Here's some fun: tiny, man-made baby black holes swallowing the earth! Gahhhh!
I was curious about the phenomena of the missing Higgs Boson, mentioned at the bottom of the article, and went here to try to figure out why it being missing was a problem. It didn't help. This semi-sarcastic piece of drivel didn't help, either. So… I lost interest. The Higgs Boson can remain missing for all I care.
Had an organic Honeycrisp apple from Whole Foods yesterday… apple heaven, that's all… apple heaven.
Saw Part 1 of an interesting library DVD last night, "The Journey of Man." It's a search - using DNA - to determine how early man roamed throughout the world. According to the author/presenter, Spencer Wells, human life began in Africa, and, according to the genetic evidence, the Bushmen of South Africa are direct descendants of the earliest men. Click here for a short wikipedia article.
The Bushmen are an interesting bunch. Have you ever seen "The Gods Must Be Crazy?" That was about them. They have a quality to their spoken language, Xhosa, that is unique in the world, incorporating the sound of clicks. It is speculated that perhaps the earliest human language had clicks as well.
Anyway, according to Wells, some of the Bushmen left Africa some 50,000 years ago and migrated to Australia, where the second oldest genetic record exists. How did they get there? Overland, through the south coast of India, where Wells found genetic evidence for the route.
I'm interested in genetics because of a YDNA test I took a couple of years ago to help resolve a genealogical brick wall. (It did, but not completely. As is usually the case in genealogy, one answer creates all sorts of new questions.) In the process of having my YDNA typed I learned that I belong to Haplogroup R1b, the most frequent Y-haplogroup in Europe. Among their many achievements, people of this haplogroup painted the cave art in France and Spain, exterminated the Neanderthal and wrote web sites of greatly scattered topicality.
The YDNA test led to some unexpected results; I learned of this via an e-mail I got one day from a Cuban-American named Ernie Santana living in Miami, Florida. He had an exact YDNA match with me on a 12-marker test. Ernie's father's family originally came from the Canary Islands. Family Tree DNA (the company I got my YDNA test through) says that there is nearly a ninety percent probability that we share an ancestor about 600 years ago. Since YDNA testing can find genetic matches far past the available genealogical documentation, they do not suggest following up on different surname matches such as these. And I haven't. But it's interesting to note the geographical displacement of my ancestor's descendants. As far as I can tell via documentation, my Clarks originated in Yorkshire, England, settling in County Antrim, Northern Ireland; Lycoming County, Pennsylvania; Burlington County, New Jersey; Brooklyn, New York and ultimately Burbank, California, from whence I hail.
Do you eat apples? Do you like the Red “Delicious?” I ate one yesterday; I was desperate and bought one at work. Yakkk. Mealy and tasteless. Next time you’re in the store look for Honeycrisp (my favorite), Cripps Pink Lady (my former favorite, until I discovered Honeycrisp), Gala or Fuji (both are good tasting, but I give the edge to Fuji). They make Red Delicious and Golden Delicious taste very bland and unsatisfying in comparison. It’s like the difference between watery and artificial CountryTime Lemonade and Schwepps Bitter Lemon. The Honeycrisp has a very satisfying snap when bitten, and an unusual sweet/buttery kind of taste. Well, to me, anyway. A Cripps Pink Lady is effervescent and like a champagne - a weird description for an apple, I know, but it fits. Try one and see.
The apple I have longed to try, however, is an English apple: Cox's Orange Pippin. Haven't found one anywhere.
I watched a fascinating NOVA episode last night (a library DVD check out): "Monster of the Milky Way," about supermassive black holes. Turns out there is one at the heart of our own Milky Way; scientists know because they track the paths of stars encircling it and find that the stars attain incredible velocities as they approach, then get flung away in an elliptical orbit, like comets and planets. The only thing that could account for it is a very large black hole. They theorize that massive black holes help form the shape and type of galactic clusters - fascinating. Prior to watching this I thought the only thing escaping a black hole are x-rays (Stephen Hawking theorized this years ago). Turns out there is other matter ejected as well; incredibly long flumes of matter. The analogy is that of a firehose used to fill a dog dish - most of the water flies out. What's more, according to computer models using Einstein's equations, the center of a black hole is composed of trapped light and so is very bright. But you can't see that from the outside.
Inside a black hole ordinary physics break down because the equations start to make little sense. So it's all theoretical and nobody is sure of anything save the old cosmologist's saying, "The universe is not only stranger than we imagine, it's stranger than we can imagine."
You can watch the program here.
Tuesday morning weigh-in. I lost not a pound - drat! 270, same as last week. I am on a plateau. Truth to be told, however, I didn't eat as well as I should have over the weekend at that theatre convention. Too much restaurant/hotel food. So, my total lost is 42 pounds over nineteen weeks for a weekly average weight loss of 2.2 pounds.
Odd things happen with my digital bathroom scale. I get up in the morning, take off all my clothes and step onto the scale: 271 pounds. After much silent cursing, I try again: 271. Shift it some on the floor and try again: 271. So, disgusted, I take a shower and dry off and step on the scale again: 270 pounds. What th-? This is at least the third time I have seen this. Now, I know I'm not washing off a pound of dirt because my wife would throw me out of bed were that the case. And I seriously doubt that the act of walking downstairs to shower and walking back upstairs to weigh in burns a pound of weight. So it must be some kind of weird rounding up or down function of the scale. The doctor's scale at work suggests that my bathroom scale is high by two pounds - which offers some consolation.
I attended the Virginia Theatre Association (VTA) Conference in Richmond with my daughter's high school drama troupe; it was fun. I had forgotten how surprisingly good the acting quality of the various school troupes could be. It's great to watch those young people on stage acting their little hearts out…
I saw nine one-act productions. The best one by far was an adaptation of three of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales put on by E.C. Glass School in Lynchburg. It was one of the final four. Of course, the Miller's Tale - a perennial favorite featuring adultery, swearing and farting - was one of the stories. English lit types, by the way, are totally hung up on that particular story. Every English class I've had in high school or college (I have a minor in English lit) featured it. But… be that as it may, E.C. Glass did a great job with it.
One school did a very interesting historical piece about the 1811 Theatre Fire in Richmond - "Volume of Smoke" - which was appropriate given the location of the conference.
72 people out of 600 died in the fire, and the play involved survivors and the dead describing the incidents of the evening. It was quite effective, I thought. The gal playing the "Bleeding Nun" (a character in a play within a play) was excellent. She seemed almost like an adult in intensity and acting ability. The best male acting job I saw was in a short adaptation of the story of Icabod Crane by Washington Irving; the fellow played the title role and was quite in character and very convincing.
My favorite moment in a play at the conference, however, was in a piece ("Controlling Interest") about four eight-year old boys in a playground, who hold a business meeting to determine whether or not they might like girls. They invite two girls to the meeting. The girls, not surprisingly, are much more mature than the boys, and begin by telling the boys that henceforth, for the rest of their lives, every waking thought will be about the girls. And, "...I'm not saying now, or even this year, but, if you're lucky and we decide that this could possibly happen, you might possibly get to see one of us without a shirt." Then there's a priceless pause as the boys gaze off into the audience, wearing semi-perplexed expressions on their faces that suggest that this notion has possibilities - but they know of no reasons why.
My own daughter did quite well at auditions, I am happy to report. She did some college auditions and got call backs from eight (an unusually high number) of them - about half of all the colleges who sent representatives. She even got a call back from Virginia Tech, which was cool. Where she goes and what she majors in is still to be determined... unfortunately...
I am now reading "The Call of Fife and Drum" by Howard Fast (a Hollywood Commie and Stalin Peace Prize awardee), a collection of three of his historical novels about the Revolutionary War. The first is "The Unvanquished," about George Washington at the disasterous 1776 retreat from New York City. It's readable and lively... Washington is depicted as a man consumed by self-doubt and disappointment at his failings who never lets on. Was he that way, really? Possibly. (At the VTA conference I saw a kid walk by wearing a tee-shirt that said "Harness The Power of Mediocrity." Heh.)
Bad news: I am sorry to report that Porter Wagoner, the only Country-Western musician I like besides Johnny Cash, died last night. He was one of the giants of the Old School.
Last excerpt about Lincoln; I'm done with the book.
Somebody once wrote me an e-mail, stating that he enjoyed reading my take on pop culture. Pop culture? Hmf. I can do high art as well...
A while back I mentioned that I had bought a CD at a yard sale for a buck, a collection of classical works by Edvard Grieg (Norwegian) and Jean Sibelius (Finnish, pictured above). Recently, during my half-hour walks with an mp3 player’s ear buds plugged into my ears, I’ve been listening to the Sibelius Violin Concerto in D minor, opus 47 - one of the pieces on the CD. I’m getting familiar with it and hear bits of it in my head during the day. I’ve heard it repeated enough now that I’m looking forward to learning it as I hear it again.
Listening to many kinds of classical music – non-programmatic symphonies and concertos – takes work. It’s not like listening to a three minute song in AABA form (which, by the way, is adapted from classical music and is sometimes called abbreviated sonata form). You listen to a lengthy classical piece once and perhaps get a feel for what the movements are about. Then, with repeated listenings, the melodies become familiar and the shape of the piece (how themes are introduced and modulated) starts to become apparent. Bits of orchestration start to pop out (“Oh, here’s that passage where the brass sounds like duck quacks”) and you find favorite passages. Finally, once you’ve gotten to know it from start to end it’s like a friend, and you feel like your IQ has risen a point or two as a consequence of having become familiar with it. (Honest!)
The odd thing is that with all the classical music I’ve listened to over the years I have noticed that the stuff I had to work at the hardest to like is the music that, in the long run, I like the best. And usually, the music with easily identified themes and melodies is kind of like snacking on a candy bar. It’s sweet and tasty, but doesn’t provide nourishment for long.
For instance, in 1988 I discovered Ralph (pronounced “rafe”) Vaughan-Williams’ “Pastoral” symphony – a piece with little drama or dynamics and nothing to really distinguish it on a first hearing, save perhaps a part for a wordless soprano at the end. I had to really work at understanding it. But if it’s possible to wear out a CD with replayings, I would with my recording of it. It is one of my very favorite symphonies.
Another bit of fun is following along with the notes, if there are any, while listening. For instance, you don't really need to know music to figure out where this stuff is happening: "...the slow movement opens with an F Major horn solo above an F Minor chord, a theme which is developed by a solo 'cello. Just as in the first movement, the ideas flow gently from one to the next, ultimately leading to the trumpet cadenza. It is in effect a natural trumpet (a trumpet without valves) in Eb since the player is not to use the valves, so that the interval of a seventh has its natural, slightly "out-of-tune" intonation."
You just listen. That passage, by the way, is in the Vaughan-Williams Pastoral symphony. During World War I, V-W, serving as an ambulance driver, was listening to a bugler blowing the "all quiet" at sunset atop a hill. The bugler missed the octave and blew a seventh instead, and V-W later incorporated that into a symphony. The entire work has since been interpreted as a sort of lengthy elegy to the dead of World War I. So, you see, there are neat anecdotes to be learned as well.
I’ve enjoyed Sibelius’ music ever since I was sixteen, when I discovered his Fifth Symphony. For some reason his music is especially popular in the Anglo-Saxon nations; the Germans haven’t really taken to it. (There’s a famous story about a very Germanic old conductor who, having run his orchestra through one of Sibelius’ greatest works, the 2nd symphony, remarked with indifference, “This isn’t too bad.”) The music of Sibelius, for most people, conjures up deep, dark northern forests, frozen landscapes and a general sense of the bleakness of nature in hidden, mysterious places. It does for me, at any rate.
And look at Sibelius... an old man with a craggy, granite face. I wanna look like that when I'm in my seventies and eighties! It has been often commented that that magnificent face, the Finnish landscape and his music all seem to have coalesced somehow.
Anyway, what's really cool with classical music is an ability I once observed in the janitor in elementary school, a college student in his early twenties. He could turn the radio on to the classical station and identify the composer by just listening to the orchestration and characteristic way the melodies were written. Thirty five years on, I can do this as well. Not only that, but I can often figure out what the piece is by recognizing that it is not a piece I know, and therefore must be… whatever it is. My success rate is quite good. Ask my wife. Sibelius is especially easy to spot; nobody else uses brass in canon atop muted tympany the way he does.
Anyway, that, Dear Reader, in a nutshell, is the Joy of Classical Music.
No blog entry tomorrow - I'll be in Richmond with my daughter's high school drama troupe - so have a great weekend!
More from "The Wit and Wisdom of Abraham Lincoln," by Alex Ayres - click here. I like the one about Robert Todd Lincoln. So much so that I added it to Lincolnia.
Last night I watched a stills restoration of the famous lost Tod Browning film "London After Midnight" (1927) that aired on Turner Movie Classics. I used to see prints from this movie in monster magazines when I was a kid, and have always wondered about it. It's called "lost" because the last known print was destroyed in an MGM fire in 1965. There may be another print in a film archive somewhere, but if so, it hasn't yet turned up. This film is primarily known for the effective and over-the-top makeup by Lon Chaney (pictured above). The TCM version was composed of production photos strung together with the title card text and set to music by the fellow who wrote the new scores for the Harold Lloyd comedies, Robert Israel.
I'd like to say that the film (as judged by the stills restoration) lives up to expectations, but it doesn't. In fact, it's boring and silly; a tiresome murder mystery. Still, you have to admire Chaney's makeup job. Wow. Right up there with The Phantom of the Opera (1925), which I think has never been topped.
Last night in a phone conversation, my son mentioned another horror film: "Eyes Without a Face" (1960) - an excellent film. I can't think of many other films where face stealing forms the plot... You can read a review here.
Earlier in the conversation, my son said that he doesn't open any of my blog links because they don't open a new window - so I fixed that. From now on, they will. So shut off your pop-up blocker on your browser. Personally, I think it's easier to simply use the "back" button, but whatever... He also tells me to add a comments section, but I'm not sure how to accomodate that in simple HTML - which is all I can write.
Also, there will be no blog entry this Friday. I volunteered to be a chaparone/driver with my daughter's high school drama troup at the Virginia Theatre Association (VTA) conference in Richmond. A basic rule of parenting is that when a kid's teacher contacts you to ask about such things, you should volunteer. After 23 years of being a father I'm proud of the fact that I have been a volunteer at many of my kids' activities (all night grad parties, field trips, lunches, VTA conferences, drama booster, lacrosse games, etc.). Ben Stein's advice is accurate: "Being a Daddy is priority number one. When you are old and facing oblivion in a nursing home or a hospital or on a golf course in winter, you are not going to wish you had spent more time at the office or making a sales call or watching a show. You will wish you had spent more time with your family."
I got a phone report of the Rugby World Cup final result while in camp at Cedar Creek. South Africa beat England. How about that? The Southern Hemisphere Strikes Back!
I am now reading "The Wit and Wisdom of Abraham Lincoln," by Alex Ayres. An excerpt here. Not so witty. Also: "After the Battle of Bull Run, President Lincoln heard some accounts of the conflict that reflected more favorably on the Union cause than events would warrant. Listening to one such report, President Lincoln raised one eyebrow and asked, "So, it is your notion that we whipped the rebels and then ran away from them?" Ha!
I watched my all-time favorite Civil War movie last night, John Huston's "The Red Badge of Courage" (1951). Bought it on a DVD at Cedar Creek for $7, I couldn't resist. I always have to explain myself when I mention that I like this film to reenactors, because the uniforms, the drill and the battle formations are wildly unauthentic. For instance, many of the troops are using 1903 rifles, and the hat brass dates from 1876. The superior resolution of the DVD reveals stuff I didn't see in videotapes: the protagonist's collar is attached with a hook and eye. Authentic sack coat collars use a simple button. And at one point, it appears that the protagonist is firing caps at the Rebs... not likely to propel a minie ball out of a barrel doing that, let alone kill a Reb. BUT... this film is excellently cast and directed, and does justice to Stephen Crane. The story is told simply and directly. Watching it, you get a real feel for war, cowardice and bravery. With much bigger budgets, far longer running time and the help of reenactors as extras, "Gettysburg" and "Gods and Generals" fail in that respect.
Last week I mentioned the right shoulder shift position; see this. It's an extreme example of a pet peeve of mine from Huston's movie.
Tuesday is weigh-in day: 270. That's 42 pounds lost in eighteen weeks, 2 1/3rd pounds lost per week, average. One pound up from yesterday. I guess I'm recovering from the stresses and strains of warfare.
:)
The 143rd Anniversary Battle of Cedar Creek was great fun! As promised, PHOTOS HERE. Take a look - some of these are pretty good. Being a casualty brings with it great opportunities for camera work...
Check out this conversation in the ranks during batallion drill on Saturday:
There were a lot of (totally unconvincing) females dressed as musketmen at Cedar Creek. It's really annoying to hear, in a high voice, "Cover down! Align to the right!" during frenzied battles. Yeesh.
I was right when I wrote last week that my not losing any weight in the prior week had to do with not taking my blood pressure meds. On Friday morning I weighed 274. Took my meds. Eight hours later I weighed 272! This morning I weighed 269 - so I lost five pounds since Friday! (Lots of marching around.)
The NuttyBuddy. Be sure to check out the video at left. The inventor's demeanor suggests he's taken one too many cracks to the "boys."
I'm marching with Mister Lincoln's Army this weekend, starting today after work. Photos next week, I expect. Wouldn't you know it? Thunderstorms expected. Nevertheless, we soldier on in all sorts of weather. Real men are not intimidated by electrical arcs crashing all around us. Heck, we fix bayonets and carry our muskets at right shoulder shift when that happens!
You laugh, but did I ever tell you the story of the photo session at 125th Manassas in July, 1986? It was the first mega-event of the 125th series, and the organizers wanted to capture the troop numbers for posterity. So they marched us all into a field where he were posed, muskets at right shoulder shift, bayonets fixed, standing at attention while the photos were taken. We could see some heat lightning, which I took as my cue to remove my bayonet. I figured that, by being the lowest thing tipped with steel, the zaps would take out one of my pards, not me. (It's sort of like the story of the two zebras running away from a pursuing lion. One says to the other, "We'll have to run faster than the lion." The other says, "I just have to run faster than you.")
So if you see the photo (I never did) and you see one guy without his bayonet fixed - that's me. Mom didn't raise a total idiot.
Having done both Revolutionary War and Civil War reenacting, I can tell you a thing or two about the military close order drill of the periods. Von Steuben was a genius! You know Von Steuben: he was the Prussian military adviser who joined Washington's army at Valley Forge to assist in drill and discipline. Anyway, he came up with a simplified drill that was very easily learned. I had a pard who used to call it "s--thead drill," as any s--thead could be easily taught to do it. Civil War drill, by comparison, is complicated, and takes more than a few drill sessions to master.
Best of all is modern drill as taught by the United States Marine Corps; I was rather good at it. In fact, I developed my very own scheme whereby I could always ensure that there was one and only one beat (step) between the preparatory command ("column right") and the command of execution ("march!") - just like the best drill instructors did it. Watching Marine recruits drill on the "grinder" at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego is cool. They're all tense because they're afraid of getting yelled at, and there's a certain degree of electricity in the air. The snap and precision of close order drill is really interesting.
But there's none of that in reenacting. We slog along, tin cups hanging from haversack straps banging into bayonet scabbards, etc. The whole thing sounds like an antique car rattling down the road. With the Rebs, it looks like an animated length of tattered and noisy laundry on the march. (Yanks appear more military because we're all in navy blue sack coats and light blue trousers; the uniforms are more uniform, in other words.)
Hey - early next month I'll be back in my hometown (Burbank, California) in conjunction with a business trip. Due to fortunate scheduling I'll be able to attend my high school's homecoming football game, the Burbank-Burroughs game. (I graduated from Burbank High School in 1974, several lifetimes ago.) Burroughs High is the town rival; I haven't been to a Burbank-Burroughs game since 1965! I'll also get to go to Knott's Berry Farm for free, as they're having a Veteran's Day deal. Bring a copy of your DD-214 and get in free, cool.
Have a great weekend!
Last night I re-watched an old Humphrey Bogart film that gets a lot of enthusiastic press in film noir circles, "In a Lonely Place" (1950). It's called a classic film noir and Time put it in their Top 100 list in 2005. But watching it, I feel like a twelve year-old witnessing adult behavior and not understanding any of it. I can see that what I am watching is a good film with good performances, but none of it is reaching me; it's just sort of beyond me. That doesn't happen very often. So, I rewatched it. Same reaction. The film isn't growing on me at all with repeated viewings. Why is this film significant?
A bit of doggerel from it is usually cited as being representative of the story itself: "I was born when she kissed me. I died when she left me. I lived a few weeks while she loved me." Okkaaaay.
If I mention the old gothic ABC TV soap opera "Dark Shadows" (featuring vampires, werewolves, witches and warlocks), I suspect roughly half of you will know what I'm talking about and half won't. Wikipedia article here. I used to be a real fan of it as a kid, running home from school to view it at 4 PM, like millions of other American teenagers. Yesterday a friend mentioned that Johnny Depp has bought the rights to do a Warner Brothers film based on it (article here); apparently he, too, is a fan. I am of two minds about this. On one hand, I am sorry to see Depp involved because I think he's a wretched little wanker for reasons I won't go into here - and yes, I know I am wildly out of sync with the rest of the world, who apparently falls at his feet. On the other hand another revival (there was a short-lived primetime TV series in 1991) is interesting.
Speaking of vampires and the raising of the dead, I see the 2008 Star Trek movie is casting. I suppose that it will contain all sorts of in-jokes and references designed to make professional fans of the franchise go all warm and jiggly inside; I hate that about Star Trek. I hate it even more when I get the references...
I see some kid named Chris Pine is in negiotiations to play the central role of James Tiberius Kirk. He looks the part. If you can manage to cast James T. Kirk with a flashy pretty boy fly-half Johnny Wilkinson type you'll be on the mark, I think. Zachary Quinto, who looks a bit like an anguished intellectual, looks right for a young Spock.
...and that's enough of the emerging movie-related talk. I'm beginning to feel like a writer for Entertainment Tonight.
Took my good lady wife out for dinner last night as it was her birthday. We went to the Evening Star Cafe in the Del Ray district of Alexandria. Ever been there? It's excellent. The food is reasonable and tasty; gourmet food at "popular prices."
My favorite restaurants in Northern Virginia, however, are those in the Great American Restaurants chain. We've been going to Mike's in Springfield for twenty years and have never gotten a bad meal. And the help is amazingly attentive. We've been to all of the Great American Restaurants; they are all excellent. Take it from me... since Mom was a waitress and hated to cook on the weekends, I was practically raised in restaurants in the Los Angeles area. (An area of the country where you can dine very well for not a lot of money.)
...and now I feel like a restaurant magazine writer. That's it for today before I morph into Dr. Phil.
Here's an e-mail I received from a reader, who will be known as "Bill." I wouldn't normally run something like this here, but I was very gratified indeed at the mention of his playing rugby with his son. It was a very encouraging e-mail.
Bill is encouraging me to play some more rugby; I probably will, someday, despite the fact that I am now 51. "Fifty is the new thirty," right? When I attended my last Civil War reenactment as a participant in 1997, I saved all my gear because I had the feeling that I wasn't finished with the hobby. (My motto is "Never say never again.") I took a decade off - discovered rugby, along with other things - and when I came back to reenacting I enjoyed it all the more for having taken some time away. So I'm not done with rugby. I just don't have any immediate plans to play soon.
People are reading this blog and asking me about weight loss. BASIC PRINCIPLE: YOU NEED TO BURN MORE CALORIES THAN YOU TAKE IN. I suspect everything else - Atkins, Low Fat, Beverly Hills, pineapples, etc. - is a fad. I once read somewhere from a credible source that the only weight loss plan that really works and keeps the lost weight off is Weight Watchers. And Weight Watchers is nothing more than counting calories. They call 50 calories a "point" to make it simple, but it's the same thing.
Go here. Input your sex, height, weight, approximate activity level and desired weight loss per week. Read the daily calorie limit. Eat up to it but not beyond it. Keep a running total of your calories through the day (I use a post-it note). Use the nutrition information printed on packages, or find it on websites for chain restaurants/fast food places.
Do some exercise. (I walk for 30 minutes about 4 times a week.) Use this website to estimate how much you’ve burned, if you want. Graph your weekly weight. Stick to the plan. That’s it, really. I was hungry for the first few days I started a calorie limit and then wasn’t as my system adapted. It’s really easy. I have lost weight a number of times in my life in various ways (eating only low fat food, exercising my tail off, etc.), but this is really the easist and most sensible way to do it. Simple physics, just run the numbers.
HOWEVER... this morning I stepped on the bathroom scale and found I had gained a pound, in spite of sticking to my calorie limit and exercising the past couple of days. Yikes! I think I know what's happening, though... I am once again seeing what happens if I discontinue taking my blood pressure meds. Since I take a diuretic (Diovan HCT), which works by ridding the body of water, what I may be seeing is water weight. My blood pressure rose somewhat, from 100/70 to 123/76, but it's still in the normal range. Having lost a lot of weight, I'd like to get off the meds if I can. I suspect that my high blood pressure was caused by my excess weight - or was at least made worse by it. The challenge is convincing my doctor of that the next time I see him...
But enough of the organ recital. (What my wife calls middle-aged and older people obsessively talking about their health issues.)
Here's an interesting excerpt from that book about Arthur Conan Doyle I'm reading. The death of Sherlock Holmes, and the subsequent fuss it caused, must be a literary first. Conan Doyle relented and brought him back to life later on, by public demand. I think this, too, must be a first for a literary character.
I watched another great Harold Lloyd film, "The Kid Brother" (1927). This one, like "Speedy," "The Freshman" and "Safety Last," is filled with funny sight gags and the physical energy that characterized Lloyd's best work. He's called "the Third Genius," but I much prefer him to Charlie Chapin or Buster Keaton. Really, if you ever get a chance to watch or tape one of his films, you should. The humor is still fresh and surprising. And if you don't watch a lot of silent films, you may be surprised to see how optional dialogue really is in film - especially with humor.
Watch this, if you have a few minutes and you can view youtube videos.
According to my Old Farmer's Almanac, on this day in 1859 Robert E. Lee, commanding a group of U.S. Marines, stormed the firehouse that John Brown was using as a fort and took him captive, thus ending the celebrated John Brown Raid on Harper's Ferry, Virginia (now West By God Virginia). For me, however, the most interesting player is the free black man Dangerfield Newby. A very sad story... A letter found on his dead body revealed his motive for joining Brown:
Dear Husband: I want you to buy me as soon as possible, for if you do not get me somebody else will. The servants are very disagreeable; they do all they can to set my mistress against me. Dear Husband,. . . the last two years have been like a troubled dream to me. It is said Master is in want of money. If so, I know not what time he may sell me, and then all my bright hopes of the future are blasted, for there has been one bright hope to cheer me in all my troubles, that is to be with you, for if I thought I should never see you, this earth would have no charms fo me. Do all you can for me, which I have no doubt you will. I want to see you so much.
Newby's wife was sold after the raid and moved farther south.
Saw an excellent film last night: "The Other Side of Heaven," about Mormon missionary John H. Groberg. If you have to see a Mormon-topic film (a decidedly mixed bag of goods, in all), this is probably the one to watch.
I'm about half-finished with "The Doctor and the Detective," that book about Arthur Conan Doyle. Here's an interesting passage, about Holmes' appearance. I thought Holmes' use of his famous deerstalker cap was an invention of the author, but no.
Weigh-in day: I lost no weight last week - GAK. Oh, well, at least I didn't gain any. I'm at the dreaded "dieter's plateau." The two options are 1.) Eat less, and/or, 2.) Exercise more. Pretty drastic. I think I'll continue with what the daily calorie requirement website says is my weight-loss calorie level for another week and see what happens.
Monday, paugh. Now I really have Friday on my mind.
I saw the Rugby World Cup semi-final match (England vs. France) on Saturday. I don't know what they're paying Jonny Wilkinson, but he's worth every cent to England. I see that in the RWC he's the high points scorer, 243. So the stage is set for a South Africa vs. England final on Saturday... I won't see it. I'll be at a Civil War reenactment this weekend, at Belle Grove Plantation - the Battle of Cedar Creek.
It was a Navy weekend... I watched some more "Victory at Sea" episodes and, Saturday night, saw the Navy Band perform at Constitution Hall in D.C. The occasion was the 232nd Birthday of the U.S. Navy. As is always the case with the armed forces musical ensembles, the performances were excellent, professionally staged and just great to watch and listen to; I had a ball. I have written about them in this blog before (15 June) - I try to make as many of these performances as I can.
Every now and then they'll bring in a headliner of some kind, but they never seem to need them. The individual performers associated with the musical ensembles all seem to be excellent. For instance, at the Navy performance Senior Chief Musician John L. Fisher sang... to look at him, he doesn't appear to have star quality in the commonly accepted sense of the word. He's bald and somewhat stout - in fact, he looked somewhat like a prop to me. But he has a terrific stage presence, a wonderful voice and did a great job. I hope to hear him again.
Phil Stacey, whom you may remember from American Idol, was the headliner. He was excellent, too, but, frankly, I prefered Fisher...
I tried to watch the John Wayne/John Ford Western "She Wore a Yellow Ribbon" last night, but got bored and fell asleep. I don't know why this film has the reputation it does. Bought it at a yard sale for a quarter; I pitched it.
Oh, yeah, I added Sir Arthur Conan Doyle to my list of Famous Ruggers.
Did Arthur Conan Doyle play rugby? He did, in the early 1870's, when attending a Jesuit school. From The Doctor and the Detective - A Biography of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle by Martin Booth, this. Doyle introduced rugby into his Sherlock Holmes stories. Holmes' pal Dr. John Watson, M.D., in his younger days, long before he met Sherlock Holmes, played rugger for Blackheath, according to the Sussex Vampire story. And a Sherlock Homes story dealing with a missing rugger is "The Adventure of the Missing Three-Quarter."
BIG rugby match this weekend, the semi-final of the 2007 Rugby World Cup: England vs. France. Think Agincourt and Crecy. I'll be watching it at the home of an English friend who has also invited a Frenchman over. This ought to be interesting. I can moderate the arguments.
I have once again been watching episodes of the 1952 series "Victory at Sea"; I found the complete set of 26 episodes on DVD at a yard sale. And, once again, I wish I had spent some time aboard a Navy vessel. The last time I mentioned this to a friend of mine who was in the U.S. Navy in Vietnam his response was, "No, you don't."
Speaking of Vietnam, I'd like to get a tiny bit political, here. On Tuesday, Harry Reid, the Senate Majority Leader, visited my alma mater, BYU, and spoke on national issues. At one point he stated, "I say the invasion of Iraq was the worst foreign policy blunder in our country's history," and, according to the Salt Lake Tribune article, many in the audience applauded. Democrat or Republican, I feel I must address what I think is a fairly major bit of shortsightedness from a high-ranking policy-maker. After all, our nation's history encompasses 400 years, and that leaves a lot of room for error.
Let's see... foreign policy blunders... George Washington's attack on the French at Jumonville Glen is credited with sparking off the French and Indian War. (About 10,040 killed, wounded or captured on the British and American side.) Let's face it, that was pretty dumb. Washington was even suckered into signing a surrender agreement in French in which he accepted the blame for the attack. The Governor of Virginia chewed him out for it when he got back home. Whoops. And how about his famous comment about the massacre, "I heard the bullets whistle, and, believe me there is something charming in the sound?" Can you imagine the media response to THAT these days?
How about the War of 1812, called "Mr. Madison's War?" It resolved little or nothing. U.S. casualties: Killed or Wounded, 6,765; Disease and other, 17,205; Civilian, presumably 500.
How about the War with Mexico? Sure, we won territory as a result of it. But even U.S. Grant, who came out of it a military hero, thought that it was a reprehensible case of a big nation bullying a lesser one. Mark Twain thought the same about the War with Spain.
We could endlessly discuss the American Confederacy's assumption that Great Britain's economic reliance upon cotton would assure its recognition of Jefferson Davis' government - a foreign policy blunder - but let's not.
Pearl Harbor? There was a major foreign policy whoopsie. Japan caught us with our proverbial pants down, big time. 2,333 military and 55 civilians killed.
The 1961 Bay of Pigs Invasion in Cuba? A clear blunder, but one Senator Reid is perhaps unlikely to acknowledge, caused as it was by an administration from his own political party.
...which leads us to Vietnam. A hot topic of conversation, but, arguably, this is a far greater foreign policy blunder, leading as it did to 58, 209 dead Americans.
Coming to more recent times, I personally think being asleep at the wheel on 11 September 2001 was a major blunder, especially given the 1993 attack on the World Trade Center - a clear warning of intent.
So there. You can think of more candidates if you like. (And I encourage you to.) Frankly, I think anyone elected to Congress should be required to attend refresher courses in American history so they don't force us to re-learn it.
Have a great weekend!
I finished Thomas Hardy's The Mayor of Casterbridge yesterday, a nearly perfect book in my opinion. I have only one complaint with it, and it is but a single (mega)sentence. Here it is:
"As the lively and sparkling emotions of her early married life cohered into an equable serenity, the finer movements of her nature found scope in discovering to the narrow-lived ones around her the secret (as she had once learnt it) of making limited opportunities endurable; which she deemed to consist in the cunning enlargement, by a species of microscopic treatment, of those minute forms of satisfaction that offer themselves to everybody not in positive pain; which, thus handled, have much of the same inspiring effect upon life as wider interests cursorily embraced."
Huh?
I am now reading The Doctor and the Detective - A Biography of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle by Martin Booth, a yard sale purchase. I just started it, so no excerpts yet. I'm sure you all know Conan Doyle as the author of the Sherlock Holmes stories. These were a favorite with me back when I was a teenager. In fact, one of my favorite Christmas presents from 1970, when I was fourteen, was a complete collection of the Holmes stories. Check out this image from the book: SACD and wife on their tricycle.
It's called a tricycle here, but the single rider versions were popularly known as "penny farthing" cycles because of the relative size of the two wheels. They were legendarily dangerous... think about it. If the rider's weight is high and more or less over the axle of that big wheel and a rock of sufficient size gets in the way of that skinny tire, what happens? The rider falls forward on his face. In the case of Mrs. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, she eats dirt with his weight on top of her! But wait... is that a tiny wheel in front? If it is then what they're on really isn't a tricycle, is it? Hmmm. Anyway, the penny farthing design was replaced by the much safer bicycle we have today, with two more or less equal-sized wheels spread out front and back. Still, I have always wanted to try out riding a penny-farthing because they look so cool... (The other thing I have always wanted to do is empty the drum magazine of a Tommy Gun into a dumpster, gangster-style.)
Anyone out there Prisoner fans? The Patrick McGoohan series from 1967/1968? The TV show way ahead of its time with statements about the individual vs. the community, freedom vs. confinement, etc.? Great stuff. Wikipedia site here, if you have no idea what it is I'm writing about. I watched it when it first aired; I loved it. Still do. Have all the episodes on tape.
It never jumped the shark. Anyway... I bring it up because the show used a penny farthing cycle as a graphic theme. It had a significance, but I forget what it was. There's some rather half-baked speculation here, but I think I recall something more definitive from the show's creative staff. Patrick McGoohan, the series' star and leading philosopher, holds the opinion that man has gone too far too fast with his technology, and to advocate a slowdown or even retrenchment in "progress." A penny farthing cycle, being a suggestive image of a prior century, may be a symbol of this belief.
Whatever... like Twin Peaks (another favorite TV show), the Prisoner is nothing if not a great vehicle for people's speculation about What Does It All Mean?
Be seeing you.
You know, it's funny. I have been reading about the American Civil War off and on ever since I was seventeen, when I took a high school class taught by a teacher who had a rare enthusiam for the subject which he made contagious. You can say I've been ill ever since. But I never before encountered the amazing tale of Richard Thomas Zarvona, the cross-dressing Reb Zouave. (Not to be confused with the Charles d'Eon de Beaumont, the Dragoon in Drag.)
It kind of reminds me of another early American oddity, Thomas/Thomasine Hall. His/her story, from 1629, is here.
I read an interesting article the other day, about family political dynasties in America. It focused on two families in particular: the Bushes and the Clintons. George H.W. Bush was president from 1989 to 1992. Bill Clinton from 1993 to 2000. George W. Bush from 2001 to 2008. As the article did, let's suppose that Hillary Clinton wins the next election, and that she wins reelection after that. (I'm being apolitical here, and offering no comment either way.) So add in Hillary Clinton from 2009 to 2016. That's 28 years with a member of only two different families occupying the White House. The question raised by the article was, will America do that?
My question is, is America even remotely aware of it? I base this on my observations regarding the political and historical acumen of the general member of the public. Some of the better questions asked me by tourists visiting reenactment camps:
The whopper was one I overheard, asked by a teenage girl in a tone of perfect sincerity: "If this is a battlefield how come there are no bullet holes in the monuments?" That one stopped me dead in my tracks.
Political humorist Mark Russell was once asked if he ever worried about good comedy material drying up. "Not as long as Congress is in session," he replied. I might say the same about reenacting camp humor - not as long as the public attends.
I lost the second weekly pound this morning... sometimes that happens. If I don't lose it on Tuesday morning, I do the next day. (I use a digital bathroom scale; I have no idea if it's rounding up or down.) So I have lost 39 pounds, total. I think when I hit 40 I'll buy myself a treat, a banana split or something. Maybe some of that Haagen-Dazs Reserve Hawaiian Lehua Honey and Sweet Cream. Have you tried that stuff? Ambrosia.
I admit, I am the world's worst handicapper. If I tell you that I think Australia will win the Rugby World Cup - ignore me. Recently, Australia was beaten by England (Australia must be mortified), and favorites New Zealand by France (even more so). That leaves England, France, South Africa and Argentina in the semi-finals. Whoda thought? I suspect South Africa will prevail... which means put your money on, say, Argentina.
Friday night my daughter and I watched "Unwrapped" on the Food Channel; it's a show about how favorite (read, junk) foods are manufactured. Always interesting. Anyway, they did one spot about the Historical Division of Mars, Inc. (didn't know they had one), who make Colonial-style chocolates for the historic sites market. The historic sites market includes places like Valley Forge, Gunston Hall, Williamsburg and Mount Vernon. From an article: "The chocolate was developed with the Colonial Chocolate Society and the company believes it accurately resembles the chocolate eaten during revolutionary America. The chocolate has an irregular appearance and slightly gritty texture, which is said by Mars to reflect the way cocoa beans were ground at the time.The company was attempting to mimic the handmade techniques originally used." The website is here. Anyway, yesterday I made the short drive down to Mount Vernon to buy some of this stuff to try it for myself.
I bought a little muslin bag of four sticks for $6.50 - pricey. But hey, nobody said that being a history buff would be inexpensive. The first thing you notice is the smell; as described, it's aromatic and smells like real chocolate. It tastes... not sweet. Not bitter, but not sweet. Having tried lots of chocolate and pastries when I was in Berlin, Germany, I have come to the conclusion that we Americans must have the worst sweet teeth in the world. There seems to be two basic food tastes in the U.S.: sweet and salty. We add sugar and salt to everything, and it's unusual when you taste something that is neither sweet nor salty. Anyway, the Mars historical chocolate is good and I'll probably buy a stick of it whenever I'm at one of these sites.
I also stopped by Washington's Grist Mill ($4), which I have never seen working. Ever since I read those Eric Sloane books about old wood technology earlier this year (see entry for 4/20) I've wanted to see this place. I did an event there with the 1st Virginia (Revy War) back in 1992, but this was before they got the millworks running. It's fascinating to watch all those wooden gears, levers, pulleys and mechanisms running to produce three qualities of grain. I made a real nuisance of myself with the docent, asking question after question.
Another interesting part of the site is Washington's Distillery, which opened in April of this year. A Scotsman wrote a letter to General Washington, suggesting that as he had a good farm and mill at Mount Vernon, that he could easily produce a profit making whiskey. ("Who has alcohol, has cash," he wrote. Never were there truer words.) He also offered to help make the whiskey. Before long, Washington had five stills running, producing the largest output of whiskey in Virginia. A fascinating place, as the whiskey-making process is explained and a cool little fifteen minute History Channel production is shown upstairs.
No, they don't sell Mount Vernon-produced whiskey there - or any other kind. But the little gift shop sells the chocolate!
So, if you have a hour or two and would like to see an interesting Fairfax County sight, visit Washington's Grist Mill and Distillery. Highly recommended, and you can visit it separate from the full-blown Mount Vernon tour (you can buy a ticket at the Grist Mill). The website is here.
I'm still reading Thomas Hardy's The Mayor of Casterbridge, an excellent work. I came across this passage, where the title character reprimands his daughter for using slang:
It was dinner-time—they never met except at meals—and she happened to say when he was rising from table, wishing to show him something, "If you'll bide where you be a minute, father, I'll get it."
"'Bide where you be,'" he echoed sharply, "Good God, are you only fit to carry wash to a pig-trough, that ye use such words as those?"
She reddened with shame and sadness.
"I meant 'Stay where you are,' father," she said, in a low, humble voice. "I ought to have been more careful."
He made no reply, and went out of the room.
The sharp reprimand was not lost upon her, and in time it came to pass that for "fay" she said "succeed"; that she no longer spoke of "dumbledores" but of "humble bees"; no longer said of young men and women that they "walked together," but that they were "engaged"; that she grew to talk of "greggles" as "wild hyacinths"; that when she had not slept she did not quaintly tell the servants next morning that she had been "hag-rid," but that she had "suffered from indigestion."
Dumbledore and Hagrid... Do you suppose J.K. Rowling read this passage? A "dumbledore" (noun) is an old word for a bee. "Hag-rid" is an old adjective for indigestion. From a "mugglenet" dictionary: "Hagrid - J.K. Rowling said: "Hagrid is also another old English word meaning if you were Hagrid, it’s a dialect word meaning you’d had a bad night. Hagrid’s a big drinker. He has a lot of bad nights." Grid was a Norse giantess known for having a terrible temper. "Ha" is a variant of the Old West Norse name element "half." So, "Ha-Grid" may just mean "Half-Grid" or more notably "Half-Giant." " Haggard" can also mean "appearing worn and exhausted, gaunt; wild or distraught in appearance; a disheveled individual." From the Mayor of Casterbridge by Thomas Hardy, the Old English term "hag-rid" means "indigestion" (not surprising considering all the weird things Hagrid eats). Found in the exact same paragraph as "Dumbledore." Coincidence?"
Finally, Tuesday is weigh-in morning. Only lost a pound last week, which averages out to 38 pounds in 16 weeks. 2.38 pounds per week. Must have been that colonial chocolate...
A memorable youtube video: "Why Man Creates - the Edifice (1968)." The last time I saw this was in 1974, when I was in high school. It's the beginning of a cool short film that teachers used to show; I forget what class. As my pal Mike and I were A-V assistants, we used to have to roll the projectors and 16 mm film on carts to the classes. Every now and then we'd replicate the Gregorian chant heard during the "dark ages" apart of this: "What is the shape of the earth?/Flat!/What happens when you come to the edge?/You fall off!/Does the earth move?/Nevvverrrrr." The natural echo in the halls made it sound really good. We also occasionally greeted one another with another part from this: "Bronze!" "Iron!"
The edifice is by Saul Bass, a now-legendary graphic designer with a distinctive style who got a lot of work in films back in the Fifties and Sixties. You have certainly seen the clever logo for West Side Story - that's Bass' work. More: Saint Joan, The Man with the Golden Arm (one of Sinatra's best films, by the way), Vertigo, North by Northwest, Bonjour Tristesse. He also designed some corporate logos you'll recognize.
The Bass work that always mystified me as a small child was his design for the film Exodus (1960) - I was four. Who are those people and why are they reaching skyward? Are they all trying to get the rifle or is the boat burning? I only got around to seeing the film when I was in my forties, and was disappointed, frankly. (What film could keep pace with a four year-old's imagination?) But what really got me about the film was the theme by Ernest Gold. My parents bought the soundtrack album, and whenever they played it I would sob uncontrollably! To this day I don't know why it affected me so profoundly (I've heard classical music that seems far sadder), and even today, whenever I hear it, I can still feel something like what must be a kind of subdued panic attack taking place. Weird!
Another really cool youtube video: The (Animated) Bayeux Tapestry - this is SO neat. Back when I was a teen for a time I was absolutely possessed with the story of Harold and William, and the Battle of Hastings in 1066. So much so that one night I had the weirdest dream... I was a Saxon housecarl in King Harold's army, equipped with an axe, on the forced march from Stamford Bridge to Senlac Hill (where the battle was fought). The dream was very fatalistic in tone; I knew I was going to die. I woke up with a profound sense of displacement: it was really 1972, and I was a sixteen year-old in Burbank, California. Time to get ready to go to school. What was I doing here? Or there? Geez... no wonder I later became a historical reenactor. It's bred in the bone, I guess.
The tapestry itself, to use an overworn term, is iconic. When I was a little boy I had a bed with a sort of wraparound bookcase. At first it held toys, but later on my parents bought me a couple sets of inexpensive encyclopedias - the kind you got at supermarkets. In retrospect, it was the best thing they ever did for me. I loved to sit up at night and thumb through them. Anyway, one of the volumes had a scene from the Bayeux Tapestry; I found it fascinating. Years later, as a teen, I actually cut out the fold-out narrative photograph of the tapestry from a library book! (One thing my parents didn't impart was a respect for community property...)
One of these days I'm going to get to see the real thing, and to visit Senlac Hill... some day...
A three day weekend looms. (Well, it does if you're a federal employee like me.) All Hail Cristóbal Colón! Have a great weekend!
I didn't like Finn, by Jon Clinch, at all. I wrote a review of the book for amazon.com, explaining why. I gave it one star. Out of 63 or so reviews, the great majority gave it five stars, so I am clearly in the minority. Doesn't necessarily mean I'm wrong...
As threatened yesterday, I am now reading Thomas Hardy's The Mayor of Casterbridge, a far superior work. What sort of man would drunkenly sell his wife and child? The sort of poor Wessex native that Hardy - and I - find interesting.
I talked to an avid watch collector at work yesterday; he was pleased to show me his Rolex "Double Red" (so called because "Sea-Dweller" and "Submariner 2000" are both printed in red on the dial face). This is a highly sought after watch. He said one collector offered him $20,000 for it. I'd have taken it if I were him - but then, I don't like Rolexes. I'm a Breitling man, myself.
Back in the mid-1990's, when I was deeply interested in Swiss watches, I used to read and contribute to a forum called "Watchtalk." It was the home of an unknown wit who called himself "MisterRolex," who championed what he called "the Rolex lifestyle." A common posting from him might begin, "I am presently reclining on a deck chair on the deck of my pool, looking at the vintage British Racing Green Jaguar XKE parked in my driveway. A bottle of fine Courvoisier VSOP sits on the table next to me. Today I'm wearing my Datejust Oyster Perpetual..." He used to annoy the hell out of fellow posters, who apparently didn't get the joke. I thought his postings were hilarious. Anyway, as described by MisterRolex, the Rolex Lifestyle never seemed to include pimping, thuggery and drug dealing. (Let's face it, these folks form a sizable contingent of the Rolex wearers in America.)
Ever hear of a "Confederado?" They're Brazilian rebs, the descendants of Confederates who fled the American South after the Civil War. I saw a good article about them in last weekend's Washington Times. Here it is.
And, with his usual wit, James Lileks points out some "Dubious Moments in Comic History." My favorite is this one. "Customized with those stupid bat details he always puts on..." Ha! Lileks points out that he never read D.C. comics back in what we now called the "Silver Age," mainly because they were so goofy. Marvel, of course, was producing far more highfalutin' stories dealing with the deaths of cosmos, gods battling it out in Asgard and Reed Richards exploring the limitless reaches of the human mind. Whatever. I liked 'em both. The D.C. stories were goofy and accessable, and the pretentious Marvel stuff was good for a kid who would later enjoy Shakespeare.
The great thing about the Stan Lee-Jack Kirby Marvel Comics teaming in the 1960's was the seemingly effortless and limitless creativity. Sure, there were all those new and unusual super-heroes (Spider-Man, the X-Men) and epic, intergalactic plotlines (Galactus and the Silver Surfer), but there was more. For instance, I recall reading an issue of "Nick Fury and his Howling Commandoes"; at one point Fury and his Commandoes had to be picked up by a submarine. The sub's crew looked just as interesting and unusual as Fury's guys. One had an upside-down pipe in his mouth, another an odd hat, another unusual facial hair, etc. You got the impression that Lee and Kirby could have easily spun off a comic book dealing with the adventures of a sort of seaborne version of the Howling Commandoes. But they were just bit players in one comic, appearing in a frame or two without dialogue, that's it.
Saw a great Western last night: Winchester '73 (1950), starring Jimmy Stewart. It was directed by Anthony Mann, who is primarily known for his hard-hitting films noir. Okay, so here we are in the West. Darned if there aren't odd plot twists, a morally ambiguous protagonist, incidents in the past that cannot be escaped and an overall fatalistic tone. Throw in some noir stalwarts like Steve Brodie, Dan Duryea and Jay C. Flippen into the cast and you have what looks a lot like... well... you know.
Last night I saw a crackerjack little RKO film noir from 1949, The Threat, starring Charles McGraw (pictured above) as the title character. McGraw is a film noir stalwart and a b-movie favorite, known primarily for his husky voice and hard-boiled demeanor. (I suspect the cartoon character of McGruff the Crime Dog was based on him.) He has one of my favorite lines in all of noir, in the film he is primarily known for, The Narrow Margin. He's a detective. His partner's wife just received word that her husband was gunned down. McGraw offers this one as sympathetic, heartfelt comfort: "Tough break, Marsha."
In real life McGraw met a nasty end: he slipped and fell through a glass shower door.
The image above is from that film. His female costar is notable, Marie "Queen of the B's" Windsor. As her nickname suggests, she was another film noir stalwart. Tall, statuesque and built (measurements: 37 1/2-25-39 1/4), she was every bit as hard-boiled as McGraw. She's also a fellow BYU alumnus of mine and a former Miss Utah. Her real name was Emily Marie Bertelsen of Marysvale, Utah. From imdb trivia: "Often cast as an adulterous wife, slutty girlfriend, female gang leader or gun moll, she proved so convincing in those roles that she often received Bibles in the mail with passages underlined that covered the 'sins' she had committed onscreen, warning her that she would go to hell if she didn't reform. Several of those types of letters dwelt so much on her 'immorality' and 'evil ways' that, unnerved, she turned them over to the police."
More about Ozymandias, from yesterday... here is a short video illustrating Shelley's poem. Not a big deal, really. I also forgot to mention that there's an adjective "ozymandian," derived from the work. (Ozymandian: huge or grandiose but ultimately devoid of meaning; an ironic commentary on the fleeting nature of power and the enduring power of human egotism.) It pays to increase your word power!
I'm on the last pages of Finn, by Jon Clinch - Pap Finn is about to murder yet somebody else. It's a disappointing book. Looking at the reviews on amazon.com is puzzling; everyone seems to think this book is "astonishing," etc. I think I'm going to write a review to find out if we all read the same book! It is badly flawed, in my opinion...
My next book will be back in the assured world of classic literature, I think. (They ain't called "classics" for nuthin'.) Perhaps The Mayor of Casterbridge, by Hardy. I was very impressed with the film versions of Hardy's works. Roman Polanski's Tess, John Schlesinger's Far From the Madding Crowd and the more recent BBC version of The Mayor of Casterbridge were all excellent.
I once pointed this out to Western Suburbs, but there was one passage from Hardy's Tess of the d'Urbervilles that really stood out to me. Here it is - Tess is looking through a calendar:
She philosophically noted dates as they came past in the revolution of the year; the disastrous night of her undoing at Trantridge with its dark background of The Chase; also the dates of the baby's birth and death; also her own birth day; and every other day individualized by incidents in which she had taken some share. She suddenly thought one afternoon, when looking in the glass at her fairness, that there was yet another date, of greater importance to her than those; that of her own death, when all these charms would have disappeared; a day which lay sly and unseen among all the other days of the year, giving no sign or sound when she annually passed over it; but not the less surely there. When was it? Why did she not feel the chill of each yearly encounter with such a cold relation? She had Jeremy Taylor's thought that some time in the future those who had known her would say: "It is the -teenth, the day that poor Tess Durbeyfield died"; and there would be nothing singular to their minds in the statement. Of that day, doomed to be her terminus in time through all the ages, she did not know the place in month, week, season, or year."
I look at calendars differently since reading this...
Every now and then at work, when the weather isn’t sweltering, I take a brisk thirty minute walk while listening to an mp3 player. I have a number of different routes, but the one I like best is through several old graveyards in Alexandria. Alexandria City calls the area the "Wilkes Street Cemetery Complex," and it is made up of the cemeteries of a number of old, established churches. They all date from about 1808. Being a genealogist and history buff, naturally, I am at home in a cemetery.
I can’t help but notice this tombstone, belonging to one Heath J. Brent, age 21, "A Soldier of the Cross" (which is marked on a side not shown in the photo). He was killed before Petersburg, VA on 25 March 1865. Being a Civil War buff, this naturally causes me to wonder. What happened on the 25th of March, 1865? Hmmm... that’s pretty late in the Civil War, given that Lee’s surrender was on April 9th.
It was one of the last major offensive actions by Robert E. Lee, actually... the Battle of Ft. Stedman. It lasted four hours, from 4 AM to about 8 AM, so Brent was probably killed then.
Doing some Internet research I cannot find anything about Heath Brent, but I was led to
For some reason I'm reminded of a poem, "Ozymandias," by Percy Bysshe Shelley. "My name is Heath J. Brent, a soldier of the Rebellion: Look on my marker, ye Curious, and ponder..."
The wikipedia article is enlightening. I just learned from it that Ozymandias is, in fact, another name for Pharoah Ramesses II (shown above), traditionally believed to be the Pharoah of Exodus. (You know, Yul Brynner.) Cool!
Tuesday, weigh-in day. Down another two pounds from last Tuesday, which makes 37 pounds in fifteen weeks, 2.47 pounds/week, on average. I now weigh 275 pounds. I ate like a pig last Thursday for a high school thing I helped with, and kind of fell off the wagon on Saturday as well. But my calorie counting diet seems to be forgiving.
I am growing disenchanted with Finn, that book about Huck Finn's Pap I'm reading. It has a non-linear timeline (for apparently no reason), and is getting confusing. A half-black, half-white baby named Huckleberry Finn has been introduced into the plot. Is that the Huck Finn we all know and love or not? I don't know!
Yesterday I snuck off to the Wilderness/Chancellorsville battlefield in the morning; it's about a 50 minute drive south. As it was a beautiful day it was good convertible weather. Saw this at the visitor's center: Amos Bean of the 3rd Maine. He could be hit but not killed! Also saw this.
I went partially to either prove or debunk something I was told when I was in the Marine Corps. The story goes like this: At the Battle of Chancellorsville in May, 1863, "Stonewall" Jackson was hit by his own men while doing some nighttime scouting. His left arm was amputated and he later died of complications. (In fact he died of clumsy and ignorant medical treatment, but that's neither here nor there.) There are three places in Virginia associated with this, a stone next to the visitor's center that marks where he was hit, the house on the other side of I-95 where he died (called the Stonewall Jackson "Shrine" - which tells you something about the South), and the place where his arm was buried.
The story I was told was that legendary Marine Corps General Smedley D. Butler a.k.a. "Old Gimlet Eye" (pictured above), came across Jackson's arm in the 1920's, dug it up, examined it, and reburied it with a new marker. The old marker said simply (small font), "Here lies buried the arm of Stonewall Jackson." The new one, according to the tale I was told, said, (small font): Here lies buried the arm of Stonewall Jackson. (Large font): REBURIED BY GENERAL SMEDLEY D. BUTLER, UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS. The point being, apparently, what a colossal egotist Butler was.
The arm is buried in the Jones Family cemetery of "Ellwood," a small farm house located within the Wilderness. After checking with an ever-helpful National Park Service employee at the Chancellorsville Visitor's Center I drove to Ellwood, where I spoke to a volunteer docent there. She smiled and nodded as I related the tale I was told. The facts: General Smedley D. Butler, U.S.M.C. was indeed in the area supervising maneuvers, and came upon Jackson's arm. He did indeed have it exhumed and examined, and was convinced of its authenticity. He had it reburied, with a new brass plaque made up for the occasion. The Park Service removed the plaque when it acquired the Ellwood property in 1977, and have it stored away someplace, but they had an image of it which I photographed. Here it is, the moral of this story being, as always, do your own research.
The marker is here, a nearby interpretive display here (note no mention of Butler).
I think I mentioned this once before, but I once clobbered myself at the (so-called) Stonewall Jackson Shrine. It was on the way back from the 125th Anniversary Battle of Chancellorsville reenactment in 1988. Having never been there, me and the teenager I was giving a ride to stopped in. Yes, dressed as Federal soldiers, circa 1863. Now, bear in mind that I was - and to an extent still am - a Northern partisan in attitude. The Romance of the Olde South is not for me - phooey. And I have little interest or fondness for the mawkish sentimentality that led to an old farmhouse being nomenclated a "shrine." So it was with considerable skepticism that I entered. I was about to leave (there isn't much to see) when I slammed my forehead hard into a low ceiling beam... it being wholly unexpected and with sufficient force to cause me to see stars, planets, Saturn, a stray comet or two and various flashing lights, I cursed loudly. The docent, an older lady, ran up to ask if I was all right. The teenager just looked at me and said, "That's what you get for disrespecting Stonewall." I have never returned.
I am still annoyed that the National Park Service calls the house where Abraham Lincoln (an infinitely greater man) died, "The House Where Abraham Lincoln Died," but Stonewall Jackson gets a "shrine." Pullleesse.
While at the intersection of the Brock Road and the Orange Plank Road in the Wilderness - one of my favorite Civil War sites - I noticed that they recently put in a trail that leads to a Vermont monument. (Photo one & photo two.) Cool! And here is a shot of the interpretive marker that stands nearby. When I was a teen in L.A. I used to read about the Wilderness battle and wondered what it must have been like... the word most veterans used was "hellish." The thick scrub made a shambles out of any organized troop movements, and the black powder smoke hung low in the air. Nobody could see anyone they were firing at - men fired towards musket flashes. Small fires started which burned the seriously wounded. Hellish, indeed. Wikipedia article here.
Still reading Finn by Jon Clinch, a tale about Huck Finn's "Pap." The author did something I disagreed with. In Twain's novel, Huck fakes his own murder in order to get away from his Pap, who has him locked up in a shack. The Pap screams "Murder! Murder!" and we don't have an account of him again until his body is found by Jim and Huck in a beached raft, downriver. In Finn, Pap isn't taken in by the ruse and knows his son faked his murder. Why Clinch changes Twain's story, I don't know, but I disapprove. Seems to me that any new work using The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn as a starting point needs to accept the parameters of the story Twain wrote.
Friday. Geez, I thought it would never get here. What a week.
I met a bean counter on the elevator today who told me that today was the last day of the 2007 fiscal year. (In the government, fiscal years begin on 1 October and end on 30 September.) I slapped my forehead and said, "...and I forgot to put up the tree!" Not sure if he found that amusing or insulting... and I don't care, really. Right now those people are making my professional life a living hell.
I am now reading Finn by Jon Clinch. It isn't often that I read non-fiction by authors other than Hardy, Dickens, Steinbeck, etc., but this one was too attractive to pass up. It was displayed in the library's new books section - it's about Huck Finn's father "Pap" Finn, and how he came to wind up dead at a game of cards in a raft on the Mississippi (as recounted in Mark Twain's The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn). It also naturally gives some of his backstory. I'm only 37 pages into it but so far it is heavy with the suspicion of mayhem and murder.
What nerve, to take on as a starting point what many (and I am in this category) consider to be the greatest American novel ever written. We'll see how Clinch does. It could be as bad as Gone With The Wind II, or some such ill-starred sequel - or it could be a credible extension of Twain's immortal book. One thing's for sure... it won't be as good. (How could it be?)
But, getting back to the Greeks for a moment, one of their great literary successes was taking the Trojan War root material in Homer and expanding upon it. Sophocles, Euripides and Aeschylus all wrote brilliant plays based on Homer's material (what he supposedly wrote, or dictated, etc.). Perhaps the same thing is possible with the Finn Family.
I see the New Zealand All-Blacks are the favorites to win the 2007 Rugby World Cup. My money, however, is on the Wallabies. Just a hunch, is all. Can somebody give me the information on the where and when of a local broadcast of the semi-final and final? Summers Restaurant in Arlington, I expect. Is that info posted yet? Perhaps I should simply do the sensible thing and post a message on the message board and ask, huh?
That's it for this week; Brigham, over and out. Have a great weekend! (Mine will include some film noir, hammock and convertible time.)
More from The Legend of Odysseus, my excellent yard sale book: I have always wondered about the account of Achilles dragging the body of the slain Trojan hero Hector around the walls of Troy in his chariot... it seems to be one of those things that could have actually happened. So unbelievably savage it's believable, if you know what I mean. We have absolutely no way of knowing for sure. (Just about all scholars point out that we don't really know if there was even a Trojan War, as described by Homer.) But it's a vivid image. Anyway, here is an excellent rendition of it by Peter Connolly. If Achilles' shield looks too fine it was because it was manufactured for him by Hephaestus, the godly blacksmith.
Another great illustration is of a late Bronze Age boar's tusk helmet - how it could have been manufactured. Good stuff, that. As I said yesterday, certainly not a classical period Greek helmet, the kind we're used to seeing in films and books about Troy. Finally, note Connolly's image of Thetis and Zeus; she is asking a favor from him, on account of her son Achilles. The interesting thing is that Connolly got the pose right. In ancient Greece, a suppliant seeking a boon would have to adopt a humiliating, ritualized stance - on the knees, with one arm grasping the back of the legs at the knees and the other hand holding the beard.
I am now moving in the book from a quick retelling of Homer's Iliad (called the world's greatest war story) to Homer's Odyssey (called the world's greatest adventure story). For all its difficulty and inaccessability, I prefer the Iliad. I like that whole over-blown chariots-axles-deep-in-blood stuff. Did you know that our phrase "bites the dust" for dying comes from the Iliad? One of Homer's many poetic touches...
Sorry no update for yesterday. I had to take my good lady wife in for foot surgery; she's fine and resting at home, on the mend.
I finished Kenneth Clark's The Romantic Rebellion - Romantic Versus Classical Art. One of the later chapters was on Edgar Degas, and included his Spartan Girls Challenging Boys to Wrestle. You can fill in your own clever caption! Yes, this kind of thing actually happened in ancient Sparta. Boys and men exercised in the nude and the Spartan girls were well-known among the other Greek city-states for being somewhat... butch. They were called "thigh-flashers" and took part in sports and contests. In the other city-states, girls and women kept to their households. In fact, the ideal was described by Pericles: women were not to be known for good or evil. That is, they were to be socially more or less invisible. Not in Sparta.
While the Spartans had a badly repressed slave class, they had advanced or liberated notions concerning their women. Not dissimilar to the Klingon women depicted in Star Trek...
However, it may be that Degas' painting doesn't portray competition at all, but a mating ritual. See article here. What does Degas intend with his "curious iconography?" A good question, perhaps best left to the classical scholars and art historians.
I am now reading reading a great little book entitled The Legend of Odysseus, illustrated by Peter Connolly. It's a work intended for teens, but Connolly's superior illustrations make it fascinating reading for anyone interested in the Trojan Wars. The thing I like best about it is that he gets the clothing and armor right: Diomedes and Aphrodite, Patroclus Scaling the Trojan Walls - no cliched Athenian classical period armor here!
President Bush Selects Civil War Reenactors To Take Part In Iraqi Troop Surge (sort of).
Weigh-in day yesterday: I once again lost two pounds last week, putting me at a total of 35 pounds lost over 14 weeks - 2 1/2 pounds per week, on average. My rate of weight loss has slowed somewhat, but I was expecting that. I'm now 277... last time I weighed this was February, 2001. And yes, for the record, it is possible to gain weight while playing active spring and fall seasons of rugby. I did it. Three hours of rugby practice a week and a Saturday match cannot counter eating whatever one wants in whatever quantity one wants!
I'm getting over a head cold that morphed into a chest cold. It felt like somebody installed a valve in my head and pumped my face up to 2 or 3 psi; I've been sort of light-headed for days. At one point I got up and nearly passed out from the dizziness. Had it not been for the sinus congestion, I would have kind of enjoyed it.
Last night I watched an interesting film noir from 1951 I've been waiting years to see, He Ran All the Way, starring John Garfield as a rather stupid thug - ably complemented by a very young Shelly Winters, who plays another dummy. The title is puzzling, since the great majority of the action takes place in an apartment. (So what running did he do all the way?) Anyway, it's one of those films where the bad guy is hiding out from the police by taking refuge in somebody's home and constantly threatening everyone with his gun. There are enough noirs using this plot device to identify it as another noir sub-genre (see the entry for August 29th). These always manage to push my buttons, as I'm constantly looking for an opportunity for a member of the family to plunge a kitchen knife into the back of the bad guy... This noir has an unforgettable ending: Garfield is shot and dies in the street gutter, which is lit by James Wong Howe's usual excellent noir lighting. (From wikipedia: "Howe earned the nickname 'Low-Key' because of his penchant for dramatic lighting and deep shadows, a technique that came to be associated with 'Film Noir.'")
The film was co-written by Dalton Trumbo, one of those blacklisted Hollywood artists. (He was, in fact, a member of the American Communist Party. He is often quoted as having said, "I never considered the working class anything other than something to get out of" - some Communist!) Trumbo wrote what is, to me, one of the most unintentionally funny and over the top anti-war works ever written: Johnny Got His Gun. The situation: a soldier in World War I suffers injuries such that, 1.) His arms are gone, 2.) His legs are gone, 3.) He cannot see, 4.) He cannot speak, 5.) He cannot hear. So the entire book is about his attempts to communicate. As Oscar Wilde once said (about something else), it would take a heart of stone not to laugh at it.
According to wikipedia, "Shortly after the 1941 German invasion of the Soviet Union, Trumbo ordered all copies of Johnny Got His Gun to be recalled and stopped any further publication of the book. After receiving letters from individuals requesting copies of the book, Trumbo contacted the FBI and turned these letters over to them, questioning the correspondents' loyalty to the Allied war effort." What a weasel!
In spite of himself Trumbo occasionally penned some good works, and He Ran All the Way was one of them.
I am continuing to read Kenneth Clark's The Romantic Rebellion - Romantic Versus Classical Art. The works of Ingres, Blake, Gericault, Delacroix and Turner are all examined. An interesting work I learned about is Delacroix's The Death of Sardanapalus. "This painting gave Delacroix a chance to depict in a remote place and time the sort of physical and emotional violence that so fascinated many painters of this age. Sardanapalus, an Assyrian ruler of the seventh century BCE, held out against his besieging enemies for two years before his palace fell. Delacroix depicted the last moments of Sardanapalus, who watches as all his treasures, horses, and concubines are brought together to be burned with him in a defiant act of self-immolation." Well! Talk about getting into a snit!
It kind of reminds me of the old Viking custom of the war lord's body being burned aboard a longship, with a woman put on board to burn with him. (This was considered an honor.) I approached my wife with the idea, but she was cool to it, to say the least.
I am continuing to read Kenneth Clark's The Romantic Rebellion - Romantic Versus Classical Art. Good stuff - very readable. Another chapter is on the work of Francisco Jose de Goya. Here's another half-hearted and brain-dead art review:
The Naked Maja - Kenneth Clark says that whomever was the owner of that trim bod certainly wasn't the head that's atop it. Note how the head doesn't really fit well on the body - it's a composite. (The head. You're supposed to be looking at the head.) Looks like a painting that would hang over the saloon in a Western film, doesn't it? The Maja also came in a dressed version - to which I say phooey.
The Duchess of Alba - ...with whom Goya had an affair. Clark points out that she wears two rings, one says "Alba," the other, "Goya." She points to the name "Goya" in the dirt at her feet. You sort of get the impression that things aren't going well, there, don't you?
Charles III, the King of Spain - What's interesting about Goya was that he was able to paint images of royalty looking like this - an apparent mental deficient - without pissing them off. Amazingly, he kept getting portrait work.
The Family of Charles IV - Again, homely royalty. You can imagine what he'd do with the House of Windsor. Detail: I can't believe she was thrilled about paying Goya's commission for this one.
Portrait of Dona Francisca Vicenta Chollet Y Caballero - The dog looks more pleased.
The Manikin - Wheeee! Next, let's get some guy we don't like in the village - and drop him!
Detail from Portrait of Himself at Work - Clark says that he actually used to paint wearing that hat, which had candles on the brim which enabled him to paint at night.
Clark points out that as Goya turned stone deaf and started to withdraw from society, his paintings became nightmarish - which is certainly the case with Saturn Devouring His Son, a quaint little work. When I was doing a page for Rugby Players Eat Their Dead and needed a logo, it was the first image I thought of.
The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters - That is, when reason slumbers, monsters appear - as in dreams. OR, when humans allow their reason to slumber, they produce monstrous things - like the Holocaust. Clark says it can be taken either way.
Finally, an article I once wrote (as Jonah Begone, my Civil War pen name) has been translated into Polish for a European site! The article in English, the article in Polish. That's a first for me...
Have a great weekend! (By the way, Autumn begins Sunday the 23rd at 5:51 A.M. EDT.)
This is a website for the military. Go there, take the political test and it will return the name of the candidate (Democrat, Republican or other) whose political beliefs most closely match yours. Then there's a 1-800 number you can call to arrange a date. Should I tell you who I scored highest with? Nahhhh.
I am now reading Kenneth Clark's The Romantic Rebellion - Romantic Versus Classical Art. It's an art history book and is excellent thus far. I learned something new in the very first pages, that the Romantic movement in art stemmed from a desire to invoke fear in viewers. Fear? Really? That surprises me. I thought it was some strong but generally undefined emotion... I didn't know it was specified.
Anyway, the first chapter is on the work of Jacques-Louis David, celebrated painter of Napoleonic times. Let's examine some of his stuff, shall we?
The Oath of the Horatii - What immediately passed through my mind upon viewing this was the strong emotion displayed by the men swearing an oath of some kind - to the complete and total indifference of the women. It's kind of like a rugby match: the guys are running around out on a pitch, 100% involved and committed, swearing the very air blue around them with emotion. Most of the women are huddled in chairs in blankets, trying to stay warm and oblivious to what their husbands and boyfriends are doing. They're waiting for the match to be over so they can go to the bar and warm up. I've been to Civil War things like that, too. Some heartfelt commemorative is taking place, with tubby bearded guys in reproduction uniforms standing around a monument with tears in their eyes - and their women are off in the distance waiting for the whole maudlin thing to be over. I would rename this painting, Gender Gap in Interests.
Portrait of Madame Récamier - Geez, look at the legs on that couch. Were I to recline upon it those things would snap like matchsticks. Madame Récamier must be as light as a feather. (Another artist painted her here. That pose suggests to me, "Hmmmm... if you move the dresser over to the other wall we can put the bed over here. Or maybe move the sofa to where the armoire is...)
Madam Tangry and her Daughters - Ouch. Mom is better looking than her daughters.
Leonidas at Thermopylae - Nawwww... that's Leonidas in some park in Paris. A far, far cry from the same events depicted in "300." Interesting details: One, Two, Three.
The Sabine Women Enforcing Peace By Running Between the Combatants - Spoilsports. Detail. Another detail.
Madame Verninac - Is it me, or does she appear somewhat wall-eyed?
The Death of Socrates - Back in ancient Greece, if you're going to walk around half-dressed in a sheet you had better spend some time in a gym. Apparently Socrates did. Detail.
The Death of Marat - Wasn't a big bleeder, was he? The note, translated from the French, says, "Today, take a shower instead, and lock the door. Signed, A Friend."
Mars Disarmed by Venus - Have you noticed that if you're going to paint classical characters in the buff, you frequently have to rely upon strategically-placed doves, straps, swords and the like? Mars is wearing an expression on his face like he'd really rather be off killing somebody somewhere. And it looks like he's copping a cheap feel with his left arm. Detail. Another detail.
Well, that's it with my cheesy art criticism on Jacques-Louis David. More tomorrow with some other unfortunate, maybe.
I sometimes get e-mails advertising fake wrist watches, an unfortunate by-product of an interest in Swiss watches. Here's by far the most attention-grabbing one I have ever seen. A Rolex... funny, I would have assumed He'd be a Cartier Man.
I could stand Hamilton's The Roman Way no more, and pitched it into the trash. A far, far less interesting work than her book about the Greeks. Ten or twenty years ago I would have toughed it out and finished the book. Nowadays time seems more precious, and I will cease reading a book that I have lost interest in.
This morning on the way in to work I read Sophocles' Philoctetes. What's it about? Read a summary here. A wounded man with a bow, a duplicitous but ultimately noble youth, Odysseus and Hercules (who conveniently descends from Mount Olympus at the end to provide a resolution to the story). I really like Greek, that is, Athenian, plays. Short, sweet and direct. As is the case with most of them, this one has a Chorus - a dramatic device consisting of a group of people who comment upon the action, frequently interacting with the characters. Wouldn't it be cool if each of us had our own Greek Chorus, attending our affairs and providing comment? Sure, it could become a bit clumsy when in small rooms, but think of the benefits: 1.) Our actions would be interpreted for others, 2.) Their helpful commentary would assist us in making important decisions and, 3.) When we feel low or blue, they would sympathetically wail and bemoan our fate with us. I think a personal chorus would be especially useful at rugby matches, standing on the sidelines, nodding amongst themselves: "Well played! He moves with the speed of Hermes and scrummages with the strength of Hercules! O that others on his team would be so favored of the Gods!", etc.
Andy Smith alerted me to a French rugby player known as "the Caveman," or as he's more elegantly and quaintly known in France, l'Homme des Cavernes. Here he is, making a big hit on an All-Black: Whump! Wikipedia bio here.
Yesterday I mentioned that I was experimenting upon myself with my blood pressure medication. I made the mistake of mentioning this to the nurse at work who took my blood pressure (a tiny bit high). As I predicted, I got dark looks and disapproval. She summoned another nurse, and together they badgered me about it:
Nurse 1: This is not wise.
So I relented and took my medication, and agreed to meet with my doctor and discuss possibly lowering my dosage to account for my lowered weight.
Come to think of it, those two nurses looked and acted a lot like a Greek Chorus.
Reading Hamilton's The Roman Way is something of a chore. She clearly doesn't have the enthusiasm for the Romans that she had for the Greeks, and it shows. One can only read passages from Plautus, Cicero and Terence so much. But... hey... I'm half-way through.
I saw Clerks (1994) the other night (a yard sale purchase for a quarter), supposedly one of the twenty funniest comedies ever. Frankly, I don't see it, but I suppose this is a generational thing. Or a New Jersey thing. Anyway, this is the work that gave drug dealers Jay and Silent Bob to the world - a dubious achievement. It's not that I don't think an examination into the life of a low-paid clerk - or an economic underclass - is worthwhile... it is. Uncle Tom's Cabin helped to further along a war and subsequent huge social change. People forget its original subtitle was "Life among the lowly." And it's not that I'm especially offended by the off-color language or situations in the movie; I'm not. It's just that while I found the whole thing interesting, for me, it was depressing in a way that no film noir is. The problem is that I know and have encountered aimless low achievers all though my life, and they cause me to fret a little. Why? It's not because I consider myself God's Gift to the Literate and Educated and look down upon them. It's because I feel that, without a whole lot of work and constant effort on my part, I would easily revert to being one myself.
I will state for the record that I have strongly blue collar roots. My first job out of the Marine Corps was something my father had arranged, working in a reclamation yard at Lockheed Aircraft, stacking wooden pallets for reuse and sorting through all sorts of industrial trash. My co-workers were all the 1979 version of Clerks. They all talked of bettering their situation, but none did. I could write a story like Clerks about the various characters I knew. There was Al, the miserable old guy who used to bring a can of Vienna Sausages into the men's room stall with him in the morning. For him, luxury was sitting on the pot, eating the sausages and reading the paper. Or the guy I chatted with casually one day only to find out that he was out on bail awaiting trial for manslaughter because he had gunned down a man who was seeing his girlfriend. Or the teenager who used to do drug deals in the parking lot. Or the guy who sat down to lunch and didn't object to a dead rat lying on the floor near his chair. Or Al Faber, my bosses' bosses' boss, who kept insisting how important a clean plant was. Every morning he would throw his cigar butt on the ground for me to pick up, when I walked my route with a trash can on wheels, tidying up. He once dropped his car keys on the ground on the way to the office; I threw them on the roof in petty revenge. (A scene right out of Clerks, by the way.) During the entire ten months I worked there I kept relentlessly thinking I've got to get out of here/I've got to get out of here/I've got to get out of here/I've got to get out of here.
Well, whatever. That was then, this is now. My continuing job these days is to reinforce how important college is to my kids!
Speaking of kids, tonight I attend the last-ever Back to School Night. (My youngest child is a senior in high school.) Hooray! I've been attending these since 1989, when my oldest child first started kindergarten. Will I be glad to be finished with the public school system in Fairfax County? I should say so. The institutional self-regard, the educrats, the social nonsense ("A Community of Caring School"), the rampant political correctness, the notes home in poor grammar ("Your student should fill our their forms..."), the occasional poor teacher, the SOLs (and the teachers complaining about having to teach to them), the dysfunctional fellow students, etc. My wife and I are exhausted.
Tuesday is weigh-in day. I note that I have lost another two pounds, now at 279. (That last digit - a nine - bugs me. 281 seems less than 279 somehow.) Anyway, I have lost 33 pounds in 13 weeks - 2.54 lbs/week. On Saturday I bought a new pair of jeans, 40" waist. I haven't been able to fit into a 40" waistband since 2001. I have a complete suit with 40" trousers that has been hanging patiently in my closet, waiting for my arrival. I bought them in 1994. I'm not into them yet, but I will be in a month or so, I think.
I'm conducting an experiment upon myself (against my doctor's wishes): I have tried discontinuing my high blood pressure medication. I think my weight is what caused it to be high. Yesterday my blood pressure was normal without it. If it's high this afternoon, I go back. If it's normal I monitor it again. Whenever I suggest this experiment, health professionals look at me darkly. So if there's no entry here tomorrow it's perhaps because I've had a stroke or something, dealing with the Fairfax County school system...
What a great weekend! Nice autumnal weather... I like this time of year, when the weather gets cooler. It's refreshing, after a long, hot summer. Another nice by-product of losing weight is that I'm no longer overwarm all of the time. So I no longer feel like I need to wear billowy Hawaiian shirts in the fall!
I am now reading Edith Hamilton's The Roman Way, which is somewhat shorter than her book about Greece. I get the impression that she has less enthusiasm for classical Rome than for classical Greece; that describes me as well. To me, the Romans were clods compared to the Greeks. Dangerous and extremely well-organized clods, but clods nonetheless. What's more, I think the Romans suspected as much about themselves. They easily conquered Greece - and then began a brain drain out of Greece and into Rome. Even their gods were Greek exports, and every wealthy Roman wanted to have a Greek slave as a teacher for the kids. This suggests that they compared their cultures and found themselves lacking.
Greek rationality and humanism appeal to me. Like most Westerners, however, I get my religious cues from Judaism (the Judeo-Christian ethic). The best of both worlds: a Greek intellectual heritage and a Hebrew religious heritage. Western Civ... great stuff... we should be teaching it in college again...
Speaking of Western Civ - and the fall thereof - this: Leave Britney Spears alone! One of the funniest videos I have ever seen. Is this a male or a female? I'm not sure. "Anyone has a problem with her, you deal with ME!" In some odd, disconnected way it sort of reminds me of the time I saw a Sally Jessy Raphael talk show where Sally confronted an (allegedly) abusive mother and told her that she'll take her kids away from her if she doesn't attend treatment (or some such thing). Since when does a talk show host have the legal power to remove children from the custody of a parent? The pop culture is odd, odd, odd, that's all there is to it.
I learned a technical truth over the weekend: vinyl is a better archival medium than magnetic tape. I've been digitizing certain cassettes (an interview with a family member about family history, home-made music recordings I made in my twenties, a live band I recorded in 1974, favorite records on cassette, etc.) and making audio CDs out of them. The technical quality is, to put it mildly, variable. Last weekend I plugged my turntable into the computer and started digitizing LPs with much better results. Cassettes often develop fade-through (you can hear reversed sounds from the other side) and a high frequency dropoff after 20-30 years. LPs are inert platters of vinyl and they sound as good as they ever did. And with the new stylus I bought last year, they sound great! Okay, not as good as the best digital recordings, but pretty good, for analog. I was surprised at how quiet some of the surfaces on known, noisy LPs were with the new stylus. I think the diamond may be tracking different places in the groove, or something...
By the way, I still have about 1,200 LPs and a state of the art (in 1974) turntable which I will never get rid of. (I might replace it for one of these, however...) I learned my lesson about getting rid of big chunks of my past when I gave up my comic books. I won't make that mistake again.
By the way, I have a Thorens TD125 turntable, a nice piece of engineering in the 1960's, 70's, 80's or any other decade. The fact that it still runs flawlessly is a testament to the quality of its build. It weighs a ton - which I find reassuring. I use an SME 3009 Series II tonearm (early 70's vintage) with a Shure V-15 Type III cartridge and stylus, tracking at exactly one gram. (I have a balance I use.)
Remember, as the 8-Track fans say, "High tech is in the eye of the beholder."
I am continuing to enjoy Edith Hamilton's excellent and highly readable The Greek Way. Here's an excerpt. Think back on the recent movie, "300." That whole business about Greek freedom and liberty versus Persian enslavement was not created out of whole cloth as a theme for a movie or a comic book. It was a definite theme in contemporary Greek thought, as Hamiliton indicates. When the Greeks defended Athens and the Spartans attacked the Persians, they knew very well what they were fighting for!
Having said that, I will offer it as my own personal opinion that I think the Spartans were the Goon Squad Blockheads of Classical Greece, and that I much prefer the Athenians.
I wrote up an article about my observations on returning to reenacting after a decade off: Some Notes on New Millennium Reenacting. Things are different, things have changed - even in a hobby whose whole goal is to seem like times 145 years ago.
And here's one last Antietam image, Me and my pard Chris in the ranks. That face I'm making is my imitation of a guy I sometimes encounter at work; I think he's a patent examiner. I don't know his name. At any rate, he's always wearing that odd, doubtful expression on his face, even when by himself in an elevator. It's like somebody just suggested to him, "I think we ought to make Britney Spears the Secretary of Defense" and he's reacting to the notion. I can only imagine what's churning about in his mind to get him to look that way so often. Or maybe it's neurological - an odd facial tick of some kind. Or maybe he's just what my sister-in-law calls a space cadet.
Note that I'm resting my hands on the end of my musket barrel - this drives a certain type of reenactor (whom I call the OSHA Safety Appointee) nuts. A black power muzzle-loader is not like a modern rifle, which could possibly have a cartridge in the chamber. I know very well that there is no possibility that anything is unexpectedly coming out of that musket. Why? Because I previously inverted the musket to pour out any powder, and capped off to extinguish any powder that might be in there. I suppose an angry ant might crawl out of the barrel to attack me, but that's about all that is likely to happen. Still, it makes the OSHA guy feel safer to chide scofflaws for this sort of thing, so I invite him to.
Note the faded color on my forage cap, which I bought in 1983. Time for a replacement!
Oh, and no, those aren't second lieutenants in front of us. Those little brass bars are mounts for epaulets, if worn.
I finally got around to watching Monty Pyton's The Meaning of Life (1983) last night. Except for the notorious Mister Creosote segment, I found it frequently unfunny. There are segments that look like they're simply ad-libbing in front of a running camera, which is very odd for a feature length film. Anyway, a disappointment. Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975) is vastly funnier, I think.
I am looking forward to a weekend of doing nothing. So, enjoy yours!
Another photo from Antietam last weekend. Bum, bummm, bum, bum, bum, bum, bummm, bum, bum, bummm. (Bwaaaaa, bwaaa, bwaaaaa). Lotsa people talkin'/Few of them know/Soul of a woman/Was created below.... (drum entry, distorted guitar riff).
Here's another. In general, in a Civil War pup tent, if you thrash around at all the whole thing will collapse on you. Of course I could do what everyone else seems to be doing, inhabiting the much larger A-style tents, but my money is better spent elsewhere.
Yet more: Midnight at the Bloody Road. Hydration. On the march.
I had some facial moles removed this morning; part of my mid-life upgrade (convertible, weight loss, facial surgery, possible hearing aid). The hair, what little there is, I'm leaving alone. No Rogaine, augmentation surgery, comb-over, etc. Hair, after all, is such a trivial matter. At least baldness is tidy, as Dad used to say.
I also had spider veins lasered off the tops of my nose - this was an interesting activity. It felt like a burn and a scalple at the same time. A weird feeling. And being electrically cauterized was interesting, too. What's that I smell? Not to worry - my burning flesh is all. Reminiscent of Salem, Mass, 1692.
Eh, got to go. Lots going on today, even for one such as I with superior executive and time-management abilities... I'm somewhat overwhelmed right now.
I am now reading The Greek Way by Edith Hamilton, written in 1930. It is what we would now call politically incorrect in that she posits that some cultures are better than others. Her opinion, that the Greek Athenian culture of the rational, examined life is superior to that of the Persian and Egyptian East, where thinking for one's self was discouraged and even punished. Why is this relevant today? Because the same question comes up in discussions about the Western democracies (based heavily on Greek thought) and radical Islam. Good stuff, and she is an engaging writer. I can tell right away that I'm going to enjoy reading this one; I zipped through the first 44 pages on the Metro this morning.
I also bought Hamilton's The Roman Way at the same yard sale where I got the first book. I already know she's going to find the Romans, compared to the Greeks, sadly lacking.
Okay, this is cool. I open my inbox this morning and see that the google robot discovered and sent me an e-mail about a blogger writing about one of my websites. Anne Altman of New York City, New York was compelled to admit to the world yesterday that she loves me.
And yes, my father was awesome - not everyone could pose with a can of Ruppert Beer.
Jared Hess, who wrote and directed Napoleon Dynamite, directed a short called Winner Take Steve, which you may view. 2 minutes and 14 seconds. The notion that two Steves coexisting is disallowed, and that a middle-aged guy (a school administrator?) in an electric cart could demand - and get - a competition to decide "once and for all" who's Steve, is hilarious. I especially liked the fact that the winner took pride in his confirmed identity as Steve.
This is the kind of thing that made Napoleon Dynamite so fun: odd little notions involving painfully average people in common place environments and situations. The Celebration of the Average, the Elevation of the Normal. There's a gentle sort of humor in it.
I saw Meteor (1979) the other night - peeeee-uuuuuu. "Lame" doesn't begin to describe it. After the first 45 minutes I starting fast forwarding through large portions of it. I was seriously hoping that the chunk of rock would come down on the script writer and director - or, at least, Sean Connery and Natalie Wood.
Iron Man, to be released in May, looks far more promising. Interesting use of Black Sabbath's song. When I was ten years old I recall trying to turn a promising piece of cardstock that came in Mom's pantyhose package into an Iron Man mask. I settled for a cardboard Captain America shield instead.
While channel surfing the other night I landed upon the Classic Arts Showcase (that channel that shows the ten minute classical music clips) and saw something interesting: a countertenor. Specifically, Alfred Deller. What's a countertenor? A guy with an unusually high voice, a male alto. The difference between a female alto and a male alto seems to be power and volume - Deller sang forcefully. I suppose this is because of greater upper body strength; I really don't know. But it's a different vocal sound, that's for sure. In the clip, Deller sang a couple of ballads from Elizabethan times with his son, who is also a countertenor.
Of course, "back in the day" there were castrato singers... but Deller clearly was not one of these. (Not with a son!) Funny tale from wikipedia: Once a French woman, upon hearing Deller sing, exclaimed "Monsieur, vous êtes eunuque", to which Deller replied "I think you mean 'unique', madam."
As promised yesterday, some photos from last weekend. Forgive the crappy images - as I wrote, I think I used an old roll of film. And, just to be safe, that's the last time I use 800 speed film.
Another excerpt from "A Hog on Ice," by Charles Funk. I really like the "eat crow" one...
Tuesday is weigh-in day, and I have now lost 31 pounds in twelve weeks. The rate of weight loss has decreased a bit, as I expected it would, but it's still more than 2 1/2 pounds a week, average. Pretty good. I am now at 281 pounds; my goal is 240. Being middle-aged, I don't think I'll get there. But the nearer I get to it, the better, of course.
Did I write somewhere that Summer was over?
"September Storm" was great! Hot, but great. An Eight on the Reenactment Event-O-Meter. (Yes, there is a rugby Event-O-Meter.) Lots of tubby, bearded guys falling out due to the heat - the Boonsboro, MD paramedics were busy. In fact, 
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Me (I see a trooper go by and begin singing "Super Trouper," by ABBA - guys start staring at me): What? You can like ABBA and not be gay.
About five Yanks, in unison: No, you can't.
Me: Hey, one rugby club I know sings "Dancing Queen" after matches.
Yank: What club is that?
Me: Rocky Gorge.
Yank: Who do you play for?
Me: Western Suburbs. Do you play?
Yank: I used to, for the Richmond Lions.
Me (Looking at him): Front row?
Yank. Yeah, hooker. (Looking at me) Second row?
Me: Yeah!
Other Yanks look on in puzzlement.
Turns out his name is Ken Linn, and he knows Tyler Schmahl, Dan Bicehouse, Charlie Grant, etc. Apparently we scrummed down against each other in 2000 or 2001, too. Small world, huh?
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1.) (Looking at a campfire) "Is that a real fire?"
2.) (Looking at a body-shaped indentation in the straw thrown down under my pup tent) "Did you sleep there last night?"
3.) (Looking at my navy blue wool uniform) "You guys are supposed to be cowboys, right?"
4.) (Looking at meat roasting on a spit over a campfire) "Is that food?"
...and the most common of all, normally asked on sweltering days,
5.) "Is it hot in those wool clothes?" (Answer: yes.) I once heard a good retort from a Reb, which I plan to use: "Are you hot wearing those clothes?" "Most women think so."
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Nurse 2: High blood pressure is called "the Silent Killer."
Nurse 1: You haven't told your doctor you planned to do this?
Me: No.
Nurse 1 and 2: (Dark looks)
Nurse 1: Do you have any history of high blood pressure or stroke in your family?
Me (reluctantly): Well... my father died of a stroke.
Nurse 1 and 2: (Really dark looks)
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Photo one - Me, sitting in the shade attempting to stay cool. (Note the earnest guys in the background, drilling in the sun.) A Coke with lots of ice is in that cup... I can fit into my military vest again!
Photo two - My company on a halt, Sunday. Multiply what you see by about seven or eight and that's the total number of Federal troops who showed up.
Photo three - Federals fire with Dead Reb in foreground. I had to ask him to hide his lit cigarette. (See, soldiers generally didn't smoke cigarettes during the Civil War. They smoked pipes and cigars.)
Photo four - Rebs at the "Hagerstown Pike," which was specifically constructed for the event. The goal was to more or less reproduce this image.
Photo five - A really blurry image of the Federal line in the woods during the Saturday dusk tactical. In rapidly fading light I tried to get a shot anyway... it really looked cool. I like those woodland battles. The troops are wearing bucktails on their caps, just as the 13th and 6th Pennsylvania did. (They were handed out, but I didn't get one.)
10 September 2007
