We here at Bloody Nib Manor have suffered the residence of a cat for the past 12 or 13 years. This is not to say that the cat is "our" cat. The cat just lives on the grounds. The cat is a pretty little female tabby with a bobbed tail with some interesting habits. But the cat is, in reality, a feral cat. We made the mistake some years ago of feeding the cat and we can't get rid of it. If we do not feed it it sets up a yowl. And despite being fed by Lady Nib and this writer, the cat will not allow itself to even be touched. When a hand approaches it the cat hisses and strikes with claws.
This situation reminds your faithful correspondent of the unchecked immigration. A nation lets in what are, in effect, a feral people with no love for the host country, feeds and supports said immigrants and ends up with a group of people with no loyalty or appreciation for the host nation.
Take Great Britain, for example. Tony Blair, for some reason a loved Brit of both Clinton and Bush fans, decided to let the feral into Britain and the result has been not good. London has turned into Londonistan and Birmingham has turned into Birmingstan. And all the while the newcomers have been given favors tat are denied the native Limies.
But guess what? Blair defends his decision. Probably because he isn't living in the East End:
Tony Blair defends opening door to mass migration | Mail Online
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Mitt Romney = Pancake
Be it known that we here at the Manor are not too crazy about anh of the Republican candidates for President. But we find Mitt Romney especially distasteful. Here's why:
Day by Day Cartoon by Chris Muir
Day by Day Cartoon by Chris Muir
The Last DJ? Pffffffft!
Those who have lived in the Los Angeles area between 1972 and the present day, if they listened to rock music on the FM band have probably heard of, and even listened to Jim Ladd on the radio. During his career he has worked at at least four radio stations, being fired from some and having one fold up and change formats.
This writer remembers Ladd best from his days at KMET (aka The Mighty MET), and this writer remembers him as being the most self-absorbed, self-congratulatory and most pretentious disc jockey on the air. He was one of those idiots who thought that music could save the world. Actually, to be more accurate, he was one of those knuckleheads who felt that rock and folk-rock and art-rock music could save the world when in fact said music was not able to save a good number of the musicians in the genre (Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, John Bonham and on and on).
Ladd was clever with his choice of music and his play lists, but he was no better than most of the DJs at KMET or KLOS. In fact, your faithful correspondent would posit that Mary Turner, Rachel Donahue, Allen Burton and Pat Kelly were better than Ladd. There were, and are, better DJs on public radio (one of the best being Ian Whitcombe on his show about the history of popular music), but, for some reason or another, Ladd survived until a few days ago.
This survival has done nothing to make the man modest and has done nothing to promote rock music. The man long ago became a bit of a fossil. His playlist was stuck in the '70s and '80s and his mind set was stuck in the same period. And while some of the music from that time was good and entertaining, it was nothing really exceptional. It was music of its time. Listeners to Boss radio on the 1960s got a much later variety of music than did any listener of Ladd's show. But Boss radio was a product of a time before teenagers and young people still spent time with real adults and were exposed to singers ranging from Perry Como to Mungo Jerry. Ladd appealed to an audience stuck in amber-- fifty year old men still wearing Led Zeppelin t-shirts and grandmothers reminiscing about how high they got at the last Cheap Trick concert while telling their grandkids to just say no.
Ladd, although he will deny it, acts as if he invented free-form FM radio. He gives a nod to Tom Donahue, but does not realize that the AM station KLON had the same thing before Donahue hit the air. He likes to think of himself as the last DJ. But he forgets that the last passenger pigeon (a species that once was so numerous that when it migrated in the East and Midwest that its numbers hid the sun for hours) ended up in a zoo until it died and was later stuffed and exhibited in the Smithsonian.
Unlike the passenger pigeon, there will always be another free-form DJ somewhere in the US. Said DJ may not be playing Tom Petty and the Doors, but he will be playing something that appeals to his crowd whether the crowd be in Los Angeles or Bangor.
In fact, this writer posits that Ladd will find another gig. And as much as he is an irritant, that is probably a good thing. If nothing else it shows that for a few hours a station will not have an auto tune play set. It's just too bad that a more worthy person could not get the gig.
This writer remembers Ladd best from his days at KMET (aka The Mighty MET), and this writer remembers him as being the most self-absorbed, self-congratulatory and most pretentious disc jockey on the air. He was one of those idiots who thought that music could save the world. Actually, to be more accurate, he was one of those knuckleheads who felt that rock and folk-rock and art-rock music could save the world when in fact said music was not able to save a good number of the musicians in the genre (Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, John Bonham and on and on).
Ladd was clever with his choice of music and his play lists, but he was no better than most of the DJs at KMET or KLOS. In fact, your faithful correspondent would posit that Mary Turner, Rachel Donahue, Allen Burton and Pat Kelly were better than Ladd. There were, and are, better DJs on public radio (one of the best being Ian Whitcombe on his show about the history of popular music), but, for some reason or another, Ladd survived until a few days ago.
This survival has done nothing to make the man modest and has done nothing to promote rock music. The man long ago became a bit of a fossil. His playlist was stuck in the '70s and '80s and his mind set was stuck in the same period. And while some of the music from that time was good and entertaining, it was nothing really exceptional. It was music of its time. Listeners to Boss radio on the 1960s got a much later variety of music than did any listener of Ladd's show. But Boss radio was a product of a time before teenagers and young people still spent time with real adults and were exposed to singers ranging from Perry Como to Mungo Jerry. Ladd appealed to an audience stuck in amber-- fifty year old men still wearing Led Zeppelin t-shirts and grandmothers reminiscing about how high they got at the last Cheap Trick concert while telling their grandkids to just say no.
Ladd, although he will deny it, acts as if he invented free-form FM radio. He gives a nod to Tom Donahue, but does not realize that the AM station KLON had the same thing before Donahue hit the air. He likes to think of himself as the last DJ. But he forgets that the last passenger pigeon (a species that once was so numerous that when it migrated in the East and Midwest that its numbers hid the sun for hours) ended up in a zoo until it died and was later stuffed and exhibited in the Smithsonian.
Unlike the passenger pigeon, there will always be another free-form DJ somewhere in the US. Said DJ may not be playing Tom Petty and the Doors, but he will be playing something that appeals to his crowd whether the crowd be in Los Angeles or Bangor.
In fact, this writer posits that Ladd will find another gig. And as much as he is an irritant, that is probably a good thing. If nothing else it shows that for a few hours a station will not have an auto tune play set. It's just too bad that a more worthy person could not get the gig.
You Have a Nice Little Business Here.
In the old movies about fighters against organized crime there was always scene in which an "enforcer" would walk into a barber shop, look around and then walk up to the barber and say something like, "You have a nice little business here. It would be too bad if anything happened to it. We can insure that nothing does if you co-operate. If you don't, something will."
Now-a-days the racket still goes on with the only change being that not only are the Mafia, the Black Hand, the Tongs and the White Fence pulling that gag, but "human rights" organizations are using it to get their way.
Two cases in point:
A seven-year-old boy in Colorado, who apparently is under the mistaken apprehension that he is a girl, has decided that he wants to join the Girl Scouts as a Brownie. When his mother applied for him to be a Brownie the local Girl Scout Council told her that the Girl Scouts is an organization for girls, not boys, and that no matter how much her boy feels that he is a girl he is, in fact, a boy. Therefore, her boy could not be a Girl Scout. The mother, being the modern easily offended type, instead of perhaps talking to her son about becoming a Boy Scout and actually behaving like a boy or looking into join the Campfire organization (which accepts both boys and girls), contacted the press to air her grievances and accomplished two things: revealing that her son is an oddity and the fact that she is raising her son as a daughter, and drawing the attention of the homosexual slat kickers. The result is that several lesbian/gay organizations complained about the lack of "inclusiveness" of the Girl Scouts. The Girl Scouts, being afraid of being called meanies did a quick about face and are welcoming the little fella with open arms. It remains to be seen whether the boy will wear the traditional Brownie dress and beanie.
In Washington, D.C. there is a university named Catholic University. Needless to say, it was founded by and for Catholics, but now accepts students from all backgrounds and religions. A bunch of Muslim students at the university are complaining that the university is too Catholic and they demand a change:
Do Crosses at Catholic University Violate “Human Rights” of Muslims? | FOX News & Commentary: Todd Starnes
So we have people who want to join a club because they like the club, but they want the club changed to their liking because the club isn't quite what they think it should be. They don't want to bother to start their own club because it's just too much trouble and there is too big a risk of failure. In other words, they behave like parasites feeding off of, and hoping to master the host. If such a thing were happening to your body you would not think twice about getting rid of the parasite, but for some reason when the same thing happens to the body politic nobody bats an eye.
Now-a-days the racket still goes on with the only change being that not only are the Mafia, the Black Hand, the Tongs and the White Fence pulling that gag, but "human rights" organizations are using it to get their way.
Two cases in point:
A seven-year-old boy in Colorado, who apparently is under the mistaken apprehension that he is a girl, has decided that he wants to join the Girl Scouts as a Brownie. When his mother applied for him to be a Brownie the local Girl Scout Council told her that the Girl Scouts is an organization for girls, not boys, and that no matter how much her boy feels that he is a girl he is, in fact, a boy. Therefore, her boy could not be a Girl Scout. The mother, being the modern easily offended type, instead of perhaps talking to her son about becoming a Boy Scout and actually behaving like a boy or looking into join the Campfire organization (which accepts both boys and girls), contacted the press to air her grievances and accomplished two things: revealing that her son is an oddity and the fact that she is raising her son as a daughter, and drawing the attention of the homosexual slat kickers. The result is that several lesbian/gay organizations complained about the lack of "inclusiveness" of the Girl Scouts. The Girl Scouts, being afraid of being called meanies did a quick about face and are welcoming the little fella with open arms. It remains to be seen whether the boy will wear the traditional Brownie dress and beanie.
In Washington, D.C. there is a university named Catholic University. Needless to say, it was founded by and for Catholics, but now accepts students from all backgrounds and religions. A bunch of Muslim students at the university are complaining that the university is too Catholic and they demand a change:
Do Crosses at Catholic University Violate “Human Rights” of Muslims? | FOX News & Commentary: Todd Starnes
So we have people who want to join a club because they like the club, but they want the club changed to their liking because the club isn't quite what they think it should be. They don't want to bother to start their own club because it's just too much trouble and there is too big a risk of failure. In other words, they behave like parasites feeding off of, and hoping to master the host. If such a thing were happening to your body you would not think twice about getting rid of the parasite, but for some reason when the same thing happens to the body politic nobody bats an eye.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
What the Hell?
Mohammar Khadaffi (Kadaffi, Qadaffi or whatever) was killed this past week in Libya. The guy was, to put it simply, a rotten bastard. But he was no more a bigger bastard than any other Middle East or North African leader.
But when Qadaffi was killed this week there was a controversy about how and who killed him. Was he killed by a Libyan rebel? Was he killed by cross-fire? Was he killed by NATO cross-fire?
The United Nations has decided to investigate the death of Qadaffi and how he was killed. Apparently there are some people at Turtle Bay who worry about the method and manner in which a crazy dictator was killed.
Those people are removed from the real world. They live in a swank area of New York City. They never have faced true badness. To them the whole thing is academic. They've never gotten slapped in the face with a wet fish, let alone had an AK-47 shoved in their back.
The UN geeks have bought into the whole Soviet pushed idea of trials to judge and punish the bad instead of just killing the bad.
Those who have, through their history, have denied the rights of others really don't deserve any rights, especially by those who they have denied rights. There is such a thing as justified hate.
Having said that, this writer is of the opinion that the killing of Qadaffi and the overthrowing of Mubarack will not result in anything good. The old boss will be replaced by the new boss, and that boss will be waving a Koran while he squashes dissent.
But when Qadaffi was killed this week there was a controversy about how and who killed him. Was he killed by a Libyan rebel? Was he killed by cross-fire? Was he killed by NATO cross-fire?
The United Nations has decided to investigate the death of Qadaffi and how he was killed. Apparently there are some people at Turtle Bay who worry about the method and manner in which a crazy dictator was killed.
Those people are removed from the real world. They live in a swank area of New York City. They never have faced true badness. To them the whole thing is academic. They've never gotten slapped in the face with a wet fish, let alone had an AK-47 shoved in their back.
The UN geeks have bought into the whole Soviet pushed idea of trials to judge and punish the bad instead of just killing the bad.
Those who have, through their history, have denied the rights of others really don't deserve any rights, especially by those who they have denied rights. There is such a thing as justified hate.
Having said that, this writer is of the opinion that the killing of Qadaffi and the overthrowing of Mubarack will not result in anything good. The old boss will be replaced by the new boss, and that boss will be waving a Koran while he squashes dissent.
A Few Words on Words
As those in the know are aware, we here at Bloody Nib Manor are Christians of the conservative type. This is not to say that we are Christians of the modern American evangelical type. We do not appreciate bad rock and praise music during the church service or the happy, clappy stuff. We do not sit around and talk about the Left Behind novels. We do not spend our time standing on street corners passing out religious tracts. We are Christians of the John Bunyan type or the later Dr. Martyn Lloyd-Jones type.
One thing we absolutely do not do is read the modern versions of the Bible. We do not read the RSV, the NIV, the ESV, the NKJV, the Living Bible, the Good News Translation or any other translation written after 1611.
We will occasionally read the Tyndale translation or the 1599 Geneva translation in order to gain more understanding about certain passages, but the King James Version is our favored text.
We hold that the translators of the KJV, Tyndale and the translators of the Geneva Bible had a much more comfortable knowledge or Greek and Hebrew, and were much better educated men, than are the translators of the modern versions. Many of those men learned Greek and/or Hebrew in their childhoods, while almost all the translators of the modern versions learned those languages in college. Also, the earlier translators were immersed in religious and classical learning; they lived, in a sense, a bubble and ignored the wider world while the modern translators are of the world and seek to please the world so their work will be well-paid.
Also, the KJV reads much better than do the later versions. The KJV is majestic and yet simple. And, probably more than any other work the KJV made then modern English language (not the contemporary English language, which is an awful mess). Shakespeare comes a close second. If this writer were asked to suggest a text to use to teach the English language to a non-English speaker he would suggest the KJV. Aside from the "thees" and "thous", the text will teach a form of English much better than the average native English speaker uses.
But to get to the point, this year is the 400th anniversary of the KJV. Here is an Anglican priest (an evangelical) who appreciates the KJV for both it's teaching and its language. In the little video on the right side of the page he manages to make a rap type thing of over one hundred common sayings that are from the KJV that are still in use. And he does it all in less than 3 minutes:
The King's English
One thing we absolutely do not do is read the modern versions of the Bible. We do not read the RSV, the NIV, the ESV, the NKJV, the Living Bible, the Good News Translation or any other translation written after 1611.
We will occasionally read the Tyndale translation or the 1599 Geneva translation in order to gain more understanding about certain passages, but the King James Version is our favored text.
We hold that the translators of the KJV, Tyndale and the translators of the Geneva Bible had a much more comfortable knowledge or Greek and Hebrew, and were much better educated men, than are the translators of the modern versions. Many of those men learned Greek and/or Hebrew in their childhoods, while almost all the translators of the modern versions learned those languages in college. Also, the earlier translators were immersed in religious and classical learning; they lived, in a sense, a bubble and ignored the wider world while the modern translators are of the world and seek to please the world so their work will be well-paid.
Also, the KJV reads much better than do the later versions. The KJV is majestic and yet simple. And, probably more than any other work the KJV made then modern English language (not the contemporary English language, which is an awful mess). Shakespeare comes a close second. If this writer were asked to suggest a text to use to teach the English language to a non-English speaker he would suggest the KJV. Aside from the "thees" and "thous", the text will teach a form of English much better than the average native English speaker uses.
But to get to the point, this year is the 400th anniversary of the KJV. Here is an Anglican priest (an evangelical) who appreciates the KJV for both it's teaching and its language. In the little video on the right side of the page he manages to make a rap type thing of over one hundred common sayings that are from the KJV that are still in use. And he does it all in less than 3 minutes:
The King's English
Sunday, October 16, 2011
It's All Gone to Hell
By now only the most idiotic fellow traveler has not realized that Vladamir Putin is a neo-Stalinist and a Russian nationalist of the worst sort. He's not a friend of individual or religious freedom. He sees religion as an arm of the state in the same way that old Joe did, and those religions that hold to a God that is higher than the Russian state or Russian leader are traitors to the State. For that guy the State is all, and thus, the State is God.
Here's an example:
RUSSIA Permission to build a Catholic church in Pskov denied - Asia News
England, or at least London, has gone to Hell. It is no longer English. It is a multicultural amalgam that stands for nothing other than inclusiveness. And that means that a nation, or city, is no longer a nation or proper city. It means that it is a big mess:
The Islamization of London: A Photo Tour | FrontPage Magazine
As the almost divine Brigette Bardot said twenty some odd years ago, it's a pretty sad state of affairs when the prostitutes in a city are made up of Arabs and North Africans instead of honest French women.
Here's an example:
RUSSIA Permission to build a Catholic church in Pskov denied - Asia News
England, or at least London, has gone to Hell. It is no longer English. It is a multicultural amalgam that stands for nothing other than inclusiveness. And that means that a nation, or city, is no longer a nation or proper city. It means that it is a big mess:
The Islamization of London: A Photo Tour | FrontPage Magazine
As the almost divine Brigette Bardot said twenty some odd years ago, it's a pretty sad state of affairs when the prostitutes in a city are made up of Arabs and North Africans instead of honest French women.
The World Gone Out of Kilter
Well, this Occupy XXX still goes on and the press still wets itself thinking back to an imagined time in the '60s when the world could be saved by some pot addled twenty year old or the Arab Spring when it was cool to beat up on the Jews and Israelis.
Let us just face the facts. The Occupy "movement" is really nothing but a big bitch-fest. Every-damn-body with a bitch is showing up to pitch their bitch. It's not really a movement with any sense of purpose other than "I want more and you should pay for it." It's really a collective holding of breath until the spinach is replaced with Snickers bars.
The "movement" is so unfocussed that the American Nazis and the American Communists are showing up. And during the thing The One and Nancy Pelosi cater to the thing:
Nazis and Communists Throw Their Support Behind Occupy Wall Street Movements (Updated) | The Gateway Pundit
Let us just face the facts. The Occupy "movement" is really nothing but a big bitch-fest. Every-damn-body with a bitch is showing up to pitch their bitch. It's not really a movement with any sense of purpose other than "I want more and you should pay for it." It's really a collective holding of breath until the spinach is replaced with Snickers bars.
The "movement" is so unfocussed that the American Nazis and the American Communists are showing up. And during the thing The One and Nancy Pelosi cater to the thing:
Nazis and Communists Throw Their Support Behind Occupy Wall Street Movements (Updated) | The Gateway Pundit
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Occupy This!
This writer is considering organizing an Occupy Skid Row movement to be participated in by the working and middle classes. The goal is to clean out, by occupation, the drunks and druggies from Skid Row and drive them back to the railroad sidings where they used to hang out.
Your faithful writer is not familiar with cities other than Los Angeles, but in L.A. Skid Row spells from the old cathedral to J-Town (Little Tokyo) to Broadway. The result is that if one wants to go downtown to do some business, shopping, sight-seeing of old LA or museum going one has to trip over drunks and fend off Sterno drinkers and put up with the smell and squalor that the less restrained of us produce. Hell! One cannot even pick up a proper suit from Brooks Brothers without having it smelling like cheap muscatel by the time one gets to one's car.
Occupy Skid Row! Drive the drunks and druggies to the Salvation Army or the Union Rescue Mission. They know better than do the cities how to help those people than does the government.
Your faithful writer is not familiar with cities other than Los Angeles, but in L.A. Skid Row spells from the old cathedral to J-Town (Little Tokyo) to Broadway. The result is that if one wants to go downtown to do some business, shopping, sight-seeing of old LA or museum going one has to trip over drunks and fend off Sterno drinkers and put up with the smell and squalor that the less restrained of us produce. Hell! One cannot even pick up a proper suit from Brooks Brothers without having it smelling like cheap muscatel by the time one gets to one's car.
Occupy Skid Row! Drive the drunks and druggies to the Salvation Army or the Union Rescue Mission. They know better than do the cities how to help those people than does the government.
A Picture is Worth...
There is a theory in physics that posits that the presence of an observer influences the outcome of an action. In fact, the observer influences the action itself..
Now, this idea was come up with while dealing with sub-atomic particles.
But it has been held by some that the presence of an observer influences the actions of the actors (this meaning those performing the act and not that awful class of entertainers known as "actors"). In other words, if a person is about to key a car and sees someone watching him before the key is laid on the paint, that person will likely not key the car. On the other hand, if a person is angry for a reason, the presence of another person will turn the anger to outrage.
There is the old saying that a picture is worth a thousand words. This writer has held, at least since the invention of the modification of photographs, that a picture is really not worth not much.
Consider this:
The reader sees a photograph of a close up of a woman screaming. The question is, why is she screaming? Is she screaming from grief or terror? Is she screaming from pain? Or is she screaming because she's on a roller coaster? Because she's joyful because she just saw her sailor husband on the deck of a ship arriving home after a twelve month deployment in the Persian Gulf? Maybe she's not even screaming. Maybe she's laughing. Or perhaps she's screaming because she thinks that the photographer expects her to scream.
The photographic art in journalism is tricky. Free lancers have to sell photos, and they can't sell photos if they don't have interesting photos. And people with a bitch are more than willing to act out for a photographer than they would for the neighbors.
This photographer exposes the whole deal:
An Eye-Opening Look at How Many Conflict Photos Are Staged
Now, this idea was come up with while dealing with sub-atomic particles.
But it has been held by some that the presence of an observer influences the actions of the actors (this meaning those performing the act and not that awful class of entertainers known as "actors"). In other words, if a person is about to key a car and sees someone watching him before the key is laid on the paint, that person will likely not key the car. On the other hand, if a person is angry for a reason, the presence of another person will turn the anger to outrage.
There is the old saying that a picture is worth a thousand words. This writer has held, at least since the invention of the modification of photographs, that a picture is really not worth not much.
Consider this:
The reader sees a photograph of a close up of a woman screaming. The question is, why is she screaming? Is she screaming from grief or terror? Is she screaming from pain? Or is she screaming because she's on a roller coaster? Because she's joyful because she just saw her sailor husband on the deck of a ship arriving home after a twelve month deployment in the Persian Gulf? Maybe she's not even screaming. Maybe she's laughing. Or perhaps she's screaming because she thinks that the photographer expects her to scream.
The photographic art in journalism is tricky. Free lancers have to sell photos, and they can't sell photos if they don't have interesting photos. And people with a bitch are more than willing to act out for a photographer than they would for the neighbors.
This photographer exposes the whole deal:
An Eye-Opening Look at How Many Conflict Photos Are Staged
Sunday, October 09, 2011
Fergit it
There are weeks that one finds one self that one wishing that one were at sea on a merchant vessel or yacht where one would not be able to receive the latests news. This is one of those weeks.
Sunday, October 02, 2011
What the H---?
You sit around and worry about the state of your IRA or 401(k) whi8le this type of nonsense goes on:
Bosnian family earning over $121,000 on welfare in Ireland | Irish News | IrishCentral
Bosnian family earning over $121,000 on welfare in Ireland | Irish News | IrishCentral
Manners, Letters and Haircuts
We here at the Manor are rather old-fashioned in many way. Among those ways are manners (or etiquette), the writing of proper letters and proper haircuts. And while those who run around glorying in their rudeness to the supposed barista at Starbucks because said barista is a kid from Downey, California instead of a middle-aged man from Milano, Italia and thus deserves a good dissing because the kid is a posuer because he or she is not a real barista, we prefer to be polite to everyone, if possible. Proper manners and etiquette are really gifts that one gives to oneself that is reaped by others. Why go through life like a drunken German baron living in the Middle Ages (or even the late 19th century in Prussia) dealing with peasants when one can take the higher road and treat other people kindly while still being drunk.
Many years ago, when this writer was a bit of a rounder, he and his brother used to frequent topless bars on a monthly basis. That was back in the days before the dives were called "Gentlemen's Clubs." Your faithful correspondent and his brother were popular patrons at those establishments. And the reason was not because we were big tippers. We were average tippers. What we did was treat each dancer and waitress as a valued individual. We were very polite. We showed an interest in the person and not the body of each woman. We made it known that we were not looking for a quick lay. And the result was that we were considered odd in that we showed an interest and proper and formal attention toward each woman. One dancer even said, "We don't know what to make of you guys. You're so polite." And even though they didn't know what to make of us, they liked us because we treated them like people and not breasts.
The contemporary person in the US seems to have lost the art of writing a proper letter. By this your writer does not mean only a letter written on paper with an ink pen. The modern man and woman seems to have lost the talent to even write a proper e-mail based on the letter model.
Now-a-days e-mails are written in such a staccato style that they make the old Westren Union telegrams appear models of the literary art. It is troubling.
If the reader is of an age, the reader may remember waiting almost with bated breath waiting for a letter sent through the post for a letter from one's friend, pen-pal, uncle, aunt, granny, the movie star one had written a fan letter to, or the House of Humor and the sense of joy that one got when one actually held the envelope in one's hand. The letter could be saved in an old shoebox, be stuffed under a mattress to be read and re-read or torn up in anger. The Save and Delete deals on one's e-mail account do not have quite the same impact or physicality.
And the physical distance of the writer from paper in using the electronic forms of correspondence seem to have removed the writer from a form of expression that a pen and paper or typewriter offered. A letter on a CRT is not real. A letter printed out on a printer is not real. They are not real in the same way that a hand written or typewritten (and that means on a typewriter) are real. A handwritten or typed letter is a more physical expression of friendship, whether there are mis-spellings or typos. There is no spell or grammar check. There are blots and erasures and cross outs in real letters. The slowness of writing a real letter gives the writer a bit of time to think before he or she adds another word. The computer, because of its sense of speed and urgency, does not. Ask your self this question: How often have I re-read what I have written after I have written something in an e-mail. This writer would be willing to make a bet that it has not been very often. The editing has usually been limited to a spell-check.
Now, in fairness to the computer age, this writer does not blame e-mail for the death of proper letter writing. He does not even blame the telegraph or radio. This writer blames television. Television gives the viewer a sense of urgency unlike any other medium. One cannot really write a letter while watching whatever permutation of CSI in the same way that one could write a letter while listening to Fibber McGee.
But this writer also blames the school system. Children are no longer taught to write. They cannot write longhand and they cannot write a proper sentence. Writing is now being considered an option. The result will be the death of great letters and diaries and the promotion of texting talk and unthinking nonsense.
If you are a man do not go to a hairstylist to have your hair cut. Go to a proper barber with a red and white or red, white and blue barber pole outside the establishment. Hair stylists, especially women, have no idea about how to cut men's hair. A proper barber, man or woman. knows how to give a haircut. Stylists have no idea. If you walk into a haircutting place that has in the magazine rack copies of Vogue, People or Cosmopolitan instead of Field and Stream, Popular Mechanics or Hot Rod, run out. If you don't youo'll end up walking out looking like some sort of Muppet.
Many years ago, when this writer was a bit of a rounder, he and his brother used to frequent topless bars on a monthly basis. That was back in the days before the dives were called "Gentlemen's Clubs." Your faithful correspondent and his brother were popular patrons at those establishments. And the reason was not because we were big tippers. We were average tippers. What we did was treat each dancer and waitress as a valued individual. We were very polite. We showed an interest in the person and not the body of each woman. We made it known that we were not looking for a quick lay. And the result was that we were considered odd in that we showed an interest and proper and formal attention toward each woman. One dancer even said, "We don't know what to make of you guys. You're so polite." And even though they didn't know what to make of us, they liked us because we treated them like people and not breasts.
The contemporary person in the US seems to have lost the art of writing a proper letter. By this your writer does not mean only a letter written on paper with an ink pen. The modern man and woman seems to have lost the talent to even write a proper e-mail based on the letter model.
Now-a-days e-mails are written in such a staccato style that they make the old Westren Union telegrams appear models of the literary art. It is troubling.
If the reader is of an age, the reader may remember waiting almost with bated breath waiting for a letter sent through the post for a letter from one's friend, pen-pal, uncle, aunt, granny, the movie star one had written a fan letter to, or the House of Humor and the sense of joy that one got when one actually held the envelope in one's hand. The letter could be saved in an old shoebox, be stuffed under a mattress to be read and re-read or torn up in anger. The Save and Delete deals on one's e-mail account do not have quite the same impact or physicality.
And the physical distance of the writer from paper in using the electronic forms of correspondence seem to have removed the writer from a form of expression that a pen and paper or typewriter offered. A letter on a CRT is not real. A letter printed out on a printer is not real. They are not real in the same way that a hand written or typewritten (and that means on a typewriter) are real. A handwritten or typed letter is a more physical expression of friendship, whether there are mis-spellings or typos. There is no spell or grammar check. There are blots and erasures and cross outs in real letters. The slowness of writing a real letter gives the writer a bit of time to think before he or she adds another word. The computer, because of its sense of speed and urgency, does not. Ask your self this question: How often have I re-read what I have written after I have written something in an e-mail. This writer would be willing to make a bet that it has not been very often. The editing has usually been limited to a spell-check.
Now, in fairness to the computer age, this writer does not blame e-mail for the death of proper letter writing. He does not even blame the telegraph or radio. This writer blames television. Television gives the viewer a sense of urgency unlike any other medium. One cannot really write a letter while watching whatever permutation of CSI in the same way that one could write a letter while listening to Fibber McGee.
But this writer also blames the school system. Children are no longer taught to write. They cannot write longhand and they cannot write a proper sentence. Writing is now being considered an option. The result will be the death of great letters and diaries and the promotion of texting talk and unthinking nonsense.
If you are a man do not go to a hairstylist to have your hair cut. Go to a proper barber with a red and white or red, white and blue barber pole outside the establishment. Hair stylists, especially women, have no idea about how to cut men's hair. A proper barber, man or woman. knows how to give a haircut. Stylists have no idea. If you walk into a haircutting place that has in the magazine rack copies of Vogue, People or Cosmopolitan instead of Field and Stream, Popular Mechanics or Hot Rod, run out. If you don't youo'll end up walking out looking like some sort of Muppet.
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