Back in the day when your faithful correspondent was a tyke it was the usual practice for businesses near Nib Manor to close on Sunday. The only exceptions were pharmacies, service stations and the occasional liquor store. Pharmacies and service stations provided goods and service that might be needed by even the most strict Sabbath observer. I think liquor stores were open to keep the local winos from buying Sterno at the local Rexall Drug Store and drinking it when they couldn't get their daily ration of Thunderbird from The Captain's Booty package store. It was considered better to have a wino drinking booze instead of drinking canned heat.
The store closings, were not, in Los Angeles County, not a legal edict. The Sunday closings were the result of the merchants conforming to the cultural norms of the time. As far as I know, in this area, there were no violent actions taken against the odd 5 and 10 store that opened on Sundays by even the most fundamental Christian churches or bodies. The usual reaction was something like, "Did you hear that Grant's has started Sunday selling? I'll never shop there again."
Our Mohammedan friends seem to have a different viewpoint about Friday selling: Gates of Vienna: The Great Jihad in Thailand. If memory serves correctly, Thailand is a country where Theravada Buddhism is the majority religion. Islamism is second. Christianity is a distant third. But, for some reason, the Thai Mohammedans feel that the culture should bend to their norms instead of having the ability to exercise the self-discipline of having their own people not engage in Friday trading.
Meanwhile, parts of Canada flirt with Sharia law. Good luck for all those employees of Can-West wanting to get together at T.G.I. Fridays for a Molsen after work on a Friday night.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
I'm a Big Ol' Meanie
Once upon a time your faithful correspondent was a child. Even a young child, believe it or not. At that time, being a child I wanted everything and truly believed I desired everything because I was me and there was nothing more important than me. So, after scrambling my brains watching Saturday morning cartoons and the associated commercials, I would announce to my parents that I wanted a Mr. Machine robot (or a Johnny 7 OMA or a Fanner .45 or whatever) and occasionally my parents would say "No." My counterargument would be something like, "But I need a Mr. Machine." To which said parents would reply, "No one needs a Mr. Machine. We'll buy you a new yo-yo instead if you're a good laddie." Which would elicit my worst condemnation: "You're a Meanie!"
In looking over the proposed Federal spending for the rebuilding of the Gulf Coast after the devastation of Hurricane Katrina I have come to the conclusion that I have inherited the Meanie gene.
I appears that Mr. Bush and Company have decided to rebuild every damn thing in the affected area, but only better. Not only will interstate highways, levees and locks (all under the aegis of the Federal government), but also sewers, roads, houses and probably casinos and brothels (which legally fall under the authorities of the state and local governments).
In other words, the Federal government has become truly a Big Daddy on the Gulf Coast. The state and local governments get a pass. They don't have to do their jobs. After all, why should the governments of New Orleans and Louisiana do their jobs now that the damage has been done when they never bothered to do their jobs before the hurricane?
It's infuriating. Back in 1900 a hurricane hit Galveston, Texas that resulted in the deaths of 8,000 to 12,000 people. The local and state governments appealed to the then president, Grover Cleveland, for Federal aid for the rebuilding of the area. President Cleveland said, in effect, "I'd like to help you. But, constitutionally I am unable to. The only thing that the Federal government can do is rebuild those things having to do with Federal matters such as Federal highways, canals and harbors. For me to go any further would be to violate the Constitution I have sworn to uphold."
But Cleveland lived in the days before Geraldo Rivera sobbing on the tube or Shepherd Smith throwing a hissy fit before a television camera. In fact, he lived before radio. And perhaps because he was living in a print age when matters where discussed in black and white instead of technicolor, he got away with being a Meanie. He was able to live within the legal restraints of his office and explain the restraints of the role of the Federal government. Now, in the age of instant answers it is, for some reason, the place of the Federal government to provide answers instead of those who purport to be closest to the people on the ground. The civic government of New Orleans plans the next Mardis Gras while the Feds (and you and me through our taxes) bear the burden of rebuilding the city.
The current attitude of the Feds being the saviors of the populace in matters other than defense and commerce makes one wonder what would have happened if our pioneer fore-fathers had the same attitude. The pioneers would have probably never gotten beyond Ohio, if that far, because the Feds would have been expected to not only clear farmland, but build log cabins, roads and local schools.
In looking over the proposed Federal spending for the rebuilding of the Gulf Coast after the devastation of Hurricane Katrina I have come to the conclusion that I have inherited the Meanie gene.
I appears that Mr. Bush and Company have decided to rebuild every damn thing in the affected area, but only better. Not only will interstate highways, levees and locks (all under the aegis of the Federal government), but also sewers, roads, houses and probably casinos and brothels (which legally fall under the authorities of the state and local governments).
In other words, the Federal government has become truly a Big Daddy on the Gulf Coast. The state and local governments get a pass. They don't have to do their jobs. After all, why should the governments of New Orleans and Louisiana do their jobs now that the damage has been done when they never bothered to do their jobs before the hurricane?
It's infuriating. Back in 1900 a hurricane hit Galveston, Texas that resulted in the deaths of 8,000 to 12,000 people. The local and state governments appealed to the then president, Grover Cleveland, for Federal aid for the rebuilding of the area. President Cleveland said, in effect, "I'd like to help you. But, constitutionally I am unable to. The only thing that the Federal government can do is rebuild those things having to do with Federal matters such as Federal highways, canals and harbors. For me to go any further would be to violate the Constitution I have sworn to uphold."
But Cleveland lived in the days before Geraldo Rivera sobbing on the tube or Shepherd Smith throwing a hissy fit before a television camera. In fact, he lived before radio. And perhaps because he was living in a print age when matters where discussed in black and white instead of technicolor, he got away with being a Meanie. He was able to live within the legal restraints of his office and explain the restraints of the role of the Federal government. Now, in the age of instant answers it is, for some reason, the place of the Federal government to provide answers instead of those who purport to be closest to the people on the ground. The civic government of New Orleans plans the next Mardis Gras while the Feds (and you and me through our taxes) bear the burden of rebuilding the city.
The current attitude of the Feds being the saviors of the populace in matters other than defense and commerce makes one wonder what would have happened if our pioneer fore-fathers had the same attitude. The pioneers would have probably never gotten beyond Ohio, if that far, because the Feds would have been expected to not only clear farmland, but build log cabins, roads and local schools.
Saturday, September 17, 2005
A Few Thoughts Pertaining to Nothing i.e. Silliness
For some strange reason the local news the other day decided that it was worth the time and electrons to report a story about the "supermodel" Kate Moss being photographed in a recording studio nasally vacuuming a few lines of cocaine. Well slap me up side the head and call me Nancy! I was surprised. To think that a "supermodel" would be an aficionado of Peruvian marching powder is about as surprising as discovering that male monkeys masturbate in the zoo.
This same week a report came out that another "supermodel" whose name I can remember was the victim of her step-father's greed. He stole and/or embezzled some 7 million dollars from her bank account. The surprising thing there was that she had 7 million dollars to embezzle. Is it not a strange thing that a woman, whose only job is to act as a clothes horse strutting up and down a runway or being photographed for a fashion rag would be paid enough that would allow her to have seven million bucks in the bank? Meanwhile, the engineers, mechanics and machinists who build the planes, roads and buildings in which she struts her stuff consider themselves lucky to make one hundred grand a year.
But that's modern life. What makes a "supermodel" anyway? In my lifetime there have been three models I consider "supermodels" -- Susie Parker, Cheryl Tieges and Cindy Crawford. Parker was the classiest, Crawford was the vanguard of the new school, and Tieges was the best. Tieges had, during her career, had the face, the smile and the figure to be a model who transcended high fashion and popular fashion in a way that no model before or since has managed to do. Tieges was the ideal girlfriend for any guy and the ideal girl friend for any girl. She made fashions approachable. Tyra Banks, Kate Moss and company don't. They look like spoiled brats.
On a second topic talking to a young woman at church last Sunday I found that she had undergone training in the use of the kubotan. A kubotan is a rod about 6 inches long and one half inch diameter made of aluminum, plastic or wood that is used for self defense. In a search of the net I came across several entries about the device:
Kubotans - inexpensive short self defense sticks. In reading over the various websites I found myself wondering how effective the various "martial arts" are in real life. Is a karate brown belt any more likely to prevail over a street fighter or bar fighter than a guy who's last fight was in the six grade of school? I asked my father, Count Nib, about his experience in the Marines during World War Two. He was taught basic judo in combat school. He said that the training was pretty useless for two reasons. The first was that they did not keep up their judo training. The second was because hand to hand combat demanded a meanness that was not taught in judo training. Those enrolled in karate, kung fu and tae kwan do schools are taught to spar. Punches and kicks are pulled. If a student goes through the school does he, by training, always pull his punches? And if a person has been taught a method of self-defense but does not repeatedly practice that method is the initial training useless in a real life situation? Has anyone actually seen a real fight between a karate, kung fu or tae kwan do man and a street fighter? I've seen a couple of "ultimate fighting" championships and that all seem to descend to grappling. In which case it would seem that the proper course of study would be Greco-Roman wrestling. And if the use of pressure points as a method of control. why do not the police spend more time training their officers in pressure point control than they do in billy club whacking? If nothing else, it seems a lot less tiring.
Finally. Why do yo-yos with wooden spindles sleep longer than yo-yos with solid steel spindles? I'm not talking about those nonsensical Yomega yo-yos or the Duncan ball bearing yo-yos. I'm talking about the "old skool" stuff. In other words, real yo-yos.
This same week a report came out that another "supermodel" whose name I can remember was the victim of her step-father's greed. He stole and/or embezzled some 7 million dollars from her bank account. The surprising thing there was that she had 7 million dollars to embezzle. Is it not a strange thing that a woman, whose only job is to act as a clothes horse strutting up and down a runway or being photographed for a fashion rag would be paid enough that would allow her to have seven million bucks in the bank? Meanwhile, the engineers, mechanics and machinists who build the planes, roads and buildings in which she struts her stuff consider themselves lucky to make one hundred grand a year.
But that's modern life. What makes a "supermodel" anyway? In my lifetime there have been three models I consider "supermodels" -- Susie Parker, Cheryl Tieges and Cindy Crawford. Parker was the classiest, Crawford was the vanguard of the new school, and Tieges was the best. Tieges had, during her career, had the face, the smile and the figure to be a model who transcended high fashion and popular fashion in a way that no model before or since has managed to do. Tieges was the ideal girlfriend for any guy and the ideal girl friend for any girl. She made fashions approachable. Tyra Banks, Kate Moss and company don't. They look like spoiled brats.
On a second topic talking to a young woman at church last Sunday I found that she had undergone training in the use of the kubotan. A kubotan is a rod about 6 inches long and one half inch diameter made of aluminum, plastic or wood that is used for self defense. In a search of the net I came across several entries about the device:
Kubotans - inexpensive short self defense sticks. In reading over the various websites I found myself wondering how effective the various "martial arts" are in real life. Is a karate brown belt any more likely to prevail over a street fighter or bar fighter than a guy who's last fight was in the six grade of school? I asked my father, Count Nib, about his experience in the Marines during World War Two. He was taught basic judo in combat school. He said that the training was pretty useless for two reasons. The first was that they did not keep up their judo training. The second was because hand to hand combat demanded a meanness that was not taught in judo training. Those enrolled in karate, kung fu and tae kwan do schools are taught to spar. Punches and kicks are pulled. If a student goes through the school does he, by training, always pull his punches? And if a person has been taught a method of self-defense but does not repeatedly practice that method is the initial training useless in a real life situation? Has anyone actually seen a real fight between a karate, kung fu or tae kwan do man and a street fighter? I've seen a couple of "ultimate fighting" championships and that all seem to descend to grappling. In which case it would seem that the proper course of study would be Greco-Roman wrestling. And if the use of pressure points as a method of control. why do not the police spend more time training their officers in pressure point control than they do in billy club whacking? If nothing else, it seems a lot less tiring.
Finally. Why do yo-yos with wooden spindles sleep longer than yo-yos with solid steel spindles? I'm not talking about those nonsensical Yomega yo-yos or the Duncan ball bearing yo-yos. I'm talking about the "old skool" stuff. In other words, real yo-yos.
A New Addition to the Blogroll
Patterico at Patterico's Pontifications has often allowed Dafydd to make entries to Pat's blog. Now Dafydd has his own blog: Big Lizards:Blog:Main. Click on this link or click on the blogroll. The guy has some stuff.
And, as an aside, occasionally your faithful correspondent has been asked, "Lord Nib, why isn't your blogroll in alphabetical order?" The reasons are twofold: I'm too damn lazy to alphabetize it and the blogroll is chronological. I refuse to be a victim of the tyranny of the alphabet!
And, as an aside, occasionally your faithful correspondent has been asked, "Lord Nib, why isn't your blogroll in alphabetical order?" The reasons are twofold: I'm too damn lazy to alphabetize it and the blogroll is chronological. I refuse to be a victim of the tyranny of the alphabet!
Saturday, September 10, 2005
Kumbaya Part 2
There is a certain faction of the media and the opinions makers that insists that the Mohammedans are just like us whether secularists, Christians or Jews, in the West.
But time after time we read articles like this:>>> AsiaNews.it <<<>
The Gates of Vienna has a good take on the matter:
Gates of Vienna: How Can I Keep From Singing?*
After reading these articles you may want to reconsider your church holding a Vacation Bible School next summer.
But time after time we read articles like this:>>> AsiaNews.it <<<>
The Gates of Vienna has a good take on the matter:
Gates of Vienna: How Can I Keep From Singing?*
After reading these articles you may want to reconsider your church holding a Vacation Bible School next summer.
A Class Act
Let's take a break from hurricanes, levee breaks and war for a few moments. A steady diet of rough news results in one having the look, demeanor and attitude of a Finn attending the triple funeral of his mother, wife and dog.
Let's talk baseball!
Each generation has it's memory of the perfect ballplayer. That one guy who, for a lifetime, seems to define what the greatest or most perfect ballplayer, should be. My grandmother, Grand Baroness Vera of Carthage, held that despite the fact that he was a Yankee, Lou Gerhig was the model baseball player. He was a great player and seemed to be a truly modest and kind man who was given a bad deal. My father, Earl Nib, always held that Dizzy Dean was the best. The ever young Countess Nib insists the best was Stan Musial. The ever lovely Lady Nib and myself think of Sandy Koufax as the baseball icon.
Sandy Koufax was the consummate fastball pitcher. When he wound up and released the ball he was throwing BBs at the batter, not baseballs. Fastball pitchers are not my favorite pitchers. I like knuckleballers. Knuckleballers are, in baseball terms, usually old, rather grubby and really disreputable. Knuckleballers are the tricksters of the game. They are the Bugs Bunnies of baseball, throwing balls that sink like a U or literally screwing itself to the plate. But Koufax had the perfect form. No wasted motion. A ballet on the mound. If baseball had been played in classical Greece Koufax's form would have been recorded on countless amphora.
Having nattered on about Koufax, yours truly suggests that you read this:The Perfect Prime - Los Angeles Times It kills me to link to the Times, but I'll give credit to whom credit is due.
Could it be forty years since Koufax's photo appeared in the paper holding four baseballs, all marked 0?
Let's talk baseball!
Each generation has it's memory of the perfect ballplayer. That one guy who, for a lifetime, seems to define what the greatest or most perfect ballplayer, should be. My grandmother, Grand Baroness Vera of Carthage, held that despite the fact that he was a Yankee, Lou Gerhig was the model baseball player. He was a great player and seemed to be a truly modest and kind man who was given a bad deal. My father, Earl Nib, always held that Dizzy Dean was the best. The ever young Countess Nib insists the best was Stan Musial. The ever lovely Lady Nib and myself think of Sandy Koufax as the baseball icon.
Sandy Koufax was the consummate fastball pitcher. When he wound up and released the ball he was throwing BBs at the batter, not baseballs. Fastball pitchers are not my favorite pitchers. I like knuckleballers. Knuckleballers are, in baseball terms, usually old, rather grubby and really disreputable. Knuckleballers are the tricksters of the game. They are the Bugs Bunnies of baseball, throwing balls that sink like a U or literally screwing itself to the plate. But Koufax had the perfect form. No wasted motion. A ballet on the mound. If baseball had been played in classical Greece Koufax's form would have been recorded on countless amphora.
Having nattered on about Koufax, yours truly suggests that you read this:The Perfect Prime - Los Angeles Times It kills me to link to the Times, but I'll give credit to whom credit is due.
Could it be forty years since Koufax's photo appeared in the paper holding four baseballs, all marked 0?
Sunday, September 04, 2005
Our Pal, Mexico
A little less than a week after the hurricane hit the Gulf Coast several nations have offered their assistance for the relief of the victims. In a previous post your faithful correspondent stated that any assistance from any nations other than Sri Lanka, Canada, Australia and Great Britain, and perhaps India should be refused. This refusal is based on the idea of self respect. To accept aid from Cuba (offering 1,100 doctors), Venezuela ( money), Qatar (money), France (helicopters and medical aid) would put the Grand Republic in a position of owing nations that are, in reality, not particularly friendly to the US. In other words, those nations, and several others who have offered aid, would hold it over the US the fact that they helped out when we were in a fix and thus owe them something in exchange.
Sri Lanka, Canada, Australia, Great Britain and India are, in a sense, cousins of the US. The sharing of one form or another of the English language links us, and thus we understand one another. French, Spanish, Arabic? Hah! Language defines the values of a culture more than does the number of color television sets.
A couple of radio talk show hosts have mentioned that Mexico has yet to offer any relief for the hurricane victims. Never mind that such offers such be refused. Well, yours truly begs to differ with the radio yakkers. Mexico has offered their help. They've offered their help for years. Their help has been the illegal border jumpers who will take jobs from Yanks, black or white, for the rebuilding of New Orleans. It's just the fact that Mexico will be profiting from their help in a way that Qatar won't that the press and the government ignore; and both American and Mexican goverments studiously ignore.
Meanwhile, the Federal, state and local governments seem to have a hell of a time getting hold of the gang of illegal aliens known as MS 13:Immigrant Gang Suspected of al-Qaida Ties. Most MS 13 gangsters are from El Salvador, but Mexico gives them passage to the US-Mexico border. So while the wetbacks in New Orleans are knocking together a reasonable reproduction of a shotgun house in New Orleans, that same outback may be planting a bomb on a levee for more cash than he gets for wielding a hammer. Yanks may expect a higher pay rate than illegal aliens, but they care about the Grand Republic more than a guy from El Salvador or Chiapas.
But then, I'm xenophobe who's married to a lovely Japanese woman and who lives in a predominately Mexican neighborhood, so what the hell do I know?
Sri Lanka, Canada, Australia, Great Britain and India are, in a sense, cousins of the US. The sharing of one form or another of the English language links us, and thus we understand one another. French, Spanish, Arabic? Hah! Language defines the values of a culture more than does the number of color television sets.
A couple of radio talk show hosts have mentioned that Mexico has yet to offer any relief for the hurricane victims. Never mind that such offers such be refused. Well, yours truly begs to differ with the radio yakkers. Mexico has offered their help. They've offered their help for years. Their help has been the illegal border jumpers who will take jobs from Yanks, black or white, for the rebuilding of New Orleans. It's just the fact that Mexico will be profiting from their help in a way that Qatar won't that the press and the government ignore; and both American and Mexican goverments studiously ignore.
Meanwhile, the Federal, state and local governments seem to have a hell of a time getting hold of the gang of illegal aliens known as MS 13:Immigrant Gang Suspected of al-Qaida Ties. Most MS 13 gangsters are from El Salvador, but Mexico gives them passage to the US-Mexico border. So while the wetbacks in New Orleans are knocking together a reasonable reproduction of a shotgun house in New Orleans, that same outback may be planting a bomb on a levee for more cash than he gets for wielding a hammer. Yanks may expect a higher pay rate than illegal aliens, but they care about the Grand Republic more than a guy from El Salvador or Chiapas.
But then, I'm xenophobe who's married to a lovely Japanese woman and who lives in a predominately Mexican neighborhood, so what the hell do I know?
Labor Day
For those who have forgotten, this weekend, specifically Monday, is Labor Day. Labor Day was created, in a sense, by force by the working class of the United States. It was, in a certain sense, the last time the plebes managed to force anything on the Federal government. After that first official Labor Day in the 19th century the "Man", the uppers, business, figured out how to make the pols ignore the suggestions, cries and demands of the working class by stuffing the ears of our elected leaders with rolls of the long green. But that's a whole other topic.
Labor Day was originally a celebration of the laborer, whether in the mine, on the farm or on the shop floor. It was a day on which parades were held, men and women who made their livings by the sweat of their collective brows were honored for their labor and the fact that their labor, probably more than the managerial classes, made America a nation that worked instead of a nation that consumes, lounges and looks for the main chance. It was a holiday that celebrated the working stiff, whether chipping at coal in Appalachia, pulling steel chips in Detroit, skinning mules in Missouri, stoking furnaces on a ship at sea or being stained with ink at an office in Manhattan. The day was a day on which the nation's attention was taken from the upper class and their antics and focused on the guys and gals who actually invested the sweat equity to the progress of the Republic.
Now Labor Day has become a day on which stores and car dealers have Labor Day Sales, on which union flaks try to bolster their sagging memberships, on which the average working stiff spends his or her day catching up on house maintenance or barbecuing, and is considered the last holiday before Thanksgiving (another sale day). Labor Day, instead of being a day that celebrates labor, has become a day for laborers to spend money and try to forget how under-appreciated they are. The Labor Day parade is a forgotten thing. In fact, laborers are a forgotten population. I's enough to make one nostalgic for the Industrial Workers of the World.
Labor Day was originally a celebration of the laborer, whether in the mine, on the farm or on the shop floor. It was a day on which parades were held, men and women who made their livings by the sweat of their collective brows were honored for their labor and the fact that their labor, probably more than the managerial classes, made America a nation that worked instead of a nation that consumes, lounges and looks for the main chance. It was a holiday that celebrated the working stiff, whether chipping at coal in Appalachia, pulling steel chips in Detroit, skinning mules in Missouri, stoking furnaces on a ship at sea or being stained with ink at an office in Manhattan. The day was a day on which the nation's attention was taken from the upper class and their antics and focused on the guys and gals who actually invested the sweat equity to the progress of the Republic.
Now Labor Day has become a day on which stores and car dealers have Labor Day Sales, on which union flaks try to bolster their sagging memberships, on which the average working stiff spends his or her day catching up on house maintenance or barbecuing, and is considered the last holiday before Thanksgiving (another sale day). Labor Day, instead of being a day that celebrates labor, has become a day for laborers to spend money and try to forget how under-appreciated they are. The Labor Day parade is a forgotten thing. In fact, laborers are a forgotten population. I's enough to make one nostalgic for the Industrial Workers of the World.
Saturday, September 03, 2005
The Coasties
The Coast Guard has always been the redheaded stepchild of the American military. In fact, except during World War 2 the Coast Guard has never really been part of the military. Originally created as an American counterpart to the British coast guards, it's original job was, under the aegis of the Department of Treasury, to prevent smuggling and to make sure that duties were paid on goods imported into old America. Later the Coasties were taken over by the Department of Transportation when they were given the added duties of seeing to the seaworthiness of ships and boats, and the manning and maintenance of lighthouses. After September 11, 2001 the Coasties became part of that awful new department called the Department of Homeland Security (President Bush must have fallen off the wagon when he approved that name) and their duties were added to by the expectation that they would be able to somehow spot terrorists at sea.
During your correspondent's less than sterling naval career the Coasties were referred to a "Shallow Water Sailors." But the more I saw of the Coasties, the more I was impressed. They were always doing something -- rescuing stranded boaters, searching ships for contraband, chasing drug smugglers, while I sat on a 30 year old destroyer waiting for a war that never came. The Coasties had better training, better uniforms and a better domestic mission than us Blue Water sailors had. More than one time while watching a Coastie stroll by wearing a flat cap (the Navy sailors at the time wore Dixie Cup caps) I found myself wishing that I'd signed up for the Coast Guard instead of the Navy.
Now, six days after the hurricane Katrina, the Coasties have shown that they are worth more, domestically, than the Navy or the National Guard. A day after the levee started falling apart in New Orleans the Coasties started rescuing people. At the same time the National Guard, through no fault of its own, was cooling its heels waiting for the orders from the state and/or federal governments.- The Coasties have more than lived up to their motto "Always Prepared." As of the date of this post the Coast Guard has rescued more than 9,000 people throughout the Delta. For a service that is small and underfunded, that's an impressive number.
If you're a theist, thank the Lord for the Coasties. If you're not, thank God anyway.
During your correspondent's less than sterling naval career the Coasties were referred to a "Shallow Water Sailors." But the more I saw of the Coasties, the more I was impressed. They were always doing something -- rescuing stranded boaters, searching ships for contraband, chasing drug smugglers, while I sat on a 30 year old destroyer waiting for a war that never came. The Coasties had better training, better uniforms and a better domestic mission than us Blue Water sailors had. More than one time while watching a Coastie stroll by wearing a flat cap (the Navy sailors at the time wore Dixie Cup caps) I found myself wishing that I'd signed up for the Coast Guard instead of the Navy.
Now, six days after the hurricane Katrina, the Coasties have shown that they are worth more, domestically, than the Navy or the National Guard. A day after the levee started falling apart in New Orleans the Coasties started rescuing people. At the same time the National Guard, through no fault of its own, was cooling its heels waiting for the orders from the state and/or federal governments.- The Coasties have more than lived up to their motto "Always Prepared." As of the date of this post the Coast Guard has rescued more than 9,000 people throughout the Delta. For a service that is small and underfunded, that's an impressive number.
If you're a theist, thank the Lord for the Coasties. If you're not, thank God anyway.
Katrina and such
Well, the levees broke in New Orleans broke and the rest of the Delta has been devastated by the hurricane called Katrina.
There has been, by US standards, a great loss of life and destruction. And our great leaders have wasted no time in pointing their bony fingers at one another. and it is a sure thing that within six months there will be local, state and federal "special committees" to investigate "What went wrong." he results of the various investigations will be something like, "Everyone was wrong but us." In other words, politics as usual. For some reason relief got to tsunami victims faster than it did to the people of the Mississippi Delta. And for some reason the victims of Katrina has less wherewithal to get the hell out of a bad situation than did a surviving Thai or Sri Lankan or Indonesian. Perhaps the difference is that the average Thai or Sri Lankan or Indonesian expects less from their governments than does the average American. In either case, it casts a bad light on the model of the "self-sufficient" Yank.
Yours truly actually heard a radio talk show host bemoaning the fact that the various nations of the world had yet to rush to the aid of Uncle Sam. The particular host (a guy broadcasting from New York State, which may explain his dependence on the world) seemed to believe that there was a fairness in world affairs. We help you, you help us. It doesn't work that way. The Big Dog helps and the Big Dog is laughed at when down.
Since that time it has developed that Australia, Canada, Sri Lanka, Venezuela, Cuba and France, among other countries, have offered assistance. If George Bush had any pride in the country, and I have been doubting this for the past year, he would accept assistance only from Australia, Canada and Sri Lanka. From the Ozzies ad Canucks because they are part of the Anglosphere; from the Sri Lankans because they seem to be grateful for our help in the past. The others can go play with themselves in the corner as they are wont to do. Pride is one of the seven deadly sins, but self respect is not. The US is a rich nation and is able to look after itself. To expect a handout or help from nations that are diametrically opposed to one's national character and interests is to make oneself beholden to the guy who gave one a quarter,
Now, if you are a Yank and you want to help out those in the Delta, you might consider giving some jack to the Salvation Army. The Army doesn't do anything sexy. It feeds, cleans and clothes. And 80% of the money you give hits the street. Check out this website and think about giving a bit:The Salvation Army International Home Page
There has been, by US standards, a great loss of life and destruction. And our great leaders have wasted no time in pointing their bony fingers at one another. and it is a sure thing that within six months there will be local, state and federal "special committees" to investigate "What went wrong." he results of the various investigations will be something like, "Everyone was wrong but us." In other words, politics as usual. For some reason relief got to tsunami victims faster than it did to the people of the Mississippi Delta. And for some reason the victims of Katrina has less wherewithal to get the hell out of a bad situation than did a surviving Thai or Sri Lankan or Indonesian. Perhaps the difference is that the average Thai or Sri Lankan or Indonesian expects less from their governments than does the average American. In either case, it casts a bad light on the model of the "self-sufficient" Yank.
Yours truly actually heard a radio talk show host bemoaning the fact that the various nations of the world had yet to rush to the aid of Uncle Sam. The particular host (a guy broadcasting from New York State, which may explain his dependence on the world) seemed to believe that there was a fairness in world affairs. We help you, you help us. It doesn't work that way. The Big Dog helps and the Big Dog is laughed at when down.
Since that time it has developed that Australia, Canada, Sri Lanka, Venezuela, Cuba and France, among other countries, have offered assistance. If George Bush had any pride in the country, and I have been doubting this for the past year, he would accept assistance only from Australia, Canada and Sri Lanka. From the Ozzies ad Canucks because they are part of the Anglosphere; from the Sri Lankans because they seem to be grateful for our help in the past. The others can go play with themselves in the corner as they are wont to do. Pride is one of the seven deadly sins, but self respect is not. The US is a rich nation and is able to look after itself. To expect a handout or help from nations that are diametrically opposed to one's national character and interests is to make oneself beholden to the guy who gave one a quarter,
Now, if you are a Yank and you want to help out those in the Delta, you might consider giving some jack to the Salvation Army. The Army doesn't do anything sexy. It feeds, cleans and clothes. And 80% of the money you give hits the street. Check out this website and think about giving a bit:The Salvation Army International Home Page
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Ladies! Put On Your Jemima Rags!
We here at Bloody Nib Manor are not particular fans of beauty contests. It is not that yours does not appreciate seeing beautiful women despite the fact that the ever lovely Lady Nib is the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on, or that Lady Nib is jealous. Why should she be jealous of her lessers? Much of it just has to do with the fact that there's just no plot. But we don't begrudge those who enjoy beauty pageants. They are part of modern Western life.
Well, apparently the better minds in Canada know better than we do. This year's Miss Universe is from Canada and Toronto has decided that an appearance by her endorsed by the city would be an insult to the women of Canada for the reasons outlined in this link:sisu: Feminists and Islamicists, sisters under the skin. I'll be waiting for the Dominion to tell the tough broads in Nova Scotia and Newfoundland to throw away their toques and replaces them with scarves.
Well, apparently the better minds in Canada know better than we do. This year's Miss Universe is from Canada and Toronto has decided that an appearance by her endorsed by the city would be an insult to the women of Canada for the reasons outlined in this link:sisu: Feminists and Islamicists, sisters under the skin. I'll be waiting for the Dominion to tell the tough broads in Nova Scotia and Newfoundland to throw away their toques and replaces them with scarves.
Invite Me Over and I'll be Your Buddy!
Talk radio is one of those things that is a never ending source of amusement for your faithful correspondent. The lengths that the hosts sometimes go to attract listeners are often outright comical. A left leaning host suddenly, once the mike is turned on, becomes an apologist for Leon Trotsky and a right leaning host suddenly discovers that he is a second cousin to Ferdinando Franco. The sense of self importance is sometimes unknowingly a self parody. And the sense of public influence among some of the talkers is often overblown i.e., "Through my talk show I helped elect/defeat George Bush/anti-abortion legislation." Occasionally if the target of a talk show hosts questioning and/or wrath offers to invite a host to the HQ of the target's organization the wrath is deflected under the guise that the target, by being "open," has shown the true "self" of his or her self or organization.
In the past couple of months two talk show programs have rolled up their wrath rugs after being offered special treatment by their targets.
The first concerns the John and Ken Show heard on KFI 640 AM in Los Angeles. They were invited to the Orange County Islamic Center to broadcast a program. During this time they went from accusing all Mohammedans of being towel headed terrorists with bombs in their overcoat pockets to maintaining that Islam is a peaceful religion and that no true Moslem would countenance overcharging for a gallon of gas, let alone flinging a bomb into a group of Israeli teenagers. The various fatwahs, condemnations of Israel and conspiracy theories put forth my Islamic imams, college professors and national leaders all evaporated like the morning fog on a hot summer's day. Terrorists were not "real" Moslems despite the fact that few, if any, Islamic bodies have categorically condemned terrorism in the US, Iraq, Israel, Great Britain or Indonesia. In the course of four hours the hosts perception of Moslems went from being completely bad to being completely benign. At the same time they held to their belief that the Catholic Church as a whole is an ignorant and destructive entity and that Evangelical Christians are idiots. All that in exchange for a little couscous and stroking.
The second example involves a man who calls himself Mr. KABC who hosts an evening program on KABC 790 AM in Los Angeles. Mr. KABC is a particular bugaboo with yours due to one of his most frequent retorts to data offered by callers, "Do you believe everything you read in the paper/Internet?" while using the same sources to buttress his own positions.
Mr. K read part of an article about Scientology from a magazine. The article was critical of the "religion" and featured a glossary of terms/questions/answers used by Scientologists that revealed the "religion" as the ridiculous entity that it is. Soon after reading the article the host was contacted by the local Scientology body and was offered a tour of the Hollywood facility (The Celebrity Center) and an in studio interview with one of the Scientology bigwigs. The result? Scientology was all of a sudden Scientology was less bizarre than the local Unitarian Church or Ethical Culture Society. The antics of the SeaOrg were ignored, Scientology's habit of nuisance lawsuits against critics weren't mentioned, the active attempts of recruitment of celebrities to try to legitimize their nonsense was not mentioned. (Ask yourself this question: Is there a Roman Catholic celebrity center? A Baptist one? A Hasidic one?) The host has yet to bother to investigate the history of Scientology from sources other than Scientologists. Scientologists are okay because they invited the host into the house and offered a spokesman willing to spend a few hours on the air. Meanwhile, the host considers devout Jews and Fundamentalist Christians as bizarre and stupid. Perhaps if they changed the name of their believers to Operating Thetans instead of "believers" they might get a break.
Mr. K likes to describe himself as a "deist" by which, from listening to his natterings he means an agnostic. His understanding of classical deism is sadly lacking. So that may be why he gives Scientology a break. Scientology is a nothing for people who want to believe in something. But, if he bothered to do a little research he may have been able to spot that.
In the past couple of months two talk show programs have rolled up their wrath rugs after being offered special treatment by their targets.
The first concerns the John and Ken Show heard on KFI 640 AM in Los Angeles. They were invited to the Orange County Islamic Center to broadcast a program. During this time they went from accusing all Mohammedans of being towel headed terrorists with bombs in their overcoat pockets to maintaining that Islam is a peaceful religion and that no true Moslem would countenance overcharging for a gallon of gas, let alone flinging a bomb into a group of Israeli teenagers. The various fatwahs, condemnations of Israel and conspiracy theories put forth my Islamic imams, college professors and national leaders all evaporated like the morning fog on a hot summer's day. Terrorists were not "real" Moslems despite the fact that few, if any, Islamic bodies have categorically condemned terrorism in the US, Iraq, Israel, Great Britain or Indonesia. In the course of four hours the hosts perception of Moslems went from being completely bad to being completely benign. At the same time they held to their belief that the Catholic Church as a whole is an ignorant and destructive entity and that Evangelical Christians are idiots. All that in exchange for a little couscous and stroking.
The second example involves a man who calls himself Mr. KABC who hosts an evening program on KABC 790 AM in Los Angeles. Mr. KABC is a particular bugaboo with yours due to one of his most frequent retorts to data offered by callers, "Do you believe everything you read in the paper/Internet?" while using the same sources to buttress his own positions.
Mr. K read part of an article about Scientology from a magazine. The article was critical of the "religion" and featured a glossary of terms/questions/answers used by Scientologists that revealed the "religion" as the ridiculous entity that it is. Soon after reading the article the host was contacted by the local Scientology body and was offered a tour of the Hollywood facility (The Celebrity Center) and an in studio interview with one of the Scientology bigwigs. The result? Scientology was all of a sudden Scientology was less bizarre than the local Unitarian Church or Ethical Culture Society. The antics of the SeaOrg were ignored, Scientology's habit of nuisance lawsuits against critics weren't mentioned, the active attempts of recruitment of celebrities to try to legitimize their nonsense was not mentioned. (Ask yourself this question: Is there a Roman Catholic celebrity center? A Baptist one? A Hasidic one?) The host has yet to bother to investigate the history of Scientology from sources other than Scientologists. Scientologists are okay because they invited the host into the house and offered a spokesman willing to spend a few hours on the air. Meanwhile, the host considers devout Jews and Fundamentalist Christians as bizarre and stupid. Perhaps if they changed the name of their believers to Operating Thetans instead of "believers" they might get a break.
Mr. K likes to describe himself as a "deist" by which, from listening to his natterings he means an agnostic. His understanding of classical deism is sadly lacking. So that may be why he gives Scientology a break. Scientology is a nothing for people who want to believe in something. But, if he bothered to do a little research he may have been able to spot that.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
A New Link!
We here at Bloody Nib Manor know that you all love and regularly check the permanet links on the right side of this page. Well, your faithful correspondent has added a new one:Right Nation. What's different about this one is that it is an Italian blog. You can read it in God's language or in Italian. The guy likes the US! I'm still waiting for the French version.
This Is Interesting.
Everybody and his ugly brother in blogdom (a world which some insist calling the "blogosphere." Ugh! A future post will discuss this semantic problem) is linking to this story, so your faithful correspondent had better do the same or he will look like a prize chump:Michael Yon : Online Magazine: Gates of Fire. It shows that the Yanks in Iraq are a tough lot and that there is probably some rotten screenwriter trying to put a negative spin on this story so he can sell it to ABC. This story is pure John Wayne stuff.
Thanks, Michael!
Thanks, Michael!
Don't Talk to Strangers!
Imagine the unimaginable: you come home from work after receiving an emergency telephone call, to find that your house has burned down and that your children and the babysitter have been killed in the fire. Or perhaps you hear a bang late at night and come out of the house to find your dear son or daughter in a pool of blood after having been shot. Or your neighbor has been found in the living room of his house with a nose packed with Peruvian marching powder and his throat cut to the spine. After being questioned and consoled by the firemen and policemen you, while still in a daze of shock, are standing on your front lawn and a man or woman you don't know comes up to you with a microphone in hand and a videographer in tow and starts questioning you about what happened and how you feel. You feel punch drunk, but because you've been raised to be polite, you answer the questions put to you by the electronic intruder.
The next day you turn on the television and see the person who was questioning you roughly describing your situation. Then you see yourself in a state of extreme emotional distress babbling almost incoherently. And after fifteen seconds the news anchors are talking about the birth of a panda at a zoo. Your tragedy is worth fifteen seconds. Your loss is worth no more than the birth of a wild animal.
Or you pick up the phone one day and a voice says that a poll is being taken. They want to know if you think whether George Bush is an angel sent by God or the demonic spawn of Satan. You think about the question and decide that you are more unhappy with President Bush's performance than you are happy with it so you answer that you think Mr. Bush is, while mistaken in several of his actions, is no more demonic than the innocent babe resting in the bassinet in the next room. The pollster says, "I've got your opinion, thank you." A couple of days later you pick up the paper and read that 60% of the populace thinks Bush is evil and wonder, "Who would think such a thing?" Upon further thought you realize that you said that you did.
Think about it. In the above cases you made statements that were abridged, edited or assumed. Or your emotional state was taken advantage of. The people who asked you the questions made money by asking the questions. You made nothing. In fact, you may have even been made to appear ignorant, ridiculous, racist or sappy.
Years ago, while making the mistake of watching the local television news, there was a story about a family perishing in a house fire. The father was at work at the time of the fire. He rushed home. He was a recent immigrant from Mexico. His English was poor at best. A field reporter for the television station stuck a microphone in this poor man's face and asked, "Do you think this tragedy could have been avoided if you'd had a smoke alarm?" The poor fellow, confused by the question and in a state of extreme despair, answered "yes" despite the fact that he more than likely didn't understand the question. It was apparent that he only answered the question to get the geek with the mike away from him.
There was also the fad of the "how do you feel?" question. A woman survives the slaughter of her family by her PCP crazed husband. Minutes after she has made her statement to the police a "correspondent" shoves a microphone in her face and asks, "How do you feel?" She's still stunned and is trying to take in the enormity of the situation. All she can manage to say is something like, "I feel bad." As far as the television news broadcast is concerned, that's the end of the story. She comes across as a woman who did not love her children. She just "feels bad." That particular mode of questioning ended soon after a man had lost his family in a tragic incident and when asked by the news snoop, "How do you feel?" hauled off and punched the news guy in the snoot. The news, being the news, did not realize that by the punch the man was answering the question through action rather than words. He felt like he'd been blind-sided in a worse way than the newsman was. In each of the above instances the news person was paid to ask questions. The questioned were paid nothing.
Here's the point of all the above mess. There is no reason for the average citizen to answer questions put to them by the news media or opinion polls. There is no legal or moral obligation. There is no monetary obligation. When a news man or pollster asks a person a question the news man or pollster is being paid. The queried is paid nothing and risks being misquoted, edited, purposely misconstrued or being made to chose between opinions that one really does not hold.
My dear mother, the ever young Duchess Nib, was once asked to make a statement on film endorsing a supermarket. The endorsement had the possibility of being used in a television commercial. When approached with the offer Dutchess Nib asked, "How much will you pay me for this." The answer was, "Why, nothing! But you may be on television!" To which dear old Mum replied. "Being on television doesn't pay Mimi (the chambermaid)." Mumsey has always had an eye for the adding to the Nib fortune -- such as it is.
Now, think about it. News people are paid to ask questions. Pollsters are paid to ask questions. You, on the other hand, pay to ask questions of your doctor or lawyer or mechanic or beautician. Is there not something wrong here? In each of the above examples the questions refer to something that is important to one, not the world at large. The questions are not asked to make money nor out of idle curiosity or public entertainment. One asks questions for a specific purpose. But, let's face it, news is pretty much a form of entertainment these days and polls are useless because they are only a moment in time. You pay to ask questions that are more important to you than the questions asked by newsmen and pollsters are to the public at large.
So, taking a leap, if you are asked by a news man what you thin, how you feel, who you are, the proper reply is, "How much will you pay me for the answer?" If the answer is "Nothing," walk on. If a pollster calls you and asks your opinion ask the question, "How much will you pay me for the answer?", and the reply is, "Nothing. This is a poll.," the proper response is, "You get paid to ask the question. I expect to be paid for the answer. No jack, no answer. See ya at the track."
Don't talk to strangers unless they've got money for answers. Are your opinions or feelings worth any less than a movie actor's or hootchie momma singer's?
The next day you turn on the television and see the person who was questioning you roughly describing your situation. Then you see yourself in a state of extreme emotional distress babbling almost incoherently. And after fifteen seconds the news anchors are talking about the birth of a panda at a zoo. Your tragedy is worth fifteen seconds. Your loss is worth no more than the birth of a wild animal.
Or you pick up the phone one day and a voice says that a poll is being taken. They want to know if you think whether George Bush is an angel sent by God or the demonic spawn of Satan. You think about the question and decide that you are more unhappy with President Bush's performance than you are happy with it so you answer that you think Mr. Bush is, while mistaken in several of his actions, is no more demonic than the innocent babe resting in the bassinet in the next room. The pollster says, "I've got your opinion, thank you." A couple of days later you pick up the paper and read that 60% of the populace thinks Bush is evil and wonder, "Who would think such a thing?" Upon further thought you realize that you said that you did.
Think about it. In the above cases you made statements that were abridged, edited or assumed. Or your emotional state was taken advantage of. The people who asked you the questions made money by asking the questions. You made nothing. In fact, you may have even been made to appear ignorant, ridiculous, racist or sappy.
Years ago, while making the mistake of watching the local television news, there was a story about a family perishing in a house fire. The father was at work at the time of the fire. He rushed home. He was a recent immigrant from Mexico. His English was poor at best. A field reporter for the television station stuck a microphone in this poor man's face and asked, "Do you think this tragedy could have been avoided if you'd had a smoke alarm?" The poor fellow, confused by the question and in a state of extreme despair, answered "yes" despite the fact that he more than likely didn't understand the question. It was apparent that he only answered the question to get the geek with the mike away from him.
There was also the fad of the "how do you feel?" question. A woman survives the slaughter of her family by her PCP crazed husband. Minutes after she has made her statement to the police a "correspondent" shoves a microphone in her face and asks, "How do you feel?" She's still stunned and is trying to take in the enormity of the situation. All she can manage to say is something like, "I feel bad." As far as the television news broadcast is concerned, that's the end of the story. She comes across as a woman who did not love her children. She just "feels bad." That particular mode of questioning ended soon after a man had lost his family in a tragic incident and when asked by the news snoop, "How do you feel?" hauled off and punched the news guy in the snoot. The news, being the news, did not realize that by the punch the man was answering the question through action rather than words. He felt like he'd been blind-sided in a worse way than the newsman was. In each of the above instances the news person was paid to ask questions. The questioned were paid nothing.
Here's the point of all the above mess. There is no reason for the average citizen to answer questions put to them by the news media or opinion polls. There is no legal or moral obligation. There is no monetary obligation. When a news man or pollster asks a person a question the news man or pollster is being paid. The queried is paid nothing and risks being misquoted, edited, purposely misconstrued or being made to chose between opinions that one really does not hold.
My dear mother, the ever young Duchess Nib, was once asked to make a statement on film endorsing a supermarket. The endorsement had the possibility of being used in a television commercial. When approached with the offer Dutchess Nib asked, "How much will you pay me for this." The answer was, "Why, nothing! But you may be on television!" To which dear old Mum replied. "Being on television doesn't pay Mimi (the chambermaid)." Mumsey has always had an eye for the adding to the Nib fortune -- such as it is.
Now, think about it. News people are paid to ask questions. Pollsters are paid to ask questions. You, on the other hand, pay to ask questions of your doctor or lawyer or mechanic or beautician. Is there not something wrong here? In each of the above examples the questions refer to something that is important to one, not the world at large. The questions are not asked to make money nor out of idle curiosity or public entertainment. One asks questions for a specific purpose. But, let's face it, news is pretty much a form of entertainment these days and polls are useless because they are only a moment in time. You pay to ask questions that are more important to you than the questions asked by newsmen and pollsters are to the public at large.
So, taking a leap, if you are asked by a news man what you thin, how you feel, who you are, the proper reply is, "How much will you pay me for the answer?" If the answer is "Nothing," walk on. If a pollster calls you and asks your opinion ask the question, "How much will you pay me for the answer?", and the reply is, "Nothing. This is a poll.," the proper response is, "You get paid to ask the question. I expect to be paid for the answer. No jack, no answer. See ya at the track."
Don't talk to strangers unless they've got money for answers. Are your opinions or feelings worth any less than a movie actor's or hootchie momma singer's?
Saturday, August 20, 2005
History Ain't Bunk!
There's a saying among the cosmopolitan types (and your faithful correspondent isn't one of those) that has a certain amount of truth. It goes something like this: " America is a place where 100 years is a long time ago. Europe is a place where 100 miles is a long distance."
When it comes to long histories, Europe falls somewhat short of India. The subcontinent seems to have a history that goes on for miles and years beyond Europe. And the Hindus in India have something that your average Eurotrash is sadly lacking, i.e., a long memory. Your average European would be hard pressed to name the places and years of the Siege of Vienna or the Battle of Lepanto, let alone the triumph of Charles Martel or Roland's battle against the Mohammedans. Contemporary Europeans seem to see the modern Islamic aggression as some sort of opportunity to enjoy discordant music and cous-cous instead as an eroding of European culture.
Modern Indian Hindus and Sikhs, after having suffered under the Mughals, are not so casual about the deleterious effects of Islam on a culture. This link may offer the Kumbaya crowd a little food for thought:Dhimmi Watch: Fitzgerald: Telling the truth about India
When it comes to long histories, Europe falls somewhat short of India. The subcontinent seems to have a history that goes on for miles and years beyond Europe. And the Hindus in India have something that your average Eurotrash is sadly lacking, i.e., a long memory. Your average European would be hard pressed to name the places and years of the Siege of Vienna or the Battle of Lepanto, let alone the triumph of Charles Martel or Roland's battle against the Mohammedans. Contemporary Europeans seem to see the modern Islamic aggression as some sort of opportunity to enjoy discordant music and cous-cous instead as an eroding of European culture.
Modern Indian Hindus and Sikhs, after having suffered under the Mughals, are not so casual about the deleterious effects of Islam on a culture. This link may offer the Kumbaya crowd a little food for thought:Dhimmi Watch: Fitzgerald: Telling the truth about India
Some Aminals Is More Important
Grammar and spelling have never been the long suit of your faithful correspondent. There are times that one wishes that there were a Bermuda shorts dialect of the Queen's English. Pidgin may be a viable alternative but for the fact that one would be only understood in New Guinea or Burma or Shanghai. So please excuse the misspelling and grammar faux pas on the title of this post.
Now, to get to the point. A couple of weeks ago the ABC network national news anchor, Peter Jennings died. The news industry, being an oddly unified, while being diverse industry (think light: particle or wave?), and an industry that determines for us, the plebes, no matter what our societal status may be, lord or beggar, what we should know and care about, spent an inordinate amount of time covering and remembering a man, who, while a good reader and vaguely handsome, was really not much more than a puppet. He may have written some of his own news copy and he may have chosen what stories he wanted to report, but, let's face it, he was no Ernie Pyle, Edward R. Murrow or even Jack London (an under rated journalist if ever there was one -- read his reports of the London poor or the Russo-Japanese War).
But we got the whole nine yards about a man who was on the radio in Canada as a child, who's mother hated the US and who had been married four times for no good apparent reason except that perhaps he got bored by his wives.
The death of Peter Jennings is a sadness for his family and fans, but, let's face it, in the long view his death will make no difference for the heritage of the nation. The same holds true for most of us. Our families may mourn. A few friends may shed tears. But in the final analysis, most of us really haven't contributed to culture to the point of having seemingly endless hours of television and radio, and gallons of ink spent on telling the world what great fellows or ladies were were. We may have contributed to the concrete world (building in some way, or engineering), but culturally we've contributed nil. Nobody remembers the stone masons of Notre Dame, or even the architects, but people remember Thomas Aquinas and Hildegard of Bigen (sp?) let alone the journal keepers of the time.
This past week the American fiddler Vassar Clemens died at the age of 77. Clemens started his career as a bluegrass fiddler and went on to expand into a jazz and rock fiddler. He was, in a sense, the American Paganinni. He played uniquely American music on his instrument. His work added the grace notes to recordings by Jerry Garcia, the Dirt Band and innumerable bluegrass bands. And the American musical scene has lost a talent that is, in the foreseeable future, is irreplaceable. And result from the news industry has been --- an obit on the back page of the LA Times.
The irony is that years from now people will be listening to recordings of Clemens playing Will The Circle Be Unbroken? or Orange Blossom Special while catching their collective breaths at his virtuosity while having less idea of who Peter Jennings was than Richard Harding Davis.
Now, to get to the point. A couple of weeks ago the ABC network national news anchor, Peter Jennings died. The news industry, being an oddly unified, while being diverse industry (think light: particle or wave?), and an industry that determines for us, the plebes, no matter what our societal status may be, lord or beggar, what we should know and care about, spent an inordinate amount of time covering and remembering a man, who, while a good reader and vaguely handsome, was really not much more than a puppet. He may have written some of his own news copy and he may have chosen what stories he wanted to report, but, let's face it, he was no Ernie Pyle, Edward R. Murrow or even Jack London (an under rated journalist if ever there was one -- read his reports of the London poor or the Russo-Japanese War).
But we got the whole nine yards about a man who was on the radio in Canada as a child, who's mother hated the US and who had been married four times for no good apparent reason except that perhaps he got bored by his wives.
The death of Peter Jennings is a sadness for his family and fans, but, let's face it, in the long view his death will make no difference for the heritage of the nation. The same holds true for most of us. Our families may mourn. A few friends may shed tears. But in the final analysis, most of us really haven't contributed to culture to the point of having seemingly endless hours of television and radio, and gallons of ink spent on telling the world what great fellows or ladies were were. We may have contributed to the concrete world (building in some way, or engineering), but culturally we've contributed nil. Nobody remembers the stone masons of Notre Dame, or even the architects, but people remember Thomas Aquinas and Hildegard of Bigen (sp?) let alone the journal keepers of the time.
This past week the American fiddler Vassar Clemens died at the age of 77. Clemens started his career as a bluegrass fiddler and went on to expand into a jazz and rock fiddler. He was, in a sense, the American Paganinni. He played uniquely American music on his instrument. His work added the grace notes to recordings by Jerry Garcia, the Dirt Band and innumerable bluegrass bands. And the American musical scene has lost a talent that is, in the foreseeable future, is irreplaceable. And result from the news industry has been --- an obit on the back page of the LA Times.
The irony is that years from now people will be listening to recordings of Clemens playing Will The Circle Be Unbroken? or Orange Blossom Special while catching their collective breaths at his virtuosity while having less idea of who Peter Jennings was than Richard Harding Davis.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Rockin' Out
One of the many failings of the California educational system that your faithful correspondent is a victim of is the appreciation of music. Kindergarten and the first grade were dedicated to the learning of rhythm via cowbell and tambourine. But to paraphrase Mr. Darcy, "Any savage can play rhythm." The fifth grade was a short experience with the trumpet. And other than the singing of rather inane songs like "My Grandfather's Clock" I was left on my own by the wiser and greater minds of the professional educationists.
The result is that during my adolescent and young adult years I drifted toward the popular dreck such as Mountain, Jimi Hendrix, Quicksilver and Led Zeppelin. As I grew older those particular artists and bands seemed rather simple. They all had good licks, but their ouvre' was lacking. I don't mean the lyrics. Most lyrics are pretty silly. Even operatic lyrics, which make Italian, German and Russian opera listenable; one has no idea of how silly the words are. One listens just for the music of the voice and the instruments.
As I grew older I began to appreciate the Grateful Dead, bluegrass and baroque. When asked what kind of music I like I reply, "The Grateful Dead, bluegrass, Vivaldi and Bach." To which the questor will say, "But Lord Nib, those are incompatible musically." To which yours replies, "I'm musically ignorant. But there is a similarity in all."
And, after years of pondering this seeming problem I think I've come up with an answer that will satisfy the musicologist. The answer is depth. The average rock band has four lines of attention. Actually three. Bass and drums, lead guitar and rhythm guitar. Each of the three depends on the two others to make sense. The Grateful Dead had sometimes two lead guitars, a bass guitar blazing it's own trail, two drummers, often playing counter rhythm, and a piano trying to keep up with it all. The result was a music that could be appreciated for the melding of disparate elements or appreciated for each element alone. The same holds true for bluegrass. Traditionally in bluegrass each instrument is given a place to shine with short solos, but when the bands play as a band there is no pride of place taken by any instrument. The guitar is just as important as the fiddle or mandolin or bass, and yet each is capable of standing alone. What is "Wipe Out" without a lead guitar?
Vivaldi (often called the Red Priest because of his red hair and the fact that he was a priest) and Bach (the triumph of Protestant music) have a depth, for your's truly, that results in the listener almost drowning. There is so much going on that it's almost like watching the workings of a clock.his results in that which results in this which results in this other thing and the final result is three o'clock and it's a almost a miracle that all the activity ended up to make some sort of sense. While listening to the different parts of a Bach or Vivaldi piece one can almost hear three or four different pieces of music; the violins, the recorders, the harpsichord and the whole.
But best of all, the Grateful Dead, bluegrass, Vivaldi and Bach all sound fun in a serious sense. They are serious fun for both the musicians and the listener. They do not have the silliness of some of Mozarts or Van Halens stuff, the ponderousness of Beethoven or Led Zeppelin, or the absolutely pre-punk self regard of Wagner or the Doors.
My quartet depends on absolute musicianship and a sense of joy in music. They all, in a sense, sing and play odes to the triumph of Odysseus, the glory of God, the love of Christ, and the wonders of life. And who could ask for more? They are all complicated and the music of my quartet is complicated. And life is complicated.
The result is that during my adolescent and young adult years I drifted toward the popular dreck such as Mountain, Jimi Hendrix, Quicksilver and Led Zeppelin. As I grew older those particular artists and bands seemed rather simple. They all had good licks, but their ouvre' was lacking. I don't mean the lyrics. Most lyrics are pretty silly. Even operatic lyrics, which make Italian, German and Russian opera listenable; one has no idea of how silly the words are. One listens just for the music of the voice and the instruments.
As I grew older I began to appreciate the Grateful Dead, bluegrass and baroque. When asked what kind of music I like I reply, "The Grateful Dead, bluegrass, Vivaldi and Bach." To which the questor will say, "But Lord Nib, those are incompatible musically." To which yours replies, "I'm musically ignorant. But there is a similarity in all."
And, after years of pondering this seeming problem I think I've come up with an answer that will satisfy the musicologist. The answer is depth. The average rock band has four lines of attention. Actually three. Bass and drums, lead guitar and rhythm guitar. Each of the three depends on the two others to make sense. The Grateful Dead had sometimes two lead guitars, a bass guitar blazing it's own trail, two drummers, often playing counter rhythm, and a piano trying to keep up with it all. The result was a music that could be appreciated for the melding of disparate elements or appreciated for each element alone. The same holds true for bluegrass. Traditionally in bluegrass each instrument is given a place to shine with short solos, but when the bands play as a band there is no pride of place taken by any instrument. The guitar is just as important as the fiddle or mandolin or bass, and yet each is capable of standing alone. What is "Wipe Out" without a lead guitar?
Vivaldi (often called the Red Priest because of his red hair and the fact that he was a priest) and Bach (the triumph of Protestant music) have a depth, for your's truly, that results in the listener almost drowning. There is so much going on that it's almost like watching the workings of a clock.his results in that which results in this which results in this other thing and the final result is three o'clock and it's a almost a miracle that all the activity ended up to make some sort of sense. While listening to the different parts of a Bach or Vivaldi piece one can almost hear three or four different pieces of music; the violins, the recorders, the harpsichord and the whole.
But best of all, the Grateful Dead, bluegrass, Vivaldi and Bach all sound fun in a serious sense. They are serious fun for both the musicians and the listener. They do not have the silliness of some of Mozarts or Van Halens stuff, the ponderousness of Beethoven or Led Zeppelin, or the absolutely pre-punk self regard of Wagner or the Doors.
My quartet depends on absolute musicianship and a sense of joy in music. They all, in a sense, sing and play odes to the triumph of Odysseus, the glory of God, the love of Christ, and the wonders of life. And who could ask for more? They are all complicated and the music of my quartet is complicated. And life is complicated.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
They Can't Be Serious! Can they?
Apparently the European Union has decided to flex its muscle in Bavaria. Under the guise concern for the safety and health of Bavarian barmaids the gnomes of Brussels have deigned to ban the traditional Bavarian barmaids' costumes: Telegraph News Barmaids protest as EU plans cover-up in the beer gardens. As anyone who has downed a Saint Pauli Girl beer, or watched any travelogue of Bavaria knows, the traditional Bavarian barmaids' costume consists of a dirndle skirt, a soft black vest type of thing and a low cut white blouse allowing the customer a sight of the alps. The EU feels that such attire leaves the barmaids at the risk of skin cancer. One would think, from their reasoning, that Bavaria had the same sun intensity as Sydney, Australia or Miami, Florida.
The Anchoress has a thought or two on the matter:The Anchoress » EU wants to regulate cleavage. I think her idea that the EU may be folding to the Mohammedans on this particular matter is mistaken. If the EU were going to cave to the heathens it would outlaw beer gardens and bars altogether. I think what we have here is a bunch of bureaucrats wanting to (oddly enough) justify their salaries and positions. They are also safety Nazis. Is it not passing strange that they have not declared nude sunbathing illegal on the Riviera or Adriatic? The reason for the double standard is simple: it is easier to regulate businesses than it is to regulate individuals. The purpose of the EU is regulation. Therefore: no regulation no need for the EU
Your faithful correspondent has never been a particularly big fan of the Huns. This may have something to do with the fact that his great uncle was killed by the Hun during the Great War and his uncle was a dog-face during the Second War and the fact that yours worked in aerospace with a bunch of Germans during the 70s and 80s. But our Teutonic brothers have come up with a few good things: Martin Luther, Bach (and sons), Handel, Hayden and Bavarian barmaids. Let's hope that a German version of Spike Jones pops up to sing a song such as "In the EU's Face" based on Jone's "Der Furhrer's Face."
What next? The banning of blacklights at the Moulin Rouge and Follie Bergere's because blacklights produce ultra-violet rays and thus produce tans and thus leave the mademoiselles at risk of skin cancer despite the fact that no such incidence has been recorded?
Oh the horror! The horror!
The Anchoress has a thought or two on the matter:The Anchoress » EU wants to regulate cleavage. I think her idea that the EU may be folding to the Mohammedans on this particular matter is mistaken. If the EU were going to cave to the heathens it would outlaw beer gardens and bars altogether. I think what we have here is a bunch of bureaucrats wanting to (oddly enough) justify their salaries and positions. They are also safety Nazis. Is it not passing strange that they have not declared nude sunbathing illegal on the Riviera or Adriatic? The reason for the double standard is simple: it is easier to regulate businesses than it is to regulate individuals. The purpose of the EU is regulation. Therefore: no regulation no need for the EU
Your faithful correspondent has never been a particularly big fan of the Huns. This may have something to do with the fact that his great uncle was killed by the Hun during the Great War and his uncle was a dog-face during the Second War and the fact that yours worked in aerospace with a bunch of Germans during the 70s and 80s. But our Teutonic brothers have come up with a few good things: Martin Luther, Bach (and sons), Handel, Hayden and Bavarian barmaids. Let's hope that a German version of Spike Jones pops up to sing a song such as "In the EU's Face" based on Jone's "Der Furhrer's Face."
What next? The banning of blacklights at the Moulin Rouge and Follie Bergere's because blacklights produce ultra-violet rays and thus produce tans and thus leave the mademoiselles at risk of skin cancer despite the fact that no such incidence has been recorded?
Oh the horror! The horror!
Saturday, August 06, 2005
From the Mouths of Babes
We here at Bloody Nib Manor have never been particularly big Joan Collins fans. This may be due to the fact that her movie career fell between the periods represented by Ava Gardener and Raquel Welch. It was a difficult time for sex symbols because Hollywood couldn't decide exactly what a sex symbol was: Stella Stevens or Elizabeth Hartman.
And your faithful correspondent, being a night shift worker, never saw an episode of Dynasty, so he never saw any examples of her television oeuvre. But she was, during the late seventies, the eighties and very early nineties, a presence on television because of her acting, such as it was, or various scandals. She was, I thought, an attractive woman, though she had rather wide-set eyes and played the vamp a bit too much. Her sister, the writer Jackie Collins, was, much more fun because she told dirty stories on the interview shows, and also because she wrote bad novels instead of acted bad novels.
Well, Joan Collins has smashed the cream pie in my mug by writing this:LP: BRITAIN DESTROYING ITSELF FROM WITHIN (by Joan Collins-non PC truth from a And for this Joan Collins has my eternal gratitude. Could it be that sex symbols of a "certain age", such as Joan, and the almost divine B.B. get it when the remainder of the entertainment industry, Europe and England don't?
And your faithful correspondent, being a night shift worker, never saw an episode of Dynasty, so he never saw any examples of her television oeuvre. But she was, during the late seventies, the eighties and very early nineties, a presence on television because of her acting, such as it was, or various scandals. She was, I thought, an attractive woman, though she had rather wide-set eyes and played the vamp a bit too much. Her sister, the writer Jackie Collins, was, much more fun because she told dirty stories on the interview shows, and also because she wrote bad novels instead of acted bad novels.
Well, Joan Collins has smashed the cream pie in my mug by writing this:LP: BRITAIN DESTROYING ITSELF FROM WITHIN (by Joan Collins-non PC truth from a And for this Joan Collins has my eternal gratitude. Could it be that sex symbols of a "certain age", such as Joan, and the almost divine B.B. get it when the remainder of the entertainment industry, Europe and England don't?
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