Back from Puerto Rico ("...you lovely island...island of tropical breezes...")




Wanna see pictures?
Ok. Didn’t think so.

And I don’t blame you (or at least those of you who answered in the negative) because that’s what I would say (or would want to say) if our roles were reversed.

It’s almost a comedy cliché:

“ Wanna see pictures we took of the Grand Canyon on our trip?”

Uh, well, yeah sure, cause the four million professional shots I’ve seen of it just don’t seem to capture the splendid beauty of it quite as magnificently as I’m sure yours do.

Okay, but of course it’s not about the places in the pictures, it’s about the people. It’s about the people you know and love captured on film in places of interest --and after all, why wouldn’t I want to see lots and lots (that’s another part of the problem—why is it always so many?) of pictures of friends and/or family enjoying themselves on unforgettable trips to exotic places where they had absolutely wonderful experiences? But fact is, generally I don't. Maybe it’s because they're just pictures, and hardly come close to capturing what the experience was truly about. Now that I've said that, I think that that's it. They're just pictures. You can't feel the warmth of the sun, the sensual caress of the water, the taste of the local cuisine, the smells and textures of plants and fauna. On the other hand, maybe I don't like looking at other people's travel pictures because it just reminds me that they had all that fun without me. Does that make me a curmudgeon? Probably. But I’ve rarely met a curmudgeon I didn’t like…so I’ll live with it.

All that said, however, I’m gonna post some pix anyway. And I feel justified in doing so because I regard this site more as a personal journal than a public forum --and when I check my readership stats, it’s clear that I’ve every reason to do so. But my only concession to the points made above is that the following includes many professional shots that far better capture some of the sights we visited and for my journal keeping purposes will better serve my desire to record in images some of what we experienced during our week in America’s uncommonly appealing commonwealth.



Shacks Beach. A row of assorted houses with our little studio apt.nestled someplace in the middle here. It's a small secluded stretch off a dirt road on the NorthWest coast of the island where the surf is always up and the wind is always blowing. Heaven for surfers, windsurfers, Kite surfers and Stand up Paddling wannabes like me.





Snorkin...our primary activity. Three or four times a day on various beaches up and down and across the coast. By the end of the week we got tired of driving and stayed on our beach where the coral reefs and fish variety provided pretty good viewing any time of day. Here's some of what was to be seen. (Turtles were in Rincon and just 15 feet from shore) BTW: We took these shots.











Our little studio lay-out (except this is a mirror image of ours) where we brought our own groceries, cooked one dinner, made PB & J's to take to beach and generally hung out whenever we needed a break from the mid-day sun.





Ola Lola's
Tucked away in the middle of nowhere on dirt road. Restaurant/ bar and art gallery, general hangout and take one, leave one library/ open 3 days a week and everyone is like family . Great joint. Great vibe.



Okay, so you get yourself a stand Up Paddle board and head out to the break and try not to think about the fact that you're too old, too fat, too out of shape and too nervous about all that sharp coral sitting just two feet below waiting to impale you the moment you make one wrong move...while you also keep telling yourself that you're having fun.




Finally, you get up the courage to paddle hard till you catch a wave-- and the thrill lasts about half a second before you're up, up and away and hoping for a soft landing and a forgiving whitewater.

AND HERE'S THE ACTUAL DRIFTER...ACTUALLY ADRIFT.





I'm running out of time and want to post something today, so I'll just throw in some more random shots here. Now that I have this vacation story/picture sharing thing out of my system, I hope to return next week to talk on more stimulating and hopefully universally compelling topics...including some more post mugging musings and a few words about Louis L'amour, Lawrence Block and The Paul Butterfield band.

A beach visitor


Ellen in her element


Just another fan


Ellen. In her other element.

Gonna take a blogging sabbatical ...

...for a while as me and the Mrs. (as they would say in a V.S. Pritchett story) toodle off to Puerto Rico where we hope it won’t be raining as much as the forecast predicts. In the meantime I leave you with a list of some of my favorite digital haunts in the hope that one or two might strike your fancy. Then you too can join the growing ranks of virtual slackers and web loiterers who can be found at such places as….

www.aldaily.com
My default homepage for many years. Commentary, articles, essays, reviews and lots more from all over the world…taking you directly to the source. Column on the left is your link to …you name it. Pretty much can get anywhere from here.



http://thebrowser.com/
lots of stuff to read







http://www.edge.org/
Thinkers thinking about all kinds of stuff including thinking --and lots of other such nonsense including The World Question Center. (I use nonsense in the best sense of the word)




http://www.manybooks.net Free downloadable books. Offshoot of Gutenberg Project I assume. From classics to dime-store pulp from the roaring 20s. If the copyright has expired or for some reason it’s available, you’ll probably find it here. Search and ye shall find. This is how I read Moby Dick….I printed out 50 pages a day and read on the train.


http://rexwordpuzzle.blogspot.com/
Rex Parker is the NY Times Puzzle savant and his blog is fun reading as he deconstructs nearly every clue and tosses in clips and comments about his other enthusiams…I used to visit when the puzzle was more challenging and wanted to see what he had to say, but the puzzle has become too easy of late.


http://www.dailygames.com/
Games. Online. There must be a million just like this, but this is the one I go to when the urge strikes. Not a bad selection of puzzle games.


http://www.55bar.com/
My favorite place to hear music in NYC. Small (and cramped) run-down dive bar with no food (not even pretzels—but they don’t care if you bring your own) about 6 small tables that seat three un-comfortably, about 15 stools at the bar, a few wooden booths in the back and a cover charge that rarely exceeds 10 bucks—and that’s only if they remember to collect it.
But the best musicians in the world play here…and it’s like having them playing in your living room—assuming your living room resembles a beat-up rundown dive bar. Mike Stern is a regular and Richard Bona is fast becoming one. If you see them together (as in photo above) you won’t soon forget it.

My friend and master musician David Shapiro turned me on to Matt Munisteri. http://mattmunisteri.com/index.html
If you like John Pizzarelli but think he can get just a bit too cute and corny –then you’ll like Matt. Old school jazz with genuine craft and enthusiasm. What my son used to call “smile” music.



To make up for this thinner than usual post, I offer you the following from Sidney Bechet, who was to the Sax (and earlier, the clarinet) what Louis Armstrong was to the trumpet. Like Armstrong, Bechet was a huge influence on everyone who followed. In France, he was treated like a god. He was a complicated and difficult character and had a rough and tumble life, but he sure could blow. This clip was from a film shot a year before he died. The tune is his own composition Premier Bal.

Really bummed about the mugger taking my V.S. Pritchett...

...short stories. I was looking forward to every ride on the train when I could get lost in his worlds of the delusional, disappointed, desperate, dilatory, displaced and almost always at least mildly eccentric and comically perverse people immersed in the damp and foggy confines of middle class life in mid 20th century England.


I just happened to come across an article about him online yesterday in which the author pays tribute to the man who almost single-handedly brought distinction to the often unappreciated and undervalued art of the English short story. I’m hooked on the stuff and will probably be combing the shelves of the Mercantile Library this afternoon in search of more.




What’s been going through my head the most since last Thursday is the entire phenomenon (for want of a better word) of Fear. It’s such a primal force and such a powerful influence on so many things in life. And perhaps because this was on my mind while...



... scanning bookshelves at home looking for a replacement for Mr. Pritchett, I plucked out a medium size volume entitled “ A History of the Mind” by Nicholas Humphrey.

It’s a mostly non-technical and philosophical exploration of the topic and from what I’ve read so far, fairly engaging in an informal, though scientifically supported and disciplined way. It’s primarily focused on how the mind processes sensation and produces subjective perception and unlike a lot of current literature does not get into contemporary theories about neurological hard wiring and artificial intelligence and all the latest chemistry of the brain research. And I suspect somewhere along the line I’m going to encounter a discussion of Fear—so I’ll hang back and see if that helps to spark a more cogent discussion on my part and provides me with more elements of interest beyond the spontaneous speculations arising out of my single and purely subjective isolated experience last week.

My sister Debby wrote to me about the pleasure and privilege she had over the weekend of meeting and enjoying (in intimate and social surroundings) the musical magic of Edgar Meyer. I've been a fan since hearing his duets album with Bela Fleck and everything else I've heard is just as amazing. To me, he's like Richard Bona or Pablo Casals or Segovia in the sense that when you hear (or see) him, you get the feeling that the music is playing him more than the other way around. It's as if he is simply letting the music pass through him on it's way to your ears without any "middle-man" of effort or technical difficulty to get in the way. It's enough to make any other musician just forget about ever coming anywhere close. There's a ton to choose from online including a documentary about Meyer and his work with Bach--which if you close your eyes, sounds like a cello--with the addition of a thunderous low register. But this one here with Bela Fleck is fun. Edgar idles for first 1:30, but then he puts it in gear.

IF YOU SEE THIS GUY, TELL HIM TO CALL ME...I GOT THE 5 DOLLAR BILL HE DROPPED.




So….after spending a long weekend doing all the administrative stuff to reclaim all my identities and getting day to day necessities replaced and repaired—(AND A BIG SHOUT OUT TO ALL MY FRIENDS AND FAMILY WHO GAVE ME MORE ATTENTION AND SYMPATHY THAN WAS WARRANTED--AND HELPED ME HAVE FUN WHEN I WASN'T SCRAMBLING WITH CHORES) I thought I had left no stone unturned. This morning I get on my bike (which is how I usually get to and from the train—except on days when I’m trying to make things easy for muggers) and when I get to the station I realize that I don’t have the key to the lock. Cause it’s in my bag. And the mugger has (or rather, had, as you’ll see later) my bag. So I arrange the bike and the lock in the bike rack to make it appear (to the non-criminal eye) that it’s locked up. I guess I’ll find out tonight how well I managed it. Would be a helluva funny epilogue to the whole story if the bike is gone when I get there tonight.

First stop today is MTA in midtown. Gotta get a new monthly train pass. Office in Manhattan is typical of most Govt. offices. Institutional colors (Which are what actually? Green, gray and dark gray?) The guy helping me is understanding. But he wants proof of purchase for my original train pass. The form I downloaded online had to get signed by the police (check) had to be notarized (check), but nowhere was there mention of this requirement. I tell him so. He says it’s a requirement anyway. I say “ How would I have known that?” He says I should have called. I said that I went online, where I was encouraged to do it all online myself—which I did. He said that I did all the right things—except for this one thing. I said I didn’t want to have to come back. He asked if I could access my credit card account and find a record of the purchase. I said I could, but “not now, and not here.” I needed my account info to do that. He expressed his sympathy for my predicament. I said if he could issue me a replacement card now, I would fax or e-mail him the receipt later in the day. He said he believed me but that’s against regulations and ah, well, it just went back and forth like this until I asked if there was a supervisor around who might be able to make an exception in this case…which there was, and for which she did, and I got my new monthly pass. Whole thing coulda taken ten minutes, but with the Alice in Wonderland routine, it took thirty.

Got a message at the office when I got in from the Police two towns north of mine. They found my bag. But, they didn’t know that I was the muggee. They thought it was just a case of lost and found. When I filled them in on the details, they told me that they now have to turn the bag over to the police in my town who will probably dust it for prints and keep it for evidence for a while. I’m curious to know what remains of the contents. Can’t imagine he left me the iPod, or the swiss army knife, or the small bottle of tequila. But I’m hoping he left my papers (especially the Jobim music transcriptions) and eyeglasses and the V.S. Pritchett book I was in the middle of …and MY BIKE LOCK KEY!

I promised a couple of posts back to bring you the guy who “started it all.” The All being Limericks. Actually he didn’t start it, but he popularized it and he was…

Born in May 12, 1812.
The 20th of 21 children.
When he was four, his father suffered a financial collapse and was sent to prison for fraud and debt.
Soon after he was abandoned by his mother.
He was raised by his older sister.
He suffered from asthma, bronchitis, depression and epilepsy.
At 15 he started to earn his own living as an illustrator.
He worked for ten years as an ornithological and natural history draughtsman.
In the early 1830s he wrote his first Limerick.
He was Edward Lear.


And since Dickens is getting all the bi-centennial attention , I thought I'd toot Lear's horn since he too was an 1812 Baby.



“Nonsense is the breath of my nostrils,” he once wrote, and his joy in absurdity reflected his whole approach to “this ludicrously whirligig life which one suffers first & laughs at afterwards.”

There's something about "Nonsense" writing that appeals to me. Like puns, or many forms of wordplay, it's not about meaning or even lack of meaning. It's about playfulness. Lear wasn't all that sophisticated with his limericks, and most of them began with a standard introduction of the subject and then ended with a repeat of the name with only a verb, adverb, or other modifier added to wrap up the tale.

There was an Old Man of Madras,
Who rode on a cream-coloured ass;
But the length of its ears,
So promoted his fears,
That it killed that Old Man of Madras.

this one is a rare exception to the rule:

There was an Old Man who supposed,
That the street door was partially closed;
But some very large rats,
Ate his coats and his hats,
While that futile old gentleman dozed.

The form has had more clever and imaginative practitioners since..but he was a pioneer and man oh man, he sure could draw.

A short PM (post-mugging) post.

Too busy getting my life back in order to organize much else, but, my oldest and dearest friend told me over the weekend that his mother had passed away. That saddened me far more than whatever I was feeling after my brief encounter with the thin threads of mortality on Thursday. She was a wonderful woman and I had written about her here many months ago in reference to her enjoyment of British Jazz singer Cleo Laine. I have only fond memories of her, and I most vividly and affectionately recall how gracious, kind, caring and thoughtful she was to me when I was in my teens and early twenties and going through a rough patch emotionally. She and her husband (who passed away many years ago) were what we used to refer to back in the volatile 60’s and 70’s as “ The Good Guys”. But they were far more than that and they devoted their lives to productive and humanist work and causes. And I was one of the beneficiaries of their warm and caring hearts. So these two are for them, and especially Marie.

by George and Ira Gershwin


By Alan Bergman/Marilyn Bergman/Jacques Demy/Michel Legrand


"So in a world of snow,
Of things that come and go,
Where what you think you know,
You can't be certain of,
You must believe in Spring and love"

Limericks And a Mugging

I was doing just fine, sticking to little news items, musing away about this and that and only occasionally indulging the playful rhyme or poetic quip --so I thought I had overcome my former compulsion, but the urge has returned and I’m off the wagon and back to my old sophomoric (and soporific?) Limerickal ways.


See the rise of the strong Chinese Yuan
watch in pity how the poor Euro's doin.
See German banks soar
(Didn’t they lose the war?)
And watch Greece once again end in Ruin.

Tomorrow I’ll do it, I say
But when tomorrow turns into today
I just say it again
For so soon arrives when
That tomorrow becomes yesterday

It can only be made in Jalisco
But folks drink it from Paris to Frisco
Spending all kinds of cash
When it’s all just one mash
Like each cookie you get from Nabisco

The desperate and poor from all nations
Came over in endless migrations
They built wondrous cities
And schools for their kiddies
For the natives they made reservations.

Coming Soon. The man who started it all.

And one more thing ( this is being added a day after penning the above) which I thought about not writing about, but what the hay, this is the only place I put things down for posterity and perhaps that's reason enough. I got mugged last night. I'm fine and physically unblemished but it was a hell of strange few minutes. Walkin home from train station. Quiet and dark side street. Footsteps sound like a jogger coming up behind me, I turn as they get loud enough for me to think it's sounding a bit too close and boom...there's a gun inches from my nose and a guy dressed all in black with a Halloween "Scream" mask covering his face. Strange sequence follows. Strange only because if it hadn't happened, I wouldn't have guessed that this would be how I'd react. First, I get very compliant and understanding. Fine, you want my money, cool, it's all yours. But this guy was too jumpy and impatient to wait for such a simple transaction. In a brief few seconds I take in a few things. The street is totally quiet, very dark and I'm surprised (it's 7:45 pm and a lot of people got off the train with me and usually there are three or four of them taking the same route to their homes) to see no bodies, no moving cars. So I realize, I'm on my own. I look at the gun and wonder if it's real. I look at his face and it's a mask, so nothing to go on there either. And I'm still trying to show the guy that I have no intention to resist and every intention of turning over my cash. But he's real jumpy and losing his cool and tellin me he's gonna shoot and that I better turn over "all your shit!" For some reason, I'm still not that nervous, but then he racks the gun and puts it right in my face and that changes everything. I'm a small chihuahua now and he's a rabid pit bull. On my knees. But he wants my phone and it's in my coat pocket and I'm not feelin real cool about moving any body parts--he's yellin all kinds of stuff about how he's gonna shoot and I'm now slowing-- trying to talk him down and offering wallet, phone and thinkin maybe I can hold on to my bag...but he grabs it, forces me down to the ground, gives me some kicks (nothing major) and takes off. I get up and watch him recede into the darkness, with my bag banging against his leg as he tries to pocket his haul while in a dead run. Street is still quiet and dark and I start getting my bearings and making sure I know exactly where I am so I can report this accurately.
As I'm walking home now, I realize that this whole thing wasn't dramatic so much as sad and pathetic. And I'm amazed at how many thoughts went through my head in so short a time. I think I actually had a visceral sense of my own mental processing speed and there was even a part of my brain that was reflecting at the same time that I was simply reacting. Maybe it would have been different 20 years ago when I was younger, but I sure did have a sense of physical inadequacy and total vulnerability. I had a moment or two where I thought it was all over and this was the end, and I think he had a few moments of adrenaline fueled panic --which is what convinced me that even with my compliance, he might still pull that trigger. But who knows? I do know that now, half a day later (a day filled with calls to banks, credit card companies, a trip to the MVB, getting locksmith over to house and dealing with the cops) I feel marginally changed. I could probably write many pages about what that is, but for now suffice it to say that it's put me in a gear I don't often drive in. It's like a limbo of resignation mixed with gratitude and a few dashes of anger and disappointment. And I guess it'll keep evolving for a few days, and maybe I'll write some more. Anyway, it does feel better to write about it, and the laws of probability are that I'm due for a nice long peaceful stretch now that lightning has struck once.

NO WORDS LEFT BEHIND

These words may be dead and gone, but they once had vigorous and productive use in their day. I found a few to play with to see if they could still be fun to have around today.

Deliciate
Verb intr. – To take one’s pleasure, enjoy oneself, revel, luxuriate –
“Whaddya say we just pull all the plugs, shut off the devices and just deliciate in some peace and quiet for a change?”

Corrade
Verb trans. – To scrape together; to gather together from various sources –
“I don’t really write a blog, I just corrade stuff , then cut, paste and post.”

Kench
Verb intr. – To laugh loudly – “Every time I go see my son do Stand-Up Comedy, I hope the liquor isn’t watered down and there are at least 3 or 4 serious Kenchers in the audience."

Ludibrious
Adj. – Apt to be a subject of jest or mockery – “If Romney hadn’t taken that vacation with his dog strapped to the roof of his car he’d just seem more ludibrious than detestable. ”

Sanguinolency
Noun – Addiction to bloodshed – “Maybe guys like Rumsfeld and Cheney aren’t so bad and are just suffering from chronic sanguinolency?”

Jollux
Noun - Slang phrase used in the late 18th century to describe a fat person – “ That Governor Christie, he’s quite the “jollux” ain’t he?”


Malagrugrous
Adj. – Dismal – This adjective is from Scots and may be derived from an old Irish word that refers to the wrinkling of one’s brow. “Have you seen the Knicks this year? Are they malagrugrous or what?!”

(May have to update this one soon if Jeremy Lin continues to lead the miraculous turn-around)

Brabble
Verb – To quarrel about trifles; esp. to quarrel noisily, brawl, squabble – “OK senators, if you don’t stop that ridiculous brabble and do something useful, I’m taking away your Super PAC money and you’ll have to go find a real job”

Jargogle
Verb trans. – To confuse, jumble–
Not to jargogle the facts Mr. Gingrich, but wasn't it you who once said: "I'm not a natural leader. I'm too intellectual; I'm too abstract; I think too much.” ???

Freck
Verb intr. – To move swiftly or nimbly – “If you’re flying, with a connection to make in another city, you better friggin freck through that airport.”

Bibesy
Noun – A too earnest desire after drink. – “The Bar Mitzvah service lasted five hours…even the Rabbi looked like he was getting a little bibesy.”

Quagswagging
Noun – The action of shaking to and fro – “ The only thing I don’t like about my dog is when she comes in from the rain and soaks me from all that Quagswagging."

Brannigan
Noun – A drinking bout; a spree or ‘binge – “Wanna go to Bennigans for our brannigan on Friday?”

Perissology
Noun – Use of more words than are necessary; redundancy or superfluity of expression– “Sarah Palin's perissology reached a new high when she recounted Paul Revere’s famous ride by saying: ‘He who warned, uh, the British that they weren't gonna be takin' away our arms, uh, by ringing those bells, and um, makin' sure as he's riding his horse through town to send those warning shots and bells that we were going to be sure and we were going to be free, and we were going to be armed.’ “

Hoddypeak
Noun – “A fool, simpleton, noodle, blockhead” –
“ Are those hoddypeaks debating again?”

Illecebrous
Adj. – “Alluring, enticing, attractive” – “ At first she seemed quite illecebrous, and then I saw the ‘Who would Jesus Bomb?’ bumper sticker on her car.

Scriptitation
Noun – A 17th-century word meaning “continual writing” – “Bloggers don’t have to bother to think, they just do their scriptitation knowing that no one is reading anyway.”

Widdendream
Noun – A state of mental disturbance or confusion – “ I told the meter maid that I would have put money in the meter, but the directions on the sign put me into a widdendream. “

Yemeles
Adj. – An Old English and Middle English word meaning “careless, heedless, negligent” – “ I Left my wallet at home, couldn't find my phone, had no idea where I parked the car ...oy, what a yemeles day! ”


HAVE YOU EVER TRIED TO CONSTRUCT (IN CLASSIC SYMMETRY) A CROSSWORD PUZZLE? IT’S HARD. REAL HARD. HARDER THAN SPELLING CRUCIVERBALIST.

cru·ci·ver·bal·ist (krs-vûrb-lst)
n.
1. A constructor of crosswords.
2. An enthusiast of word games, especially of crosswords.

Been reading a little about the history of this relatively recent form of sedentary recreation and among other things discovered that:

The first example of a crossword puzzle appeared on September 14, 1890, in the Italian magazine Il Secolo Illustrato della Domenica. It was designed by Giuseppe Airoldi and titled "Per passare il tempo" ("To pass the time").



On December 21, 1913, Arthur Wynne,a journalist from Liverpool, England, published a "word-cross" puzzle in the New York World (see inset) that embodied most of the features of the genre as we know it. This puzzle is frequently cited as the first crossword puzzle, and Wynne as the inventor. Later, the name of the puzzle was changed to "crossword"

The Wikipedia Entry (where I found the above) is quite extensive and even technically comprehensive.






And this is new Cruciverbalist star Brendan Emmett Quigley
from Brookline Mass. He has a blog, www.brendanemmettquigley.com,
which features a new crossword puzzle three times a week.

BTW: Been a bit disappointed with NY Times Sunday puzzle for last few months, but last Sunday was a good one.
I struggled for a while and couldn't decode the meaning of the theme...and then when I got it, all I could think was that my sister Debby probably got it sooner. But no need to call and ask her, cause I'm positive she did.

Just got done with another annual Television Critics Association confab where Networks present their upcoming shows and plans for the year ahead. It’s mostly a dog and pony show but there’s occasional spontaneity when the show creators and stars engage in Q&A sessions with the critics. And this year Larry David almost made it worth all the long hours of tsuris and prep that the worker bees here in NY gotta go through to produce it. He was there with David Steinberg and Tim Conway to talk about Steinberg’s new show Inside Comedy. A critic opened the session by asking: “ What is Funny?” Larry David rolled his eyes then looked right at him (the moment was captured in photo here) and said…”Are you really asking me ‘what is funny’? Are you out of your mind? ” The critic tried to recover and said…” I mean, is it hard to talk about comedy intellectually?” And David shot back…”Yes! Yes it is! It’s very hard! It’s hard to talk about anything intellectually.” It was like watching a Curb episode beginning to unfold in real time with David losing it over a simple (but nevertheless infuriating) annoyance. The amazing thing is that nobody laughed--the critics didn't get the irony of the moment. David settled down after that, but that critic didn't open his mouth for the rest of the session.

The reaction from the political right to the Clint Eastwood Chrysler commercial on the Super Bowl is super insane. They’re calling it political. Calling it veiled Pro-Obama propaganda. HUH? It was Bush who launched and approved a 60 billion dollar bail out of the Auto Industry—(Chrysler got 12.5 billion and has paid back all but 1.3 billion) Karl Rove was right there in the middle of it and defended it and now he’s crying foul on this ad and accusing the Obama administration of collusion with the industry for political gain. Say whaaaaah? It’s a commercial. It’s intended to sell cars. American cars (okay, not all made in USA, but there’s no turning back on that in any industry). Is it the drugs he’s taking? The drugs we’re taking? I don’t even follow this stuff particularly closely but I remember the bail-out like it was yesterday…because historically speaking-- it was yesterday.

JFK ADULTERY, KARDASHIAN, NEWT, OBAMACARE, AMERICAN IDOL, GLOBAL WARMING HOAX, PLANNED PARENTHOOD.

When I posted something with SIPA and SOPA in the headline
…my page views shot up--compared to my normal numbers, which hover around the “you can count em on one hand” level. So now I’m wondering if I should put popular HOT topics and names in the headlines for all my posts so I can build my readership. CANT WAIT TO SEE HOW MANY HITS I GET WITH TODAY’S HEADLINE. Who knows, I could start competing with Arianna Huffington if I play my cards right.

A few years back I recorded some songs I wrote
at a friend’s state of the art home recording studio. Since I was singing, I warned him that it might take me a dozen or so takes to get it halfway decent. He said it would only take one. He was right—because he applied a program (see photo) by which the sound of every off pitch note I sang (which was frequent) was adjusted to the proper pitch. So if my D was a touch too flat, the program interpreted the sound as one that intended to be a D and shifted the pitch up automatically to a perfect D. Blew my mind. I could suddenly sing on key. First time since I was 14 years old. Apparently this program is what is used in concert for Madonna, Cher, (It’s actually referred to in the industry as the Cher Effect) and other vocally challenged would be and has been singers.


Like just about everything else in advanced music replication technology this is both amazing and depressing. Most people were thrilled when Sgt. Pepper came out in 1967. I recall being somewhat saddened. I loved the Beatles playing as a working quartet and I loved their approach to the writing and playing of songs born out of the simplicity of traditional pop, Rock n’ Roll and blues traditions. Sgt. Pepper (with the brilliant George Martin at the Helm) ushered in the age of big Studio production technology and hastened the wane of raw and real “live” playing with all the natural sound of human musicianship.

I’m hoping for an live acoustic future.


Super Bowl was pretty good game. And an amazing gaming game.

This ticket belonged to the guy who bet a thousand bucks at 50-1 that the first score of the game would be a safety. Bingo!

In Vegas you also could have placed your bet on:

Color of the Gatorade poured on winning coach;
Length of National Anthem;
Will Kelly Clarkson omit a word of Anthem;
Nature of first turnover (Fumble or INT);
Nature of first missed FG. (Wide left, right, short or blocked);
Next Day's Dow Jones direction (Up or down);
Color of Madonna's hair

The only bet that looked good to me was going under the over/under which was 55. Did I make the bet?
You bet I didn't.



Dierdre McCloskey. Economist, teacher, humanist, Born Donald McCloskey.
Underwent sex change at age 53 and changed name to Dierdre. She is one smart lassie and worth checking out. She probably would piss off progressives and conservatives alike since she’s both a staunch humanist and fierce defender of capitalism, albeit with a human face. I watched some lectures online and read a few essays and articles--really good stuff.


The Narrative Arts

James Wood in “How Fiction Works” vividly breaks down the technique of “free indirect style,” in which a third-person narrator subtly adopts flavors of a character’s voice and, and the effect is, as Wood puts it, “We inhabit omniscience and partiality at once.”

Reading V.S. Pritchett short stories. The man has the form down to a science.
Some stories are no more than 6 pages long and when you’re done you feel like you’ve just read a novel.

Realization: Often when writing, I find myself searching for the right word—but what I’m really searching for is a synonym for the one I can’t spell.


Marriage quotes from the Movies.


“Marriages don't work when one partner is happy and the other is miserable. Marriage is about both people being equally miserable.”
Forget Paris

“By the authority vested in me by Kaiser William II, I pronounce you man and wife. Proceed with the execution.”
The African Queen

"(To marry again) is the victory of optimism over experience."
The Private Lives of Henry VIII

“Did you know that the institution of marriage was created when the average person lived to the age of 30?”
The Last Kiss

“A wedding is like a funeral, but with musicians.”
Mobsters

"Young lovers seek perfection. Old lovers learn the art of sewing shreds together and of seeing beauty in a multiplicity of patches."
How to make an American Quilt

Empty Nester’s Rhyme of the Day.

Children aren't happy without something to ignore,
And that's what parents were created for.
--
Ogden Nash

Odds and Ends

”I know what men want. Men want to be really, really close to someone who will leave them alone.”
-- Elayne Boosler

She said it, not me.

“After months of partisan bickering, Congress has finally agreed to put a Slinky on an escalator and see if it goes on forever.” (caption to New Yorker cartoon this week)

What does “A word to the wise” mean? Aren’t the unwise the ones in need of assistance?
I just looked it up…apparently it means that it doesn’t take much (only a word) to prompt the wise toward understanding. My bad.

Finally found the best explanation of the 1st Law of Thermodynamics

Continuities
Nothing is ever really lost, or can be lost,
No birth, identity, form--no object of the world.
Nor life, nor force, nor any visible thing;
Appearance must not foil, nor shifted sphere confuse thy brain.
Ample are time and space--ample the fields of Nature.
The body, sluggish, aged, cold--the embers left from earlier fires,
The light in the eye grown dim, shall duly flame again;
The sun now low in the west rises for mornings and for noons continual;
To frozen clods ever the spring's invisible law returns,
With grass and flowers and summer fruits and corn.

Walt Whitman

U N P A I D
A D V E R T I S E M E N T

Attention literate sports fans, followers of cultures high and low, and assorted "Excellence in Blogging" aficionados.

RANDOM ACTS OF COMMENTARY IS BIGGER, BETTER AND TASTIER THAN EVER.

GO TO: teddyvegas.blogspot.com

and tell em, B'OB sent you. You will win no prizes, but you'll still be glad you went.

OPRAH WINFREY, JERRY GARCIA, MUHAMMAD ALI AND SOCRATES WALK INTO A BAR…

…they find a cozy booth in the back, order an organic pomegranate martini, pitcher of sangria, tall Orange Juice, and Zythos respectively, and commence to chatting.

Oprah: I hope you like this booth, it’s reserved under my name any time I want it.

Socrates: Does that mean that no one else can sit here?

Oprah: No, they can, unless I want it.

Ali: What if they’re already sitting here when you come in?

Oprah: Oh, I see, well then they’re shown to another available table.

Socrates: Assuming there is one available?

Oprah: Well, yes I would imagine there would be one…

Jerry: …but if there is not?

Oprah: Well then that would be unfortunate for them.

Ali: Yeah, that’s just what Don King would say

Jerry: And Bill Graham.

THE DRINKS ARRIVE…

Oprah: A Toast! To good health, good fortune, and everlasting fame!

Socrates: Hmmmm.

Jerry: Count me out.

Ali: Nothing lasts forever.

Jerry: Weren't your boxing trunks Everlast?

Ali: You're funny, you remind me of me.

Oprah: Okay you party poopers… then how bout…To Us!

THEY ALL CLINK.

Oprah: Look, they have Muhammad's picture on the wall

Jerry: I remember that, you were Cassius Clay then right?

Ali: Yes, that was before I saw the light in the words of Allah

Jerry: Funny, that was just before I saw the light in the acid of Owsley.

Oprah: What year was that?

Ali: It was Nineteen hundred and sixty four, the year I shook up the world.

Oprah: Oh my, I was only ten years old, but I remember all the excitement in Nashville. All the girls thought you were so pretty.

Ali: I was the greatest and the prettiest.

Socrates: It is a rare thing to encounter an Olympian combatant who embodies both greatness and physical beauty—and even more rare if they are also theologically inclined.

Jerry: Ali is that rare thing. He is the true personified mythic hero, Scholar King, and Spiritual High Priest of the sweet science.

Ali: That’s a lotta fancy words for a hippie.

Jerry: Ha ha, yeah that’s me, a fancy talkin hippie.

Socrates: Hippie?

Oprah: Yes, I believe if the word existed in your day Sock, if I may call you that, you would have been their king.

Jerry: I believe old Socky here doesn’t approve of kings.

Socrates: Approval only comes from those seeking favor with the one desirous of it, which makes each unworthy of either.

Oprah: You boys think too much, what really matters is making your dreams come true, whatever those dreams may be.

Socrates: Being that dreams are by definition irrational, it would be a dangerous thing for all dreams to come true.

Oprah: Yes, but few are capable of realizing their dreams.

Jerry: Or is it that few are allowed to?

Ali: I used to dream about being a lion and chasing Tarzan in the jungle until he would climb up a tree and hide because he knew I was the true king of the jungle.

Jerry: They used to play those movies on TV with Johnny Weismuller as Tarzan…I used to wonder how come he never had a beard.

Ali: And even though he grew up in the jungle with all the Black african natives, he could speak English while they just mumbled all that Booga Booga Ungowa talk.

Socrates: ... is this Tarzan…a god?

Jerry: Yeah, kinda. An example of the “Noble Savage” representing lost innocence and natural virility –and particularly appealing to those from cultures most sorely lacking in both.

Socrates: I see. A symbolic form through which one attempts to replenish the soul with what has been sacrificed in the development of a material oriented hierarchal society.

Ali: I don’t know about that, but Tarzan was the only white guy in a jungle full of black folk and wild animals, and he still acted like he was in charge. That’s why I always was dreaming of chasing him.

Oprah: I used to dream of seducing him.

Jerry: Which...symbolically, you ended up doing.

Oprah: I told you…it’s about making your dreams come true.

Jerry: In music, it’s the opposite.

Socrates: Ah, this is something I would like to hear of more.

Jerry: Well, the essence of music cannot be put into words or explained in a rational way—but the making of music consists of taking things concrete and rational, like scales and intervals and harmony and rhythm and using them to create something that sounds and feels like a dream.

Ali: The truth is the fuel. The music is the engine. And the vehicle is the soul.

Jerry: I like that even better.

Oprah: I don’t know that much about music, but I know something about soul.

Socrates: When you say soul…is this something you believe to be real or an aspiration stemming from that which the mind has contrived in order to understand itself?

Jerry: Soul is heart. Some people have a lot of technique but it doesn't mean anything without the heart.

Ali: Gotta have heart or you will lose. Frazier had heart but Foreman didn’t. Not till later when he found salvation and learned that he was only a man.

Socrates: And only man can know he is only a man…and yet most men fear that knowledge.

Oprah: And women.

Socrates: Yes, of course…linguistic political correctness is new to me, please forgive me,

Jerry: I still say Chicks, which drives some chicks crazy….but hey, that’s chicks.

Ali: I always loved the ladies.

Socrates: Ah yes, and the fine young boys.

Ali: Say What!?

Jerry: Jesus Christ, I forgot that about you guys…what the fuck was that all about?

Socrates: Jesus who?

Oprah: Oh, that's right, you're from B.C. -- boy, you missed out on a lot.

Jerry: ......more like he was spared a lot.

Ali: Are you queer?

Oprah: Who me?

Ali: No, Nick the Greek here.

Socrates: I am many things, and all things, and many people find that queer.

Jerry: Hey man, it's all good right? Just don't tread on me, right?

Oprah: Listen, I’m running late for my weekly portfolio review at Goldman Sachs --but would you fellas like to do a show with me? I think it would be fun and America would enjoy it—and I know I could get sponsors who would pay very handsomely for the privilege.

Jerry: OK with me as long as I don't have to dress up and you keep it real.

Ali: For a Sister, ok…but don’t expect me to read any cue cards or anything like that. Cosell once wanted me to do that and I swiped the toupee off his head so fast he didn’t even know it was gone till he looked in the monitor and said “ Why is Kojack on the TV?”

Socrates: If it is a show, how can it be real?. But then again, what is real is only what we perceive it to be.

Oprah: Wonderful. You boys are so cute and so nice. And you deserve all the success you’ve had.

Jerry: Success is a trap, just keep on truckin and let the chips fall where they may.

Ali: Our creator gave us life, and with our life we honor him by showing him that we are worthy of that gift-- that's true success.

Socrates: Success is drinking the Hemlock and knowing it doesn’t matter.

Jerry: Hey Socky, we should jam some time.

OPRAH LEAVES; ALI FLIRTS WITH THE WAITRESS; JERRY PUTS A FEW QUARTERS IN THE JUKE BOX AND SOCRATES GOES TO THE BAR TO CATCH THE END OF THE GOP DEBATE.

THINGS WERE GETTING A BIT TOO EARNEST HERE, SO TODAY IT'S ONE LINERS, ALL ONE LINERS AND NOTHING BUT ONE LINERS.

Attribution provided when known, a few are original, but only a few. Some aren't funny (or meant to be funny )but my collection is poorly organized and I can't be bothered trying to fish them out...and apologies in advance for the "groaner" puns, it's a personal weakness I am determined never to overcome.


Too bad all the people who know how to run the country are busy writing blogs.

Why don't Warren Buffet and George Soros and the other Billionaires who say the rich pay too little in taxes, make voluntary overpayments on their own?

There are already millions of monkeys on millions of computers writing millions of blogs and none (of us) are coming even close to writing Hamlet.

Numbers that aren't divisible by two always seem odd to me.

PETA people are more opposed to fur than leather because rich ladies are easier to harass than Hell’s Angels.

Next time I go to the diner, I’m going to order a chicken sandwich and an egg sandwich and see which comes first.

Never wrestle a pig. You both get dirty and the pig likes it.--Churchill

If you lend someone $20, and never see that person again, it was probably worth it.

How important does a person have to be before they are considered assassinated instead of just murdered?

"Democracy is the worship of jackals by jackasses." -H. L. Mencken

"Every decent man is ashamed of the government he lives under." -H. L. Mencken

The world is full of givers and takers; the takers may eat better, but the givers sleep better

Biological researchers pull habits out of rats.

If you're caught with a ray gun will you go to prism?

I plead contemporary insanity

Adults are just kids who owe money

Suburbia is where they rip out the trees and then name streets after them

"Faith may be defined briefly as an illogical belief in the occurrence of the improbable." -H.L. Mencken

Why didn't Noah leave out the two mosquitos?

To teach is to learn twice

"Once you can accept the universe as matter expanding into nothing that is something, wearing stripes with plaid comes easy." -Albert Einstein

"It's time for the human race to enter the solar system!" -Dan Quayle, on the concept of a manned mission to Mars

"Don't let gravity get you down." -Albert Einstein

A seminar on time travel will be held two weeks ago.

Headline: Marijuana Bill Sent To Joint Committee

Shouldn't the organization to stop drunk driving be called A.A.A.A.A. ?

I doubt, therefore am I?

Do the math, you have the same chance of winning lottery whether you play or not."
-Fran Lebowitz

I was so poor growing up. If I wasn't born a boy, I"d have had nothing to play with.--Rodney Dangerfield

No sense being pessimistic. It wouldn't work anyway.

Santa's elves are just a bunch of subordinate Clauses.

Recursive Definition: See Recursive Definition

As long as there are pop quizzes there will be prayer in school.

A waist is a terrible thing to mind.

Originality is the art of judicious plagiarism.

Have you ever tried making another word using all the letters in "anagram"?

Is it a coincidence that the only 15 letter word that can be spelled without repeating a letter is uncopyrightable?

"The trouble with the world is that the stupid are cocksure and the intelligent are full of doubt." -Bertrand Russell

AND FROM THE KING OF THE ONE LINERS:

The judge told The Drunk, "You've been brought in for drinking."
The drunk says, "Okay, let's get started." ---Henny Youngman.




An anagram of 'listen' is 'silent'.

DISCUSS...





Black Americans have been shortchanged by history as it is popularly transmitted. But giving us our own month of “Black History” makes matters worse...

...The commemoration is a damaging form of apartheid, setting the contributions of black Americans aside as separate and unequal. It sends the wrong signal to all Americans, black, white and brown.
Cynthia Tucker : editorial page editor Atlanta Journal Constitution.

The stories that a nation tells about its history provide a foundation for building community, creating institutions and transmitting values. For a pluralistic democracy such as the United States, the work that historians call "constructing a usable past" is vital to the task of building a future. That's why it's imperative that people who want that future to be built on principles of inclusion, mutual respect and genuinely equal opportunity should understand and embrace commemorations such as Black History Month.
Kim Pearson --member of the advisory board of the Association for the Study of African American Life and History (ASALH)

A couple black history months ago, the company my father works at had a special way to celebrate the black people in their company. On a Friday, everyone of African descent was supposed to wear something brown so others in the company could appreciate them for being black. When word got around to my father, he asked his boss, "So, can I just come in naked?" You see, my father knows a big secret about black history month. It is not designed to celebrate black history. It is designed to make white people feel good.
Everdeen Mason-- is a junior in journalism at Ohio State University

(The above makes me wonder if to some people in the country, The Office looks like a documentary)

I am really enjoying the new Martin Luther King Jr stamp - just think about all those white bigots, licking the backside of a black man.
Dick Gregory


Why does the black history conversation have to start with slavery anyway? Were there no black people in existence before the 17th century? After casually mentioning the arrival of slaves to America, we then rattle off a list of standard achievements: "A black man invented this," or "John Q. Blackman was the first to accomplish that." All the while, there is little or no acknowledgment of the great civilizations of Africa to match the incessant drilling of Greek and Roman history into the heads of our kids.
Dr. Boyce Watkins-- is the founder of the Your Black World Coalition and the initiator of the National Conversation on Race

We are “The United States of Amnesia.”
--Gore Vidal

Carter Woodson instituted what became Black History Month because there was a desperate need for it. He felt that people who had been written out of the history books needed to have an awareness of their contributions to society--as does every ethnic group. Slavery and it's aftermath is still the 600 pound gorilla in America's living room, asking to be acknowledged; we need to have informed and rational discussions about race, and to recognize the damage done both to the oppressors and the oppressed.

However, perhaps the time has come to put black history where it belonged all along: squarely in the mainstream of American and world history, not as some ghettoized spot on the calendar or in colleges. We are a part of this history, not some optional adjunct.
Posted by Azna A Amira on Minnesota Public radio Website

What's shaking, chiefy baby?
Thurgood Marshall--his customary greeting to Chief Justice Warren E. Burger





Interesting web site: Lettersofnote.com. Archive of letters to and from various famous, infamous and not famous people on all kinds of topics from many different eras. BTW: If you go there, check this one out:
http://www.lettersofnote.com/2011/02/mickey-mantles-outstanding-experience.html
...I laughed out loud.

Anyway, this one is extraordinary, and was featured on aldaily.com. You can go to link below and read it in better context...but I've reprinted in entirety anyway cause I know some people don't like going to links and it's worth spreading around for maximum exposure--since we all know how popular my site is. Anyway, amazing document, amazing letter, practically an entire history lesson in one short note...not to mention the literary skills of the author. Elmore Leonard would give him an A+ on every count
including extra credit for sense of humor.

Go to:

http://www.lettersofnote.com/2012/01/to-my-old-master.html

Or read on...

In August of 1865, a Colonel P.H. Anderson of Big Spring, Tennessee, wrote to his former slave, Jourdan Anderson, and requested that he come back to work on his farm. Jourdan — who, since being emancipated, had moved to Ohio, found paid work, and was now supporting his family — responded spectacularly by way of the letter seen below (a letter which, according to newspapers at the time, he dictated).

Photo: (Source: The Freedmen's Book; Image: A group of escaped slaves in Virginia in 1862, courtesy of the Library of Congress.)

Dayton, Ohio,

August 7, 1865

To My Old Master, Colonel P.H. Anderson, Big Spring, Tennessee

Sir: I got your letter, and was glad to find that you had not forgotten Jourdon, and that you wanted me to come back and live with you again, promising to do better for me than anybody else can. I have often felt uneasy about you. I thought the Yankees would have hung you long before this, for harboring Rebs they found at your house. I suppose they never heard about your going to Colonel Martin's to kill the Union soldier that was left by his company in their stable. Although you shot at me twice before I left you, I did not want to hear of your being hurt, and am glad you are still living. It would do me good to go back to the dear old home again, and see Miss Mary and Miss Martha and Allen, Esther, Green, and Lee. Give my love to them all, and tell them I hope we will meet in the better world, if not in this. I would have gone back to see you all when I was working in the Nashville Hospital, but one of the neighbors told me that Henry intended to shoot me if he ever got a chance.

I want to know particularly what the good chance is you propose to give me. I am doing tolerably well here. I get twenty-five dollars a month, with victuals and clothing; have a comfortable home for Mandy,—the folks call her Mrs. Anderson,—and the children—Milly, Jane, and Grundy—go to school and are learning well. The teacher says Grundy has a head for a preacher. They go to Sunday school, and Mandy and me attend church regularly. We are kindly treated. Sometimes we overhear others saying, "Them colored people were slaves" down in Tennessee. The children feel hurt when they hear such remarks; but I tell them it was no disgrace in Tennessee to belong to Colonel Anderson. Many darkeys would have been proud, as I used to be, to call you master. Now if you will write and say what wages you will give me, I will be better able to decide whether it would be to my advantage to move back again.

As to my freedom, which you say I can have, there is nothing to be gained on that score, as I got my free papers in 1864 from the Provost-Marshal-General of the Department of Nashville. Mandy says she would be afraid to go back without some proof that you were disposed to treat us justly and kindly; and we have concluded to test your sincerity by asking you to send us our wages for the time we served you. This will make us forget and forgive old scores, and rely on your justice and friendship in the future. I served you faithfully for thirty-two years, and Mandy twenty years. At twenty-five dollars a month for me, and two dollars a week for Mandy, our earnings would amount to eleven thousand six hundred and eighty dollars. Add to this the interest for the time our wages have been kept back, and deduct what you paid for our clothing, and three doctor's visits to me, and pulling a tooth for Mandy, and the balance will show what we are in justice entitled to. Please send the money by Adams's Express, in care of V. Winters, Esq., Dayton, Ohio. If you fail to pay us for faithful labors in the past, we can have little faith in your promises in the future. We trust the good Maker has opened your eyes to the wrongs which you and your fathers have done to me and my fathers, in making us toil for you for generations without recompense. Here I draw my wages every Saturday night; but in Tennessee there was never any pay-day for the negroes any more than for the horses and cows. Surely there will be a day of reckoning for those who defraud the laborer of his hire.

In answering this letter, please state if there would be any safety for my Milly and Jane, who are now grown up, and both good-looking girls. You know how it was with poor Matilda and Catherine. I would rather stay here and starve—and die, if it come to that—than have my girls brought to shame by the violence and wickedness of their young masters. You will also please state if there has been any schools opened for the colored children in your neighborhood. The great desire of my life now is to give my children an education, and have them form virtuous habits.

Say howdy to George Carter, and thank him for taking the pistol from you when you were shooting at me.

From your old servant,

Jourdon Anderson.