How does the Eco-System work? Anybody know? My eco-system ranking bounces all over the place. It reached the dizzying heights the other day of 106 links only to drop, for no apparent reason, to 60 links, in one swell foop. How does it work? How does it calculate links and so on?

I'm tempted to pull it off my blog entirely.

Any thoughts?

Posted by: Random Penseur at 11:51 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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Riding in the car tonight, listening to some lame radio station do a less lame holiday weekend music countdown of the top 100 or maybe even 500 best dance songs, when I was confronted by the music of Tone Loc. Remember him? Who can forget the immortal words of Funky, Cold Medina? I mean, besides me. They played Wild Thing. I quote the relevant bits:

Doin' a little show at the local discotheque

This fine youg chick was on my jack so I say what the heck

She want to come on stage and do her little dance

So I said chill for now but maybe later you'll get your chance

So when the show was finished I took her around the way

And what do you know she was good to go without a word to say

We was all alone and she said "Tone let me tell you one thing
I need $50 to make you holler I get paid to do the wild thing"

Say what
Yo love you must be kidding
You're walkin' babe
Just break out of here
Hasta la vista baby

I'm glad Tone took the higher moral road here. Besides, who knows what you could catch from some skanky ho charging $50 to do the wild thing.

I wonder, idly, what ever happened to Tone? Or Young MC, for that matter, who collaborated with Tone. Young MC, you may recall, had the Econ degree from USC and gave us Bust a Move. I loved that one. Or, Off to the Principal's Office I go. I can quote that one from memory ("a nurses late pass like a gun on my hip. . ."). This was before rap got kind of ugly and there was no place left anymore for Young or Tone.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 10:01 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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I just lost a huge post that took me over 45 minutes to write. I am way too frustrated to recommence.

So, something different.

The Bronx Zoo was great fun. It was seriously empty. We were among the only ones in the parking lot when we arrived. We saw the bird house, the monkey house, the Congo exhibit, Tiger Mountain (damn, that was exceptionally cool), and the sea lions. The Boy Child had, I think, a very good time. Although he kept trying to ditch his mittens when he thought I wasn't looking. And he needed them, since it did not get above 44 degrees in the sun while we were there. The tigers were really the coolest. We were able to get right up to the glass in the stroller and this 8 foot tiger, he was enormous, came right up to the glass to examine my son. They just stared at each other for awhile until the tiger decided, I guess, that he would not be able to eat the boy. The boy seemed to be rendered speechless by this enormous tiger head a scant couple of inches away from his own. I don't blame him. I was a bit speechless myself.

Coming back from the zoo, we stopped off in Scarsdale to visit Zachy's, a well known wine store in the region. With the wife away, I decided to treat myself to a bottle of 18 year old Scotch whisky on the grounds that either I will get the job in Miami and will want to celebrate or I won't and I deserve some consolation. Poor reasoning, really, but what the hell. I am almost out and that is not acceptable. We do not live in Scarsdale and I'm glad. Why? How often do you see an Aston Martin parked outside the supermarket? Not very, I bet. Scarsdale sees them all the time. I turned from examining that to see the Mercedes G55, you know, the really ugly super expensive truck. It was being driven, and I use that word loosely, by a woman who held a cell phone to her ear with one hand (illegal in NY, by the way) and a half eaten apple in the other hand. I thought, wow, it is true. The rich really are different. They can drive with no hands.

May I speak about the boy child for a moment? Oh. My. God. What a beautiful little creature he is. He is like pure sunshine. Nary a cry or a whine the whole day. Laughter more often than any other noise. He pulls my head to his chest to cuddle me and makes these happy little cooing sounds. I can't wait for him to get up from his nap to go play, again. We are going out to dinner tonight with my parents and I am a little sorry it won't be just the two of us, but how can I keep such joy to myself? He needs to be shared a little bit, I think.

After he goes to bed tonight, it will be more Whisky (one glass) and a Bruce Lee film I have not seen in many years.

Tomorrow, weather permitting, I think we are going to head off to NY City and go visit the Museum of Natural History. I think he'll like the train in. There is a live butterfly exhibit and I hope he will find that compelling. If not, the City is a big place and we will find plenty to do, I bet.

Maybe, tomorrow morning, before he wakes, I will try to recreate my post on Pensions, Demographics and Immigration. A serious topic and I am plenty steamed that it just went POOF.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 04:29 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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Everybody was kung-fu fighting

Those cats were fast as lightning

In fact it was a little bit frightning

But they fought with expert timing

Ok, that was afterwards. After we had a very nice visit with my parents, and ate a bit too much, and watched the kids run around, and had pleasant conversation, and bid goodbye to the wife and Girl Child as they left to go to Norway. Then the Boy Child, two semi-eligible bachelors if there ever were any, came home for a little dinner for him, a bath, and then he was asleep before I was down the stairs. No nap for him, you see. In fact, as I was holding him to give him a good night kiss (one kiss was happily accepted), he then tried to throw himself from my arms into his crib. For 21 months, that is tired.

Then came the kung fu fighting! It was a totally selfish way to spend an evening. Pretty much perfect. I lit a fire and turned off the lights in the living room. I poured a glass of MacCallan 12 year old Scotch Whisky with a little bit of water and settled in to watch Crouching Tiger / Hidden Dragon which I had never seen before.

First, a question: why is bad to drink alone, again? I know that I must have known the reason for this at some point, but I can't seem to recall. I don't think I've ever gotten drunk alone. But a drink by myself? Wonderful and self indulgent and probably no worse than having a soda. No, a good glass of Whisky takes a rather long time to drink (at least, it takes me a long time) and is a nice experience on a number of levels. I like the idea of it, first of all. There is just something intangible about the idea of having a Whisky -- some combination of romantic notions I can't possibly distill here. I like the taste. I like the physical warming as it slides down. And having one by my lonesome is second best (sometimes better) than having one with a friend over an interesting conversation. No, I think that there should be more drinking alone, not less!

Anyway, the film was not quite as great as I had hoped it would be. I have a weakness for the Kung Fu classics. I used to go down to Chinatown to the all-day kung fu movie theater and spend an afternoon watching them. I don't know if that theater is still there, but it was a fun way to kill an afternoon. I think my favorite actor right now is Jet Li. I love his movies and his martial arts are first rate. My favorite was Fists of Legend. It has the best fight scenes I've ever seen and great production values. Tiger / Dragon was no Fists of Legend. It had some decent fight scenes but seemed to think that dramatic cut aways and lots of flying around was a good substitute for a well crafted fight. It ain't.

Anyway, must dash as the Boy Child is stirring after his short 12.5 hours of sleep and I have diapers to change, breakfast to fix, and a trip to the Bronx Zoo to plan.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 07:09 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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Simon had an amusing post today about a visit to a pet behaviourist who recommended drugging dogs. Simon laughed alone in the room. I'd have joined him in laughing. But that's not why I reference his post. No, it was the description of the vet that got to me. Simon describes him as "an Armani-suited, Cartier-glasses, Rolex watch wearing man".

That description got me to thinking about service providers. Broadly, people you pay to preform services as opposed to providing you with goods. By way of example, I mean lawyers, doctors, plumbers, dentists, and accountants. Vets, too, I suppose. I am a service provider as a lawyer. As a service provider, the last thing I want to do is to dress as if my client is paying me too much. This would make any client suspicious about the fees. Why is this guy so flashy with my money? That is not to say that you should not dress successfully, because you should. If you look like a loser, you will also turn clients off. No, the watchword here is: Discrete.

Be discrete in your appearance if you are a service provider. I am a timepiece slut. I love watches and I like to dress well. I do not wear Armani, however, or any other brand that is going to be instantly recognizable. I do not own a Rolex nor a Cartier. Nor would I wear a watch that would be instantly known to my client. In fact, I wear an IWC. Bet you haven't heard of them, have you? IWC is a very fine Swiss watch maker and this watch is a thing of beauty. But a client isn't going to look at it and say, that's where my fees are going? Nope. I think it is not a good business decision to force a client to think like that.

In fact, I'll give you an example. Shortly after we moved into our new house, my wife arranged for someone to come by with cases of fabric to give us an estimate on drapes/curtains. For some reason, these things cost more than their equivalent weight in diamonds. After the affable Rolex-wearing salesman made his pitch, he told us, in an effort to pressure us to commit, that he was so busy that he had to buy that Cadillac parked outside our house because he was spending so much time in the car and what did we think of that. I looked at the car and his watch and said, "I think it tells me that you are charging me too much for these curtains". And that was that.

Finally, I would consider it poor judgment to hire someone who thought it showed good judgment to overpay for a Rolex. If it were a Patek, on the other hand. . .

Posted by: Random Penseur at 09:01 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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I watched, on my trip back from Ft. Lauderdale last night, Best of Show. There was advice given in that film which ought to apply to anyone driving for Thanksgiving and I reproduce it for you all here:

If you get tired, pull over.

If you get hungry, eat something.

I loved that. Just try to remember that, y'all, as you are driving to Mom's for Thanksgiving.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 12:32 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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Before you ask, I have no idea how it went. I was asked, at the conclusion, how much time I'd need before I could start if they made me an offer. I read nothing into that anymore. I simply told them, in response, that I would be on the next plane down the day after it was professionally prudent for me to have wrapped up everything at my firm and not leave anyone hanging. I also told them I really wanted this job and if offered it would take it.

Thank you all very much for your comments wishing me luck. I really appreciated them all!

By the way, did I mention that the job would mean we'd have to move to Miami?

Let me share with you some random observations I made during the one day trip down and back:

*Church Signs on I-95

I saw an excellent church sign off of I-95. It read as follows:

Sign courtesy of Church Sign Generator, one of my favorite sites, by the way.

All that was missing from the sign was something like, "limited appearance only", or, "half price off for sinners special on Fridays ", or, "catch him next week at the Aventura Mall". In any event, I was tickled.

*Airport Check in:

I was asked by the very nice woman at Jet Blue, to check and see if I was carrying any of the items on her list in my briefcase. I read it carefully and confirmed that I was not carrying in my briefcase, inter alia, any guns, ammunition, 4 lbs of dry ice, or an electric wheel chair and I requested clarification as to what a "wet cell" battery was. She didn't know either but she giggled, which was sweet. I am kind of a flirt, I have to admit.

*Jet Blue directv thing is cool.

VH1Classics allowed me to reacquaint myself with such talented bands as Animotion and Berlin ("The Metro", great 80's pop angst with heavy keyboard use). The music of my youth is now on VH1Classics. Classics. Sheesh. No further comment. Although, here are the lyrics to "The Metro":

I'm alone
sitting with my empty glass
my four walls
follow me through my past
I was on a Paris train
I emerged in London rain
and you were waiting there
swimming through apologies

I remember searching for the perfect words
I was hoping you might change your mind
I remember a soldier sleeping next to me
riding on the Metro

You wore white
smiling as you took my hand
so removed
we spoke of wintertime in France
minutes passed with shallow words
years have passed and still the hurt
I can see you now
smiling as I pulled away

I remember the letter wrinkled in my hand
"I'll love you always" filled my eyes
I remember a night we walked along the Seine
riding on the Metro

I remember a feeling coming over me
the soldier turned, then looked away
I remember hating you for loving me
riding on the Metro

I'm alone
sitting with my BROKEN glass
my four walls
follow me through my past
I was on a Paris train
I emerged in London rain
and you were waiting there
swimming through apologies(sorry)

I remember searching for the perfect words
I was hoping you might change your mind
I remember a soldier sleeping next to me
riding on the Metro

*Taxi to/from Miami from Ft. Lauderdale airport cost $150 dollars.
Cost of JetBlue ticket back to NY: $148.

How is this possible, that it costs more to fly down the Eastern Seaboard than it does to take a taxi to/from some 30 miles each way? How can JetBlue stay in business? Or is it that the taxis are charging too much?

Posted by: Random Penseur at 12:17 PM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
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I will be out of the office tomorrow with no access to computers and no chance to blog (I expect). While I'm gone, I recommend browsing through my set of links under "Daily (practically) Reads". There are some first rate writers represented there.

Psst, don't tell anyone, but I am off for a job interview. Keep your fingers crossed and wish me whatever you are inclined to wish me. I am, truth be told, a bit nervous. Perhaps not nervous, just scared about being disappointed if I don't get the offer. That may be it, really. Of course, I am also apprehensive about the consequences of getting an offer, but that's another story. The only way I know how to deal with that kind of nervousness is through preparation. I think I am prepared. I have probably spent over 15 hours preparing for it. I have reviewed my resume, the summary I have made of every interesting case I have ever worked on, re-read my writing samples, re-read the published opinions judges have rendered in cases in which I am counsel of record, read everything I could find on the internet about the organization and the person I will be meeting with, and am close to ready. I have my best suit back from the cleaners and my shoes are shined. Now, just fingers crossed, deep breath, and into the breach.

See you all on Tuesday.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 10:19 AM | Comments (10) | Add Comment
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1 Well good luck RP, I'm rooting for you. Hey, guess what? My daughter in the states is applying for Law school! So I hope you get the job you want and she gets into law!

Posted by: Rachel Ann at November 21, 2004 03:05 PM (iT4Tl)

2 Go for it!! Relax and be your own sweet self. Shake hands and have a big time!!

Posted by: Azalea at November 21, 2004 03:31 PM (hRxUm)

3 You know how I feel about this, RP. You're MORE than prepared; now just don't forget to relax and breathe! Honestly, I think you've got it. If you want it. I have a feeling that an engaging person such as yourself does SMASHING interviews. Relax, breathe, smile and KNOCK 'EM DEAD! ::: still concentrating really hard :::

Posted by: Margi at November 21, 2004 03:47 PM (MAdsZ)

4 OW! ::: wink :::

Posted by: Margi at November 21, 2004 09:15 PM (MAdsZ)

5 Good luck. With that much preparation they'll have to offer you either the job or a judge-ship. What kind of boats do judges get anyway? My last interview required huge amounts of preparation. It went like this: Them: "Do you want a job in Hong Kong." Me: "OK" Them: "See you in a month then." They've been regretting it since!

Posted by: Simon at November 22, 2004 03:28 AM (OyeEA)

6 Best of luck!

Posted by: Hannah at November 22, 2004 02:05 PM (0tNIc)

7 Great good luck, Random!

Posted by: Amber at November 22, 2004 02:05 PM (zQE5D)

8 Random, I've been almost exactly where you seem to be, career-wise, and hope this turns out for you like it did for me... Best of luck!

Posted by: JohnL at November 22, 2004 11:55 PM (gplif)

9 and?? or maybe we shouldn't ask...and instead smile knowingly. yes - that's good. we'll do that. so...ready for thanksgiving? i'll wave as i drive past!

Posted by: standing naked at November 23, 2004 12:06 PM (IAJcf)

10 Thanks for the good wishes, everyone. Rachel Anne, tell your daughter to reconsider. I urge you.

Posted by: RP at November 23, 2004 12:48 PM (LlPKh)

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I love greasy spoons, road side restaurants, barbeque shacks, cafes, diners, and all manner of holes in the wall. My wife parts company with me on this but, as in so many things, is still willing to indulge me from time to time. She's nice like that.

I like being able to see my breakfast being cooked before me, the bottomless cup of coffee, the home made (sometimes) pies, the french fries with gravy, and the milk shakes often made with great care, or at least, carefully enough that no cigarette ash falls in. Good enough for me, certainly. I like that you can get breakfast anytime you want and that you can almost always find meatloaf and lumpy mashed potatoes. I like the way these places smell, generally but not always. I like that they are usually owner operated and often with more than a little pride. I do not, however, feel the need to go out and start one of my own, though.

However, were I rich, I mean filthy hedge fund rich, I would go here and buy one to have moved to my country property (I don't have one of those either, of course, but that is a mere detail in this little fantasy) to join the other buildings (there will be other buildings, certainly). Then, like Marie Antoinette, I could play at having a diner. I think that would be great fun.

Or, if I were Google IPO rich, I could buy a totally new one for $150,000. Comes fully equiped. That could be nice.

I also like diner slang. Here, from the same place where you can go buy your very own diner, is a lexicon of diner slang so you can talk the talk. I extract some of my favorites:

whiskey down: Rye toast, the 'down' part probably comes from the action of pushing down the handle on the toaster

Shingle with a shimmy and a shake: Buttered toast with jam or jelly, hence the reference to 'shake'.

Wreck ‘em: Scrambled eggs

Fry two, let the sun shine: 2 fried eggs with unbroken yolks

Flop two: Two fried eggs over easy

Customer will take a chance: Hash

Sweep the kitchen or
Sweepings, or
Clean up the kitchen: A plate of hash

Mystery in the alley: A side order of hash

Chewed with Fine Breath: Hamburger with onions

Two cows, make them cry: Two hamburgers with onions

Burn one; take it through the garden and pin a rose on it: Hamburger with lettuce, tomato and onion

When I strike it rich one day (don't hold your breath, ok?), you are all invited over to my little Trianon fake-diner for ice cream sodas and "GAC"s (grilled cheese sandwiches)!

Posted by: Random Penseur at 10:09 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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As you may know, I make a point of reading the obituaries at the Telegraph on line. English obituary writing is superb. They are mini-biographies, generally written about people I've never heard of before. Oftentimes, you read about people who did terribly important things during WW II. That generation is passing, you know. Here are two people, in extended entry below, who I thought were fascinating.

Click below for more. more...

Posted by: Random Penseur at 09:43 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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Are you a chatter? Do you tend to chat with strangers? Invite, from time to time, conversation with people you don't otherwise know but with whom you are sharing some common experience, be it waiting for a late train or stuck on line at the bank? I am mostly that kind of person. My wife is not, probably. I think she is little bit shy while I am not. This may explain why I have a blog and she does not. I think that this is a trait shared by most bloggers.

Yesterday, I had a chat with another lawyer. He wanted an extension of time, his second, so that he could move to dismiss my complaint against his client. I was basically agreeable to extending his time but insisted, to his great surprise, that he take a longer time than he had asked for. I explained that his date would inevitably involve him working over Thanksgiving weekend and that this particular fight, just being about money, is not worth it. I insisted he take a later date. After that, we got to chatting and I learned that both of his parents had been at Aushwitz. Both. Parents. His mother and his father were concentration camp survivors.

I was floored. I have met camp survivors before, but not many of them. I have been on a tour of a concentration camp before, a topic, if anyone is interested, for another post. You see these people, these survivors and you know you are in the presense of something extraordinary. These people did not survive some stupid television show. They survived evil.

Parenthetical: Evil is a concept that has fallen out of favor since, for the multiculturalists and relativists, it requires taking a firm comparative stand and making a value judgment. I am comfortable doing that and saying that certain cultural practices are not just different, they are flat out evil or wrong. Clipping off a baby girl's clitoris is just flat out wrong. Exterminating the Jews of Europe or engaging in genocide in Rawanda is evil. Stalin? Evil. These are not hard judgement calls to make. Don't shirk from making them just because others say you cannot sit in judgment on other people and their specific cultural practices. You are a human being and thus, you can. Endof Paranthetical.

These survivors looked evil in the face and, by luck or grace of God or pure strengh of will, or a combination of all of the foregoing, walked away. This attorney's parents walked away, found love, and made a family. They left the camps and made two sons, one a lawyer and one a diplomat. They made a success in this country. I am awed by people like this. I don't know, and hope never, ever, to have to find out, if I have the inner fortitude that these people had to survive.

His parents bear tattoos of their death camp numbers on their arms. They can never forget. So long as they live, we can never forget.

Evil still walks the earth. It paused in Beslan, a name I do not have to look up to check the spelling on. It lingers in Israel with the death of every Jewish child shot while hiding under the beds by brave Islamic terrorists who regard each death as a brave act, worthy of great celebration in the streets of Palestine. Can you doubt, really, that this is evil? I cannot. And I despair. I despair as the world press lionizes the life of Arafat, the world's oldest terrorist, without taking note of his crimes against humanity. I worry that it has become safe to hate Jews. Again. This is an ever present thought in my mind. It lingers in the background. It comes to the fore sometimes when I look at my children and wonder, did I do them any favors by converting them to Judaism? Have I just painted targets on their backs? This is an intensely and deeply held fear. I don't have an answer to this question and I hope I never do.

This was a major ramble today and I would never have gone down this path if I had not stopped to chat with this other attorney. I would never have learned about his parents if I was not a chatter and I would have missed the opportunity to reflect on it. I'm glad I took a moment to chat with him. You never know what comes out of a random chat.

Disclaimer: As with all of my rambles, this is stream of consciousness and I have not and will not re-read to edit. You take it as it comes with these. Also, this does not constitute an offer to buy or sell securities. Finally, smoking is probably bad for you.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 11:07 AM | Comments (16) | Add Comment
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1 Not that this is the most important thing to take out of your post but your throwaway at the end tickled me. We recently had visitors from The Netherlands and their cigarette packs had warnings far more straightforward than the ones we have. One was "Smoking will kill you" another was "If you smoke you will die". Very straight-forward and to the point.

Posted by: Jim at November 18, 2004 11:33 AM (tyQ8y)

2 Just thought of something with that second cig warning. Aren't you going to die regardless of your smoking habits? I mean they're saying that if you don't smoke you will be immortal, right? Okay, my sidebar is finished. Great post, RP!

Posted by: Jim at November 18, 2004 11:35 AM (tyQ8y)

3 Wonderful post, Random. As usual. I visited Dachau in the '80s. Walking through there gave me a sense of absolute tragedy. When you see firsthand the accomodations, the chambers, the ovens...nothing I've ever experienced has moved me as much. You realize then that no matter how much you read about it, how many movies you see, there is no way of imagining what an awesomely atrocious existence was had there. It's disheartening to see that genocide is still alive and well. Humans are infamous for neglecting to learn the lessons our history strives to teach us. I hope kinder, saner minds prevail. The world has much at stake in the outcome. My hat goes off and my heart goes out to all concentration camp survivors, as well as to those that did not make it. No person should have to suffer such an awful fate.

Posted by: Mick at November 18, 2004 12:32 PM (VhRca)

4 That was a lovely and thoughtful comment, Mick, as usual. Jim, I'm glad that the humorous aspects of my disclaimer tickled you.

Posted by: rp at November 18, 2004 12:37 PM (LlPKh)

5 I've seen the movies about the concentration camps, and every time I had a hard time watching them, the sheer horror of every moment that was lived once they were arrested. I usually broke down if watching by myself, very similarly I broke down when watching the footage after the initial attacks on Baghdad watching Fahrenheit 911. "Lest we forget" is the motto for Canada's Rememberance Day on Nov. 11. Unfortunately a large portion of the world HAS forgotten, or chosen to ignore the lessons learned by the World wars. Evil is alive and thriving in our greedy societies and will continue as long as we view the worth of human life as less than the wealth we accumulate. I used to write songs when I was in high school, mostly just lyrics. Here are some that seem apt: "You've been given the gold, but can you keep it? Will your bones never wither away? All the things you acquire and the money you gain will never be enough to open the gate." Ok, so it was grade 11, I wasn't a wordsmith

Posted by: Oorgo at November 18, 2004 01:09 PM (lM0qs)

6 When Dan and I first got together, we had many discussions about "evil". Dan believes in evil, but I did not. I argued that anything "evil" can be explained as sick, twisted choices made by human beings who become flawed in their thinking, not because somehow "evil" got inside them. But Dan argued that there *is* evil. That people can tap into evil the same way we can tap into good. For strength. For inspiration. He says it's a choice. Still, calling something "evil" seems to me to be acknowledging that Evil is a force unto itself. As is Good. And I don't know if I buy that. On the other hand, there are many forces in the world I can't see or point at. Love, for instance. It exists, but I can't offer you proof. So...dunno. Thoughtful post, though, Random! And isn't that just like you to have been so thoughtful about the other lawyer traveling over Thanksgiving? :-) *beams at Random*

Posted by: Amber at November 18, 2004 01:38 PM (zQE5D)

7 a very moving, and personal post. thank you for sharing it. i didn't think you needed the disclaimer and for the statement So long as they live, we can never forget. we can never forget...rp...never.

Posted by: standing naked at November 18, 2004 07:07 PM (IAJcf)

8 Random, Re: chattiness as a trait shared by most bloggers - not true in my case. In my marriage, my wife is the one most likely to chat up total strangers, but she doesn't blog. I'm more shy and awkward with people I don't know but I blog. Nice comments on evil. I have much more to say on the topic, but need to get my thoughts and words better organized.

Posted by: JohnL at November 18, 2004 11:25 PM (gplif)

9 I am not a chatter. And I too once toured a concentration camp-Terezin, in the Czech Republic. Going to places like that makes you hate God and rage at the world. As a side to Jim-all the cigarette packets in Europe say that, in bold letters, across one whole side of the ciggies. It amuses me, and doesn't seem to work.

Posted by: Helen at November 19, 2004 02:13 AM (AeGVs)

10 My 1.65 cents-worth (adjusted for inflation): I'm a chatter. My mother said I would talk to a telephone pole. *eyeroll* People are INNNN-terestin'. *guilelessly* You give good dictation. I know this by the PARENTHETICAL/ENDPARENTHETICAL. Maybe, instead of painting a target on their back, you've given them a heritage of strength and fortitude, courage and bravery. (Yeah, I'm pretty much a "glass half-full" type, why do you ask?) It's not so much the smoke as it is the resultant fire that is really deadly. I smoke. And I wish I didn't. But what I wish MORE, is that "interested bystanders" would STFU and let me enjoy my damned cigarette. As I told one particularly pushy gentleman who informed me "Smoking those will kill you": "Yeah, but my NOT smoking right now MIGHT kill YOU." Keep on with the random posts. I love your musings. As always,

Posted by: Margi at November 19, 2004 04:25 AM (MAdsZ)

11 Nice one, RP. For the record, I am a chatterer's chatterer. I'll talk to almost anybody, anywhere, anytime.

Posted by: Howard at November 19, 2004 10:39 AM (e1Imk)

12 Well, this post certainly received some very interesting and thoughtful comments and I appreciated them all. I don't really know where to start addressing them. So, I will merely address one remark: Helen, you and I visited the same camp, the Children's Camp, it was called. If that isn't enough to make someone want to cry, that children were removed from their parents and sent off to another camp entirely, then I just don't know what to say. It is proof positive of Evil.

Posted by: RP at November 19, 2004 03:19 PM (LlPKh)

13 I did tour the children's camp. I also toured the political prisoner adult's camp. It was the children's camp that gutted me and tortured my dreams for ages.

Posted by: Helen at November 20, 2004 03:27 AM (AeGVs)

14 Wonderful post. I too am a compulsive chatterer with strangers. I love finding the common and not so common groud. And you are right about evil. It doesn't help to equivocate. It does help to point it out and demand its end. Evil begets evil. We do the world no favor when we conflate understanding the cause so to prevent it in the future, with forgiving and allowing its existence.

Posted by: Rachel Ann at November 20, 2004 03:39 PM (iT4Tl)

15 Helen, you know exactly where I am coming from. Thank you, Rachel Ann. You and I are on the exact same page and probaly at the same sentence on that page.

Posted by: RP at November 21, 2004 10:52 AM (LlPKh)

16 *cough* (non-smoker cough) A little late here, but that is a great post, especially the aside about evil.

Posted by: Simon at November 22, 2004 03:32 AM (OyeEA)

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I walked away from buying a new suit today. It was a lovely suit, dark blue with pin stripes, double vented in the back and it fit me splendidly. It was a Cerruti suit, reduced from $1,600 to $495. Quite a reduction but the store lost its lease and is closing. I was all set to buy it and it was going to be the first new suit I have bought in several years. I've lost quite a bit of weight lately and was thinking it might be time to make an addition to the wardrobe. I was very excited about it. Then I noticed that the suit was made of 92% wool and 8% polyester. $495 for a suit that was not pure wool? Are they serious? I flatly refused to buy it at that point. They tried to explain that these suits sold very well and that the 8% was used to keep the suit from wrinkling. So what? Polyester does not breathe that well and even 8% was too much for me. Am I too fussy? Maybe. I am certainly particular and I made the mistake once before not paying close enough attention to the fabric of a jacket. That was a good mistake since I now pay better attention.

This was just the suit that got away.

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1 If I could afford it I would get the 100% as well, though I prefer 100% cotton or silk to wool. Wool is too itchy. But quality lasts and lasts and lasts. A well tailored suit stays around in the closet till it goes of style and comes back again. I don't understand about the wrinkling part; I suppose if one commonly throws one's clothes on the floor that would be true, but if one is paying $1,600 for the suit (which is what it was expected to sell for) I would think one would take better care of the item.

Posted by: Rachel Ann at November 15, 2004 03:38 PM (K4EpJ)

2 Sheesh, I think if you loved the suit so much, then you should have moved past the 8% poly. You probably wouldn't have noticed - my guess is it's just enough for the suit not to wrinkle as easily, but not enough for the fabric's breathability to be compromised. Poly's come a long way since the 70's, you know...

Posted by: GrammarQueen at November 15, 2004 04:43 PM (gDEwS)

3 Actually, I thought I could feel it when I ran my hand over the lapel (which I was doing to see if I could feel whether it was top fused or hand sown since they feel different and this was the first Cerruti suit I ever looked at). It just didn't feel correct to me, the fabric. That's why I looked at the label so carefully. It had not occured to me that the suit could be anything other than wool until I felt it more carefully.

Posted by: RP at November 15, 2004 04:52 PM (LlPKh)

4 Polyester is evil. Good Choice

Posted by: Stephen Macklin at November 15, 2004 06:47 PM (U3CvV)

5 well, not sure about evil but good eye RP...

Posted by: standing naked at November 15, 2004 08:54 PM (IAJcf)

6 Hey man, you're absolutely right. I no longer bother buying any kind of clothing that I don't feel 100% comfortable with. It's just not worth it. You'll hesitate before grabbing it every time you see it hanging in your closet. Good eye!

Posted by: Mick at November 15, 2004 09:23 PM (QLESm)

7 Er. Uh. I don't get it. What's the difference?

Posted by: indigo at November 15, 2004 10:23 PM (5PkrR)

8 I sort of have to agree with Indigo. I mean, lovely suit? Cerruti? Big reduction? As a woman, I get subjected to clothing horrors all the time-thongs, high heels, waxing. To me, an 8% difference wouldn't have made any difference at all. BUT-the good news is, you know what you like and what you're comfortable in. *shakes head over loss of Cerruti suit*

Posted by: Helen at November 16, 2004 02:44 AM (AeGVs)

9 Well, the suit was lovely looking, but not nice feeling. It has to feel nice and I could, with my thumb and index finger, detect that there was something off with this fabric. I don't care for polyester and would not expect it in a suit that claimed to be of such a high caliber. As for horrors, I think women suffer more bad clothes then men do. In fact, above, all the men agree with me and the women are less inclined to agree. I think you are just trained to suffer more than men are (clothes wise)! Is Cerruti a big deal, Helen? I'm just not familiar with Italian suits.

Posted by: RP at November 16, 2004 05:43 AM (X3Lfs)

10 I think you should have bought it, if for no other reason than "Shopper's Remorse". I still yearn for clothing I didn't buy. The beautiful Italian jacket that was on sale that I didn't buy. Those gorgeous shoes I didn't buy. That beautiful blouse I didn't buy back in '93. I think many women remember the clothing purchases we *didn't* make and we forever mourn their loss. So perhaps we women are looking at it as "Random's Suit That Got Away". You'll be talking about it wistfully years from now..."Remember that suit I didn't buy, hon? Yeah...I still dream about it at night sometimes." Like we do. ;-)

Posted by: Amber at November 16, 2004 11:40 AM (zQE5D)

11 Not a chance, Amber, not with this one. This time I feel like I narrowly missed making a mistake. Although I certainly understand that remorse thing. I've had that before. But usually, the remorse would come from hurrying into buying something. To borrow from a quote, buy in haste, repent at leisure.

Posted by: RP at November 16, 2004 12:01 PM (LlPKh)

12 I'm sitting here, bemused smile on my face, because I absolutely LOVELOVELOVE and did I mention LOVE the fact that you, as a man, are comfortable enough to discuss the cut, fit and composition of an article of clothing you place on your body? Do you know how friggin' GAWJUSS that is? You, sir, are DA. MAN. Good call, BTW. If you ain't gonna be happy with it, it just doesn't matter if it was hand-sewn by virgins and annointed by Gawd -- it's not something you should do. I, of course, have never been that smart -- I purchase in haste and repent at my leisure. But that has got to be the best post I've seen today. Bless you. xoxo

Posted by: Margi at November 17, 2004 04:19 AM (MAdsZ)

13 Oh, and I didn't read the comments until AFTER I posted. Purchase in haste, repent at leisure. Imagine that. ::: wanders off, shaking her head :::

Posted by: Margi at November 17, 2004 04:24 AM (MAdsZ)

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As some you may know, I am the Interview Chair for the Alumni Admissions group of my north-eastern liberal arts university. As such, I supervise the assignment of interviews, conduct some myself, and basically make sure that the several hundred or more applicants from NYC get interviews if they want them. In this capacity, I am forced to reflect on the position that College has in the American iconographic landscape. I am not going to post about that here. No, instead, I refer you to John's essays about Dartmouth. Fabulous stuff, as you'd expect from John. An example from an off hand remark about admission:

[N]ot to mention the cost of the adolescence spent in gamesmanship, artful maneuver, and self-denial that led to admission in the first place.

Isn't that just brilliant?

Also, I learned a new word from his post: synecdoche. Defined as follows at Dictionary.com:

syn·ec·do·che: n. A figure of speech in which a part is used for the whole (as hand for sailor), the whole for a part (as the law for police officer), the specific for the general (as cutthroat for assassin), the general for the specific (as thief for pickpocket), or the material for the thing made from it (as steel for sword).

[Middle English synodoches, from Medieval Latin synodoche, alteration of Latin synecdoch, from Greek sunekdokh, from sunekdekhesthai, to take on a share of : sun-, syn- + ekdekhesthai, to understand (ek-, out of; see eghs in Indo-European Roots + dekhesthai, to take; see dek- in Indo-European Roots).]

I love learning new words. Thanks, John!

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I've seen a lot of rants recently. A lot of people are seriously pissed off and are venting on their blogs. Fair enough. Vent away. If it is entertaining and well written, I will read it. However, it can be tiresome. Anger is fatiguing, after all. And so I give you the anti-rant. A random list of things for which I am grateful if not downright happy.

My Anti-Rant:

I am grateful that the recent presidential election, despite the bitterness with which it was conducted, did not descend into a pit of acrimonious litigation which might have torn the Republic apart.

I am thankful that my family is healthy.

I am grateful, enormously, for every little kiss and I love you my daughter gives to me.

I am also equally grateful every time my 20 month old son calls, "Ba Ba" and holds his arms up to me.

I am grateful for the smell of Johnson's baby shampoo on the hair of children.

I am thankful we have enough money to not worry about putting food on the table or clothing the children. The rest is details.

I am happy that my wife, my childhood sweetheart, loves me and trusts me and, I think, would pack up the family and move with me almost anywhere I wanted to go.

I am grateful that my grandfather just celebrated his 90th birthday and is in excellent health.

I am grateful for the sacrifices made by men and women in uniform.

I am thankful that I live in the United States of America and that my ancestors sought it out as a beacon of hope and the land of opportunity and better things for their children.

I am happy that winter is almost upon us. It is glorious to walk to the train in the morning as the cold cuts through you and makes you feel clean and alive.

I have a lot to be grateful for, thankful for, and happy about. This list is woefully incomplete, but it is a start.

I hope you all can write a similar list, too.

Here endeth the anti-rant.

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From the NY Post today:

Ethan Hawke satirized New York's over- demanding parents Monday when he out lined his plans for Maya, 6, his daughter with Uma Thurman. "I've already started compiling her reading list," the sometime novelist told the audience at the Glamour Women of the Year awards at the Ameri can Museum of Natural History. "It starts with the Hans Christian Andersen in the original Dutch (emphasis added), because that's important. Then there's Homer and she'll go straight into the complete collected works of Judy Blume, because as any man knows, there's no better guide to the teen woman than 'Deenie.' "

Dutch, you nincompoop? Dutch? Try Danish. Hans Christian Andersen wrote in Danish. You know, Ethan, Danish is not just something you eat with your coffee.

On that note, I leave you with the statue of the Little Mermaid from Copenhagen (you know, in Denmark?):

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This was truly cool. Last night, I saw the bat used by Babe Ruth to hit the first home run in the new Yankee Stadium on April 18, 1923.

For baseball fans, this doesn't get much cooler. For Yankees fans, it is nice to know that he hit that home run against the Red Sox.

The bat is being auctioned off at Sotheby's. Here's a press release about the sale.

I also got to see the first Mickey Mantel major league home run ball and a very cool Ty Cobb bat. I was a little surprised that the Ty Cobb bat did not have any blood or human hair on it, considering what I've read of Mr. Cobb's temper over the years.

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I had the weekend off for the first time in some weeks now. It was glorious. My wife asked me last night what my favorite moment was and I really didn't have one. I told her that it was made up of many small pleasures and that while none of them may have stood out as particularly worthy of an extended memory, in totality, they gave me a lot of pleasure. I did run some errands this weekend: hardware store; supermarket; back again to the hardware store; and the gas station. And I cooked. A lot. I made gallons of soup, a vat of chili, and I roasted a turkey breast. Kosher turkey breast, while more expensive, is cleary the way to go. My wife deemed it the only acceptable turkey breast she had ever eaten. I also did some neglected house things, like throwing out rotted pumpkins, etc.

I did steal a little time for myself, about 10 minutes. I went and sat by the ocean. There was no one else around and it was very windy. I tried to sit there and let the salt breeze blow some of my cobwebs out. I was sad because I realized that while I had been at work, I missed the peak of the leaf change. The glorious reds and yellows and oranges that make the trees look like they are ablaze. I got a little too cold, inappropriately dressed, and went home to play with the kids.

One errand I ran this weekend got me to thinking about the concept of roots. We are a peripatetic society, or so it seems from my perch. I've lived in a couple of different states and cities and even countries. Americans, as a group, cherish their freedom to relocate as they chase the next big opportunity from state to state, region to region. And as they do, the concept of roots becomes harder to define.

For some of us, roots can be about big things. For my wife, it means that in her ancestral city, there are a couple of streets named for her family. For others, it means that significant cultural institutions are named for their family, college buildings or libraries. Others have Mayflower roots or have joined various heraldic-type societies like the Daughters of the American Revolution. There are few people who have roots like that, I think.

No, for the majority of us, roots may mean that our families have lived in a place for many generations. And as we move, roots become the place where our children went to school and grew up. As we become more mobile, it seems to me that it roots become more and more shallow and easier to put down. They become a collections of firsts. This was the first town our child was born in, the first town I was promoted to vice president in, the first town I got involved in a political campaign. So that roots become easier to pull up when you move and easier to recreate when you stop moving. And I think it is no accident that I use children in so many of my examples. Children give us roots and a place in a community that we not feel when we were younger and had less of a permanent place in it.

It may be that as you associate roots with the first time kind of experience, or even roots that simply reflect your attachment to place that it becomes harder to accept change in the physical place. As things in the physical get torn down and rebuilt or as stores go out of business, we find it harder to accept that change. What do you mean that diner closed? It's been there forever! I dislike that kind of change, even though I understand it. For instance, the cider mill in Armonk is gone. It was part of my childhood and I looked forward to sharing that with my children.

I navigate my way around Westchester, to my wife's amusement, by disappeared landmarks. I navigate a landscape inhabited sometimes only by my memory. I superimpose my map over the real topography and who is to say which one is real? Especially when my reference points are shared by someone on the other end of the telephone and we agree on a set of directions by reference to long gone places. We share the same map. We share each other's roots, a common touchstone of experience and place. Even if that place is gone.

Maybe that's what they mean when they say you can never go home again. Maybe home has changed because your roots are gone or because the roots you take with you exist only in your mind. Beats me. I just know that I agree.

Roots are not just about places, though. They are also about people. For instance, I consciously sought them out this weekend. I demanded continuity. It was my daughter's first dentist appointment. She was such a champ. After the hygienist finished, she asked me if I wanted the dentist or his associate to perform the examination and I told her that I wanted the dentist because, with this examination, he would be treating four generations of the same family. My grandfather, my mother, me, and my daughter. She was surprised to hear that. I guess it is pretty uncommon but I liked it. It gave me a feeling of connectedness, of continuity.

Roots are also about connections, about the seamless way that people interact and cross groups. About board memberships and friendships. I guess what I'm trying to say is that roots are about networks. About knowing people who can and will help you, whether from church or temple or school or professional association or clubs. These relationships are about roots. And they are not moveable. They are place specific. They may assist you with an introduction in a new place, but they won't really do more than that.

Anyway, let me leave my extended meditation with the interaction between the Girl Child and the Dentist on Saturday.

D: How old are you?

GC: I'm 3 and three quarters.

D: [Visably amused] Is that older than three and a half?

GC: Yes.

D: And when do you turn four?

GC: On my birthday. In January. January 12.

D: [Looks at me, smiles, looks back down at her] You are so cute I could just eat you right up.

GC: Oh, no, I don't taste very good.

D: That's not what your grandmother says!

GC: [Very earnestly] Oh, she's just kidding!

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Hi, all,

If silence is golden, this blog is bling.

Trial starts today at 2:00 in New York State Supreme Court, New York County. I have been billing 12-14 hours a day. My kids know me only as a voice on the telephone at this point.

In the midst of all this craziness, I have been invited for a job interview doing something really cool. I can't say much about it at this point other than that it is prosecutorial in nature and would involve lots of trial time. I interview just before Thanksgiving.

So, Bush, huh? I expected it. I voted for him. I did not expect my vote for Bush in NY to matter and of course it did not. As I said all along, I needed a good reason to switch Presidents in the middle of a war and John Kerry never gave me that reason. Simple as that.

Anyway, wish me luck on the trial. We've actually managed to construct a defense and, if we're right, we defeat a claim for $30 million. That. Would. Be. Sweet. Besides, I would also like to stick it to the other side who, in a short time, I've come to dislike (but that's almost always the case in litigation).

Thanks to everyone who left me happy birthday wishes. I appreciated and enjoyed all of my virtual birthday cards, I just have not had time to reply individually and I'm veyr sorry about that.

Pax tibi.

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I have a friend. He is my oldest friend. We have been friends since we were 2 years old. He lives in Europe now and has for some years. He just, out of the blue, called to chat. He did not remember that it was my birthday. Again. This is the third time, at least, that I can recall him doing this. Once, he called to quiz me on 80's movie trivia because he was in Germany and no one he knew there could answer any of his questions. This year, he called just to chat and catch up.

Cost of the phone call: $10?
Time spent chatting before reminding him that its my birthday: 20 minutes
Reminding him that its my birthday during the call: Priceless.

I love these calls. I'm still smiling as I write this.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 09:18 AM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
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