April 22, 2005
Rover Cars, the once proud British marque, is no more. Stunningly, I have not seen this story mentioned in the newspapers I read (the NY Times and the Wall Street Journal). Or, if the story has been mentioned, it was mentioned in passing and, to borrow from EB White, Rover passed despite the mention.
Some highlights: Rover announced about a week ago that it would no longer honour (spelled with a "u" out of respect) its warranties. That's right. You had a Rover and, bam, no more power train coverage, or any coverage. That sent the British press into a tizzy.
Then, this week, we learn that after all the land had been sold out from under the factories in a desperate attempt to raise money, the company is bankrupt.
Just so you know, that means 21,000 people are out of work now in England. Twenty One Thousand. That's a lot of people, any way you write it.
And with Rover, some say, goes the heart of British industrial manufacturing capability.
Finally, with the passing of Rover, we say good bye to some of the most famous British car names:
Austin-Healey
Triumph
and of course, MG
Silly, isn't it, but I'm kind of sad.
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April 21, 2005
My goal here is to create an outlet where I can comment on the things that piss me off, interest me, amuse me, or will do any of those three things to my readers. In short, this will be a general interest blog for catholic (with a small c) interests.I hope to have some lively discussions as time goes by.
I think that the year has been a success. During this year period, I have put up 764 posts which, since I moved to MuNu, have attracted some 2217 comments. These 764 posts have attracted over 23,000 visitors to my Mu.Nu incarnation and, counting the prior site, 26,531 total visitors. Some of you visitors have become good friends and I value these friendships we have made together. I think you know who you are so I won't single you out now.
In any event, thank you all very much for making this such an interesting year. I'm still more than a little shocked to think that over 26,000 people have stopped by to read my blog. I'm also a little shocked that I've written 764 posts, for that matter.
And thanks, also, to Pixy, who provides such great hosting and permits those of us without great technical skills to still get in the game.
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GC: Pappa, are you going to take a nap today?Me: No, but you are.
GC: Why aren't you going to take a nap?
Me: Well, I just got back from the dentist and now I have to run some errands.
GC: If you're not taking a nap, then I'm not taking a nap.
Me: Oh, yes, you are.
GC: No. I do everything you do.
Me: No, you don't. First of all, I pee standing up. You don't pee standing up.
[long pause]
GC: What's second of all?
I was so proud of her just ignoring a point she couldn't refute and trying to move right along to the next point that I just took her with me on my errands. So, in the end, I guess she was right. No nap.
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April 19, 2005
He was on that pitch like a fat kid on a Twinkie.
Is it bad that I laughed at this? I do like a good sports cliche.
While perusing an article on the endangered Pitcairn Island dialect which they have declared to be a language (and why not?) and are now teaching in school:
Alice Buffett, a seventh generation islander who has written a Norfuk text book and dictionary, said the pupils were enjoying learning phrases such as "Whataway yorle?" ("How are you?") and "El duu f'mada" ("They'll do for dumplings").
You have to laud a language that celebrates the integral role of the dumpling in society. "They'll do for dumplings". Big smile. I like it better than "that dog'll hunt".
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There is an excellent link to the whole story here, so good, in fact, that I don't really think I have anything to add.
That said, who knew New Jersey played host to Napoleon's older brother? Very interesting.
Go here and see some of the artifacts from the sale of the estate.
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April 18, 2005
Guess what song I'm humming.Me: I have no idea.
GC: I'll give you a clue.
Me: Ok. What kind of clue?
GC: I'll sing it [still whispering]. "Dirty deeds, done dirt cheap, dirty deeds, done dirt cheap."
Four year olds have minds like sponges. I feel a little guilty for, at some point, filling her little sponge with AC/DC.
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What am I going to do tonight? Same thing I do every night, go home to that bitch of a wife of mine. She's been sitting on the couch all day doing nothing but eating take-out Chinese food and when I get home the first thing she's going to say to me is 'Do I look fat?' And I'm gonna say, hell yeah bitch you look fat!!
The streets of New York are a never ending source of delight, amusement, and material.
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Now, in a breakthrough described as the classical equivalent of finding the holy grail, Oxford University scientists have employed infra-red technology to open up the hoard, known as the Oxyrhynchus Papyri, and with it the prospect that hundreds of lost Greek comedies, tragedies and epic poems will soon be revealed.In the past four days alone, Oxford's classicists have used it to make a series of astonishing discoveries, including writing by Sophocles, Euripides, Hesiod and other literary giants of the ancient world, lost for millennia. They even believe they are likely to find lost Christian gospels, the originals of which were written around the time of the earliest books of the New Testament.
The original papyrus documents, discovered in an ancient rubbish dump in central Egypt, are often meaningless to the naked eye - decayed, worm-eaten and blackened by the passage of time. But scientists using the new photographic technique, developed from satellite imaging, are bringing the original writing back into view. Academics have hailed it as a development which could lead to a 20 per cent increase in the number of great Greek and Roman works in existence. Some are even predicting a "second Renaissance".
* * *
The papyrus fragments were discovered in historic dumps outside the Graeco-Egyptian town of Oxyrhynchus ("city of the sharp-nosed fish") in central Egypt at the end of the 19th century. Running to 400,000 fragments, stored in 800 boxes at Oxford's Sackler Library, it is the biggest hoard of classical manuscripts in the world.
The previously unknown texts, read for the first time last week, include parts of a long-lost tragedy - the Epigonoi ("Progeny") by the 5th-century BC Greek playwright Sophocles; part of a lost novel by the 2nd-century Greek writer Lucian; unknown material by Euripides; mythological poetry by the 1st-century BC Greek poet Parthenios; work by the 7th-century BC poet Hesiod; and an epic poem by Archilochos, a 7th-century successor of Homer, describing events leading up to the Trojan War. Additional material from Hesiod, Euripides and Sophocles almost certainly await discovery.
Oxford academics have been working alongside infra-red specialists from Brigham Young University, Utah. Their operation is likely to increase the number of great literary works fully or partially surviving from the ancient Greek world by up to a fifth. It could easily double the surviving body of lesser work - the pulp fiction and sitcoms of the day.
* * *
Speaker A: . . . gobbling the whole, sharpening the flashing iron.
Speaker B: And the helmets are shaking their purple-dyed crests, and for the wearers of breast-plates the weavers are striking up the wise shuttle's songs, that wakes up those who are asleep.
Speaker A: And he is gluing together the chariot's rail.
These words were written by the Greek dramatist Sophocles, and are the only known fragment we have of his lost play Epigonoi (literally "The Progeny"), the story of the siege of Thebes. Until last week's hi-tech analysis of ancient scripts at Oxford University, no one knew of their existence, and this is the first time they have been published.
Sophocles (495-405 BC), was a giant of the golden age of Greek civilisation, a dramatist who work alongside and competed with Aeschylus, Euripides and Aristophanes.
His best-known work is Oedipus Rex, the play that later gave its name to the Freudian theory, in which the hero kills his father and marries his mother - in a doomed attempt to escape the curse he brings upon himself. His other masterpieces include Antigone and Electra.
Sophocles was the cultured son of a wealthy Greek merchant, living at the height of the Greek empire. An accomplished actor, he performed in many of his own plays. He also served as a priest and sat on the committee that administered Athens. A great dramatic innovator, he wrote more than 120 plays, but only seven survive in full.
Last week's remarkable finds also include work by Euripides, Hesiod and Lucian, plus a large and particularly significant paragraph of text from the Elegies, by Archilochos, a Greek poet of the 7th century BC.
I cannot overstate how excited I am by this news.
Hat tip to Jan at Secular Blasphemy (who, if you are not reading, you should be)
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Friday: Broker open house; five showings after that.
Saturday: Out of house all day; shown 15 times.
Sunday: Out of house all day; shown 10 times.
Sunday night: Tell those who made offers that best offers will be accepted by 11:30 a.m. on Monday.
Monday: Best offers made by 11:30, decision as to which to accept taken by 11:45.
Wednesday: House inspection occurs.
Friday: Contracts signed by buyers and 10% deposit check forwarded to my attorney.
I am a little bit astounded by the rapidity of it all, I must say.
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really - that is great.April 17, 2005
The diagnosis, after the scans, is very grim. The cancer is located in her leg, as I said, but also in her neck and spine, which we didn't know. Simply put, this is a death sentence. I'm not sure how long she has, but this will kill her and will do so very painfully.
The best we can hope for, according to the many doctors in our family, is that she can start chemotherapy, have the chemo cause the cancer to go into remission, and then, have it go very fast when the cancer inevitably returns to her body. So, that is what I'm hoping for.
We had my parents over for dinner last night so they could play with the grandchildren and have a moment or two away from this. They had a nice time but. But. My father looked diminished by the news and sadder and suddenly older. He is the younger brother and he worshiped his sister growing up. I hope my son never gets news like this. He fielded one hysterical crying phone call from one of my auntÂ’s five children yesterday.
As for me, I'm kind of numb, still trying to make myself understand and accept this. My aunt and her family have always been very close to our family. I need to call my cousins today. I just, again, don't know what to say. I'll find something but whatever it is, it will be inadequate.
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April 15, 2005
Like my aunt. She had and beat breast cancer. She's one tough cookie. But she went to the doctor yesterday because of persistent pain in her leg.
She has bone cancer.
It was not a good day for the home team, yesterday.
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April 14, 2005
But before you go, spare a moment and remember President Abraham Lincoln, shot down this day in 1865 by John Wilkes Booth at the Ford Theater. He may have been the greatest president we have ever known.
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April 13, 2005
This from the AP Wire today:
TENNESSEE: MAN SLAIN AFTER FINDING WIFE'S LOVER A Nashville man was beaten to death after catching his wife's lover living in a closet in their home, the police said. Rafael DeJesus Rocha-Perez, 35, left, was charged with homicide in the weekend slaying of Jeffrey A. Freeman, 44. Mr. Freeman's wife, Martha, had allowed Mr. Rocha-Perez to live in a closet of the Freemans' four-bedroom home for about a month without her husband's knowledge, the police said. On Sunday, Mr. Freeman discovered Mr. Rocha-Perez after hearing snoring and ordered his wife to get the man out of the house, the authorities said. Ms. Freeman told the authorities that Mr. Rocha-Perez bludgeoned her husband with a shotgun. (AP)
I don't really know what to add to this, if anything. But, come on, stashing your lover in the closet of the guest bedroom? Are you kidding me? I don't know about your guest bedroom closet, but I have cleverly ruled this possiblity out for my wife by already filling that closet with assorted crap and detritus. So, I'm feeling pretty safe at home right now I'd have to say.
Just the same, I'm going to take a quick tour of the closet and attic. Just saying.
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So, before we dive in, let's consider for a moment what is meant by the Rule of Law ("RoL") and the role of the Government in that scheme. At its base, the RoL will preserve the security of private property, both from invasion from abroad and from invasion from within. The RoL will make sure that you are safe in your property -- safe from intruders, perhaps from fire, safe in your title to it as you are protected from false and adverse claims to your ownership, and safe and secure in your castle, as the old saying goes. At its base, without that assurance of security, your willingness to participate in society, and perhaps your ability to do so, is fatally compromised. How do I support that? Easy. If your overriding concern is protecting your property from threats, you have no time to do anything else -- to grow food, to vote, to travel to local markets, to worship with your neighbors, to do practically anything except stand guard. You pay for this protection through taxes levied on your property and that is a rather acceptable convention and compromise. The RoL is not free but you can expect, most of the time, it will work and it will work to preserve property and thus preserve the social order.
But what if it stops working? Let me posit the following scenario. You own a second home, a vacation home. You own it free and clear, no cloud on your title, no mortgage, no adverse claims to possession. You can do with it as you please, assuming no wet lands or town ordinances restricting you. It is walled completely by a 10 foot high brick wall. One weekend, going out to the place for a little relaxation, you discover that your house has been broken into to and taken over by a group of squatters who proclaim their intention to live there.
What do you do and what do you expect to be done?
* * * *
Didn't have to think for long, did you?
You'd invoke the basic protections of the RoL and call the police and tell them to get out here and expel the intruders, right? Of course you would.
And you'd expect the police to go ahead and do just that, right? Again, basically yes. It might be more complicated than that but somebody would get arrested and rehoused in jail and someone else might be handed off to social services and rehoused in a shelter, but you'd probably get your house back. The RoL would have been vindicated.
Anything shocking about this scenario to anyone?
Yes? Well, then, my guess is that you must live in England where a person's home is no longer a person's castle.
I just read a little piece in the property section of the Telegraph that impels the conclusion that England has withdrawn the forces of the Government from supporting the RoL. Apparently, in a factual situation practically identical to the one I posited, a family has been forced to rent the vacation house to the squatters at a rent of £1 a week and an agreement to vacate the premises on three months notice. No word on how or who can enforce the agreement to vacate.
But what prompted my little tirade here was the statement put out by the police, and it is no exaggeration to say I found it shocking (“travellers”, below, are basically squatters):
Inspector Martin Elliott, chairman of Thames Valley Police Federation, (0845 8505 505), comments: "The whole subject of travellers and the law in the UK is a complete mess. Legally, trespass is not a criminal offence but a civil tort. All of the public signs that herald that 'trespassers will be prosecuted' are therefore inaccurate, and should read 'trespassers may be subject to civil litigation'. Obviously, this does not carry the same punch and would probably deter no one."The Government attempted to strengthen the law in relation to invasions of land a number of years ago, and created legislation that basically required there to be more than 12 vehicles and the land-owner to demand that they quit within a reasonable time.
"Then, the Office of the Deputy Prime Minister intervened and issued guidance to police forces and councils, which laid the grounds for a 'holistic' approach. This guidance suggests that a problem-solving approach is taken, with councils, police and land-owners working together to encourage travellers to either settle in a locality, or act more responsibly when moving around the UK.
"This is fine for large invasions of land, but what about when three or four vehicles turn up, as in this story? I would suggest that, in these circumstances, there is very little that the police can do."
Did you get that? Very little the police can do to enforce your right to occupy your property without interference.
As I started this post, I end it: The Rule of Law in England appears to be dead.
And by the way, I would think, as an aside, that this kind of thing should well and truly kill the secondary property market in England. After all, would you go to the trouble of buying a second house only to house some stranger? Not me, mate.
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April 12, 2005
Today, in 1861, at 4:30 a.m. Fort Sumter was fired upon, returned fire, and the United States was officially at war with itself.
After it had all ended, over 600,000 Americans had perished. Source.
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I've had these headaches since I was a child but I've not had one for a very long time and this one just seemed to come out of nowhere. I called the nanny and asked her to pick me up from the train and then waited as long as I could, in a dark conference room or shuttling between the dark conference room and the bathroom when the nausea got too intense and felt too sudden, until I was reasonably certain I would not vomit from the pain on the train.
I made my way slowly to the train and sat down, pulling a cap low over my eyes, and sat there for the entire ride, trying to think of anything other than what I had for lunch. I sat there in more or less of a daze, not sleeping, not awake, just zoned out so that the announcement for my station came as a surprise, a welcome surprise but a surprise just the same, thus indicating that I had lost all spatial relationship with my sense of time and distance -- usually I know exactly where the train is in relation to my stop without effort.
I walked, again very slowly and with great attention to my balance, up to the parking lot where the nanny collected me, thank goodness, and I was able to locate the sun glasses I had left in the car and she took me home. She took one look at me and said that she would stay with the kids until my wife got home. That was very kind as I was close to totally incapacitated at that point.
I went upstairs, undressed, and climbed into bed, still wearing my sun glasses, where I remained and I think I may have slept, for about 2 hours and the worst of it passed and I was finally able to remove my sun glasses and tolerate the light.
When I was a child and would get these, I always had to vomit from the pain, I could not tolerate light, and I had to get cold, as cold as I could. Sometimes, I would take off all my clothes and lie on the tile floor of the bathroom, just to get as cold as I could, with a towel wrapped around my head to keep the light out. I think that used to worry my parents quite a lot when I was small. I can certainly understand why that would be.
Today, I am post-migraine. Not 100% by any means. I did not work out and I took 2 advil as a precaution because I can still feel something lurking. If I make it through the whole day, I will declare a victory.
I suppose time will tell.
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April 11, 2005
We were out on Saturday by 9 to deliver the children into the tender care of their grandparents. The kids slept over there Saturday night and, by most accounts, had a really nice time. Although, my father reports the following interesting exchange with the Girl Child:
GC: The Boy Child and I are going to get married and have a baby.Grandfather: What are you going to do with the baby?
GC: We're going to play with it.
Grandfather: Where will the baby come from?
GC: Out of my butt!
That seems pretty close, actually, for a 4 year old.
And when queried about what she was going to be when she grew up, she explained that she was going to be a dentist and a ballet dancer and when questioned further about the combination, replied indignantly, "I can do both!!" You go, girl!
But that was all from Sunday. On Saturday, still on Saturday, my wife and I enjoyed a practically perfect example of the pre-child day, the kind of weekend day we used to spend when we were younger and had no responsibilities in our relationship other than making each other happy. Actually, those were pretty nice days, in retrospect.
We drove into the City on a glorious Spring day, dropped my wife's bag off at the gym so we could work out later and went off to the nearby American Scandinavian Foundation House to see an exhibit of contemporary Norwegian paintings from the collection of her Majesty, Queen Sonja of Norway -- a dedicated collector of contemporary Norwegian art. They also exhibited some of the Queen's stunning photographs of Norwegian nature. The photographs were mostly far superior to the paintings, I felt.
Then a taxi down to Chelsea to get tickets for the matinee performance of the Richmond Ballet at the Joyce. The Joyce is the preeminent center for modern dance performance in New York City. The best troupes in the world come through NY and many of them play the Joyce. Pre-child, we used to have a subscription to the Joyce and attended a lot of performances there. I heart the Joyce.
After procuring tickets, we adjourned for lunch at the Rocking Horse Cafe, where we sipped exceptionally spicy Bloody Mary's, drank strong coffee, and where my wife fell in love with a sandwich. And she fell hard for this: the Croque Señor, pulled pork sandwich with rajas poblanos, avocado, watercress, and queso Chihuahua.
After lunch, we wondered up the avenue a bit to go to my favorite source for Gay dance music so I could get the latest Gay Pride cd and whatever other excellent Gay party mix my buddy behind the counter, who has been there for years, could talk me into buying. They always have such a great selection and, what can I say, I love the music.
Then, the ballet. I was so disappointed by the performance. First of all, this was a big deal for this troupe -- the State Ballet of Virginia. This was their New York debut. As one group seated behind us said, they were "prepared within an inch of their lives". An inch, huh? Maybe they should have gone the extra mile. We saw two pieces -- Nuevo Tango and some Scottish thing. They were terrible. The dancers were wooden, no emotion, bad lines, sloppy movements, poorly defined hands and legs. I had a thought while watching them that just flinging yourself around a stage does not a ballet make. The choreography was worse, though. It was filled with cliches like dancers walking purposefully around the stage, lots of floor rolls, excessive use of props, overly dramatic lighting, total insensitivity to the music (unless that was the point, but I doubt it), and bad timing plays. It was dreadful. It was a second rate performance, if that.
I think we are spoiled living in NY and having our eyes trained by the best dancers in the world. I think that maybe the Richmond dancers, maybe, are at a disadvantage being so far from other dancers and the exchange of dance ideas and developments. I am trying not to say that they were provincial, because that is such a loaded word, but. . .
In any event, after the ballet, such as it was, we window shopped our way back over to the East Side and to go work out. On the way, we popped into furniture stores and thrift shops and a fun restaurant supply store where, my wife pointed out and wants to get, a sign for the kitchen which reads: The Hostess will seat you. I eyed several big espresso makers covetously, out of the corner of my eye so as not to alarm my good wife.
After a decent workout, we took ourselves off for dinner in the little concentration of Indian restaurants in the upper 20's in Lexington Avenue and for a little spice shopping in one of the excellent spice stores. My wife also picked up a glossy Bollywood gossip magazine from which I have added the word "gymming" to my lexicon. I did manage a decent little play on words, something that passes for humor in my house, when my wife and I had the following conversation concerning her order of Butter Chicken:
W: Do you think that they make this with regular butter or with Ghee?Me: I have no idea. Why don't you ask the waiter and perhaps he can clarify it for you?
On the way home from the City, we received a phone call from my parents. The Girl Child was demanding to come home. She was only pacified with the promise of pancakes in the morning but it looked, for a moment there, as if we were going to have to go get her.
The Boy Child, by the way, declined to nap at my parents' house. My father said that after the Boy Child was piteously crying for a really long time, he went in where my son looked up at my father, cried, "Duuuude!", was picked up, flung his arms around my father's neck and kissed him as his savior. My father was quite pleased.
In any event, it was a wonderful day.
Now, as for the house, let the bidding begin!
By the way, if you are curious, I've put a picture of the exterior in extended entry below. more...
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April 08, 2005
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I was working out this morning, as I do most every morning, and the television was broadcasting coverage of the funeral of the Pope. While at first I was very skeptical about the benefit to my work out this broadcast could have, I ended up engrossed. It was beautiful and moving and wonderful and terribly sad all at the same time. One priest said it best when he said that maybe there was a life lesson here for all of us -- that here was a man who was rich beyond compare in love, his funeral attended by millions but who owned almost nothing, had no money, no family and no sexual intimacy but who was nonetheless rich. Something there for sure, even if I am not willing to pay the kind of price this man paid, putting to one side the fact that I am Jewish. Still, a much loved and, by all accounts, a tremendous man, a tremendous human being, a tremendous loss to the Catholic Church and to the world as a whole. New Yorkers have a special bond with the Church, whether you are Jewish or Catholic or something else. When John Cardinal OÂ’Connor died, I felt it as my loss, because as a New Yorker I felt he was my Cardinal, too. I hope my Catholic readers understand and don't mind my claiming him, too. And I think it was like that for a lot of New Yorkers.
Anyway, back to Rome and this morning. I was mortifying the flesh on the elliptical trainer and watching the funeral and it was very special.
And then, a commercial. The commercial, the first one in over 20 minutes, was for a drug, a medicine. Ok so far, right? The drug had something to do with vaginal infections. It had a long list of warnings and side effects -- like be careful because your vagina could fall out if you take this or you could bleed or your uterus might float away.
Boom. Your juxtaposition. Funeral of the Pope right up next to vaginal bleeding. The best and worst of America in terms of picking a time and place to run that advert. Advertisements pay for the television coverage. They make it possible to send the reporters to Rome and broadcast this beautiful rite. I get it, really. But couldn't Fox News have shown a different commercial at that time? Something a little less graphic, perhaps. Something a little more solemn. Maybe I'm the only one that this bothered, and that's ok, since its my blog and I get to write about whatever I want. But it was the juxtaposition that got to me. The Sacred/Profane or at least mundane. I would have felt the same if the ad was for foot fungus, by the way. What did this juxtaposition say about America, this mixture of Rite/Commerce?
And here is where I run into the limitations of the juxtaposition, for while the juxtaposition may always teach you something, maybe the lesson isn't worth having or the comparisons don't hold water.
I don't know if that happened here because I find myself curiously reluctant to follow the path that this juxtaposition is leading me -- to condemn Fox and American television for their timing. What do you think? Is this a juxtaposition worth talking about? Or should I have gotten off the machine before I cooked my brain this morning?
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They told us nothing we didn't already know, of course, but I could still sit for hours and listen to people say nice things about my daughter.
Oh, and they were all totally charmed by the way the Boy Child came into class with the Girl Child every morning and waited to leave until after he and she gave each other hugs and kisses.
There are days I feel so lucky that I am simply waiting for the other shoe to drop.
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