always did it for me. Never noticed me. Never noticed much, for that matter. Was a bit out there - whether naturally or through chemistry, I'm not sure.

Ness had her crushes too - one of which almost leading her to be beaten up by the object of her desires.

In the end, I just told Vick that crushes are called what they are because they always end up hurting. If they were something else, they'd be called by another name.

It was funny thinking on this after so many years. They are not fond recollections - I remember a lot of anguish. I know that despite the complications of my current life and its relationships and obligations I'm much happier now than I was then. I would not trade now for anything.

Had a Virginia Postrel moment at the Barnes & Noble that passes for my college's bookstore today. Went in to use the restroom and ended up getting sucked into the school pride apparel section. Back when I was attending, there were your basic tee shirts and sweatshirts in the white, gray or red with the university crest and block letters. Now, miniskirts, shorts with the university initials on each be-hind cheek, College Baby gear. Pinks, light blues, canary yellows-all this in addition to the basics (which, somehow manage to cost less than 12-15 years ago).

I found myself to be drawn to a tee shirt with a cute little graphic of the school mascot. I don't generally feel the need to send any money the way of my alma mater. Heaven knows they got enough from me already. Still, the variety is so appealing (never thought the standard fare was interesting enough to buy) and I guess I am feeling a bit nostalgic, it being almost 12 years to the day since my commencement.

On the walk home from Fenway (yes, we WALKED home), got to wondering - do you think that the Talking Heads song "Nothing But Flowers" (from the Naked album) is a direct reference to "Big Yellow Taxi?"

Nice, serendipitous little weekend - not much turned out as originally thought, but all of it was good.

Friday night - sat in the yard and drank a little too much with the roommate and guy. Saturday - instead of hiking or going to visit a friend up north, we got an unexpected visit from Hal's mom. Boy, do I like her. I don't think she minds me too much either, given how she just lets me prattle on like a little chicken or something. Had dinner, watched a documentary on the president of Latvia, retired early. Today - Arija had a date at the Leverett dump and Hal and I had a Sox game to go to.

The day turned out a lot better weather-wise than we had thought it would. Sunny for the first four innings (boy, you should see my face and forearms - it's like I was spraypainted red!), then cloudy and cool for the rest. About the only thing that made it less than perfect was the wind, which was favoring the defense. No one got a homerun. In the end, though - the Sox prevailed 7-2 over the Jays.

Am thinking of turning in early - tired from dehydration and from a very busy couple of days. How come these weekends have to fly by like they always seem to?

Joan McGowan-Michael does it again with yet another hot little number to knit. I don't know which would be more fun - making this or wearing it.

Not much to report. Looks like the weekend might be a literal wash. Film tonight maybe at the HFA. Probably lots of reading and knitting. Perhaps a little run, as I'm afraid to test the ankle too much.

Spent altogether too much on this beautiful handspun, hand-dyed wool/nylon bouclé that I picked up at Mind's Eye in Porter Square. Though I can't be spending this sort of money all the time, I do have to say that it is worth every penny I paid in terms of the labor involved. Watercolory shades of blue melding in to each other, soft curls held into place by a stabilizing thread. Knitting (I have this hank earmarked to be a shawl.) this is going to be an incredibly sensual experience - from watching the rythym of the color to smelling the dye, to feeling the bouclé in my hands - much like caressing a curly-haired loved one's head or a docile sheepie.

Couple new knitting magazines have me thinking that it's time to get a leg-on Christmas gifts, as well. You can never start too early on them. Do I go with trying to use up the stash, small luxury items or big, comfy sweaters for everyone? Hmm. Food for thought.

Boy, oh boy. Am I going to be in for it at work today.
Here it is, fourish in the morning and I can't sleep, no matter how hard I try.
Mamasan's been playing jump off the bed onto the computer then into the window for most of the evening. Maddening.

April and May saw an outstanding program to the Harvard Film Archive to commemorate the centennial of the birth of Japanese Filmmaker Yasujiro Ozu. A collaboration between a Harvard and the Japan Society of Boston (coincidentally also celebrating its centennial) brought us an impressive representation of this director's body of work - spanning from the silent era to the 1950s. To finish off this program, Ozu student and vanguard of Japan's New Wave movement Masahiro Shinoda appeared this weekend in order to present his first and latest films and answer questions on them in a program called "Double Shinoda."

Friday night was devoted to his first film, "Double Suicide," a modern take on an 18th century puppet theater piece. The work dealt with the tension between love and social class - a merchant falling in love with a courtesan - ending, of course, badly for everyone. I'm sure that the shoestring budget had a bit to do with the austere feel of the film. The bulk of the film took place in a closed, stage set like area, and the actors' gestures were very formal and stylized, bringing to mind kabuki or no theater. These aspects lent an almost claustrophobic air to the piece, not at all unlike how I would have imagined the social climate to have been at the time.

Although I did not care so much for the story, I did find much to get interested in in the film itself. This largely has to do with Shinoda's great interest in areas outside of film: ballet, opera, theater. The music, composed by Toru Takemitsu, played a major role. Not really Japanese (Shinoda described it as an amalgam of 'primitive' influences - mainly from Balinese Gamelon music), it conveyed a powerful atmosphere of tragedy and death. What immediately comes to mind is the scoring of the harrowing final scene which, for me, anyway, invoked Stravinsky's "Rite of Spring."

Very interesting was the the usage black robed scene movers/puppet handlers to move the action forward. Shinoda referred to them as the movers of destiny. Their presence upheld the theatrical tone (a breakdown of the third wall? a reminder that this was not real life, but a story?) and instilled a slight sense of the Absurd (à la Ionesco) to this particular presentation. The opening scene showed the puppet theaterplace preparing for a performance with the director on the phone scouting locations for different scenes to be filmed, bringing to mind some of the theatricality of French New Wave.

Some other tidbits: the calligraphy on the floors and walls of the sets was actually the text of the script, painted by the director and crew. Images were copies of woodcuts taken from a book of erotic stories (interestingly enough, Shinoda mentioned that they could only go so far with what they depicted from this series without getting into trouble with the censors, yet some of the love scenes shown between the two main characters would be considered shocking even today.) Also, the graveyard scene was filmed in the actual resting place of the male hero of this story.

I enjoyed the juxtaposition between theatrical scenes and 'real life' scenes - shot outdoors. This brought to mind the Korean film "Chunhyang," similar treatment of a traditional love story between a young noble and a courtesan, but with a much happier ending. There was the same toggling between a Korean opera form and outdoors scenes. If you get the chance, do try to see this film - and be patient with the music - hard to take at first, but so worth it.

The second film was shown on Sunday night - "Spy Sorge." I heard that this is reputed to be Shinoda's last work - and what an epic. Completely different in style from "Double Suicide," this is the story of the German/Russian spy who aided the ally cause and was eventually tried and executed by the Japanese by the end of the war. Filmed in color with loud, sometimes bombastic romantic era orchestral music for the soundtrack, this work definately had a western tone to it. Most of the scenes were computer generated, as what they were trying to depict was largely destroyed during the war. CGI being what it is, you could tell that the sets weren't real, but rather than looking fake, there seemed to be a dreamlike quality about everything.

My reaction to this film was much more emotional than to "Double Suicide." Though it had plenty of espionage action to it, it wasn't your typical James Bond story. The main characters were all moved by the need to allay the suffering of the common people, by the need to avoid war. Though we know what sort of atrocities were committed by the Soviets, by the Nazis, by the ruling Japanese, I just could not dislike any of the main characters. They were human, trying to do what they thought was best, even if the ideology motivating them(Communism) was intrinsically flawed.

One of the scholars who talked about this film said that he thought it was the most accurate, the best representation of what he imagined Japan/China to look like during the years that led up to the war. Hal made the comment that the Shanghai scenes reminded him of the Tintin story "Blue Lotus." The attention to detail was impressive - I can only imagine that someone spent a lot of time poring over old photos of the represented cities at the time. Myself, I was tickled by the musical reference to the 'spheres of influence' in Shanghai by the playing/superimposing of National Anthems of the different countries as we hit their particular sphere. Really brought the concept home in a way that a visual wouldn't.

This last film was the culmination of a lifetime of learning, research, living - though I'm sorry if it is his last large work, I could understand. The frame of the story is an era - the point of view jarring in its difference from what we are used to seeing (both as westerners and standard hollywood consumers.) I don't really know what Shinoda could do to top it.

What a weekend! Beachy Saturday with the Double Shinoda event at the Harvard Film Archive as bookends. I'd like to say that everything was perfect, but, well, it wasn't. On Friday, had a horrible allergy attack that ended up causing me to cancel a date and leave work early. On Saturday, ended up injuring my foot and getting sunburned on the beach. I'll take the bad with the good, however, if it means I can have as nice a time as I did.

Plum Island was breathtaking as always. As per usual, parts of the beach were closed for the tufted plover nesting season. That still left plenty of space to wander. I'm not quite sure how far we ended up walking, but barefoot and on the sand, it gave the feet and legs quite a workout.
I'm not quite sure how I managed to hurt myself, I think it was through horseplay - but when I got home, my right foot was throbbing and continues to do so. The sunburn is cooling down and leaving patches of freckles all over my arms, neck, shoulders, face.

It was so strange being at the beach in summer gear this early in the year - the temperature hit the 90s! Pretty rare for early/mid may that far north. The water, though, reminded us that there was still a long way to go before summer. Hal and I played chicken with the waves - I couldn't stand it, it was so painful on the ankles and toes!

Oh! I saw a horseshoe crab from wash up from the sea, too, for the first time! Granted, it was only part of the crab. I'd only seen the shells before in museums.

Such a glorious Saturday. Such a gloomy Sunday, and apparently a gloomy Monday as well.
Makes it that much less difficult to go to work, I guess.

So, while the Boston Globe gets nailed for publishing 'american abuse of Iraqi' photos that were really from a porn site and the British Tabloid 'Daily Mail' is found to have worked some photoshop magic to play up their anti Iraq occupation sentiments, I figured I might actually take some time to look at some things that have either been suppressed or buried by the media in general.

This morning, I found an article about people in my generation (the lazy one, the one with no political activism according to the baby boomers) volunteering to work in Baghdad. Remember these people the next time someone makes a comment about anyone in Iraq being a 'mercenary' or a rich crony of Bush &c out to fatten their pocketbooks:

"Gen X in the Green Zone"

Forgot about, but then got into again the Independent Women's Forum site. Good alternative to the jargony groupthink that traditional feminism seems to have(de)volved into.

Just finished this article on Women's Studies textbooks. Very interesting.
"Lying in a Room of One's Own"(PDF)

Not much terribly new or exciting going on - just little things like getting early morning runs back into the schedule and puttering around my dirt plot. Yesterday the annuals went in - lobelia, bachelor buttons, salvias, petunias, begonias. The peas are looking lovely (Raphaella worked some miracle grow magic on them) and the tomato seedlings are holding their own. By the end of tonight, I should have the herbs started in their little pots.

I find peace in this. There are few things that allow me this sense of well-being, both physical and mental. I wish I had more time (both in the day and the growing season) and space (my plot's enough to keep me busy, but very small) to do more.

Curl Activator!

Yesterday night at CVS, I hit the 'c' aisle: cat food, crackers, cheese, condoms, (anti)cavity rinse...found myself eyeing the sad little discontinued products on the clearance shelf. Picked up a bottle of heavily discounted curl activator, as my hair's been a bit frizzy of late. What a treat! Between the Cottonseed and the Castor oil, my curls are somewhat less out of control than usual. At only a buck and a quarter a bottle (down from nearly six), it was a good investment. I'm half considering heading over again tonight to pick up what's left.

Took a short run this morning - sort of a maintenance deal, as I can't do too much right now in terms of building endurance or upping speed. It felt so good to be out and my knees don't feel bad at all.

Today found me circling Foss Park. What fun! Saw two fútbol games, a couple basketball games. One softball game, lots of tennis players and a cricket match as well.

I love the feeling of the heartrate increasing, the breath getting a little ragged. I love the cleansing sweat, the warmth and softness that permeates my body. I love the sun on me. I know I must be a fright with the flyaway hair and probably noxious odor, but the whole experience is part rush, part volupté all beautiful. I feel very in my body. Don't know how else to describe it, except that it approaches how I've felt when something clicked in my head and I was suddenly fluent in another language. Except that my whole body clicks and is fluid instead of only the brain.

Lots of weeding to do. A couple casualties of the winter's worse than usual frost to dig up and replace. I'm thinking of a holly plant instead of the poor, pathetic rhody in the front bed. Some of the stonecrop didn't make it, either, sadly. That stuff's kind of expensive. Need lots of dirt. Manure. Peat. Am not too much looking forward to Home Depot today. It's going to be like Filene's Basement on $99 Wedding Dress day.

Maybe there will be some cheap, colorful annuals - cheaper than Ricky's. We need some cheap cheer.

Yesterday had to be one of the worst days yet to be cloistered away in a cubicle. I made a point not to go outside during lunch, as I knew that it would have been impossible to make me come back in. The minute it hit five, however, I was off to Ricky's in Union Square. Decided that purple would be this year's color. Since I had done such a job on the lilac tree last fall, I figured that it might be nice to reference the blooms that we are not getting this year. Also picked up some thyme and rosemary, then made my way home.

During the walk back to my place, I think I hit on something: girls with crates of pretty flowers are like guys with babies or dogs. I got so many smiles, so many people stopping me to so as to better look at the blooms, smell the herbs. I felt like an envoi of Gaia or something.

The tomatoes I started from seed are so small compared to Raphaella's! I'm so ashamed! Put them out for a bit last night and this morning to harden.

The weekend emptied out suddenly. I'm actually very relieved, as have not been feeling much like road trips. Hopefully we'll just get some nice, quiet garden, maybe beachy time. I can really use it. I know that Hal could, too.

Three Cheers for Ness!

We have a lawyer in the family!

Vanessa Suzanne Guite, Esq.

Swearing in's in June.

I am so proud of her. She went through hell to get this.

Just like everyone has a price, everyone has a 'type.'
It's very rarely that I am confronted with mine, but today it happened.

One of my favorite field people came in and shared a bit of banter with me. Usually I don't want to say anything, just smile and nod, because I'm scared to death that I'll say something horrendously inappropriate (Can you imagine me speechless? No? Well, it happens only once in a while. Usually in the presence of, well, the type). Today, since he was early for his appointment, he stopped into my cube and examined the artwork on my walls. (I have a very visually stimulating work area.) Chatted about Egypt, our bureaucracy, how I could make his life easier, etc. I floated the notion of electronic reports delivery to him...you should have seen his eyes light up! That alone has me with my head in the clouds, la nuque a la lune,etc.

Since he caught me between lunch and tooth brush, of course I had broccoli between my teeth. Isn't that always the case?

No peepers in Somerville. Just mockingbirds practicing to sound like peepers.
And hawks. And jays. And kitties. One guy was going through his whole darned repertoire (pretty comprehensive one at that, too). Had me giggling like a fool.

Could have knocked me over with a feather.

...and almost did! What a rush! This morning, on Highland and Sycamore (where that beautiful, arts and crafts green slate church is located), heard a ruckus in and around a tree. Suddenly *whoosh* comes a hawk within inches of me...inches, I say! I've seen these guys up close before, but have never been in one's flight path. The wing span must have been around four feet.

I always marvel at how these animals are programmed from birth to make manoeuvres so complex that only very special men with years of training and extremely expensive equipment can imitate them.

Strange Stuff #3:

Was restless last night, very restless. Knew that I couldn't sleep anyway, so took a walk. Came across someone who is a not quite dead ringer for someone else I knew in the distant past. Chatted for a bit, then started walking and talking. He was having a rough day. Woke up to discover that he absolutely *hated* his job and also had his hot water heater bust on him. I've both experiences, myself. Cosmic.

Turns out that he works for a company I'm familiar with, and have had many friends work for. Cosmic again.

Thanked each other for the walk and the talk and parted ways. I returned home and slept like I'd not slept in weeks.

Strange Stuff #2:

If someone forwards a stalker's call to my voice mail, does this mean that I'm a proxy stalkee?

Strange stuff #1:

The party machine is in full gear. Someone's decided to break out the airbrush on my boss. Had to fill out a psych (sorry, EQ) assessment on her. Scares me that there are people out there who would make career/life decisions for a person based on others' (standardized) responses to statements like "this person has had strange experiences that cannot be explained."

I don't look at USS Clueless nearly enough. Instapundit linked to his post on the Liberal contingent who want to reenstate the draft.

This latest post is on the need of each subsequent generation to exert its independence from the previous one. I had figured that that was mostly what was going on politically. My thought would be, though, that given the fact that so many Boomers are still engaging in this separation from Mommy and Daddy, that more in my generation and beyond would be more conservative. Perhaps they are.

Lileks, again more eloquent than I will ever be, on the creep who wrote the Tillman smear in the Daily Collegian.

He hits the tone perfectly, I think. Tired, resigned, not looking forward to the upcoming, uglier cultural battles here.

Oh, I got my correspondent from Soldiers' Angels!

Also, for those who would *really* like to 'do it' for God and Country - take a look at this organisation!

-via Instapundit.

Yeah, someone's a pendejo, alright.

At least the UMass president had the sense to condemn this heinous insult.

-via opinionjournal.com

How do I feel?
Tired.

How do I feel?
Angry.

Sad.

Frustrated? Not really. It's out of my hands, so I can't allow it to bother me that much.
That only saps strength that I can use to fight other battles.

Here's what I know so far:
She was taken to the hospital on Saturday morning.
Spent the day in the emergency room.
Was transferred to ICU on Sunday.
Moved to another room on Tuesday.
Will be there possibly till tomorrow.

What was wrong? Couldn't eat? Couldn't drink?
Didn't do either or tried and failed for a week straight.
Had a bleeding ulcer.
Electrolytes were down so low that she could have had a heart attack.

Grandpa was also looking dehydrated, malnourished.

So many phone calls. Do I go back to set things straight? Can I? Should I?
I can't depend on her or Grandpa for the truth.
I can just piece things together.

What happened around her losing the job?
Is she taking care of administrative things around the house?
Is she safe there? Is grandpa safe there?
If I can't go back, who can I enlist to help? No one has any obligation to her. A lot of bridges have been burned.

XII

La planete suivante etait habitee par un buveur. Cette visite fut tres courte, mais elle plongea le petit prince dans une grande melancolie:

-Que fais-tu la? dit-il au buveur, qu'il trouva installe en silence devant une collection de bouteliies vides et une collection de bouteilles pleines.
-Je bois, repondit le buveur, d'un air lugubre.
-Pourquoi bois-tu? lui demanda le petit prince.
-Pour oublier, repondit le buveur.
-Pour oublier quoi? s'entuit le petit prince qui deja le plaignait.
-Pour oublier que j'ai honte, avoua le buveur en baissant la tete.
-Honte de quoi? s'informa le petit prince qui desirait le secourir.
-Honte de boire! acheva le buveur qui s'enferma definitivement dans le silence.

Et le petit prince s'en fut, perplexe.
Les grandes personnes sont decidement tres tres bizarres, se disait-il en lui-meme durant le voyage.

de "Le Petit Prince," Antoine de Saint-Exupery


XII

The following planet was inhabited by a drinker. This visit was very short, but it plunged the little prince into a great depression:

-"What are you doing there?" he asked the drinker, who he found seated in silence in front of a collection of empty bottles and a collection of full bottles.
-"I'm drinking," answered the drinker, lugubriously.
-"Why are you drinking?" the little prince asked him.
-"To forget," answered the drinker.
-"To forget what?" enquired the little prince, who already felt sorry for him.
-"To forget that I am ashamed," confessed the drinker, hanging his head.
-"To forget what?" asked the little prince again, who wanted to help him.
-"The shame of drinking!" finished the drinker who definitively closed himself off in silence.

And the little prince went on his way, perplexed.
"Big people are decidedly very very strange," he said to himself during the rest of his trip.

Last night, Pablo and I went to TGI Friday in Everett, MA for dinner. We happened upon this place a couple weeks ago during an errand run. Being chain restaurant snobs, we were very pleasantly surprised with our orders.

Did something I don't ordinarily do: ordered dessert. Take a look at the menu. Notice anything odd? Pablo did. In his most enraged, vitriolic tone (what I refer to as the 'little b!tch wolf' tone of voice), he shot over to me 'how about marzipan insanity?'

Aside from the TGIF items:

Oreo Madness
Chocolate Obsession,

We came up with a few others:

praline psychosis
mocha dysthymia
melba sociopathy
marshmallow neurosis
peanut butter compulsion

The waitress thought it rather funny, too. We all decided that we could really go to town with a copy of the DSM-IV and a cookbook. Wouldn't it be great to have the capital to start a restaurant like
Finale, but for the ironic, hip, artsy set?

If you've any other suggestions, please let me know.

All this is to help me remember that I have a rich life outside of work. Life is good. As dysfunctional as it is in the office, I can leave for the bigger world outside and be happy.

As of yesterday, I've received all the materials I ordered from Amazon. I started the day by greeting my coworkers with labdien, drogs! Proceeded to ask a few of them for their passports and if this was their first visit to Latvija.

Hal is bemused. Why am I doing this, who cares? I don't know, I'm doing it because I can. It's good mental exercise. I do well when a language is spoken by someone I love. That's how I learned Dutch and Spanish. Is he confused or trying to be patently unhelpful? Can't tell. Last night he told me that he couldn't understand what I was saying because I had a 'weird accent.'

I did come up with a fun game to play, however. I pucker up and ask, "ludzu?"
He gives me a kiss. I smile and answer back, "paldies!" This got repeated many times. I only stopped because he had to leave. I could have gone on indefinately.

I've been amusing myself with a new toy lately. Last week I learned to use a drop spindle. I was warned that my chiropractor might have words with me, due to how much stretching I'd be doing while spinning. So far, I'm not hurting, though. Of course, I limit myself to 1/2 an hour a day. The roving is a nice natural, grayish brown wool from a variety of sheep all over Maine. It is soft and full of lanolin. I love the smell of it and the feel of the oil on my hands. The scent drives the cats crazy. My bit of yarn is very uneven in thickness and there are lot of grafts. I'm slowly getting the feel of it, though. I'm even finding it relaxing. Not much cussing going on, either.

Bowling for Fallujah

This is the most realistic portrait that I've seen. I mean, it's not like he's an informed, intelligent voice in any debate any more than he is a caricature or a cartoon character.

Mental health days off.
Sleep, waking up to sun, reading some. I've forgotten what it's like to luxuriate in a book, rather than quick scan for relevant bits of information.

Yesterday and today, had two long walks in the sun. Took a spinning lesson (yes! finally! Another toy for me to frustrate myself with at the beginning) and got the back worked over.

Today - breakfast with a friend, lunch with a friend...nothing but a long weekend ahead of me.
It almost feels as though I have a life. Funny, that.

We all should take time out for tea. LeAnn baked a tea bread from the blueberries I schlepped back from Allen's last August.
Not only did it give a number of us a bit of a pause in the day, it provided me with a bit of a Proust recollection. I've now got Deer Isle on my mind.

Take a look at this! Another good way to support our men overseas. I signed up last night, am waiting for a confirmation call/email. We'll see what happens!

Taxes done! Yes!

I've been taking a bit of a breather from the news, as all that seems to be talked about is yet another 'quagmire' in Iraq and another Democratic Party Kangaroo Court in DC. (Non partisan? Feh! With just about everyone on the so called fact-finding commission formerly having worked for the Clinton Administration?....riiiiiight.) I did take a look at the Captain's Quarter Blog and Hugh Hewitt last night to see what they had to say about Jamie Gorelick (Hello, can you say Conflict of Interest?), Ashcroft's skewering of her and of the resultant press spin of the whole thing. All this, of course, I found via Instapundit.

One coworker, a very elegant dresser, came down to pay a visit in an amazing black and white houndstooth suit. The only words that would come to mind were "Coco Chanel." I made mention that Vogue Knitting a couple years back featured knitted reworks of classic Chanel suits and of how I wished I had the body for one.

Maybe I should attempt a classic, feminine suit. It would certainly be a rare gift to myself. Definately plus haute que la haute-couture, as I would have made the fabric myself in addition to piecing it all together. Maybe I'd start a new trend in indulgence - one for la haute tricoterie? If it looked horrible on me, I could always give it away.

I never much thought of myself as being the type for such items - but as I get older, the classics seem to be so much more appealing. Coco proclaimed a design for every woman. Did she have me in mind, though? I've always seen myself more as utilitarianism idealized by soviet-era propagandists, rather than an image of cool elegance like that put forth by the French fashion industry mid 20th century.

Africa Pundit

Different perspective from that normally shown (if shown at all) in the news.

Back again!
Allergies
Tax time!

Oh well.

Here is some more beautiful writing by Theodore Dalrymple on the nature of Islam vs Western Civilization.

It's finally up!

Morehouse Farm Merino Yarns

Go take a look at yarn heaven! While you're at it, too, check out the puzzle at the knitters' niche. Charming.

I have a kit for the lace cardigan that I've been using as the ultimate prize to get my UFOs done. Every now and again I take a skein of the yarn out and bury my nose in it, fetish it. The stuff is softer than cashmere.

Something that rarely happens to me did last night: I became totally engrossed by a television program.

Nova: Battle of the X Planes

Nova's gotten a bit rock video-ey over the past couple years (the String Theory program was a bit low on content but high on catchy graphics and loud music), but still, it is one of the worthwhile programs on TV.

This was a fascinating look into a world that we don't tend to get to see much of. In just two hours, we were taken on a trip from concept to working product in the bidding process for probably the most lucrative defense contract ever.

Of course, as always, I'd love for them to go more into detail, but given the constraints (How many would understand the process involved? Also, there's the security interest.), the folks at Nova did an admirable job.

Just in time for Passover.

Did anyone ever read this in school? Amazing how this can just keep being recycled. Amazing how if anyone brings it up, they are the ones branded racist. (Or zionist, means the same thing now.)

This is so sad, it tires me out.

If you have any interest in what else the Middle Eastern media are broadcasting, please take a look at this site: Middle East Media Research Institute. Another good resource on what's not being said to or is being glossed over by our media is Bat Yeor's site. Not happy reading, but informative.

Community Building Limousine Liberal Style

As an alternative to Clear Channel, et al (how much more monolithic is Clear Channel than NPR?), we now have Air America. The claim is that they are here to give voice to the disenfranchised masses. To bring 'diversity' to the airwaves. But at what price? Couldn't be actual 'diversity', now, could it? Nah, couldn't be. We all know who has the market cornered on that.

From Glenn Reynolds, of course.

Boston Convention a "Quagmire."

Really, now? How long did it take so many to figure this out? More conventions have left Boston in the recent years due to lack of organization and infrastructure.

I was shocked that we even won the concession for this, given the issues with the Big Dig, etc.

Great post by Oliver Kamm (*sigh*) comparing the writing styles/rhetoric of Noam Chomsky and Christopher Hitchens.

Mantras to help survive the day:

"What one man spills, another man gathers..."
-bumper sticker on a Volvo station wagon outside Union Square

"We sow the seed, Nature grows the seed, We eat the seed..."
-Neil from "The Young Ones"

"Two men enter, one man leaves..."
-Tina Turner's character in "Mad Max, Beyond Thunderdome"

I was pretty riled up last week from another go round with my poor friend in London. After some serious thought on the subject - I figured out what the issue is here: two people separated by a single language. Instead of trying to rebut some of the statements (your brand of fascism, you know, you are racist, & ad nauseam), what I need to do is to match slogan for slogan. I don't really have time to come up with a random limousine leftie rebuttal generator, but there's plenty on this site to glean for when I don't feel like thinking and just want to type:

Protest Warrior - 'Fighting the Left, Doing it Right!'

Enjoy!

BBC Bias in Palestinian Bomber Story

No point in really going on about this. The BBC is rotton. Unfortunately, it's difficult to have a conversation about this with many people, because, though, from what I see in the British journals as blatant bias against the US and Israel, this is largely denied. I guess that antisemitism to many nowadays means actually going out, rounding up Jewish people and putting them in ovens.

It was a quiet weekend. The weather wasn't stellar, so we again stayed in, watched movies and did a little puttering about. I am working on a nice blanket, big stitched, of Lion Brand 'Homespun.' Was going to make it striped, but have decided to keep it all in the same, wonderful, oceany blue.

This week's offerings were: "Key Largo," "Big Deal on Madonna Street," "The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie." All were very engaging, but I think that my favorite in terms of humor was the last one. Loved the social commentary, the taste of surrealism, the Spanish sense of grotesque. I'd love to see more of Buñuel's work.

Last week, we watched "Whale Rider." A nice enough film, I guess - might have been better on a big screen, but Hal put it well when he said that it was like hamburger after a straight diet of prime rib. "Whale Rider" seemed to me like a multi-culti, much less subtle version of "The Secret of Roan Inish." In keeping with the truism of less being more, I'd have to say that it would have been a good idea not to have put all the extras on the DVD. Not to have shown us cut scenes that would have helped the narrative more. Not to have shown us that the natives' war canoe was made of plastic foam. Not to have shown us how vacant the director/script writer was or how stereotypically hollywood new agey the soundtrack composer was. I might have been happier with everything if I'd not have gotten the glimpse of the 'sausage being made.'

Happy Birthday, Pablo! (36)
Happy Birthday, Grandpa! (90)

Have fun today!

x

You all know my favorite joke master for the likes of Letterman and Leno, right?

Did you know that he's a pretty darn talented cartoonist as well?

Chumworth's violon d'Ingres is now being featured at pretty witty dot com.
Go take a look!

And for more witty, incisive, insightful commentary, be sure to check out his own site.

Three iTunes in three Pepsis at the ETC cafeteria over the past week. I'm on a roll!
It tickles me to know that I'm winning something, even with the probability that iTunes doesn't do Shostakovich or Milhaud or Adams or...

I love the guy dearly. I know that he's not stupid. Or at least, I hope he isn't.
I tend to think that a lot of the rhetoric/politics tends to be a substitute for therapy.

More get a clue time from Lileks.

It's funny, but I just got through giving a timeout to my Lib Dem friend in the UK (for more on the Liberal Democrats, take a look at Oliver Kamm's site.) for more of the same, tired, blame everything on the US and Israel tirade. This whole thing, same phrases - 'no blood for oil,' 'US abuse of human rights,' &c, ad nauseum makes me think of obsessive compulsive disorder or tourettes syndrome. Dre's angry because he can't afford to go to Poughkeepsie in the fall, but he's having a tirade about the new US immigration policy of fingerprinting foreigners at border entries.