Two poems by Robert frost

I won;t be posting for a while, so here is some more poetry for poetry month: People ask why I pick out gloomy poems--for some reason I like them, they stick in my mind, and I don't want to post something everyone knows like "Stopping by woods on a snowy evening." I'm broadening your horizons, all three of you! Hi there Matt, Akaky, and Rachel!

Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Provide, Provide

The witch that came (the withered hag)
To wash the steps with pail and rag
Was once the beauty Abishag,

The picture pride of Hollywood.
Too many fall from great and good
For you to doubt the likelihood.

Die early and avoid the fate.
Or if predestined to die late,
Make up your mind to die in state.

Make the whole stock exchange your own!
If need be occupy a throne,
Where nobody can call you crone.

Some have relied on what they knew,
Others on simply being true.
What worked for them might work for you.

No memory of having starred
Atones for later disregard
Or keeps the end from being hard.

Better to go down dignified
With boughten friendship at your side
Than none at all. Provide, provide!

I've enjoyed poetry month very much--looked through my poetry books and read over some old favorites.

Trend: the volunteer employee

I've been bussing my own tray in fast food restaurants for so long now it seems quite normal. Ditto feeding myself vile concoctions in preparation for a colonoscopy.

I also notice that the powers that be no longer clean up highways; There are proud signs at the side of the road proclaiming that the care of this highway is being undertaken by some organization: the American Nazi Party, the Marxist Collective, the League of Child Molesters; the Ku Klux Klan. Appparently no group is so depraved that they are unfit to clean up a highway, saving the proper authorities from having to perform such a menial task.

As for pumping gas: you must do it yourself in most States. The chap inside the store who takes your money will no longer even show you how. Some male motorist eventually takes pity on me and demonstrates the technique.

The reason I haven't mastered this quite simple task is that I live in New Jersey, where it is illegal for the motorist to pump his own gas. Our State motto should read: "New Jersey: we're too dumb to pump gas."

It suits me just fine. Every time I do pump gas I end up with gasoline on my shoes. I stink for hours.

At one motel in Massachusetts, I asked when the rooms would be cleaned. The proprietress suggested that some people prefer to clean their own rooms. I don't. I also don't like to re-use my dirty towels and sheets in order to save the planet.

Let the planet take care of itself. I'm already doing enough volunteer work.

Rant about aging

For years I believed that I had received a special dispensation from God or somebody. I would always be 37. Other people could age, but as for me, I preferred not to. Along with this went the delusion that although I was gaining weight, I was the same normal-sized person, I only weighed more. Looking at myself in the mirror, if I squinted and held myself the right way and the light was just right, I looked pretty good.

I found out that God had lost my phone number when I saw, in a plate glass window, an ugly old lady with a frown on her face, approaching me. To add insult to injury, she was wearing the same clothes I was. She was also kind of, well, fat. It was me!

I want a do-over.

The pros and cons of being fit

David Brooks gloats:

If the report from researchers at the National Cancer Institute and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention is correct - and it is the most thorough done to date - then it seems that Mother Nature has built a little Laffer curve into the fabric of reality: health-conscious people can hit a point of negative returns, so the more fit they are, the quicker they kick the bucket. People who work out, eat responsibly and deserve to live are more likely to be culled by the Thin Reaper.

In general, I am in accord with Brooks' views. But on the subject of weight lifting, I must dissent. I had a bone scaan several years ago and was found to have osteoporosis. The doctor told me to lift weights. I did, grudgingly.

Recently I had another bone scan and my spine is normal!. Wow! Something the doctor tells you to do actually works!

John Bolton: pro and con

The Senate is making a coilective horse's ass of itself over this confirmation. Has somebody gotten at the water supply? If not, what is the excuse for the comments of Sen. Biden, Senator Dumbass of Ohio (not Kucinich, the other dumb one), Barbara Boxhead, et al. I would rather be ruled by Caligula's horse.

As for Bolton: I'm sure he's a wonderful candidate, but his wife or mother needs to step in and make him lose the Hitler hair-do and the Stalin mustache.

As long as I am dispensing fashion advice: Michael Jackson! Get a haircut, buy a real suit, and apply some fake tanning lotion to your face. I have seen people laid out who looked more lifelike than he.

The new Pope and the Andrew Sullivan Problem

For Sullivan, it's all gay marriage, all the time.

In all seriousness, I recommend the Episcopal Church to Andrew. Basically founded by Elizabeth I, it has a long proud history. It needs members. It endorses gay marriage. It has a nice liturgy.

I don't have a horse in this race. I'm Jewish. But isn't God, if you believe in Him, present in all faiths? Isn't that what John Paul II was trying to tell us? And if He doesn't exist, what the hell does it matter where you go on Sunday morning,Friday night,Yom Kippur, Passover, Friday morning? At least give other churches a whirl. And shut up about gay marriage. We already know your views., at least those of us who haven't been trapped in a mine shaft for the last ten years.

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Information about the possibilities, present and future, of blogging.

a poem for Sunday

The Tiger

TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies 5
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 10
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp 15
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee? 20

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Take that, you self-righteous, skinny people!

Some Extra Heft May Be Helpful, New Study Says

Some Unexpected Findings

People who are overweight but not obese have a lower risk of death than those at a normal weight, according to a new study.

My poem of the day

In Time of Pestilence

Adieu, farewell earth's bliss,

This world uncertain is:

Fond are life's lustful joys

Death proves them all but toys,

None from his dart can fly:

I am sick, I must die.

Lord, have mercy on us!



Rich men, trust not in wealth,

Gold cannot buy your health;

Physic himself must fade;

All things to end are made;

The plague full swift goes by;

I am sick, I must die.

Lord, have mercy on us!



Beauty is but a flower

Which wrinkles will devour;

Brightness falls from the air,

Queens have died young and fair,

Dust hath clos'd Helen's eye:

I am sick, I must die.

Lord, have mercy on us!



Strength stoops unto the grave,

Worms feed on Hector brave,

Swords may not fight with fate,

Earth still holds ope her gate;

Come, come, the bells do cry.

I am sick, I must die.

Lord, have mercy on us!



Wit with his wantonness

Tasteth death's bitterness:

Hell's executioner

Hath no ears for to hear

What vain art can reply:

I am sick, I must die.

Lord, have mercy on us!



Haste, therefore, each degree

To welcome destiny;

Heaven is our heritage,

Earth but a player's stage;

Mount we unto the sky.

I am sick, I must die.

Lord, have mercy on us!

By Thomas Nashe

I apologize for the gloominess of my poems. It is just happening that way.

Curses on Experian--also Equifax

Freqnently when I buy something at a store I've never used, they offer me a discount if I open a credit account. Why not? So I do. Not that i'll ever use it again , but they don't know that, do they?

Well, I applied for one at Banana Republic, and I was refused! Refused! And I went to the same high school Les Wexner* attended! (Not at the same time, however). They said the credit company, Experian, would write to me, explaining the reason.

The reason--a lame one--they couldn't track down my Social Security Number. They would probably issue a card to Mohammed Atta with no compunction, but me--could not trace my social security number.

Assholes.

I tried to call, but they have no phone number answered by persons of the human persuasion. Even pretending you have a rotary phone does no good. So I wrote them a scorching letter. The paper almost caught fire. I asked them, among other things, why they couldn't find my ^*%$ SSN and to take back their rotten rejection, apologize to me, and send me roses. Pink or yellow, if possible.

In return, I received a letter which was completely beside the point, saying I had already had one free credit report (I hadn't)and had to pay if I wanted another one. They gave me a couple of 800 numbers and told me that if I had sent them a check, they had shredded it.

I tried calling both the phone #s they gave me, and ended up in voice mail jail, which I am sure was their intention.

Got on their web site. clicked to a promising link which turned out to be a law firm which would handle all my credit problems for $39.95 a month. No thanks.

I finally got an e-mail from Equifax informing me I had an excellent credit rating. How did they know?

May they all have to sit through a 20 inning baseball game with hemmorhoids.

Lileks expresses gratitude for those who do the world's work

Got a nice atta-boy from a woman at the checkout counter – she’d liked the Walker Art center piece. Love when that happens. []question – excuse me, but aren’t you . . . There’s never a day when it’s not a joy to hear that question. Ninety-nine percent of the people who do actual work and make actual contributions to the world never get that out-of-the-blue atta-boy.

So I should give back: excuse me, aren’t you that firefighter? That emergency room nurse or admitting clerk? That policeman, that Reservist, that underpaid librarian, that park worker who picks up the stuff people throw in the creek, the guy who wipes the tables clean in the food court so I don’t have to put my elbows in someone else’s ketchup? Aren’t you that systems tech who makes sure my favorite website comes up every day when I want, the UPS driver who gets my stuff to my door and rings the bell, the gaffer who plugged in the cords so they could shoot that scene in the movie I want to see, the board operator at the radio station who sent the signal to the bird, the fellow behind the console in the theater who brought the spotlight up with practiced ease so the audience knew the show was starting? Excuse me, aren’t you that person who delivers the paper every morning?

I love this post--I'll think of it every time I see somebody cheerfully bussing my table, or cashiering at Walgreens or any other scut job. How can they stand it, and smile?

I loved my job so much I would have paid them to let me do it, so I don't count.

The ALA: a joke that isn't funny

I've long suspected that the ALA was run by Larry, Curly and Moe, with an able assist from Groucho, Harpo and Chico, Sneezy and Grumpy may also be involved. Conservator reports:

ALA COUNCILOR JIM CASEY DOES US THE FAVOR of laying out the Rube Goldberg-esque explanation of how the Bush administration in Washington, D.C. bears responsibility for library budgetary woes in Salinas, California:

Federal tax cuts and the anti-tax push of this Administration have led to huge budget deficts not only at the Federal level, but in practically every State of the Union. State Budget deficits have led to crushing burdens being shifted down to the local level where local property taxpayers who support public libraries are being battered and prompted to revolt in such a manner that some public library systems are being threatened with closure.

So, it just follows logically that the reason ALA should not have honored Laura Bush is because she is married to the man who proposes the budget that is approved by the Congress that leads to huge budget deficits not only at the Federal level....

Are you sure the Jews had nothing to do with it?

BTW--when is the ALA going to interest itself in issues that concern librarians, such as lousy pay, berserk politicians, etc.?

A poem for today: Tommy by Rudyard Kipling

I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.

I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";
But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.

Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet that Tommy sees!

The emphasis (boldface) is mine. Kipling is a truly under-rated artist.

News from the Jews

Because I belong to s synagogue, I get the local Jewish paper, the Jewish Standard (no link, at least I can't find one). I read it, well, religiously. Which is to say, it has a place of honor in my bathroom. A sample headline:
Jews largely skip filibuster debate

Why is this big news? Jews have strong opinions, pro or con, on everything from the new Pope to gefilte fish. Apparently, though, they can take the filibuster or leave it alone. Thank God there is one issue they don't feel passionately about.

Another article I found interesting, "Two can tango," concerns a joint Arab-Jewish tango orchestra in Argentina, called Salam-shalom. The purpose of the group is to improve Arab-Jewish relations and provide good dance music. The tango is very popular with Argentinians.

I'm not trying to put down the Jewish Standard. It's a lot more trustworthy than the New York Times. Besides, I take a great interest in the tango. You can say I'm pro-tango.

The British theatre celebrates Rachel Corrie

Steven Plaut discusses the new British megahit, My name is Rachel Corrie, which has been sickeningly praised in the British press. He suggests some other Rachels who might be remembered:
1. My Name is Rachel Levy (Israeli girl age 17, blown up in a grocery
store)
2. My Name is Rachel Thaler (Israeli girl aged 16, blown up in a pizzeria)
3. My Name is Rachel Levi (Israeli girl aged 19, murdered while waiting
for the bus)
4. My Name is Rachel Gavish (killed with her husband and son while at
home)
5. My Name is Rachel Charhi (blown up while sitting in a cafe)
6. My Name is Rachel Shabo (murdered with her three sons aged 5, 13 and 6
while sitting at home)

It would be interesting knowing how many of THESE Rachels were murdered
with explosives smuggled in through the same tunnels that Rachel Corrie
and her ISM pro-terrorist friends were "defending"!

A Robert Burns poem for today

0, my love is like a red, red rose,
that's newly sprung in June.
0, my love is like a melody,
that's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair thou art, my bonnie lass,
so deep in love am I,
And I will love thee still, my dear,
till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
and the rocks melt wi' the sun!
And I will love thee still, my dear,
while the sands of life shall run.

And fare the weel, my only love!
And fare the well awhile!
And I will come again, my love.
Tho it were ten thousand mile!

Christopher Hitchins has a good word for Andrea Dworkin

Andrea Dworkin, who was pelted and ridiculed for decades of her life, was another of those rare people who feel other people's pain as if it were their own. When she first sent me one of her books, I was all ready to snigger. But she could write, and think, and argue, and it was often a pleasure to disagree violently with her, which is more than I can say for some of her detractors. Like many clever and tormented people, she had the gift of getting the gist of supposedly complex questions. It wasn't OK with her that President Clinton had a special staff of private dicks to "handle" and to slander truth-telling women; it wasn't OK with her that Serbia used rape as a weapon of ethnic cleansing; and she wasn't neutral against a jihadist threat that wanted, and wants, to enslave and torture females. That she could be denounced as a "conservative" for holding any of those positions says much about the left to which she used to belong. If she was indeed crazy, I wish she had bitten more of her twisted sisters.

The criticism of Dworkin has been rather unpleasant, focusing on her looks and grooming habits and putting words in her mouth which she never used.

I might get into trouble here

I think I have mentioned previously my propensity to get lost while driving.

Well, it happened to me again last week. I was in a neighborhood far, far from where I thought I was headed. I spotted a street sign: Oh, oh! Martin Luther King Ave.

Why must MLK Ave always be in the heart of a revolting slum? Couldn't they find a nice street to name after him? Fifth Ave in New York springs to mind.

Do people enjoy having awful things named after them? The guy they named the Major Deegan (horrible congested highway, for those not in the know) after must be revolving in his grave, so many people use his name in vain. I've never heard anyone say a nice word about JFK Airport. And was Alois Alzheimer proud to have a nice disease named after him?

If anyone wants to name something after me posthumously, heres a hint: how about a nice rose? Yellow is my favorite color, but I wouldn't object to pink or red.

Income tax forms claim another victim